Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 5.

by Jackie J

The large envelope nervously opened, and the contents laid out on my desk, I notice the same letterhead used for the confirmation of Mrs Burtonshaw to be my temporary housekeeper, Mayfair Domestic Services, any similarity to that previous correspondence ends there. No detail of Mrs Burtonshaw working for me, but of myself, well Miss Brannigan, working for her. All very formal and detailed.  I sit back and read the main letter.

Dear Miss Brannigan,

Following the completion of your service for Miss Williams, at Crestley House, and your wish to become one of our maids, I write to inform you that your application to join Mayfair Domestic Services was successful and your maid registration is now complete. Your registration certificate is enclosed along with your identification disc which you will wear at all times whilst in service.

Your first assignment is at Bracken Hall, being employed for general maid duties. You will report on the sixth of October to the housekeeper, Mrs Madeley. The address you will find on your letter of introduction, which is enclosed. I need not remind you of the high standards that are expected of you, of all Mayfair domestic servants, of which you are now one. Your contract at Bracken Hall is for one month, and I will expect favourable reports when your time there is concluded. Don’t let me down Milly.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 4.

by Jackie J

Linda is back at Crestley Manor and the household is returning to its normal routines. It was awkward at first, of course it was, not only for me but for Mrs Burtonshaw. What I had done could not be undone, not that I would ever wish it to be. During the first days, after Linda’s return, when Mrs Burtonshaw’s and my own paths crossed, I had to stop myself from lowering a curtsy. Calling her Miss crossed my lips a few times which brought an exchange of knowing smiles between us.

What I have noticed, since Linda’s return, something perhaps I wasn’t aware of previously, is how often I interact directly with Linda and how much of her time I take from her. Bringing tea or refreshments when I desire, the preparation of my clothing, a book from the library or any other such task.  Keeping pace with Mrs Renwick’s daily rota had not been an issue for me and I had wondered, at the time, why Linda often appeared hurried in her work. I of course had not been at the beck and call of a Mistress had I. Reflecting on this aspect of Linda’s work I couldn’t help myself from feeling a little cheated that I had not had a mistress to serve, but then how could I have, I was the mistress. Having been a month a maid I cannot help feeling restless, that I should be doing things, no doubt these feelings will pass but I am doubting my life can ever return to what it was. A ridiculous madness I am sure, but each time I see Linda I am questioning my worthiness of my privilege. Harbouring feelings of resentment towards her, jealous of the simple servility of her existence, an existence I had shared and known, and what should be worrying but isn’t, an existence that I still covet.

Story: Kristina's New Client.

A new submission from Kristina Katyn, the author of  Kristina in Training, Polish Au Pair Takes Control, and Kristina's Secret Cleaning Job. 

Copyright 2021 by Kristina Katyn and Peter242

Kristina is out of practice and the poor quality of her cleaning leads to punishment

Author's note: I wrote this story together with my friend Peter242 as a follow up to our earlier Kristina stories.  He has written other stories too, all as Peter242.  In real life, I have worked as a cleaner and housekeeper for a number of lovely families and hard-working single professional ladies, ranging from doctors and professors to fashion models and teachers.  I came to love cleaning work and I used to think up fantasies to relieve the tedium and physical effort.  You never know what your own cleaning girl may be thinking about!  My cleaning jobs paid my way through college and though now professionally qualified I still clean in my spare time for my ex and a small number of favourite clients, because I came to know them so well, and they like having me clean for them.  This story is based at least in part (!) on my own experiences.  We hope you enjoy it.
 


As Kristina stepped down from the bus and walked along the street, she was just thrilled that she had managed to get back home to the big city after such a long stay away during COVID lockdown.  She really appreciated the fact that her relatives had let her stay with them on their farm in the countryside because there was lots of open space there and wonderful views compared to the restricted views along an identikit street from her own home in London.  She had had to do quite a bit of helping out for them to justify her stay, of course, when not working remotely from her bedroom, but at least now she could get back to what she saw as her long-term calling, which was domestic service. 

Kristina was wearing her cleaning uniform as she did for all her cleaning jobs, mainly black with bits of white here and there and a hem just below the knee, partly disguised by a blue and white shawl, but anyone who saw her walking along knew what she was, which was a low-class cleaner and housemaid.  Kristina never minded that though, as being identified by passers-by as a domestic enhanced her feeling of being a low-status menial worker, which was the feeling that she most craved.  Kristina longed for the permanent simplicity of servitude as a way to escape the responsibility and stress of her intellectually and politically complex in-house legal position, and constantly dreamed about scrubbing kitchen floors and hanging up laundry in the houses of her betters, and of being reduced in status to the lowliest of the low, a domestic cleaner, a cleaning lady, a maid, a servant, a skivvy.

Caption Sunday: Slacker Sarah.

Sometimes you never learn how weird your best friend really is...and how GOOD a friend she can be...

I learned six months ago she’d won the lottery—a BIG win—but the way I learned was not happy for her at all! Nosy, domineering relatives of hers blabbed about her win—on FACEBOOK for Christ’s sake! A week later at 11pm(!) I heard a knock on my door and my friend Sarah came in. She apologized for being so late, and then spent ten minutes sobbing on my shoulder.

When she could talk, but still crying her eyes out, she said she didn’t really need all that money, but that her life was now HELL! All the people she knows—who she has issues with—were camping out, in her face, demanding a piece of her! She OWED this to them, they said; and it took two straight days for her to get to my place without being followed or tracked! She asked me if I could please, PLEASE, drive her to the airport!

After dropping her off, she hugged me for a full minute, me patting her on the shoulder, until she trotted towards the ticket counter...

* * * * *

Those six months later I got a message from a Twitter tag I didn’t recognise. Very briefly (Twitter is ALWAYS brief, but no matter), this tag let me know she was Sarah, and to please look into my primary bank account, and that instructions on how much the I.R.S. was owed was in my email.

The email said she was now a hotel housekeeper—because it was a good way to serve people...while being totally ignored! I smiled and shook my head—I had no IDEA Sarah was this weird!

* * * * *

My bank account today has 3 million dollars more than yesterday...

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 3.

by Jackie J

Chapter 3

Life being Mrs Burtonshaw’s maid is certainly different to being Mistress of the household. I chuckle at the thought, feeding the laundry through the mangle, lucky Miss Williams. Counting the few days I worked alone, before Mrs Burtonshaw’s arrival, it will be three weeks of being aproned tomorrow. It still amuses me thinking of Miss Williams, not of myself but of the privileged Mistress of the household.  A harmless deceitful pretence, and initially a difficult delusion to accept. The deceit is encouraged by Mrs Burtonshaw, often referencing Miss Williams to her maid. Compliments and admonishments in equal measure, Miss Williams would not be happy with this or that. Miss Williams would be most pleased to see you have done this or that. I was fine working alone but with the routines of the rota and Mrs Burtonshaw’s organisation and strict control of me, there is little time to consider other than my life a maid.

Shortly after it was confirmed that Linda’s absence would be extended, and Mrs Burtonshaw noticing the discomfort of Linda’s shoes that I wore, Mrs Burtonshaw acquired a pair of low -heeled boots that I now wear. Heavy yes, but comfortable and practical for a working maid. I have given up on trying to protect my hands and nails, I know they are a mess, but why wouldn’t they be? The chipped nails are now cut short, and the palms of my hands display calloused skin. I used to spend literally hours brushing my hair, now, I am quite practiced at balling my hair atop of my head and with wearing the mop cap during my waking hours, so there is little point in wasting time on that.

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 2.

by Jackie J

Chapter 2

I should have done it myself over the last few days, before Mrs Burtonshaw arrived. It made sense. I could have looked in Miss Renwick’s office and found her daily rota sheets. There had been no urgency to what I did, what I was doing. Now there is. The early start and late finish are no real surprise. Linda worked these hours. Six in the morning through seven in the evening. If I keep on top of the tasks on the rota, which I am determined to do, I will make time for breaks.

What a day. Just Mrs Burtonshaw’s evening meal and then I am done, everything on the rota completed.

I have had to visit the kitchens a number of times to ensure my meal is not ruined but apart from that I am quite impressed with my mistress's maid.  The lunch she prepared was most tasty and she has followed the rota I gave her and everything on the list is ticked off, very impressive.

Making my way to the maid’s quarters I find Milly changing her apron and smile at the various items on top of the drawers and by the sink.

“What is this Milly, why are they here in your room?”

Story: It Wasn't Right. Chapter 1.

by Jackie J

Chapter 1

It wasn’t right. At the outset, deep down, I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t resist. Perhaps in truth I should count myself lucky, not everybody can fully explore their fetish, their dark imaginings held within. Most torment themselves suppressing what lies within them. A life of continued denial from the imagined shame of consequence for crossing the Rubicon of desire. How long I suffered like most, but no longer. Mrs Agnes Burtonshaw, of all people, was the one to first discover, encourage, develop then exploit, my hidden desires. Tentatively at first, but, once under her accepted control, with increasing relish and unquestioned authority my willing metamorphosis began.

Wealth is a great benefactor of course but brings with it a boredom that is hard to explain to one less endowed. The mind wanders to wicked imaginings.

My housekeeper, Miss Renwick, and her maid were always busy about the manor whereas I had little to occupy me besides my thoughts. Before the family business was sold, I had the daily routines of that to keep my mind employed, in truth little time for anything else. With those responsibilities no longer an issue, what to do to fill my seemingly endless days? Reading of tittivating adventures of course only served to deepen my hidden inclinations.