Happy New Year!

This has been a wonderful  year for the Ladies Becoming Maids blog. It had the biggest amount of posts and visitors ever and December 2017 was the busiest month on record. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the writers that contributed their stories, all the commentators that shared their views as well as the silent majority of daily visitors that I can only see in my Google Analytics stats (yes, that also means you, the sole visitor from South Sudan in November, whoever you are!).

I know I keep saying it but it's worth repeating that I could have never imagined that my little hobby will attract such a following and I am still amazed by all the feedback in the form of e-mails and comments that I receive from you. Thank you for that and please don't stop - if it wasn't for your contribution, this blog would have fizzled out somewhere in 2015 at the latest. We are now entering 2018 and the lady-to-maid genre's prospects never looked better. If there is one thing I regret is that I could not devote more time to publishing more books - limiting myself to just two last year. We all know that New Year's resolutions are typically not worth much, but here I am: I promise to deliver more in 2018!

Happy New Year all! Thank you for everything.

Story: Dancing With My Soul. Chapter 4.

by Andy Engines

My daily routine was slowly growing on me and I found that it helped to take my mind from other matters beyond the little cottage. The old woman was starting to make a more sense as I picked up individual words. She would smile as she held something in front of me and repeat its name over and over whilst waving her hand for me to repeat. The reward of a smile when I got the pronunciation right was becoming addictive.

Every morning my first task was to clear the ashes from the range in the kitchen and I soon learnt to preserve all the embers that were still alight as these made short work of getting the fire going again. As soon as the fire was lit I would get a kettle of water on to boil, expectant of the first drink of the day an hour or so later.

Once the water was on to boil I would sweep the kitchen floor and once satisfied that the floor was as dust free as it could be I would slowly crawl back across the old stones scrubbing them clean with a hand brush and water. At first my knees ached from the kiss of the old stones and my hands were perpetually sore but after little time I found the aches disappeared. Slowly my young body adapted to the daily demands it faced.

More Maid Photo Editorials: Hotel 2007

Like with many other maid fashion editorials posted here, I've been seeing individual photos from this one for years before realising they were part of a bigger set. This one is from Russian photographer Sergey Kaptilkin and you can see the entire thing on his website. I'm only reposting several maid-themed photos from this large and, admittedly, rather bizarre black-and-white set from 2007. Still, the way it's done is quite interesting and lady-to-maid overtones are as strong as ever.

Cleaner Preservation Project

Ever since Emma Finn's untimely departure, I've been checking her blog periodically - first daily, then weekly and then once in a while - in a hope that somehow more material from her will be posted there by whoever's in control of her archive. After all, she did mention herself that she'd made arrangements in this respect.  Unfortunately, nothing was posted.

Cleaner, a story about a rich super model and her fat maid switching lives, is arguably the best transformation novel ever written and it pains me to realise that it will never be finished as intended by Emma. I do not know how much of it she did write but did not have time to share with anyone. It is not even clear if what's on her blog represents the entirety of Book 2 (it is 90,000 words after all!). In either case, I've decided to copy all of the chapters she made available and post them here. It is not inconceivable that her blog will go off-line one of these days and I would hate to see all this excellent material lost forever.

Needless to say, it's too huge to make a single post and it even exceeds blogspot's page size limits so I had to split Book 2 into two pages that I will link to the Library. Other than correcting (very few) obvious typos, the text is exactly as Emma left it even as it's obvious that she was making some plot changes mid-way and was planning to return and fix earlier chapters for consistency. It's taken a lot longer than necessary due to various formatting and linking problems (if any of you tech gurus know how to create a permanent page without either making it a blog post or adding it to the main page via a pages gadget, please let me know! I had to back-post it to 2016, but would much rather have a separate blogger page I can link to), but I believe the text is now in easy-to-read format for your enjoyment. You can read Chapters 1-3 here and Chapters 4-6 here.

I am assuming that many of this blog's readers are familiar with Emma Finn's work. If not, I urge you to get a copy of the Cleaner - I can't think of a better Christmas present! I recommend Book 1 of the unfinished trilogy, but if you want a completed shorter version, you can also read Cleaner: The Original Story. It's a very different take on the general plot as the trilogy went in a completely different direction but highly enjoyable nonetheless.

Story: Dancing With My Soul. Chapter 3.

by Andy Engines

I sat, waiting and time slowed down to grains of sand. There was still no word. It had been 2 hours, then 3, then 4 and still Marije hadn’t returned. Each minute that passed marked more questions, more worry and more doubts. I was doubting myself, doubting Marije, doubting the world and asking why I had pursued this line of action and then I realised I had pursued no line. I had been carried on a wave that lifted me and dragged me forward with absolutely no control.

After 5 hours I was starting to get frantic and found myself pacing the apartment, listening for any sound of her arrival. When I realised how stupid I was being I sat in the window and watched for her return in the hope that sitting watching would speed events up. She would return, why on earth wouldn’t she? I made yet another coffee and returned to my vigil and realising the stupidity of my actions I returned to pacing and listening once more.

Something must have happened, something had gone wrong, what was taking so long, why wasn’t she back yet. At some point worry gave way to something far worse. A feeling of loneliness started to descend on me and I was very aware that I was in a strange land in a horrible predicament and I knew absolutely no one.  Tears started to flow and I don’t honestly know whether they were worry for me, worry for Marije or just plain self pity but the emotion was raw; it held me in a vice like grip and I didn’t know which way to turn.

“Mistress?”

Story: The Secret Slave. Part 7.

by SW

After taking care of her mistress's hair Sophia went quietly to the little closet that housed a small pallet-bed, a plain wardrobe (and atop it her wash-basket), a little table with a candle upon it and the tinder mill for lighting it.  The room was almost entirely taken up with those furnishings and, though somewhat smaller than the slave rooms near the kitchen, she was glad to have been moved there.  She had felt very alone the night before and it pleased her to be near her mistress - though the reason for the relocation was, of course, that she might be on hand to be called through the night if needed.

She curled on her side, it being painful to lie on her back, and recalled the events of the day.  Her mistress had been quite right; she really had little cause to complain about her treatment for it was no worse, really, than she gave her own Sally.  Whilst, she herself, never whipped, except in the privacy of her own room, Mistress Caroline had only done what many, if not most, owner's did to punish disobedience.  But, it could not be denied that Mistress Caroline's management of the house was stricter and more oppressive than at the Morgan place and she would pay very close attention to all orders henceforth to ensure that she gave no further cause to be disciplined.  Then she thought of Elizabeth and it warmed her that she had been assured the mistress's protection.  She told herself that she must try not to be so excitable in her mistress's presence, though, nothing that might help her do so, occurred; bathing had been rather too arousing and, as she was Elizabeth's personal maid, there would undoubtedly be many more occasions of such intimacy in the days ahead.  

She reconsidered Elizabeth's actions that day: the whipping and the bathing.  There had been nothing said or done that might have been taken as anything but in the ordinary way of relations between mistress and slave; and yet - she could not help but feel that Elizabeth was taking pleasure from their situation.  Now that her ill-temper and sullenness had subsided she had come to accept her mistress's explanation of why those final four strokes of the whip had been necessary - however, she also recalled Elizabeth's little smile before it began.  And the mistress's delight at having Sophia soap and rub her seemed to run deeper than just the natural but simple pleasure of bathing before the fire.  There was something about her mood, and the look upon her face, that signified more.  She warmed a little at the recollections and, without thinking, moved her hand to her secret place where she began to rub gently and she bit her lip - after all, it wouldn't do for her to disturb 'Missa'.  

Story: Dancing With My Soul. Chapter 2.

by Andy Engines

The old woman smiled as she spoke, intently looking at me as if she could will me to understanding. It had been two weeks now and I still didn’t understand a word but as she started pantomiming sweeping the floor understanding dawned. I smiled back at her and put my book down and took up a brush and started to help sweep the floor. As we worked she constantly talked and I had no idea if she was talking to herself or to me but I found her company soothing. Right now I needed company and I couldn’t face being alone once more in the mess that had unfolded around me. As we worked she continued to smile and every now and then looked over at me and nodded her head whilst making a clucking sound that I hoped was approval.

Just as the void created in my soul at the death of my parents was starting to heal a new one had opened up. The last two weeks had been a terrifying ordeal and it still hadn’t fully sunk in, it felt as if I was stuck in a dream, or rather stuck in a nightmare. The moment when I was sat in the bath and Marija entered was etched vividly into my memory.

“Oh my God, you don’t think?”