Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 3.

by Charles Ryder

The following week saw a very subdued Charlotte. She carried out her duties without a murmur. She accepted the many criticisms she received from her mentor with little or no dissent. On the Friday she was called into the former sitting room which was now Mrs Francis’s office. 

“I have two pieces of good news young lady. The first is that I’m very pleased with your behaviour this week and as a result we’ll be going on an outing tomorrow. And the second is that your husband has been able to secure the services of an experienced house maid. The young lady is called Mary, I believe. She will be starting with us on Sunday.”

Charlotte could hardly believe her ears! Mrs Francis was actually pleased with her. She would be going on an outing and she would, after all this time, be finally getting a housemaid. This was simply marvellous news. Stephen would be so proud of her. She could hardly wait to tell him.

The following morning she woke early and washed herself. She dressed herself in one of her new uniforms, reminding herself that the skirt was maybe a little too short and tight for her and that Mrs Francis may allow her to have it taken out a little. Timidly she knocked on Mrs Francis’ bedroom door, and when answered she entered and placed a cup of tea on her bedside table as required. At first this had seemed an intolerable imposition but now Charlotte regarded it as just one of her many duties. Thankfully though this might be the last time she carried it out. From tomorrow that would, she imagined, be Mary’s job. She smiled to herself. She’d done it. Her husband would be bound to be impressed by her efforts. She’d proved to him, and to Mrs Francis, that she could learn her lesson and was now in a position to run the household as she wanted it run. She would have such fun instructing the new girl in her new duties! What sort of mistress would she prove to be? Certainly, she would be fairly strict. If she’d learnt anything from her mentor it was that servants had to be managed. They were most assuredly not friends, they were subordinates.  Perhaps not quite as strict as Mrs Francis maybe? Not a disciplinarian with a cane but certainly strict, strict but fair.

Social Downgrade Apology by the British Press

A reader pointed me to a recent story in The Mirror titled "I walked away from a high-flying £45K job to become 'the dregs of society'" .  Interesting find and I think it adds nicely to other stories I shared in the past such as the one about Chinese office workers forced to become maids amid the crisis or How was your day, fallen aristocratic lady? 

Sadly, the lady in question does not become a maid, but the social drop is quite severe nonetheless (even though it's a big of an exaggeration to call someone making less than $60,000 equivalent in London "high-flying") after Claire, the heroine of the story, becomes a care home worker making minimum wage.

As is always the case with embellished "true life" stories like this you really have to read between the lines (or at least beyond the typically misleading first paragraph), but it still somehow pushed a few right buttons for me. 

Parts of the article do read like a lady-to-maid story even though Claire states right away it was the best decision she ever made:

Just a few months earlier I was living the high life as a City lawyer, power-dressed in black and white as I commuted every day to my central London office.

My position impressed those I met and won me new friends who saw me as a professional, successful woman.

Today, I was a humble care worker, cleaning up incontinence-prone elderly people in a home for dementia patients.

I was embarrassed to tell people what I did for a living, and when I did I would often get a disdainful look of “what’s gone wrong with her?”

Back then, I was earning £45,000 a year with bonuses and had a full-time childminder to look after my kids as I worked ten-hour days doing personal injury claims with a big law firm.

Now, as team member at the Meresworth Care Home, I was on the minimum wage and taking home less than £160 a week.

My friends and family were horrified when they told them that I’d given up my career as a solicitor to become a care worker.

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Story: A Simple Act of Delegation. Chapter 11.

by Jackie J

There was no doctor like there was no Mustapha of course but Sheila trusting of Jenny believed every word she was told. Two weeks, then three weeks went by with regular convincing updates from Jenny. Mustapha had confirmed what he had told Jenny in an email. He was being threatened by just communicating with Jenny and must not be contacted again and reiterated that Mrs. Ross’s family wanted nothing more to do with their cursed relative. 

The fictitious toxicology reports had come back negative and that Mrs. Ross’s condition was a mystery, likewise fabricated psychological tests had also failed to discover what could have resulted in such a drastic change in her personality. She could be sectioned if that what was thought best but of course Jenny had dismissed this out of hand telling Sheila she was not willing to let Winnie be probed and experimented on behind the confidential walls of an asylum.

It was agreed that Jenny should move in at Long Acres, Sheila unaware she already had and to organise some care to help Winnie to rebuild her life.  Sheila was happy in the knowledge that such a caring person like Jenny was going to look after Mrs. Ross. 

It was agreed that the business would carry on as normal, it had run well during Mrs. Ross’s time away in the Yemen so why shouldn’t it. Other directors and staff were advised that on doctor’s recommendations Mrs. Ross would be taking extended leave sparing them the details of her true condition. 

Story: A Simple Act of Delegation. Chapter 10.

by Jackie J

The email addressed to Miss Ferguson, the financial and most senior of the directors at Sapphire and Ross, from Mrs. Ross’s required a second read. When Sheila Ferguson entered Jenny’s office and showed her the email from Mrs. Ross Jenny looked up with a look of practiced surprise and having read through the text again her look of concern was no less convincing.

“It doesn’t say how long she will be away, it’s all rather sudden and no mention of where she is going, or gone just that she is visiting a sick relative? I thought all her family where in the Middle East? Well we will just have to manage Sheila, but why has she chosen me, you I can understand you are the senior director. 

Jenny paused, stood from her desk and handed the email back to Sheila.

Well its clear she wants you and me to hold the fort whilst she is away and I will obviously do what is required, I will come up to your offices later and we can make some plans, will you be letting the other directors know Sheila?

Sheila took back the email and shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes, I will let the others know, can you organise a staff notice Jenny then come up around eleven and we can discuss all this.”

Story: A Simple Act of Delegation. Chapter 9.

by Jackie J

Three months had passed since Deborah Jackson had slipped into the heels and skirts of her secretary for her temporary charade. The discovery of her games by the owner of Sapphire and Ross had led to Miss Deborah Jackson, with the collusion of her secretary Jane Simpson, being tempted and drawn deeper into her fantasies until those fantasies had become her reality. No longer the ditzy secretary her original imaginings of her degradation and subordination had been Debbie Langtry now reduced to a mere cleaner wallowing in her servility and lowly status. 

During the first two weeks in her new role Jane Simpson had delved deep into the minds and motivations of individuals such as her ex boss Miss Deborah Jackson reading the thesis of many eminent professionals. She had an incentive of course, if she could fuel those deep-seated desires held by her boss, draw her beyond a tipping point, Jane’s position of head of compliance along with its many advantages would be secured. It became clear to Jane from her studies, and did somewhat explain certain aspects of history, that certain individuals were predisposed if not desirous of their enslavement. The majority from this group of individuals according to the well-read text, were held within the invisible constraints of their financial, domestic and employment situations being already subconsciously enslaved. For those unfettered by such mundane shackles these deep-rooted emotions festered within them. This went a long way to explain why many wealthy and those engaged in professional occupations sought solace, albeit covertly, to exercise their demons, being many and varied, at the hands of others.

Story: A Simple Act of Delegation. Chapter 8.

By Jackie J

Debbie said good night to Mrs. Brown and smiled after removing her overall and putting it in her locker before pulling on her puffer jacket and heading out of the office block. Her cramped room was only a ten-minute walk but she headed for the metro like she did many evenings after her shift. Miss Jackson had never used public transport, why would she, Miss Jackson having an expensive company car to drive?

Debbie dabbed her saver card at the entrance along with the milling crowd and stood on the platform looking up the line. Propped on her heels she clutched her furry purse and waited.  

Managing to find her seat she looked across at her fellow commuters, was he here again? Debbie had no real reason to be sharing the carriage but her reasons were no less important to her than those eager to make their homeward journey. Debbie looked at the mix of travelers, old, young, some smart, some like herself and she was aware of others looking at her who looked away when she caught their eye. In her persona she was anonymous just like she had imagined before Mrs. Ross helped her, one in a crowd, nothing special just a worker on her commute. At the central station more joined the carriage than left it and Debbie was becoming aroused and stood to let an elderly lady take her seat and joined the standing crush swaying with the movement of the carriage. Debbie did nothing when the first stray hand touched her bottom, an elbow brushed against her breasts then she felt an erect penis confined within its trousers press against her thigh. Packed tight in the carriage she had nowhere to go and just stood. A tall guy pushing past to leave at the next stop smiled at her and unknowingly pressed the chap with the excited tool firmly against her. She didn’t look, she didn’t care this is why she was on the metro, she felt cheap, sullied, used, but above all ignored, she was nothing, of no value, excepting for a gratuitous grope. 

Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 2.

Charles Ryder just had an e-book out called The New Government, a BDSM anti-feminist novel that many of you may enjoy if you like stories here. You can find it at A1 Adult E-books. 

And now on to the next chapter of Managing the Heiress.

by Charles Ryder

Later that evening Stephen returned, but he wasn't alone. He entered the living room with an older gentleman. He introduced the man to her as Major Lytham.

"Mrs Darnley, it's a pleasure to meet you at last ma'am. Your husband has told me a very great deal about you. And ma'am, if I be so bold, he has much underestimated your beauty and charm."

Charlotte blushed prettily and thanked the Major.

"Let me explain the situation, Mrs Darnley. I am your husband's senior officer. He is one of my most valuable men. The reason I'm here is to explain his role with us and to beg a favour from you. Your husband is soon to go undercover on our behalf. That is to spy on this country's enemies." 

Charlotte put her hand to her mouth. "But Major Lytham isn't that terribly dangerous? Will Stephen be in danger at all?"