Hopefully you, your families and friends are doing ok throughout these difficult times.
Below is the second part of Life's Little Dilemmas.
I know it's been a while since I posted the first part but if you've forgotten where we left William it should be easy enough to pick up the story from here- this stuff moves at a glacial pace.
It's the longest piece I've written by some distance hence the longer than usual interlude between posts. I had thought about posting as two distinct chapters but felt(rightly or wrongly) that it works better as one complete episode. However as always readers will be the judge of that.
As always thank you for your support and encouragement by ticking the 'more' box and leaving comments, it's great to know people like the material I post here. Hopefully you will enjoy this also.
I've been working on a new illustration for the top of the blog but it may not be ready before tomorrow or Monday so will post then.
Take care and keep yourselves safe.
Carrie
Life’s Little Dilemmas
By
CarrieP
Chapter 2
It’s not what you look at that
matters, it’s what you see. - Thoreau
|
E |
mploying a new maidservant can be a most stressful time for a lady of a certain social rank. Women further down the social ladder rarely put much thought into the type of girl they require as a servant. They tend to choose a slip of a thing for the lowest cost available, trussing her up in an ill fitting uniform, accommodating her a dreary attic room, extracting as much work as possible from her and hopes she manages not to spill tea over the guests- which invariably she does. Of course this is not the poor girl’s fault, more often than not she is paid a meagre salary, treated badly, receives little training, and knowing no better is bound to look dreadful and act accordingly. These women do not understand that a servant girl, in appearance and attitude, should reflect the social standing of her employer. The more presentable and decorous the servant girl the more highly regarded friends and guests alike will view her mistress after all no lady wishes to be embarrassed by a clumsy, ungainly girl in her service. In her social circle she would soon become the subject of gossip as a woman incapable of training a maid properly.
Naturally I have always prided myself on the standard of servant girls I have employed and despite the recent dearth of suitable applicants I have never been tempted to compromise on standards, my most recent girl, Sarah, being a good example. When I interviewed her it was obvious that she wished to improve her prospects as she had been in service for almost a year with an employer of the type I have described. From the moment she walked through the door it was also evident that the surroundings she now found herself in were far superior that her former employer’s residence. Of course from the address on her letter of reference I had already suspected this. Her appearance and mannerisms left me with the impression that she lacked the qualities I required in a housemaid. However she was genuinely deferential and despite her lack of poise there was a certain something, perhaps it was her eagerness to improve herself or her lack of guile, whatever it was I felt I could do worse than employ her. It is in my nature to relish a challenge and I suspect the idea of training a girl to be an ideal housemaid was what motivated me to take her on. I consider such an enterprise a little like training a pony from scratch to compete in a dressage event. Both processes require a lot of patience, a firm hand and plenty of discipline.
After a few weeks my methods had borne fruit as I knew they would and the improvement was quite evident. Her ungainly, almost masculine, stride was replaced by a smooth feminine gait, her awkwardness supplanted by a degree of assurance found in a more experienced servant girl. However all was not plain sailing and there were occasions where the girl found it difficult to accept certain aspects of her training. This is a crucial point in the employer-servant relationship and if the lady does not impose her authority immediately and with conviction it is likely the girl will lose respect for her mistress. And like an unruly, ill disciplined pony in training a short sharp lesson in discipline is required- entirely in the girl’s best interests of course. Recourse to such corrective action is unfortunate but entirely necessary if a girl is to attain the proper standard required to serve in a household of repute and social standing. Sarah was indeed developing into an excellent maid, diligent, trustworthy, loyal and most of all obedient and I was just beginning to train her as a lady’s maid when most disappointingly for family reasons she had to leave quite suddenly which left me in my current predicament.
And then…? Well… then the Fates having deprived me of a well trained servant were generous enough to present me with William.
And now reading my diary entries -not that I need to as my recall of these events and the conversations that took place are as vivid as if they occurred merely minutes ago. I initially dismissed the very idea of employing a male in any role however I quickly came to realise what a wonderful opportunity this was. Every lady takes pride in moulding a girl into what she considers the perfect maidservant but how many could say that they transformed a young male into that very same perfect maidservant. I suddenly saw the vision in front of me. A callow youth trussed up in a maid’s prim uniform with a fussy apron and cap! It would be like owning one’s own exotic pet, like a young ocelot or leopard but unlike those beautiful animals this particular creature would not be in any way dangerous. Quite the opposite in fact. I imagined he would be, perhaps a little bit disorientated and confused at first but with an authoritative presence in control he would quickly learn how to behave and comport himself as a girl. Yes, being in possession of such a darling, feminised male would make me the envy of my friends, not to mention Mother and those dreadful bridge partners of hers. Why on earth did I not think of this before? In the back of my mind I suppose I did suspect there would be unexpected problems but surely nothing that insurmountable.
Training a young, gauche and inexperienced girl to be a competent and presentable housemaid can be a demanding experience but transforming a young male into a female domestic servant is quite another order of magnitude and would surely test even my abilities. But the very thought of doing something so outrageous excited me beyond belief. The male sex does not instil fear, worry, or any similar emotion in me, quite the opposite in fact and on several occasions I have reduced some wealthy and powerful men to blubbering wrecks in a matter of minutes. Nevertheless a venture such as this is quite, quite different and would require a more delicate, circumspect approach. Now that I had set my mind on feminising the young man the last thing I wanted was is to allow him to escape. Of course as every woman knows the chains used to tether and control a male do not have to be made of iron or steel, those fashioned from silk and satin can be far more effective. But the most effective shackles for a male are those deposited in his mind by a woman of intelligence and authority. Within a short time I fully expect he will be bound and tethered by these invisible chains and will find himself under feminine control.
In William’s case an offer of comfortable and luxurious accommodation plus a salary he could only dream about was more than enough to entice him. But the promise, slightly disingenuous perhaps, of an introduction to my very good friend the ninth Marchioness of Dunraven was an added incentive to a young man who wished to further his career which I believe is in some archaic academic field. At least it was before he lost his position at the university and is now practically destitute. Naturally the poor dear was completely seduced by my proposal yet his delicate and finely featured face betrayed emotional turmoil and I knew all he needed was a firm hand to guide him in the right direction. Before he had time to consider the full implications of accepting my offer I had him sit at my dressing table and moving quickly and decisively I had applied a little make- up, nothing too much, some light foundation , the lightest coat of pale pink lipstick before fitting a short bob style wig on his head. The feminising effect on his already soft appearance was quite extraordinary and had quite an effect on both of us, in different ways of course. His reaction was somewhere between shock and confusion by just how feminine his face looked whereas mine was one of delight. Such a transformation by the application of a few cosmetics would make his transition to a female domestic so much more manageable. And although not possessing the most typical feminine face he was certainly far pettier than some of my friends’ housemaids, indeed some of my friends come to that.
To my embarrassment I have to confess that the entire enterprise was making me more than a little excited both emotionally and physically as I could feel a familiar and not unpleasant sensation building inside me forcing me to turn away from him and allow my hand to temporarily ease the mounting tension. Eventually I could stand it no longer and still wearing his make -up and wig I dispatched him to his quarters suggesting a little time alone would allow him to familiarise himself with his new surroundings. Of course this was entirely for my benefit as it would allow me to administer much needed relief and change my lingerie and foundations which by now were becoming quite damp.
His mind still in a state of extreme confusion the poor boy left the room and knowing his disorientation would not last long I quickly unbuttoned my skirt, unhooked my stockings and removed my girdle with the usual struggle such formidable garments demand and without delay lay on my bed’s deep satin quilt. Closing my eyes I allowed my imagination free rein as to the control I would exert over my new ‘girl’, how I would relieve him of his masculinity replacing it with a suitable feminine persona and in the process mould him into the ideal maidservant. I could no longer defy my womanly desires and my fingers, well used to the task, expertly administered the necessary balm to the most private of regions. As Mr. O. Wilde would have put it –‘I can resist anything but temptation.’
Under normal circumstances I would have performed the act in a more relaxed and leisurely manner however I suspected that William’s bewilderment would not last long and I wanted him fully dressed as a maid and completely under my control before he had time to consider the full implications of agreeing to my terms. A few pleasurable minutes and some stifled moans later, satisfaction having been achieved and aware I could not afford the time for a bath I sponged myself and selecting another girdle stepped into it and with the usual struggle pulled and tugged it up my legs and over my hips. I rolled my stocking up my legs and attached to the dangling garters. A little breathless from my efforts I began fastening the hooks and eyes, feeling the heavy elastic slowly constrict my stomach with each closure before finally and with the usual difficulty pulling the zipper’s slider all the way to the top. A maid is quite invaluable in such an intimate situation and as I concluded my tussle with the powerful garment and taking a few moments to acclimatise to its tight embrace I allowed myself a smile knowing that this would be the last time I would have to struggle into my foundations alone.
Most women have an intimate familiarity with restrictive corsetry having been introduced to them by their mothers or aunts and despite some initial discomfort soon come to accept them as part of our daily lives. Confining and constricting as they may be they nevertheless help to instil a sense of moral character in the wearer. Confronted with an occasion where she is tempted to surrender to her base desires a well designed foundation garment will temper such cravings, as access to one’s most intimate parts would require considerable time and effort to remove or indeed even allow adequate access to one’s fingers. I do not usually engage in such spontaneous intimate activity so naturally I considered my most recent exertions to be quite acceptable as these were very exceptional circumstances. Males on the other hand have no such inhibiting factor and lacking any shred of moral fibre and are incapable of any restraint whatsoever. If fact I am reliably informed they engage in frequent self-gratification not unlike barnyard animals.
I have long thought that the ideal solution for such disgusting behaviour already exists. A male, persuaded or compelled to wear suitably constrictive female corsetry that would deny immediate access to his genitalia, would greatly benefit from the experience. The restrictive nature of the garment would not only prevent such bestial conduct but help him to appreciate what women endure on a daily basis.
Of course I never thought I would get the chance to witness such transformative process but having control over it and by extension the male was a most satisfying prospect.
After settling my satin lavender slip into place I quickly pulled on my skirt and blouse before slipping into my heels and sat at the dressing table to check my appearance, after my little pleasurable exertions my hair and make-up would require a little attention. Brushing my hair my thoughts once again drifted to my new servant and I considered just how easy it was to transform his face into a more feminine version. Could I complete the illusion, denature him and remodel him as a girl? Suppress his masculinity, eradicate it altogether perhaps? Train him to walk, talk and act like a female?
As I finished refreshing my lipstick I caught my own gaze and smiled and said out loud,
“Of course I could.”
Standing up I inspected myself in the mirror and I must say I was quite pleased with the effect my new girdle had on my figure, my waist was quite trim and my derriere had a most pleasing aspect to it. Of course these improvements did not come without a certain degree of discomfiture but now gazing at the result a little twinge here and there was an acceptable price to pay. I comforted myself with the knowledge that in a few moments a young male would come to experience similar hardship. However the discomfort would be nothing against the utter humiliation he would experience of wearing female corsetry not to mention entering domestic service as a uniformed housemaid. I suddenly realised he had no appropriate underwear and from one of the tallboys quickly retrieved several old girdles that were unfortunately now a size or two too small for me.
“Brassieres” I blurted out loud and laughed at the idea of a young man forced to wear such a particularly feminine garment “Of course every girl wears brassiere.”
I set about my task with glee and in a moment I had assembled a neat yet substantial array of foundation wear and lingerie including stockings and slips.
“Any housemaid would be delighted to receive such a gift from her mistress.”I giggled “But I doubt if my one will.”
I confess the idea of exerting such control over a male was quite exhilarating but glancing at the clock on the bedside table I decided I had no time to revel in my good fortune and had better join my new ‘girl’ before he had a change of mind. As I gave the mirror a brief glance to ensure the seams of my stockings were straight and my slip wasn’t showing and as reached the door I had the oddest thought. I began to wonder what was going that delightfully befuddled little male brain of his.
****** ***********************
Entering the room the young man remained in a state of confusion, his back leaning against the door it took him some time before he even began to realise where exactly he was. The mid morning sun had bathed the room in a warm and golden light and eventually a beam finally managed to filter into the depths of his brain. Although still somewhat dazed and a little lightheaded he looked about the room. Spacious and airy there was a two-seater sofa positioned close to the bay window, a large and deep wardrobe with a matching tallboy were situated on one side of the room, an antique mahogany dressing table with a large circular mirror stood at the opposite side of the room its padded seat tucked neatly under it. The large bed with its frilled satin quilt in a delicate oyster shade and matching pillows dominated the room, a sizable and ornate Ottoman stood at the end of the bed. The aroma from the two large vases of yellow, orange red and peach roses filled the room with a distinctly feminine scent. The presence of a member of the male sex would be distinctly out of place in such a setting. There was no doubt this was a woman’s room.
The room’s singular occupant was slowly becoming only too well aware of this and from across the room the reflection of the soft, delicate yet perplexed face in the dressing table mirror suggested that this ambiance of feminine harmony was in no way upset by a manly presence. Although the tranquillity and balance of the room was not disturbed the same could not be said about the owner of the reflection. The figure moved slowly and silently over the various deep Turkish rugs to the dressing table and as if to test reality itself a hand reached out to touch the surface of the mirror, the image suddenly changed and became a mixture of astonishment and angst. Stepping closer to examine the reflection the hand now gently touched the soft pink lipstick that glazed the lips before stroking the dark brown hair sculpted in a fashionable bob style. With the slightest movement of the head the thick hair grazed the cheeks and the reflection jerked noticeably.
It was no wonder the feminine image staring out from the mirror appeared more than a little perturbed and anxious as this was not the usual way William Smallhorne encountered his face.
“What has Ms Goodbody done?” His cracking voice broke the silence, his eyes unable to draw themselves away as, both fascinated and unnerved; he continued to stare into the mirror. His hands rhythmically and hypnotically stroked the beautifully coiffed wig and almost immediately restated the question, “What have I done?”
Finally he managed to avert his gaze and standing up looked about the room and marvelled at just how the light filled the room making it even more alluring, everything seemed so perfect from the tasteful furnishings to the softness and elegance of the drapes and bed linen. Touching the heavy satin quilt his hand immediately recoiled as if an electrical shock had been applied but he was so bewitched by the fabric he once more stroked the smooth material and felt a shiver run down his spine. He quickly withdrew his fingers as if suddenly afraid of something but could not make out just exactly what.
As the fog in his brain began to clear he gradually became more acutely aware of just how alien his surroundings felt. He stepped slowly, tentatively, almost timidly about the room afraid that the slightest sound would somehow awaken the room’s slumbering femininity. A faint yet distinct bouquet of perfume seeped into his nostrils which began to unsettle his masculinity, he moved quickly but lightly across the room trying to avoid the womanly scent. Stopping at the large ornate wardrobe an unusual curiosity came over him and with a slight hesitation he gently opened the heavy doors and gasped.
Confirmation that this was not only a woman’s room but also that of a servant was staring him in the face. Approximately one third of the wardrobe was taken up by black dresses with white collars and cuffs, another third with grey and light blue dresses in a similar style, the remaining third just had empty hangers which he presumed were for the maid’s street clothes. She obviously had taken them when she left Ms Goodbody’s service although he did notice several pairs of black patent leather shoes of varying heelheights which he assumed may have been too bulky to pack. Before he even realised it he found his hand stroking one of the black dresses and marvelled at the softness of the material some velvet some linen and he once more became aware of the faint smell of perfume. He leaned into the dress and inhaled the slight but still recognizable fragrance, he wasn’t quite sure if it was lilies, lavender or something equally floral, whatever it was he found it mildly intoxicating. Suddenly he became conscious of his new hair brushing against his cheeks and constantly falling over his eyes in the most irritating way, it was only after he placed the offending section of hair behind each ear he recognised this particular reaction as a peculiarly feminine trait and one he had noticed girls doing in similar situations.
He felt his face flush with embarrassment and the thought of fleeing sprang into his flustered head his hands reached for the wig but as he was about to remove it the elegance and understated luxury of the room suddenly loomed large in front of him.
What am I going back to? he asked himself as a vision of the small and grotty rooms he was occupying flashed into his brain. This was the accommodation he could just about afford when he was employed however losing his present employment meant he would be no longer able to manage the rent and would be forced to move into even more squalid lodgings.
“And that dreadful hostel I now have to move into is even worse.” he complained out loud in a quiet but bitter voice.
The full realisation of his dreadful situation and the offer of escape from such distressed circumstances was now fully crystallising in his brain. Of course he had been in difficult predicaments before but nothing had prepared him for such a terrible dilemma. He knew he could, even now, renege on his agreement to enter employment as Ms Good body’s servant but looking about the room he could see all of what he would lose.
And it wasn’t just this particular room, everything about the house was enticing. The spacious vestibule with its wide glided stairway leading upstairs, the large and tastefully decorated drawing room, the magnificently furnished library, the many and varied valuable artworks displayed discreetly almost casually throughout the house, the beautifully appointed bedrooms. His miserable rooms seemed so far away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if to inhale the very essence of the house, to allow its elegance and grandeur wash over him. It was as if he was being seduced and there was no reason to resist… except the most obvious one which he was struggling to come to terms with.
“But it’s such a beautiful, cultured house.” he felt he had to say it out loud as if to justify his leanings.
Standing at the open wardrobe the fog of confusion once again rolled back into his brain and he watched, almost as a mere spectator, as his hands reached for one of the grey uniform dresses from the rail, slowly removing it and in a daze he holding it up to his body. His eyes could not avoid the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe and he stood transfixed at the image, his face a combination of consternation and wonder. Somewhere in his mind there was an exasperated voice vying for attention and although the word disgust echoed in his ears the accompanying emotion was not evident. Bewilderment- yes, a certain disorientation –of course, embarrassment- certainly, yet strangely he felt an absence of outright revulsion.
“A female servant.” he lamented in a quiet, crestfallen, almost accepting voice as if the reflection staring back at him was an embarrassing friend appearing unannounced at a party.
Where is your
self-respect, man? the vexatious voice made another attempt for his
attention. Leave now.
“But it would only be for a few weeks.” he answered the invisible presence quietly as he turned slightly sideways to view the dress from a different angle. “Two months at most. A month’s salary is more than I would make in six months.”
Money! Is that all you…
“And of course, an introduction to the Marchioness of Dunraven.” he continued, ignoring the protest inside his head as he tried to establish whether the hem would fall just above or just below the knee.
I think it will
probably be just below the knee. a softer, more encouraging voice replaced
the belligerent one. You always like
girls who wore that style.
This is wrong. You
really must stop and leave. the first voice re-emerged, the tone now more
urgent, almost pleading, otherwise you will lose your…
“Y…yes …I…” he murmured suddenly becoming aware of the dress he was holding against himself “I know.
He felt a slight but noticeable tremor in his knees and his hands began trembling so much so that he found it difficult to replace the dress on the wardrobe’s rail and laid it on the bed. He felt the need to sit but the sudden realisation of what he had done disconcerted him and he wanted to put distance between him and the dress. Making his way unsteadily to the dressing table he sat down and gazed blankly into the mirror. The soft, lightly made-up face stared back and although he found the transformation of his face somewhat unsettling he was equally fascinated at how the application of a small amount of cosmetics could alter his appearance so much. It was quite remarkable how the make-up had shifted the emphasis of his features, his cheeks were more pronounced, his eyes seemed larger, there was of course a masculine element to his face but under the make –up it was not immediately obvious. They appeared less prominent and his countenance now had taken on a decidedly more feminine hue, the pale pink lipstick having removed any lingering expression of masculinity.
By normal standards the reflection could not be considered a beauty in the classical sense, the nose was a tad too strong, the eyes set slightly too wide perhaps, eyebrows far too hirsute for a young woman and the chin more solid than a girl would ask for. However for all these individual minor flaws there was nonetheless something quite appealing about the face, the graceful jaw line, smooth, unblemished skin even under the light make up, pale blue eyes that radiated innocence and full generous lips now beautifully enhanced by the lipstick. There was a distinct prettiness, an understated attractiveness that may not have been entirely obvious at first glance but on closer, prolonged inspection was there for all to see.
Captivated by the figure in the glass William was barely aware of the hand rising up to touch his face.
I must say I like the
way your hair frames your face, that style really does suit you. the softer
voice returned, but perhaps you need to
brush it out to get the full effect.
He only became aware of the brush in his hands when he saw it slowly stroking the hair.
See, it does make you look prettier. he heard the whisper in his head say.
You have to stop this now. The more strident voice surfaced yet again to raise an objection.
Oh do stay quiet!
the gentler voice issued a firm admonishment.
But… a protest was attempted.
Yes, yes we know, you
have already made your ridiculous point. The soothing dulcet tone was
replaced but something much firmer and more than a little irate. Now why don’t you just retreat to your man
cave and leave us girls alone.
I really must protest
… yet another valiant defence at reason was mounted but as
quickly dismissed.
Go…now, before I lose my temper. The gentleness had gone and a distinct iciness had crept into the previously soft voice.
William suddenly became aware of the silence, the ticking of clock on the mantelpiece sounded like alternating funereal drum beats. In the stillness of the room his eyes darted from the mirror to his surroundings, he did this several times and slowly came to the realisation that in such a feminine room the face in the mirror did not seem in the least incongruous. The shabby and threadbare clothes –yes, but the fashionably bobbed hairstyle, the discreetly made-up face and perfectly lipsticked mouth were not in the least out of place in such a feminine setting.
Now, where were we?
The voice, much calmer now, returned. Ah
yes, your hair. A more feminine style makes such a difference and of course In
a few weeks your own hair will probably be long enough to fashion into an
equally chic cut. Although I suppose when it does a simple chignon would look
most appropriate for your new position.
“Emm… I…I’m not really…”he stammered, seemingly unaware of speaking to an empty room.
I thought your new gray uniform really suited you, did you notice it brought out the colour of your eyes. The voice gushed.
“Uniform…I’m… not sure…it’s just that…”he babbled incoherently as the voice quickly added,
And at least you won’t have
to hide our little secret anymore.
“But…you know…that…that wasn’t ” he spluttered ,his voice cracking and suddenly becoming quite emotional.
Yes ,yes, I know, we
were almost penniless and had to do something ,he heard the slightly
impatient reply No need to get upset, these things happen, it’s no one’s fault. Now why
don’t you brush your hair, girls say it calms them when they get very
emotional.
He looked blankly into the mirror and tried to calm himself.
“I didn’t know that would happen.” he whispered as if he was sharing some great confidence.
It won’t matter now. Go on, brush your hair, it will make you feel more relaxed, came the consoling reply
Distracted and a little perturbed he raised the ivory handled brush to his unfamiliar hair and after the first two strokes he was surprised to find he did feel a little calmer. As he tilted his head to brush the other side of his hair his eyes caught sight of the uniform he had left on the bed and despite his best efforts to avert his gaze he was inexplicably drawn to it. Staring long and hard at the pristine grey uniform he let down the brush on the dressing table and moved to the bed , in a trancelike state he picked it up and holding the dress to his body and felt the slight tremble return to his knees.
“Maybe Ms Goodbody will change her mind about insisting on me wearing a…”he whispered unable to bring himself to mention the word ‘uniform’ that would undoubtedly induce humiliation on a level no male should ever experience.
Uniform. The voice helpfully suggested. A housemaid’s uniform. There’s no shame in that, every servant girl wears one. It’s a small price to pay for all this and a handsome salary.
Becoming quite fretful he made his way to the dressing table and remembering how it alleviated his angst he picked up the brush once more and began brushing his hair.
Better? He heard the soft voice ask.
“Yes.” he replied quietly, a calmness settling on him as the brush moved through the hair.
*****************************************
One of the many privileges of being the mistress of the house is one doesn’t have to knock on doors before entering. Using this prerogative I quietly turned the handle and silently slipped inside my new housemaid’s bedroom and observed the girlish figure seated at the dressing table. It was at an angle that he was unable to detect my presence and so I stood silently and observed him. I occasionally and in a very discreet manner monitor my servant girls, I make no apology for this as the lady of the house must be as informed as possible with regard to what occupies their maids’ time even for the few hours they are not attending their mistress. A servant girl can quite easily waste their time on such frivolous yet dangerous nonsense as reading gossip magazines or cheap romantic novels which may lead to licentious thoughts and result in the girl becoming a little too excited for her own good. In turn this will inevitably compel the girl to satisfy her urgent physical needs. I suspect most right thinking people would recognise that due to the heavy burden of responsibility their social position requires well bred ladies from time to time need to administer a degree of relief to themselves. However in the hands, no pun intended, of the servant class there is no doubt that such ministrations would lead to moral and physical turpitude. And of course such wanton and oversexed acts are to be greatly discouraged in the lower orders after all they have such little self-control and no doubt would easily become enslaved to their base desires, as we see so often in the opposite sex. A constantly overly- excited housemaid would be unable concentrate on her duties and no lady likes to have a girl in such a giddy state flitting about the house like a cat in heat. This is why I and many ladies in my social circle are strong advocates of robust and sturdy foundation garments for female servants.
There is overwhelming evidence that this problem in the male is much, much worse but I expect the solution is the same and once secured in restrictive foundations the male will be unable to interfere with himself. Oh… the very thought is far too ghastly to contemplate.
These were some of the thought going through my head as I observed the young man -strange to refer to a housemaid as a young man but such is the unusual arrangement I have made with this youth- and to my great surprise I discovered he was carefully brushing the medium length bob style wig I had placed on his head. He did this in a manner so distinctly feminine it both surprised and amused me and I wondered how quickly it would take him to fully assimilate a female persona.
I heard little snatches of what sounded like conversations he seemed to be having with himself, the poor boy was obviously completely stunned by the situation he found himself in. Not wishing to startle him more than necessary I opened and closed the door to alert him to my presence.
“I’m so glad to see you are settling in.” I said breezily as I made my way into the room and strode purposely to the bed to deposit his new underwear collection.
His eyes were fixed on the bundle in my hands, he passed no comment but began to rise from his seat.
“No need to get up.” I said graciously although I ensured my tone suggested it was an instruction rather than a suggestion. I walked slowly to the dressing table and I confess my heart was beating faster than usual , standing over him and lightly placing my hand on his shoulder reinforcing my dominance. I immediately pressed home my advantage and taking the brush from his hand I quickly added “Here let me help you.
Naturally it is unheard of for a lady to brush her maid’s hair but this was not the world turned upside down, this was yet another exercise in asserting control. As I stood behind him our eyes briefly met in the mirror’s reflection before his promptly dropped and a look of subservience came over his tender features.
A sign I took that my authority would not be questioned.
“For a woman brushing one’s hair is extremely important.” I said seriously as I applied the brush to the hair and noticed a tiny yet perceptible wince around his mouth yet there was no protest “It distributes the hair’s natural oils and prevents breakage and damage. Most important for a lady or girl to have her hair look its best, don’t you think, William?”
There was a brief silence where I’m sure he was trying to consider the best answer to avoid agreeing as this would mean admitting to me and indeed himself he was now considered a member of my own sex. He must have seen the flicker of impatience appear in my face and he finally answered.
“Yes Ms Goodbody.” he eventually replied.
“Madam.” I corrected him.
“Yes… of course Madam.” he immediately responded “I’m sorry Madam.”
“Quite all right William you are new to domestic service.” I smiled genially quickly added in a slightly more serious voice “But please remember you must always address me as Madam. It can be most tedious to have to admonish one’s maid on how to address their mistress. You do understand?”
“Yes Madam.” he answered promptly this time, due to the mild rebuke I suspect. I noticed he appeared to be more concerned about not upsetting me than being reminded of his new position.
“Of course there are no natural oils in your ‘new hair’.”I continued in a voice although amiable nevertheless conveyed the unchallengeable supremacy of my role in the relationship “But you must wash it every day and ensure it is brushed properly under your cap.”
He flinched at the mention of the word ‘cap’and from his sunken shoulders and downcast countenance I could see a protest would not be forthcoming but I envisaged he may make an appeal or beseech me in some way. It was obvious that the poor dear although resigned to his fate was nonetheless conflicted but did not have the audacity to request an exemption to the wearing of a maid’s uniform. When there was none forthcoming I was quite pleased and added with a smile as I continued to brush the hair.
“After all, the last thing a mistress wants is an unkempt or bedraggled girl.”
He gave no answer, presumably not wishing to endorse my view of him as a newly minted member of the weaker sex. But it was important that he was left in no doubt as to how he was to be viewed. I pressed him once more.
“Isn’t that right William?”
There was subtle yet sufficient command in my tone to bring him to his senses.
“Yes Ms… “ he replied but quickly, and to my pleasure, corrected himself. “Yes Madam.”
Girls entering domestic service usually have difficulty getting used to the rules and regulations that now govern their lives. The requirement to wear a uniform complete with cap and apron appears to be an affront to them which to any lady seems ridiculous, after all if a maid did not wear a uniform how else could one distinguish between mistress and servant. Domestic service has a way of instilling discipline and subservience in girls and wearing a uniform is the key to achieving this and thankfully for most after a few weeks they quietly accept it.
No doubt such feelings are only secondary to the young man, after all the humiliation of having to wear female clothing must far out- weigh the prospect of becoming a domestic servant. I could never understand this as I have never had feelings of shame or embarrassment when I wear trousers and waistcoats or even the Panama hats I wear on occasion.
“Now stand up and take off those clothes, it’s time I think you got dressed.” I said in a matter of fact tone as if I did this every day and when he hesitated my voice betrayed my irritation. “Go to the bed and remove your clothes…now. And please don’t be bashful I see this all the time in my art class so it’s not as if it’s something I’ve never seen before.”
Clearly intimidated he began remove his clothes, first his shoes, then his trousers revealing navy underwear clearly the worse for wear and before discarding these he turned his back. I noticed that his behind although firm appeared a little on the large side, not badly unlike the female derriere.
A girdle will give that a wonderful shape. I thought to myself as he finally removed his shirt.
“Oh for heaven’s sake do turn around you silly girl.” I snapped a little impatiently.
Turning around I could understand the hand on his genitals but why was did his left arm cover his chest. Moving closer I took his left hand and tried to remove it but he kept it firmly clasped to his chest.
“I won’t bite you William.” I said calmly noticing the heightened anxiety in his pale blue eyes and gently taking his hand I removed the arm from his chest.
I, and indeed my friends, had seen quite a number of nude male bodies at my art class, we giggled in amusement at the small, shy penises, gasped in horror at the length and girth of those ghastly large ones, were quite disgusted at the hairiness of the male but none of us had never seen a pair of pert almost perfectly formed mammary glands on a male. Of course they were small and not what one would remotely describe as a normal female bosom but nevertheless they were distinctly feminine. I immediately thought of Constance and Moira, two of my dear friends, whose breasts that are not much bigger and yet with the appropriate lingerie and the addition of enhancements in the cups of their brassieres manage to compete in this area with us larger girls.
Naturally I was taken aback and when I gathered myself I felt pleasantly surprised however I could see that the young man was becoming somewhat upset. The thought crossed my mind that in a fit of panic he may gather up his clothes and bolt for the door and I had visions of him dressing himself in fits and starts as he tried to escape.
“I…it… I…” an unintelligible babble sprang from his mouth.
“There is no need to be upset or ashamed, dear boy.” I reassured him and taking his hand led him to the bed and sat him down and caressed his cheek before sitting next to him. I could see now how he disguised his feminine bosom, the breasts though well rounded were smallish and wearing a loose fitting shirt and a thick vest under it would provide adequate camouflage.
I smiled benevolently at him, “Now why don’t you tell me all about it?”
Of course I was aware of the financial difficulties he had found himself in, he had explained those earlier, but what he had not divulged was one of the ways he had proposed solving them. It appears for a generous stipend he had taken part in clinical trials of an experimental drug at his university’s biochemistry department. The money had helped greatly but when he began experiencing the side effects, the professor directing the experiment was intrigued and was most eager that he continue with the trial so she could monitor the developments. He became alarmed when she informed him it was probable the breasts would remain for several months and possibly grow a little larger before reducing and disappearing altogether. The professor was keen for him to continue with the trial where she and her team could observe the drug’s progress and the effects it had on his nascent mammary glands. It was at this juncture, only a few days ago, he panicked and left the trial.
“It was dreadful, they…”he lamented.
Naked and vulnerable and displaying a most unmanly chest I felt it opportune to once again stamp my authority on the poor dear. It may seem cruel but I felt it most important that he understood the correct formalities should be observed, even under such distressing circumstances- well, for him of I suppose as I found the situation most satisfactory.
“Madam.” I gently corrected him.
“Yes Madam.” he answered without hesitation and in a tone that was quite deferential.
Although I did not show it I was thrilled at the way without indignation he readily accepted my correction and even though he probably didn’t realise it -my position as his mistress. The shock at revealing his embarrassing secret only seemed to enhance his subservience. The threat of escape had disappeared.
“It was dreadful , Madam.” he continued seemingly wishing to unburden himself of the ordeal he had experienced, naturally I nodded sympathetically to encourage him to persist in his revelations, “The professor and her team examined me everyday measuring and feeling…”he faltered for a moment and gestured to his pert breasts before resuming “them. It was so demeaning.”
“Surely the men present were sympathetic?” I asked.
“The professor’s team were all female, Madam” he almost sobbed “Some of them insisted on tweaking my nipples, saying it was necessary in order to gauge any psychological as well as physiological reaction but I didn’t really see how that was relevant.
”Oh, you poor boy.” I said, feigning a supportive, almost affectionate voice and patting his hand in empathy, I wanted to feel his breasts and rub the nipples myself but I thought this would alarm him even more.
Plenty of time for that later, my boy. I smiled to myself but I ensured my face displayed a sufficient degree of empathy.
“Others wanted to see if my…my…”he continued becoming even more upset.
“Your manhood?” I suggested helpfully, quietly picking up a suitable white brassiere from the selection I had left on the bed.
“Yes..yes...”he confirmed “They wanted to know if it had…” he averted his eyes as he said quietly and struggled to utter the words.
“”Shrivelled?” I offered helpfully and his eyes filled up, I suppose in retrospect I could have chosen a word that was more tactful.
His eyes dropped to the floor he could only nod his confirmation.
“That’s terrible.” I fibbed and quietly slipping his left arm through one of the brassiere’s straps “Dreadful girls. I hope you complained them to the professor.”
“Yes.” he replied becoming a little less emotional, no doubt as a result of my empathetic reaction and I discerned almost a note of pride in his act of defiance against his inquisitors and as he prattled on self obsessively the way males do about how he lodged his objection with the professor. I gently slid his right arm into the other strap and as he was still talking as I fastened the last hook into the corresponding eye.
“Of course you were perfectly right.” I agreed, naturally not having listened to a word he said as I adjusted the straps and cups to my satisfaction adding for effect “Scandalous behaviour.”
He was so immersed relaying this convoluted tale that I’m not sure he realised he was now wearing a brassiere.
“Now how does that feel?” I asked making some final adjustments to the cups.
He looked down and now suddenly realised what he was wearing, even under his make-up I could see he had gone slightly pale.
“You were probably feeling a little tender and felt a pull on your chest? ”I asked although I made it sound more of a statement of fact. I looked him in the eye before continuing “Your brassiere will greatly alleviate that and you will feel much more comfortable as you go about your duties.”
The effect of this most feminine of garments was immediate and not only silenced and overwhelmed him but also distinctly seemed to subdue any aura of masculinity that remained. Perhaps it was the light falling on his face, maybe it was the brassiere and make-up or possibly it was me wishing it to be so, but his face now appeared to take on a much more feminine aspect. Whatever it was I knew it had to be captured and secured immediately, a male maid was far too precious a prize to let slip through my fingers.
“Yes it probably is a few sizes too big for you but we’ll pad it out later.” I said pragmatically as if this was an everyday occurrence for him as he was seemingly still a little dazed by his new brassiere I quickly produced a pair of silk white panties and handed them to him. Seeing the hesitancy on his face I glanced at his shrunken and wilted organ and said in a tone which perhaps may have been a little too disdainful,
“Unless of course you would prefer to remain au natural?”
Turning away from me, he sheepishly stepped into my panties and as he went to resume his place on the bed I intervened.
“Oh we’re not nearly finished my girl.” I informed him brusquely as I reached for a long, heavy, high-waisted open bottom girdle from the bed.
I examined his face for any hint of protest or anger at being referred to as a female but the panties and brassiere appeared to be siphoning away any belligerent masculine behaviour.
Remarkable! I told myself, What
we women wear everyday and think nothing of, has such a debilitating effect of
the alleged stronger sex. Looking at him now I doubt if he has the audacity to
even shuffle to the door never mind run. Although probably best not count my
chickens until he’s aproned and capped.
“Your girdle.” I proclaimed handing him the hefty item of foundation wear and watched him look at it in horror which I readily concede gave me such a marvellous thrill. I knew once he was safely secured within its tight embrace the rest of transformation would progress easily however he was so bewildered he just stood there gazing at the formidable garment. It was time once more to assert my authority and as every lady knows servant girls respond well to a firm, authoritative voice.
“Come along, we have not got all day. I suppose you’ve never worn one of these so take careful note. I spoke sharply taking the girdle from him, and holding it out in front of him I unzipped it to reveal the hooks and eyes hidden beneath the zipper, before handing it back to him. “Now step into it and pull it all the way up to just below your brassiere, then fasten the hooks into the eyes before pulling up the zip.”
He looked from the garment to me, his mouth just about to utter something. I furrowed my brow producing a well practiced look of irritation. Women who retain servant girls require immediate compliance with their instructions and generally become quite annoyed when any hesitancy is shown. Obviously I was not annoyed, I was far too excited, but like a dawdling pony a sharp reminder was needed.
“Now!” I snapped.
It had an immediate effect and he quickly obeyed. I watched him step into my girdle and felt yet another frisson of excitement. My heart began to beat faster as I observed him struggle to pull up the unfamiliar garment and I wished some of my friends were here to witness it. As he finally had the girdle in position I thought he had better put on stockings before he fastened the hooks and eyes, even a woman would find it difficult to put on stocking in such restrictive foundations. I had him sit on the bed and told him sternly to take note of what I was doing and taking the first stocking I worked my way down the material with my thumbs and fingers gathering the nylon as I went until I got to the stocking’s toe before sliding it over his foot and gently worked the material up his leg to his thigh and attached the front two garters to the stocking top.
“You’re legs are not quite as hairy as I would have thought but they will need to be waxed at some stage.” I said running my finger along the skin of the other leg before turning back to him “Now you try…and be careful if you snag the material you will ruin it. And that is most irritating, a stocking run is not something a lady likes to see.”
I gave him a serious look before adding “Do you understand?”
Partially dressed in my girdle and brassiere he looked extremely flustered and emotionally overcome so even though I was not expecting a rebellion as such I was delighted when he nodded his head and replied,
“Yes Madam.”
I’m not sure whether he is a quick learner or my sombre demeanour was the inducement he required but he put on the second stocking exactly the way I had shown him. Of course he struggled a little with the garters at the back of the girdle but eventually managed to anchor the stocking securely. As a reward I gave him a smile of encouragement and patted him on the head.
“That’s a good girl.”
There was a slight yet visible wince on his face at the mention of the word ‘girl’ but if there was any hint of an objection it passed immediately.
“Now fasten your girdle just like I told you.” I said gesturing to the hooks and eyes.
It was utterly wonderful to see a male writhe and grimace just like we do as the girdle, with the clasping of each little hook the girdle slowly performed its unforgiving function and squeezed him remorselessly and his pathetic little whimpering only added to my delight. Of course the coup de grace was the closure of the zipper which naturally I insisted on doing and as I slowly pulled it up increasing his constriction he gasped.
“Oh…please…Madam…”he mewled as I began.
“Oh don’t be such a baby.” I admonished him as he squirmed and wriggled as the zipper made it to half-way. “You’re lucky I didn’t put you into one a size smaller, but if you continue complaining I most certainly will.”
“I’m…I’m… sorry, Madam.” he bleated, the discomfiture etched on his face yet it was also clear from his expression that he was quite alarmed at the idea that there was something even more unpleasant waiting for him if he continued to express his distress in such an annoying manner.
Apart from a stray snivel which I graciously allowed him without further reprimand he somehow managed to remain silent while I completed the task, it was obvious his new underwear was causing him as much mental as physical discomfort.
“That’s a good girl.” I praised him once more as I finished and gave him a patronising pat on his newly girdled backside but I suspect he was too preoccupied with the ignominy of his new corsetry that the gesture was lost on him. “You may not have known or perhaps not wished to acknowledge it but the trial drug has not only altered your chest but has also put weight on your buttocks.”
The slightly baggy trouser he wore when he first walked through my door now made sense. With some amusement I watched him wriggle and fidget with the girdle trying without success to alleviate his discomfort.
“You’ll get used to wearing them.” I snorted derisively “All women do …eventually.”
Pointing to the various items on the bed I told him to fetch a black satin slip and put it on. He appeared only too eager it comply as I suspect standing in front of woman on the cusp of middle age wearing her corsetry was quite the humiliating experience. Any additional covering would be most welcome even if it was a ladies petticoat however once he picked up the item of lingerie he seemed equally stupefied by the garment’s soft feminine material . After fumbling with it for few seconds he drew he finally determined how to put it on although I had to step in and adjust the straps and settle the material over the brassiere’s cups to ensure it fitted correctly. As I finished I allowed my hand to slide over his now tightly compressed behind. I smiled as he twitched and gave a little girlish yelp when I squeezed his right buttock.
“Just checking if your stockings are secured properly.” I lied as I pointed to the uniform that lay on the bed and suppressing the excitement I felt I ordered brusquely “Put it on.”
His hands trembled slightly as he picked up the uniform and looked at me, silently pleading for a reprieve that I suspect even he knew I was never going to grant.
“Now, girl.” I snapped, “Unless you want to feel the hairbrush on your backside.”
With lazy or hesitant girls the threat of a punishment is a wonderful incentive to comply and this young man was no different, he immediately slipped the uniform over his head and even without my instruction zipped up the side.
I stepped forward and settled it correctly on his shoulders before pulling down the skirt so it fell properly around his knees.
“Lace makes such a difference to a servant’s uniform.” I said as I fussed, quite unnecessarily of course, with the uniform’s lace collar and looking him in the eye added “Don’t you agree William?”
His eyes could not meet mine and his head dropped as he answered in a quiet voice,
“Yes Madam.”
“Good, I am so glad you agree. It is so reassuring to know that my maid’s views correspond with my own. ” I said lightly and placing my finger under his chin I raised his head and smiled, once more looking into his eyes and this time he could not avoid my gaze. “ Considering all the uniforms were brought for Sarah my former girl who was a size or two smaller than you it does fit you reasonably well. Don’t you think?”
The poor boy really had no option.
“Yes Madam.” he replied meekly as I tugged the material around his hips and added,
“It’s probably a little tight around the waist so it’s just as well you’re wearing a good firm girdle.”
There was an almost imperceptible grimace which I took as yet another crushing assault on his male pride or whatever remained of it. However he had learned enough to know what the expected response should be.
“Yes Madam.” Timidly he once again accepted my authority and not being an unkind or unsympathetic mistress I acknowledged his deference with a smile.
“Now we can’t have a maid without her cap and apron, now can we?” I continued to smile as I gestured to the wardrobe and moments later he returned looking even more dejected bearing the universal emblems of female domestic service- a starched white apron and matching cap.
A lady would never even remotely consider assisting her maid to don her cap and apron, the idea would be preposterous but the forlorn figure in front of me was no ordinary servant girl. Out of necessity I had conceived the plan, bizarre as it sounds, to turn this callow young man into my housemaid and having supervised his transformation into a reasonably presentable female it was my privilege to complete his entry into the ranks of female domestic servants. Standing him in front of the full length mirror I took the pinafore apron and slipped the straps over his shoulders and watched yet another wave of humiliation wash over him as I settled the apron into place.
“You will have to do this yourself every day.” I said ting the bow at the back as I continued to witness the rising level of shame on his face. But don’t worry I’ll show you how to tie it behind your back. Women do this all the time and from what I’ve seen from you already I’m sure you’ll quickly learn.”
In the mirror’s reflection our eyes met.
“Yes Madam.” he was forced to reply in a tone that betrayed his male disgrace.
“And finally your cap.” I said, trying with difficulty to restrain my delight as I fixed it in place with some hair clips.
I stood beside him and we both gazed at the image of a fashionably dressed lady of a certain age and her primly and traditionally attired younger maid.
“Yes my dear you really do look the part.” I said with a note of satisfaction, for a moment I thought he was going to cry and the last thing one wants is a teary new housemaid. Not being completely unsympathetic to his humiliation I added,
“And quite pretty too.”
Unhappy and self -absorbed as he was, he was aware that a compliment from a lady particularly one with such authority over him should not go unacknowledged.
“Thank you Madam.” he murmured.
“What’s that?” I asked curtly leaving him in no doubt that I would not tolerate mumbling or self-pity for that matter.
“Thank you Madam.” he said in a clearer, contrite voice.
“Better.” I replied softly “Now that you are fully uniformed you should know you will be required to curtsy when you enter a room. You can curtsy, can’t you?”
The look of bewilderment on his face answered for him I had to try very hard not to laugh. I suppose his pathetic male brain was still coming to terms with his new status as a maid not to mention sex.
“Yes… curtsy.” I repeated as I casually checked my lipstick and hair in the mirror.
The look of complete confusion on his face was most endearing and the way he clutched at the uniform’s skirt was so adorably feminine I confess I was becoming a little…unsettled. However I could not afford to let my heart, or any other organ for that matter, rule my head. I composed myself and explained what was required although I’m quite sure on some level he knew.
“Oh I am a silly goose.” I feigned an air of self-depreciation for a few moments allowing him a second or two of respite before reverting to a more serious disposition “It is a feminine gesture of respect to a superior. It is most unfortunate that it has fallen out of use for housemaids these days and in my view has contributed to diluting the social code. But as I have told you earlier I pride myself on maintaining the highest standards and it is a rule I insist on my maids adhere to at all times.”
I remained silent as my eyes remained fixed on his, challenging him to question my jurisdiction on the matter.
“Yes Madam.” he answered, his eyes downcast.
“Hold your skirt between thumb and forefinger.” I instructed him “Now place one leg behind the other and bend your knees slightly.”
It really was delightful to see a male in full housemaid uniform perform a curtsy. The look of utter humiliation on his made-up face was a sight to behold.
“Excellent.” I gushed, wishing him to know he had pleased me, a servant needs a little praise every now and then to raise their self-esteem after all one really doesn’t want a despondent servant girl about the house, it can be so tiresome.”
“Now once more.” I said and watched him execute another one perfectly.
“Oh well done.” I spouted ensuring I sounded enthusiastic and positive, for good measure I gave him my most encouraging smile. The things ladies have to do these days to humour their servants?
“Thank you Madam.” he replied, I suspect more out of obligation than genuine satisfaction from mastering the practice. Although he did not show it I felt I could sense a feeling of indignation but in my experience most housemaids dislike curtsying as it reinforces their subservient role, so in that respect he is no different to any other servant girl.
You’ll soon get used to it my girl. I said to myself continuing to smile warmly at him.
After I had him walk around the room it immediately became apparent how ungainly he was as he tottered awkwardly from step to step, a little like an unsteady calf making its first steps shortly after being born and at one stage I actually thought he was in danger of toppling over. I expect I was being a little too ambitious putting him into four inch heels for his first outing as a female but I do have a weakness for a girl with shapely legs in heels. A two and a half inch court shoe was eventually located in the wardrobe and although he still looked somewhat stiff and graceless I had to admit there were girls I went to school with who were most inelegant in anything but flat shoes. It was obvious it would take some time to make him presentable, but make him presentable I most certainly would. He could be considered to be a work in progress.
“Mmm” I mused out loud as I watched him mince up and down and occasionally issued helpful instructions “Walk in a straight line and keep your head up, remember heel to toe, I don’t want a lumbering Neanderthal as a housemaid.”
The concentration he showed in attempting to master his unfamiliar footwear was quite impressive but I expect this was because he was still so stupefied from his new uniform and the constricting corsetry he didn’t have the mental capacity to consider just how humiliating he looked. At least his steps were reasonably short and feminine, the result no doubt of the long girdle and the heels although they were only two and a half inches they did make his hips sway slightly. I have seen housemaids and indeed some girls and women from well bred families who were markedly less feminine and I was confident a few weeks intensive training combined with his tight foundation wear should drain the remaining masculinity from him.
“That’s quite enough for now. You can practice after you’ve finished your duties.” I said from the door where I had positioned myself, calling a halt to the proceedings and satisfied that he had made sufficient progress “Now accompany me to the drawing room where I will give you a more detailed account of what I require in a housemaid.”
I watched him closely as he crossed the room and wondered what the sensation of his skirts brushing against his legs not to mention his other womanly clothing were having on his masculine brain. From what I gather one of the most humiliating things for a male is to be regarded effeminate but effeminate and dressed as a housemaid has to be considered even more mortifying.
However I believe the ultimate disgrace for any male would be the excruciating ignominy of being publicly exposed dressed as a woman. The young man was still reeling from my transformation of him into a girl and I was curious as to when this prospect would finally dawn on him.
Quickly dismissing these thoughts I had a more immediate concern as I now had a young man dressed as a housemaid but with absolutely no idea how to behave as a servant or indeed a female.
There is a great deal of satisfaction to be had in training a girl to be an ideal housemaid and now I had an additional challenge, to remodel this naïve young man into a reasonable facsimile of a girl. Of course I knew this could not be achieved overnight but perhaps after a few weeks he may have acquired some degree of femininity. I don’t expect to have him ready to be presented at Court but to avoid instant recognition as a male would be an achievement in itself.
His training for both aspects of his new life would begin immediately and as we made our way from his room to the top of the stairs I continued to coach him in improving his feminine gait.
We had barely reached the last step on the stairs when our conversation was interrupted by the rather impatient sound of the doorbell. The expression of self-pity at being robbed of his masculinity combined with the discomfort of his new and unfamiliar corsetry were immediately replaced by a look of alarm and like a frightened child seeking the protection of his mother or Nanny he quickly moved behind me.
I was a little surprised myself as I was not expecting any callers and I had hoped to have a little more time to instruct him in the basic duties of his new position before he was put to work but from the impetuous ringing of the bell that undertaking would have to wait.
Removing myself as his shield I turned to face him and making a little adjustment to his cap and apron looked him directly in the eyes.
“The door…girl.” I said brusquely.
His mouth opened but he failed to utter a word, his eyes widened in what I assume was some sort of pathetic pleading gesture and although presenting him as my housemaid at this moment was not ideal it had to be done. Otherwise how could I explain to the person at the other side of the door if I opened it and they saw a fully uniformed maid standing in the hallway?
As Mother has often said regarding housemaids, begin as you intend to go on otherwise they will take advantage. As wise woman is Mother, if a little overbearing.
From the umbrella stand I withdrew a thin walking cane and without warning delivered a sharp stroke to his buttocks.
“The door…girl. Now” I snapped as the doorbell rang for a third time.
The chastisement had the desired effect and despite the look of panic on his face he moved to the door and as he prepared to open it I added,
“And do not forget to curtsy.”
