Letters in date order as far as I know. Missing letters marked as missing. I include some photos below but I am not sure which photos belong with which letters. I am not sure that matters!
Trapped in a lifetime of servitude – MISSING
Facsimile of a Female Servant 7/1
Dear Editor, Ms Candida,
Seeing as I have a spare hour, I thought 1 would drop you a line – something I’ve been meaning to do since I first started reading Madam over 18 months ago.
Although your magazine is obviously aimed at the submissive males, women such as myself get a kick out of it because it gives us ideas. However I must admit that I am not too keen on stories set in the future, preferring instead modern day articles or stories such as my own, which you may be interested to read.
My life so far has given me a great deal of satisfaction and I consider myself as one of the lucky ones. I am in my late thirties, financially independent, with good health and looks (or so I am told). Currently 1 have a nice handsome boyfriend who, like me, is bisexual. So you can imagine the fun and games that we get up to. I also like to dominate, not caring too much whether the subject is male or female – since I have had experience with both. I could never dominate my boyfriend – he’s too manly – so just for fun I thought I’d get myself a male whom I could push around a bit. My boyfriend agreed that at least it would be interesting, so I did.
I will not bother to relate how I came to acquire him – although that in itself is interesting, but for now it is suffice to say that I met him through a “professional” friend.
Since I live in my own house, the setting was ideal for a “live in” situation. My idea was not simply to dominate for the sake of it but to make him useful to me at the same time, so I decided to make and train him into a sex toy and maid. Actually I believe he already had a leaning that way but I doubt if he had in mind what I had planned for him. My objective was to totally subjugate, humiliate and mould him into absolute servitude to me, 24 hours a day.
All this happened two years ago, and although I had a difficult time at first, I am very proud to say that I have succeeded in breaking him into total submission. Being physically and mentally superior to him, the poor thing had no chance really especially as my boyfriend has contributed some subtle refinements from time to time. Now I have a docile, attentive trim little male – or I should say maid – who through my guidance, serves my every whim.
My boyfriend and I have turned this creature into an excellent facsimile of a female servant and now we are reaping the benefits of it. During my two week stay here in New York, my maid – appropriately renamed Suzette Faggott – is working for my boyfriend who no doubt has found some extra “chores” for him (or her) to do. Unknown to Suzette is that she has four weeks more to do with my boyfriend, for after leaving New York, I intend to spend some time with my sister in Toronto, Canada.
I am now writing this at my sister’s place in Toronto, Canada and quite honestly it is fantastic.
Earlier I was talking about Suzette’s enforced stay with my boyfriend and I am anxious to find out how she is doing. I know for certain that she has no homosexual tendencies at all, so I am sure that my maid will be more than happy to see me return.
It did occur to me that you might wish to publish this letter in a future issue of Madam in which case your readers might like a little more information on Suzette’s life-style.
Unfortunately, I have no idea how old she is. I have never bothered to ask her, but I would guess that she is in her late twenties.
Of course she wears a restrainer at all times and I permit her sexual relief six times a year. I find she is more conscientious in her duties when she needs relief. This I duly oblige her at Christmas, her birthday and at four other times as I think fit. Those can be immediately cancelled for slackness, mistakes or for breaking any of the rules which I have established. I had an occasion to discipline her shortly after I had established the above ruling. She had the impudence to ask me when I planned to administer the four other periods of relief. I was incensed, how dare she presume that it was automatic. Two periods I immediately cancelled, allowing her now only four, in addition I applied 20 cuts of the cane to her ass and promptly dispatched her to scrub the garden patio. I have had no such trouble since. She now only speaks when she is spoken to. I also punish her when necessary by stopping her weekly allowance of 35p, this I give her to enable her to replenish her make-up kit or to buy new stockings as required. It is not much it is true, but it does teach her to be thrifty.
Since I first started to train her I have given her female hormone treatment, lessons in make-up, deportment, and of course full sexual and domestic training. I am currently teaching her how to sew, because I believe that it is important for a maid to be able to do odd repair jobs. But it is her attitude and appearance that I am most proud of and I secretly congratulate myself on what I have achieved with her.
When fully made up with wig and clothes on, she (or he!) really looks like a woman, you really cannot tell the difference. Sometimes I think that she even looks more attractive than me! Even without her corset she now looks slim and her breasts are beginning to develop nicely. Just before I went to America I took her to a private party and our friends complimented me on how pretty she looked.
For those who may be interested, her wig and make-up, which she now applies herself, was just right, not overdone and dressed as she was in her uniform she looked really smart. Seeing as it was a garden party, I allowed her to wear one of her daytime uniforms. This consisted of black low heeled bar strap shoes (high shoes are for evening wear), black seamed stockings, garter belt, and rubber bra and knickers (she hates rubber). Over this she wore a knee length, fully fitted, pink princess style overall with a front zip and 3/4 sleeves. On her head she wore a white lace trimmed maid’s cap with pink ribbons to match her overall. The uniform was completed with a white nylon bibbed apron with frilled straps going over the shoulder and ties at the back. For a final touch a clip on name tag was attached to the bib of her apron. This outfit was one of four which she has, the others are similar in lemon, pale blue and black (for evenings and special occasions). These are worn of course with the various caps and aprons that she now has.
It is a pity that your magazine is not in colour because I have taken some excellent colour photos, which I’m sure would easily qualify her as “maid of the month”.
But to get back to the party, all afternoon she really tried hard to please us, mixing drinks, serving food, curtsying etc. all just as she had been taught, although she did have a bit of trouble when my friend tried to teach her how to change her baby. However that is something I intend to pursue when I get back to England, then I can rent her out for babysitting jobs.
Afternoon spoilt
Actually the afternoon was spoilt when on the way home Suzette admitted that she had left her handbag at the party. We returned to pick it up of course but later in the evening I gave her 25 good cuts with the cane. Five on each hand and 15 on her bottom. I don’t think that she’ll forget her bag or waste my time again.
Just to continue a little bit more, I am insistent that she has to be neat and tidy at all times and I expect her to wear a rubber apron over her white one when doing messy work. This has to be removed of course before answering the door or appearing in front of me or my guests.
One other thing that I have recently introduced, is to make her eat all the leftovers. I find that this is a constant reminder to her of her status in our relationship. In addition there is one important benefit. As she now does most of the cooking, she knows that it has to be right and any spoilt or unappetising food will have to be eaten in its entirety by herself. So it is an incentive for her to do well.
Generally speaking I think I treat her reasonably well, I can be hard on her of course and when necessary I am, but as long as she continues to please me, then I am satisfied. Sometimes I allow her to cook a little bit extra for herself, this becomes a treat for her especially if it is one of her favourite meals. Of course it may be cold after she has finished serving me, because I do not allow my maid to eat until I (or my guests) leave the table. That might be considered unfair, but that’s the way it is, I come first. If I am in a bitchy mood I might drop a cigarette butt or match into my leftovers then go into the kitchen and watch Suzette as she carefully tries to eat around it. Unsavoury as it is, she won’t dare to remove it from her plate while I am there. That is power for you and I like it!
As a rule I leave her to her own means, since I have better things to do than to watch over her shoulder all the time. I have achieved what I set out to do, that is to create a personal servant for myself and my boyfriend and unless I feel like a bit of fun or have to punish her, then we lead our separate lives. Mine as the Mistress, hers as the housemaid and sex toy. There are of course many other little incidents that I could share with you, but I feel I have gone on long enough.
This then is my situation and I am very pleased with what I have managed to achieve with my male maid, now I am beginning to look for new ideas and challenges. What would be nice is to train a young girl in the same way (there is enough housework for two), but I rather fear that submissive women are a lot harder to find than males. However, perhaps your readers might have a few suggestions on how I can further amuse myself with Suzette.
I am looking forward to reading your mag again. When I return to England, until then keep up the good work.
Best wishes, Ms G. P., Dorset.
Changed Your Mind Mr. S.T. ?
Dear Editor, Candida,
I am pleased that my last letter ‘Facsimile of a female servant’ was considered suitable for publications (Vol 7 No 1) and I note with interest that it generated some response among your readers. It is this aspect which has prompted me to put pen to paper again and I direct my comments to those who may be interested in learning more about my male maid Suzette Faggott, particularly ‘Mr ST’ (Vol 7 No 7). Perhaps the publication of this letter might change his mind about wanting to swap places with my maid.
So you would like it if a dominant woman peed all over your face would you ‘Mr ST’? I had to smile when I read that. Do you think that I keep a servant just to pander to his wishes? No way! Suzette knows that I keep him – or rather her, because that’s how I think of him now, I keep her for one purpose only, to serve me and my guests unquestionably in every way.
If she gets any pleasure from it along the way so be it. So ‘Mr ST’ if you were in Faggott’s place the very LAST thing you could expect from me would be to urinate on your face. Your interests count for nothing.
Do you think my maid enjoys eating leftovers, often with cigarette ash on the plate? Do you think that Faggott enjoys wearing a rubber bra and knee length rubber bloomers, when she hates the very smell of rubber? Do you really think that she enjoys a thrashing at my whim? Or that she enjoys working as a maidservant from early morning until quite often late at night – just like the Victorian maids had to? Now that I’ve knocked all her manly traits out of her and fully feminised her, do you think that she enjoys wearing the somewhat plain nylon overalls? Given the choice she would prefer a pretty dress I suppose, or even a French maids outfit. Actually she does have one, but I only allow it to be worn on rare and special occasions. I must say however, that with her pretty looks, well proportioned figure and shapely legs she really does justice to it. For most of the time however I insist on her wearing the conservative overalls which are pretty and more practical when working and serving about the house. Finally ‘Mr ST’ do you think that she enjoys scrubbing the garden path or patio just because she’s told to? I don’t think so. She knows that the role I have chosen for her and the jobs she’s given to do are unquestionable. Her needs and desires are of little concern to me although I have given in to her fetish for aprons. Why not? Since it fitted right in with my plans for her. I did say that only aprons that I approved of would be worn and since I supply her uniforms, I have no trouble enforcing that rule.
So ‘Mr ST’ and others, to further your education on what it is like to serve me, I relate the following incidents which I find highly amusing.
My maid was very glad to see me after I -returned from my trip to America, since she had been worked hard by Roger (my boyfriend)-and who had of course ‘greeked’ her several times just as I knew he would. It was no wonder that she was happy to see me. l remember thinking at the time that such happiness in a servant is pleasing but a little unnatural so I decided there and then to let her know in no uncertain terms that her mistress was indeed back in town.
For starters I had put on 10 lbs during my trip and although it was nothing serious, I did feel sluggish. So I decided to go on a diet and just for fun, whatever I took off, Faggott would put on. She wouldn’t have any say in it of course, it was just another way of emphasizing to her that she was totally under my control. By jogging, exercise and diet I had no trouble losing the 10 lbs in just over 2 weeks. During the same time I supervised Faggott’s intake. Bars of chocolate, steaks, pasta, bread, ice cream, even beer I stuffed into her. At first she was overjoyed to receive such generosity from me, she must have thought that the USA trip had changed me. Gradually my motive must have sunk in and it was with some resignation that she realised that the goodies I was forcing her to eat were not for her enjoyment at all. I was just satisfying a whim. I think what made it worse for her was the fact that she was in danger of losing her shapely figure with every bite she was forced to take. Since her transformation from a man to maid I had instilled into her the necessity of looking after her health and figure. Now she had no idea of how long this was going to go on or how much she would be made to put on. As it happened, as soon as I lost my 10 lbs, I also stopped work on her. By that time she had gained 14 lbs. Soon after that I put her on a diet and a special ‘exercise’ program to bring her weight down again. That was really fun, she lost 18 lbs and now looks better than ever, but that’s another story.
Roger devised a new game while I was away and we put it into operation for the first time last summer. There is a swing in my back-garden, which is set into the patio. It was left by the previous owner but now thanks to Roger it has a use again. The game entails us throwing bad eggs, rotten tomatoes, wet sponges, tea bags, whatever, at Faggott as she swings helplessly on the swing. We have a scoring system. 10 points for a hit on the face, 5 for a breast, and 1 point anywhere else. For this game Faggott is obliged to dress in an old shower curtain which I have modified into a type of slip on plastic tabard or cover all, it is knee length and fits loosely over her rubber bra and pants. Over this she wears a rubber or plastic apron. (She must wear an apron at all times when with me – it’s a symbol of her status). Finally a plastic shower cap is worn on her head. She looks quite sweet in this outfit particularly as all garments contain yellow and they blend together very nicely. Her arms are secured around behind the vertical chains of the swing and wrist cuffs secure them behind her back. They are thin joined to the ankle cuffs on the legs which have been brought back under the seat. Thus secured she is unable to control the swing or get off. The first time we played the game it rained half way through and we had to run inside to avoid getting soaked. I didn’t think it was worth unlocking Faggott since we planned to continue the game after the shower. So we watched amusingly through the French windows as Faggott continued to swing helplessly in the rain. It didn’t do her any harm, since she was wearing her ‘waterproofs’, but I do think it dampened her spirit. By the time we finished the game, Faggott and the patio were a mess of eggs, tomatoes and spent sponges. Roger won as usual scoring 95 points, including 4 direct facial hits with the eggs and I with a large tomato. Before releasing Faggott we turned the garden hose on her to wash her off, then after unlocking her from her bonds we went inside leaving her to clear up the rest of the mess.
Although this winter in England has been quite a bad one, it did give Roger and I a chance to play our summer swing game using snowballs instead of eggs and tomatoes etc. Faggott was dressed in the same outfit except that Roger had brought along one of his old sweaters and a pair of bib and brace overalls which were too big but never-the-less – Faggott wore underneath her shower top for warmth. We had fun throwing snowballs at our maid as she swung to and fro. Roger actually scored 160 points that day which was very good. However I did get a bit worried about Faggott more than once, when her head snapped back like a puppet after being hit square in the face by Roger’s ‘specials’ – but she came through O.K. Afterwards my hands were red and cold and they started to sting when we came back into the warmth, so you can imagine how poor Faggott’s face and hands must have felt. I gave her 1/2 hour to thaw out and then to change into her uniform to serve us high tea. We both laughed an hour later when Faggott brought in the tea things. Although she was nicely made up, her face was like a beetroot and it must have been burning. Roger complimented her on her healthy appearance and stated that the fresh air seemed good for her and he would see to it that she got out in the air more often. He then dismissed her adding that he wanted a clean white shirt ironed ready for that night. I smiled as she gathered up her skirts, said yes sir very politely then gave a dainty but respectful curtsey to him. She turned quickly and tottered away, the white bow of her apron bobbed saucily up and down and the frills on her shoulder straps fluttered busily as she walked mincingly back to the kitchen. I remember that Roger and I both congratulated each other on a very enjoyable day.
I did intend to relate 4 or 5 stories here but already I see that I am running away with myself. Maybe I will write again sometime if readers would like to hear more. In the meantime I simply must tell you about one more little ‘happening’ which occurred over the Christmas of 1981.
It was Friday evening the 18th December, I had been drinking and was in a good mood although rather bored. Roger was working and all I had to look forward to that weekend was the dinner and party I was giving the following evening. It promised to be a very enjoyable occasion, several intelligent and interesting people were coming and I had hired a caterer to come in to cook and prepare the meal. The scope of the menu was way beyond Faggott’s limited abilities but she was expected to wait at table, serve drinks and of course to see to the needs of my guests. I knew that Faggott was nervous about the whole thing for apart from the importance of the occasion she knew that I had invited a certain Mrs Rothmore (not her real name) and it transpired that apart from being a long standing acquaintance of mine from our beauty contest and university days, she was also the office manager at the company where Faggott used to work, before he changed his ‘occupation’ and became my house-parlour maid. I could see that the thought of facing this formidable woman in his relatively new subservient role was filling him with some trepidation. I was looking forward to it since it would provide an opportunity to learn something of my maid’s past. So all in all it promised to be an interesting evening, but I’m sorry I am digressing again.
As you know Faggott eats all leftovers (see Vol 7 No 1) so that leaves me in an excellent position to ‘doctor’ her food if I want to. I had never thought of it before that Friday night, but in order to relieve my boredom I decided to slip a laxative powder into the remains of my coffee. I summoned Faggott from the kitchen and told her that since the milk was beginning to go sour my coffee remains should be drunk straight away. Under my watchful eye, she did as she was told and I settled back and waited for the show to start. It normally takes 6-7 hours before results start to happen so I knew that around 8 am the next morning I could expect some action.
I must explain that Faggot`s restrainer is so designed, such that it pulls the penis back between the legs allowing the wearer to sit down to pee but unable to get an erection. Therefore there is no need for me to dance attendance on her when she needs to go. I consider three visits a day adequate for her needs, more than that, could suggest she is deliberately shirking her work duties. Once her three visits are used up, she may ask permission to go again, and thereby hangs another rule. Questions may only be asked freely and openly on Saturday mornings at 12 mid-day, when I meet regularly with my maid to discuss housekeeping needs, menus, duties, problems and objectives for the week. Questions asked at any other time bring an automatic mandatory penalty of 5 cuts with the cane before I give an answer. I’ve found that my time is saved that way by eliminating stupid questions.
Cutting a long story short, I was up early the next morning and listened carefully until the back-garden toilet had been used 3 times then I sneaked out and padlocked it. Soon, I heard the kitchen door go again and I knew that Faggott was trying for a fourth visit. I went out to the back garden and saw her staring with disbelief at the locked toilet. She saw me and immediately started to plead with me saying things like she had an upset stomach and wanted to go badly.
“You’ve already had your 3 visits for the day Suzette” I said condescendingly. “Oh please Madam may I go again please.” I could see that she was getting desperate. “That was a question dearie, and you know the rules,” I said sharply. She nodded dejectedly. I thoughtfully had brought along the cane so I instructed her to drop her knickers and to get her arse in the air. Very tremulously she did as she was told, and got into position. It was very cold that morning as I recall and I don’t suppose the cold wind on her already tender lower regions was that pleasurable. I raised her temperature a bit by applying the 5 strokes of the cane then told her to stand up, make herself presentable and to repeat the question. She did as she was told, then curtseying sweetly she said “Oh please Madam may I use my toilet again.” I could see her face was tortured and her legs were beginning to buckle as she tried to hold it in. “No” I said perfunctorily. “With my dinner party tonight you have a very busy day ahead of you and you’ve wasted enough time already.” With that I walked inside and slammed the kitchen door. I was really enjoying this.
There were of course 3 other bathrooms upstairs, but I had knocked it into her long ago that these were places of reverence, where her superiors performed their most intimate functions and she was barely qualified to enter these rooms to clean them, let alone use them. Thus there wasn’t much of a choice left to her.
A further 5 minutes went by before I heard her go downstairs to her quarters in the basement and I discreetly followed a minute later. I was just in time to see her stepping out of her pale blue rubber knickers and I shouted to her from the top of the basement steps. She jerked up like a marionette on a string. I went down to her and there on the floor was the soiled rubber pants. The inevitable had happened. “What’s the meaning of this” I shouted. She clasped her hands in front of her and sunk to her knees behind the pants. Her dog like eyes looked at me pleadingly “Oh please Madam I didn’t mean to, my stomach is upset,” she said sorrowfully. “Is that a reason for you to go around shitting yourself?” I said. I was now beginning to warm to the situation. “Do you think I want a smelly servant around me and my guests” I barked. I remember that she looked up at me and said pleadingly “I am very sorry Madam, I really couldn’t help it.” Her body slumped, her head dropped down onto her chest and her chin nestled in the frills of her bibbed apron top. I heard her mumble over and over again how sorry she was. For a moment I felt some compassion for her. I could see that she was truly sorry. She is naturally a neat, clean and tidy person and apart from the obvious discomfort she was experiencing from her stomach, the humiliation of being unable to control her bodily functions for the first time in years was clearly having a traumatic effect on her. I grinned – this was all because of me.
I doubt whether she connected her present condition with the coffee she was forced to drink the day before. At once time she might have. Apparently before I got her, she, or rather he, had worked as an engineer and they are not exactly unintelligent. But over a period of time, the housework, menial chores, lack of exposure to the media, the absence of stimulating conversation and of course my own influence have all combined to dull her mind I suppose. Indeed if I released her back into the world as a man, the only job I would be confident of her holding down would be as a cleaner, and only then under supervision.
With a sensuous dampness between my legs, and the warm surge of power and adrenalin in my veins I decided to twist the knife a bit deeper.
Walking round behind her I said “I am not at all pleased with you Faggott, today of all days with my dinner party this evening, you choose to behave like an animal. Maybe I should treat you as such and even provide a litter tray in the kitchen for you to use!” I smiled as I saw her shoulders heave, from past experience she knew that I do not make idle threats.
I was now in a position slightly behind her left shoulder and I looked down at the pathetic creature in pink and white kneeling miserably at my feet. Pressing my advantage home I continued in my authorities manner. “Suzette, I will not tolerate servants who cannot control themselves so maybe this will teach you to be more careful in future!” With that I reached down with one hand and grabbed her around the back of the neck. Then before she could resist I quickly forced her head down onto the smelly pants and rubbed her face vigorously into the greasy smelly mess. She uttered some unintelligible sounds and I heard her moan remorsefully. Without waiting to see the results of my actions, I turned and quickly headed back up the basement steps calling over my shoulder for her to get cleaned up and to report to my bedroom in 1/2 hour. I intended to impress upon her the seriousness of her behaviour even though I knew that it was little old me who had led her down this path to shame and humiliation. But still as I’ve always said if you cannot amuse yourself and have fun with a servant, what’s the point?
Later on when she reported to my room, I noted that she had changed into her pale blue nylon coat overall, trimmed with its white lace collar and cuffs. Over this she wore her obligatory frilly starched white apron and of course her frilly maids cap with its matching ribbons dangling prettily at the back of her head. I remember that again I secretly congratulated myself on my accomplishments with this little she-male.
After giving her another tongue lashing, I then applied 20 good stinging cuts of the cane to her arse and promised her double if it ever happened again. All this wasn’t necessary of course in fact I think it was just my way of releasing tension before my party that evening. But I must say that it worked, for I felt really relaxed and happy that evening and I was especially proud of Faggott as she worked and served. No-one knew for a minute that my trim attractive maid was really a man, and that was indeed a feather in my cap. All in all the events of Saturday the 19th of December really helped to make my Christmas.
There are many more such incidents that I could relate but unfortunately space restricts me. I would now like to direct my closing comments once again to ‘Mr. S.T.’
Well ‘Mr S.T.’ maybe your jealousness of my maid has disappeared by now – she is here only for my pleasure and if I thought that the quality of her work or the zealousness to her duties was falling off, I would have no qualms about kicking her out in the street with no money and only the clothes that she stands up in. She knows that and if I ever selected you to join her or to take her place, believe me it wouldn’t be any different for you either. Finally ‘Mr S.T.’ your request for suggestions for a name amused me, what a pathetic creature you are if you cannot give yourself a suitable name. You are indeed ripe for domination. Just to put you out of your quandary, if I had you tottering around my house, you would be answering to the name of Sally Turd – with initials like ‘S.T.’, it probably suits your character.
In closing, my best regards to you Candida, you are doing a great job, and to your faithful followers, may you all continue to suffer under the sole of the feminine boot.
Yours in Dominance Ms G.P. (Dorset) P.S. Since you cannot use colour photographs for your magazine, I enclose a couple of sketches of my maid. It is a long time since I was at art school so I am afraid my efforts do not do justice to her.
P.P.S. To kill two birds at one time as it were, you will note that I have also included an extra piece entitled “A day in the life of a modern Domestic Servant” which you might also be able to use sometime.
Best Regards G.P.
We CAN use colour photos Ms G.P. although they reproduce in black and white. However, thank you for your sketches.
Candida
Star of Anniversary Time
Faggott is shocked to learn that she may be in your magazine.
Dear Candida,
It has been about 18 months since I last wrote to you, and in my last letter – which I do not think you published – I alluded to the upcoming 5th anniversary of my total dominance over my male maid “Suzette Faggott”. My earlier letters have described the path of humiliation and suffering down which I have carefully led “Her” since I acquired her from a friend way back in 1979. Now I have created a perfect facsimile of a female domestic servant. (see the enclosed photographs and Madames Vol 7 No 1 and Vol 8 No 5).
In November 1984 we “celebrated” our 5 years together. The occasion was such a huge success (from my point of view) that I would like to share it with you and your readers if it is suitable. It may provide some inspiration to some of my sisters in dominance.
I hope you will understand that with the exception of Faggott, the names mentioned here are not the real ones, for obvious reasons. Similarly I have cut the photographs to show only my maid, and I don’t care who sees her. In fact I rather like showing her off, after all, she is my creation.
About 3 o’clock on the day of the anniversary parry, my hairdresser friend Lynn came over and expertly washed and permed Faggott’s shoulder length hair into an attractive style. Then Lynn and I prepared ourselves while Faggott was in her basement quarters washing and dressing herself. I might add at this point, that as far as she was aware, it was simply going to be a dinner party at which she was expected to serve. But unknown to her I had some “surprises” planned.
Lynn arranged my hair as I fastidiously prepared myself. Being a special occasion I was determined to have everything to perfection so I decided to wear my long cherry red two piece outfit in satin and silk by Dior. Such a dress deserved the best so I added my diamond necklace with its long matching pendant earrings, a diamond studded bracelet and my favourite diamond and ruby ring. My nails had been done for me earlier in the day by Faggott and finally as I applied a generous amount of my opium perfume I could feel the excitement building inside me.
The caterers delivered the meal on time (I didn’t want Faggott’s cooking, for this important occasion) and left it in the kitchen to keep hot. My planned menu was consume’ soup, prawn cocktail, roast lamb with sour cream sauce au claret, peas and mushrooms in garlic butter, hot rolls, peach melba, and cheese and biscuits. The meal was to be complimented with wine, coffee, mints and liqueurs. Faggott was to serve at table and eat the leftovers as usual.
Around 6.30, I summoned Faggott from the basement to give her last minute instructions. I remember, she knocked, entered the lounge and curtsied to me as required, but when I looked at her from across the room I took a deep draw on my cigarette with immense satisfaction. There, standing demurely before me was a perfect example of a Victorian maidservant.
I smiled inwardly, “Why Suzette (I always use her first name when giving her a compliment) you look really pretty – you certainly have come a long way in five years.” She blushed and replied coquettishly “Thank you Madam.” I think she knew it too! But there was no doubt about it, her makeup was done to perfection and the attractive and distinctive outfit which I had her make to my instructions, made her look deliciously cute and feminine.
She was wearing a black cotton high-necked dress with long sleeves trimmed with neat white broderie angalais. The skirt was full and flared out prettily as she walked. It was just the right length to show off her trim ankles and the black girlish servant’s shoes. In making the crisp white apron Faggott showed that in 5 years she has become quite adept at handling a needle and thread. It fell almost to the length of the dress and was finished at the bottom with a large flounce. Cute matching frills and ruffles ran up the bib along the wide shouter straps and met the waist ties at the back in a pretty bow. The apron was expertly gathered and tucked neatly at the waist band which fitted tightly around her middle, thus emphasising her womanly figure. The bib was thrust forward by her modest boobs. The uniform was completed by a matching frilly mob cap, black stockings and as a final touch she had thoughtfully pinned her name tag to the bib of her apron. She looked every inch a maidservant ready for work.
For a moment I was entranced with this creature who underneath all the frills and femininity still possessed a male organ – However useless and little used it was. One would never have guessed. Wouldn’t you agree Candida, on seeing the photograph?
My mind quickly returned to normal and I lectured Faggott again on the do’s and don’ts of table service. I had done it many times before of course but this time I was determined to avoid any slip ups.
Around 7-15 my guests began to arrive and Faggott was the model of servility and efficiency as she enthusiastically took the coats and served the cocktails. She had met most of my friends before. They all knew about her condition and treated her just like any other housemaid, but that night, I think the compliments they paid her, plus knowledge of my own approval of her appearance, must have boosted her ego. While she did not forget her status, she was a little bit too happy and friendly for my liking and I remember thinking that she needed a good pasting to bring her back down to earth again. Seeing as she was due to get that and more before the evening was over I decided to let it pass without comment. Unknown to her my plans for the evening would certainly change her happy disposition of that moment to one of sheer timidity and fear.
At dinner we expected and received, the utmost attention and service. Faggott worked like a true professional waitress even to the point of lighting the cigars and cigarettes for those who smoked. She certainly created a good impression and I was pleased for it was a testimony to my efficient training methods over the years. We drank a toast to female domination in champagne and Faggott was surprised to find herself invited to join in the toast.
While she was busy with her work, we were beginning to relax and enjoy ourselves. As the drinks flowed, the laughter increased and the 5 year celebrations really got under way.
The ladies in the group held a draw to see who would get Faggott for an hour of “personal service”. My gorgeous friend Helen won. I must say I am rather envious of Helen. With her dark good looks and her impeccable taste in clothes she reminds me a bit of Joan Collins the actress. She has the same poise and confident air about her and I have never seen her for a loss of a word. In my eyes she has it all.
About a year ago she made Faggott lick her after Faggott had spent an uncomfortable evening at her house babysitting two troublesome children. On that occasion Helen sent Faggott home with 6 weals on her ass and a note to me saying that in her opinion my maid did not live up to her potential as a babysitter and personal servant and that she was in need of further training. Of course I saw to it that Faggott received extra instruction and now we were about to see how much improved Faggott was in servicing a woman.
I summoned Faggott from the kitchen using the customary bell, and enquired whether her work was finished. She replied no, adding that there was a lot of greasy pans to clean. Feigning irrittance I snapped at her saying that just because it was her 5th anniversary there was no reason to take things easy with her work. I told her I expected her to be finished within 15 minutes and for every minute over she could expect a stroke of the cane. I could see that I was asking a lot, but she dared not question me. With that I dismissed her again and she quickly scampered away in a flurry of black and white towards her kitchen. My friends laughed as she left the room. They knew it was like a cat playing with a mouse.
Not long after Faggott reappeared before me. Curtsying respectfully she said brightly “I’ve finished my work now Madam”. “Good for you” I retorted – I always get bitchy when I’ve been drinking. “Mrs Waller wants to see you.” I saw a flicker of fear cross her face as I mentioned Helens name. She feared Helen, and knew that since their last encounter I had given my friend permission to chastise Faggott wherever and whenever she thought it necessary. I think that it was at that moment, Faggott knew this was not going to be quite the celebration she thought it would be.
The noise in the room softened in quiet expectancy as Faggott minced hurriedly over to where Helen was sitting relaxed in an arm chair. “You wished to see me Mrs Waller?” Faggott said, dropping a respectful curtsy. I could see that Faggott was nervous and the bubbles of enthusiasm were quickly being deflated. I was pleased, so far everything was going to plan.
Helen made Faggott wait a bit longer before replying. She lazily blew smoke into the air then looking at Faggott she gave a mocking smile and said “I wanted to tell you dearie how very attractive you look tonight and that I’ve noticed that you’ve been on your best behaviour, is this because I am here?” I could see immediately what she was getting at. If Faggott said no it would infer that Helens presence was of no consequence. On the other hand, a yes reply could indicate that Faggott’s efforts at other times were less than her best. She couldn’t win. I think Faggott sensed that too, for she replied nervously “Er Y-Yes, er no, ah I don’t know Mrs Waller.” She blurted out. I could see Helen’s smile of satisfaction. She was succeeding in bringing Faggott down from whatever high she was on before. I gave Helen a nod of approval.
Helen took one last draw on her cigarette and flicked it carelessly into the fireplace. It missed. “Pick that up” Helen snapped. With a rustle of skirts Faggott sprung to obey and returned meekly to her place in front of Helen. We all watched with eager anticipation. Sipping her drink and leaning back in her chair Helen continued, “it strikes me Faggott, that you don’t know much at all and I have no time for idiots who are no use to me.” She looked at Faggott expectantly. “Yes Mrs Waller” Faggott whispered. “Speak up girl! Do I have to strain my ears to listen to your mumbling?” Faggott jumped. Helen’s sudden outburst frightened her. Gripping the sides of her apron in nervous tension, Faggott said more loudly, “Y-yes Mrs Waller I-I mean no Mrs Waller.” I laughed out loud, she was obviously confused. Helen now had complete control over the situation.
“Do you remember when you last serviced me Faggott?” “Does your meagre servant’s brain take you back that far?” she said mockingly. “Yes Madam” Faggott said quickly. “Well then you will remember that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with your performance, so I wonder if you have learned anything in the meantime. Again Faggott replied with the classic – “I don’t know Mrs Waller”. Helen took a large sip of her drink. “Let’s find out shall we,” she said dryly, lifting up her skirt. I could see that she had come prepared – she wasn’t wearing any panties. “Now get your snout into my crack and show me what you can do.” Faggott didn’t need telling twice, she quickly got to her knees and plunged her head into Helen’s body almost in one movement. Helen smiled and straightened her dress over the head of the submerged maid. She patted Faggott’s head over the fabric “Make it good dearie or I’ll hit your nose so hard you’ll be weeks getting the blood stains out of your pretty pinafore.” We heard a muffled grunt as Faggott’s tongue busily went to work. I looked around the room, there were many smiles of pleasure.
We all continued talking and drinking and pausing occasionally to listen to Faggott’s muffled slurps as she enthusiastically went about her work. Then Helen began to breathe heavier and she started sighing. The end was near. She groaned and started to writhe with ecstasy, looking over at me she smiled and gave the thumbs up sign. Her eyes started rolling. Faggott was really trying hard and was putting everything she had into it. Finally Helen gave a loud cry, straightened her legs and clasped Faggott’s head tighter to her crotch. She bucked and rolled in her seat grinding Faggott’s face deeper into her moist cunt, her head rolled from side to side and she gasped for breath. Suddenly she let out a long loud cry and her body jerked in her seat, once, twice, three-five times in all, then she lay back exhausted. I could feel the wetness between my own legs as I imagined the feelings that must be going through her. She raised her glass to me. It was all over.
Faggott remained obediently where she was until I told her to get up. As she pulled her head from under Helen’s dress a loud cheer went up from those present. Her face was a mess. Helen’s juices, sweat and possibly some of Faggott’s own tears had combined to make her make-up run. Her lipstick was smudged, one eyelash was hanging off, her mascara had run and her hair was damp around the edges of her cap. By comparison the immaculate sweet smelling Helen was a picture of composure, she slid over next to the dishevelled faggott and patting her lightly on the cheek said coyly “Thank you Faggott I do believe you are improving, I hope you can keep it up.” Faggott forced a smile and a little curtsy. “Thank you Mrs Waller I will try.” “Be sure that you do”, Helen said harshly and giving faggott a stern look to make sure that her words had sunk home she went over to get another drink.
I told Faggott to go and freshen up and to come back to me as quickly as possible, with her cane. A look of concern came over her face “But I pleased Mrs Waller didn’t I Madam?” she said despairingly. “Possibly” I said nonchalantly “But I have other things on my mind so do as you are told.” I then walked away ending the conversation. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her head droop and she walked slowly to her kitchen. Whatever she was thinking, she knew that her night was far from over. What a difference to that saucy maid I had seen earlier.
THE NEXT EVENT
A while later she returned, freshly made up and carrying an evil looking long bamboo cane. I took it from her and she stood quietly before me, head bowed, hands behind her back as I explained to her the next “event”.
I showed her a beautiful cut glass crystal decanter and glass set on the sideboard. “This is my anniversary present from my friends here, isn’t it beautiful Faggott?” she agreed that it was. “Be extra careful when you are cleaning or washing it because it is very expensive.” She promised that she would.
“Now” I continued, my guests also want to give you a gift to mark the occasion, but since you have no use for glass wear I suggested that perhaps something more practical and down to earth would be more suitable.” I looked at her waiting for her approval. She nodded “Yes Madam I would like something useful” she whispered. Actually she knew that she had no choice but to agree.
“Good” I said “in that case my friends here have all chipped in £3 each and left it up to me to decide. I suggested that a new nylon overall would be something that you would appreciate.” I could see that she was less than enthusiastic. I gave her a copy of the catalogue from Garroulds of London. “Look through that sometimes and you can give me some suggestions as to what you think you may look pretty in.” She nodded remorsefully.
“Since our guests have been so kind, I think it is only fair that we give them some entertainment in return, don’t you think?” I said it rather forcibly. She avoided my eyes and her head dropped down further. She knew what was coming. “Yes Madam” she said softly. “Then take your cane to each of my guests and ask them nicely if they would like to play with you.” All the guests had been primed before of course and were waiting for the opportunity to give Faggott a maximum of 3 strokes (£1 a stroke – 24 in all) on any part of her body that they wished. So far so good.
As I made my way to the toilet I could hear Faggott’s yelps of pain as my friend Angela started on her ass.
By the time I returned, both men and five of the women had taken their turns and only Helen was left. By now Faggott had been reduced to tears and her whole body must have been painfully aching. As for her mind, if she had any doubts as to how she would be ‘celebrating’ our anniversary I don’t think that there were any now.
Faggott sniffed miserably as she went to Helen and offered her the cane. Helen took it smilingly, “Knees” she said imperiously. Faggott dropped like a stone. “Since you were trying so hard earlier, I am only going to give you one good hard one “Helen said generously. Faggott gave a small sigh of relief. She was still getting caned for Helen’s amusement but at least there was now only one to go. Faggott sat on her heels and dejectedly stared at the floor. I smiled again – I was having a great time – although I couldn’t say the same for my sissy maid.
“Where would you like me to hit you Dearie?” Helen said mockingly. Before Faggott could reply Helen answered herself in an affected high pitched whine “I don’t know Mrs Waller, I don’t know!” We all laughed. Then angrily Helen said “Shitass, what do you know?” “I’ve a good mind to give it to you across your face, perhaps that will bring something sensible out of your mouth.” Faggott remained hunched over nursing her hands in her lap. Infuriated by the lack of response Helen said “Damn you, you’ll get it anyway for your insolence!” This seemed to bring Faggott to life and she reared up pleading for mercy. The weals were plainly visible as she put her hands up to protect herself. Too late. The cane whistled through the air as Helen brought it down in a wide arc landing it with a loud crack on the side of Faggott’s face. A red mark appeared immediately and Faggott screamed in agony, holding her injured face in her hands she slumped over onto the floor crying her heart out. I thought all this was marvellous, the evening was going even better than I had planned. Helen threw the cane onto Faggott’s prone body and stormed from the room obviously not caring too much. There was no doubt about it, Helen was the star of the evening and I knew that Faggott would certainly remember her and the 5th anniversary whenever she wore her new maids uniform.
I looked down at the sobbing black and white figure at my feet but I had no sympathy for her. If she had not deliberately ignored Helen’s last remark, she might have saved herself from the wrath of my friend. As it turned out she didn’t and therefore needed to be reminded that when spoken to by a woman she has an obligation to answer. Thus her suffering was of her own choosing as far as I was concerned and it did show after 5 years of training, Faggott is still learning. Again I told her to go to the kitchen and freshen up.
In my last letter I explained the procedure that is followed when I give Faggott sexual release and I had planned to grant her this privilege that evening. She knew it would entail her humiliating herself in front of virtual strangers but due to the limited number of opportunities per year that she is given, she probably considered that it was a small price to pay.
By the time she returned from the kitchen, I was enjoying myself so much that I just couldn’t be bothered to go through the penis unlocking ritual (she wears a special harness) Even though the whole procedure takes only a couple of minutes. In no uncertain terms I told her the session had been postponed until further notice. She was visibly disappointed. Her eyes welled up and l thought she was going to burst into tears. She had waited 5 months since the last release and despite the humiliation that accompanied her moment of pleasure it was still going to be the highlight of her evening. But that was it, I had made my mind up and my word was final. I knew the sheer disappointment that she must have felt. Can you imagine going 5 months without sexual release CANDIDA?
She hung her head to one side and a wistful look came into her eyes as she stood dejectedly in front of me. I broke her daydream by ordering her to empty the ashtrays. She automatically bobbed a curtsy and mournfully moved around the room doing as she was told.
The evening progressed uneventfully for a while. By now we were all rather merry and having a good time. Faggott was kept busy working and serving, finally around midnight I decided that it was time for the finale.
I told Faggott to go and put her plastic apron on over her uniform. She hesitated for a moment, knowing full well that one of my rules is that the apron is only to be worn for messy work to protect her white ones and that under no circumstances is she to be caught wearing it in front of me or my guests. So my request must have taken her aback – but then she was not to know what I had in mind.
“Do as I say Faggott” I ordered. “Very well Madam” she said as she curtsied, she must have wondered what on earth was going on. She soon found out.
She returned a few minutes later wearing her frilly bibbed transparent apron. It only reached 3/4 of the way down her white one but that didn’t matter. In the past I had seen to it that this apron saw plenty of use as I set various tasks, but that night a new chore was inaugurated that would require its continued use in the future.
With a cigarette and drink in hand I settled back into the opulence of the cushioning to await proceedings.
I looked up at Faggott and said authoritatively “Now that you are suitably dressed my dear I want you to entertain us again.” She looked at me dumbfounded.
She had almost made it to the door when Helen called out gaily “Aren’t you going to say goodnight to me then Dearie?” It wasn’t so much of a request or a question but an order. Faggott stopped, hesitated for a second probably thinking that she had seen enough of the merciless Helen for one night, but common sense prevailed, it was unwise to take any chances with my friend, especially someone in Faggott’s position. She turned and gripping the sides of her apron in readiness for the obligatory curtsy she trotted as fast as her heels would carry her over to Helen, the frilly lapels of her apron fluttered busily as she minced across the room.
Helen knew what she wanted. Before Faggott had finished coming up from the deep and respectful curtsy that she always seemed to reserve for Helen, my friend has risen to her feet. Half turning to Faggott she raised the back of her dress revealing her ample buttocks. Then in a sexy seductive voice Helen said “I hope you can work out where I would like you to give me a goodnight kiss darling.” It was very obvious. Faggott sank slowly to her knees and lightly kissed the crack of Helen’s ass. As soon as contact was made Helen reached behind her back with both hands and clasped Faggott’s face to her, wriggling quickly as she did so to ensure it was a good fit. Then much to the surprise of us all she said “Here’s something you can take to bed with you dearie,” and with that let out a long, loud smelly fart. Muffled sounds of anguish could be heard coming from Faggott’s trapped head.
I am afraid I have gone on longer than I anticipated Candida, but I do hope that you’ll be able to find room for this in your excellent mag. I am dying to see Faggott’s reaction when she realises that she has received national exposure.
More stories and photographs can be supplied if required.
Keep up the good work Yours in Dominance G.P. (Portsmouth) Thank you G.P. You will make me very happy to have more stories and photos from you. You have earned A Candida Merit Mark’.
Candida.
BIZARRE ANNIVERSARY PLANS
Dear Candida
As I sit here on a sunny morning having breakfast by the pool I can see my maid Suzette busy doing her daily chore of cleaning the French windows and I am reminded that it has been about a year since I wrote to you last concerning my total domination of this little male.
Actually I have been meaning to write earlier but I am sorry to say that I have just been too busy in establishing a new business which has been a great drain on my time and emotions. Fortunately all that work is behind me now and having moved into a more modern house here in Portsmouth I am able to relax once more. All through this upheaval my maid Suzette Faggott has valiantly stuck to her duties as my servant despite the fact that more than once I took out my frustrations on her through beatings and extensive oral sessions. But then that is what she is here for so I have no compunction about that.
Long term readers of your magazine will recall my previous letters (Vol.7 No.l and Vol.8 No.5) where I described my lifestyle and some of the incidents that have happened to Suzette. They will also recall that although my maid is a male, my thorough training has rendered him to all but my closest friends as a female, indeed as my first letter explained, a perfect facsimile of a female servant.
It has been about four years since I acquired him and started to convert and train him as a female and it will soon be our “5th Anniversary” together. Needless to say I am planning something special to mark the occasion. It has to be special really for over the years Faggott has had to endure some ‘trying’ times under my direction. Here are some of my plans for the anniversary.
On the appropriate date one of my friends will wash and set Faggott’s shoulder length hair in an attractive style and of course her makeup will be done to perfection.
I plan to organise a dinner party, the theme of which will be Victorian – for her only. Since she will be the ‘star’ of the evening I want her to stand out and so she will, dressed as I intend in a distinctive Victorian Parlour maid’s uniform. She is aware of this because every Sunday evening after her chores are done she has to get out her sewing box and continue work on her black ‘party’ dress, her frilly white apron and of course a white cotton and lace cap with streamers. I know that she is already filled with some trepidation about this party, for although she knows some of my plans, she doesn’t know all of them and she won’t until the actual night.
What she doesn’t know is that I will be inviting 8 of my friends to dinner (including two males with homosexual tendencies). I will hire a catering firm to prepare the food but Faggott will have to wait at table as usual. I plan that the whole evening will be a test of her 5 years of training and of course in keeping with the Victorian spirit, obedience, discipline and propriety will be the order of the day.
After serving dinner, coffee and liqueurs’, Faggott will retire with her dirty dishes to the kitchen to eat our leftovers and to clean up as usual. While she is doing that, the women will be holding a draw to see who Faggott will serve as a sex and/or toilet slave for the next hour. The winner will decide what she wants done, how and where.
Following that, seeing as its Faggott’s night I plan to give her sexual release (one of four she gets annually) in my normal way. I don’t think I have mentioned this before and seeing as my method is somewhat unique I will briefly explain the procedure.
At the given word Faggott will arrive in the lounge and spread a sheet of newspaper on the floor in front of my chair. She will then drop her pale blue rubber bloomers and kneel down on the paper. Then just as she’s been taught she will reach into her overall or dress pocket for the ‘safety’ pin which she uses to pin the front hem of her skirts and apron up to her neckline, thereby exposing her feminine like crotch. (Her penis is secured back between her legs by a restrainer.)
She knows that if she fails to produce the safety pin within 15 seconds of kneeling down, I will automatically cancel the session and her relief will be lost for another 2 or 3 months. It is really amusing to see her treat the safety pin as though it were gold, carefully wrapping it in tissue paper after each session, before putting it back into her overall pocket. I suppose to her it is like a piece of expensive jewellery, for if it gets lost, unless I condescend to give her another one she knows it’s goodbye to sexual relief.
It is amazing how the most inexpensive item can mean the most to some people isn’t it, Candida? That small pins is the most important thing that she had and she makes every effort to ensure that she doesn’t forget it when she changes uniforms. But to continue.
Once her skirts are safely pinned up out of the way she then leans forward raising her arse in the air saying, “Please Madam will you allow your humble servant sexual release?” Sometimes I just laugh and say no and that will be the end of it. But of course this time will be different, so I will go around behind her, lift up her skirts and unlock the restrainer that has kept her penis in place. She will then pull off the restrainer and take herself in hand, looking down at the floor as she waits for my instruction to begin. Normally it is just myself and the occasional friend who will witness this male’s humiliation, but at the party there will be others to share my pleasure with.
Once this stage is reached and my permission is given she has just 60 seconds to climax into the plastic cup held by her other hand. She always makes it but I need hardly add that I will not tolerate any time wasting on her part. Once she has climaxed she will lean forward for me to refasten her into her harness. She will then unpin her skirts, stand up, pull up her bloomers, gather up her equipment, give me a deep respectful curtsy and go off to another 3 months or so of frustration. The whole process is quite efficient and when done properly takes only 2 minutes of my time.
For readers who are thinking that Faggott will have suffered enough, there will be more to come. To further celebrate the occasion and 5 years of female domination, there will be a whip round. Each guest will chip in £2 for the privilege of giving the star of the evening 6 good cuts with the cane anywhere they please on her anatomy. The money will go towards her Anniversary ‘present’, a new nylon overall which doubtless will remind her of how she came by it every time she puts it on. Finally my two homosexual friends have already agreed to take my prudish Victorian maid to bed that night for a night of ‘unlimited pleasure’ (not for her though, as I mentioned before, she has no homosexual leanings).
I hope that it will be an enjoyable evening for my friends but for Faggott, well if nothing else she will remember her 5th Anniversary for a long time to come. So will I really, for in future whenever I see her dressed in her new overall I know it will bring a smile to my lips.
In closing, Candida, one of my intended guests owns her own photographic business so with luck I will have some interesting photographs to include with my next letter.
Yours in Dominance Ms. G.P. – Hants
P.S. I still have a few months to go before the party so if you Candida or any of your readers have any other ideas on how I can make the evening ‘special’, I would be pleased to hear them.
A Faggot Update
Dear Candida
It has been awhile since I last wrote to you (Vol. 11 No.9), so with Spring in the air and the sun shining I am once again in the mood for writing.
As you and some of your readers will know from my previous letters, my domination over my male has been well documented, but recently I have noticed that there has been a decline in real life stories in your magazine. Many seem to be more fantasy than fact, so I hope this latest letter of mine will help to restore the balance.
I will briefly recap for the benefit of your new readers. Some time ago after several short brushes with the femdom scene I decided to go all out and see how far I could go in totally dominating a male, not simply for the fun of it but also to have someone of use to me and to be at my beck and call 24 hours a day. With a large house and with no financial restraints on me the setting was just right to try it. So 6 years ago I ‘acquired’ a youngish man through a prostitute friend of mine. From my friend I learned that he was an engineer with no family ties and who in her opinion was ‘ripe’ for my plan. I quickly set about taking him down my carefully planned path to his present state – whereupon I no longer regard him as a male at all but as a female. In fact the way he has been trained and instructed to act and behave I would challenge anyone to guess what he really is or was.
So for over 6 years now I have led him’ at times literally screaming and kicking against his will into a totally subjugated, feminised male. He is now fully conditioned, and trained to the point where he now accepts my total dominance over him. Indeed his conduct around me and my friends (male and female) is one of absolute servility.
Some of my friends still find it hard to believe how I could have taken a handsome, vibrant, educated engineer and turn him into a docile girlish servant whose only thoughts are to perform her duties sufficiently well enough to avoid chastisement and punishment. Sometimes she never quite succeeds and much to my and others amusement, has to suffer the sometimes severe
consequences. I dictate what she wears, what she does, what she eats, drinks, what she says, and even what she thinks. She has adapted so fully into her new life that I think that she must have been a maidservant in a former life.
I am writing this in the garden after just finishing lunch which was served expertly of course by my ‘maid’, Suzette Faggott. That is the name I gave him after he had finished his basic training – Suzette being cute and feminine sounding and Faggott being derived from the word Fag – “to make or become tired through hard work” and of course Faggot – “wimpish – male homosexual”. While the latter is not true – it did fit in with my planned series of experiences for him. So Faggott is the perfect name and one which he now responds to as if he was born with it. He doesn’t like it, but that’s tough!
As I said I am writing this in the garden and I can see Faggott busily washing and cleaning my Jag’ in the driveway. She is wearing her mint green button through overall with its white collar and cuffs. The short sleeves show off her carefully maintained hairless arms. A white cotton starched apron trimmed with lace is worn over the uniform dress. It has matching lace trimmed straps that go up over the shoulders to meet at the back of her waist in a pretty bow. To protect this while washing the car she is wearing over it her transparent frilly bibbed plastic apron – a Christmas present from my niece Samantha. Underneath this uniform unseen but I know that she is wearing a pale blue frilly rubber bra which is holding up her modest but developing breasts (thanks to regular hormone pills), a pair of matching frilly blue rubber directoire knickers, a blue nylon full length slip, suspender belt, black stockings, and the obligatory restrainer device which permits bodily functions to take place, but prohibits masturbation. This of course is only allowed at my discretion. Currently I have not unlocked it since September. I find the promise of such a treat helps to keep Faggott attentive and obedient. Finally her outfit is completed by a white frilly maids cap and a pair of black medium heeled pumps. Her rubber gloves, bucket and sponge are all colour co-ordinated with her overall. Propriety and neatness at all times being one of my strict rules.
If I could pass on a tip to my fellow ladies in dominance it would be to have a set of firm rules and make the punishment severe if any are broken. Faggott has over 24 which she must remember and adhere to. She had to learn these off by heart and knows that I will test her regularly. One rule is that a conscientious maid will always be able to find things to do for her mistress or her guests, thus idleness is never tolerated. Ladies, it is essential that a servant’s tiny mind is kept fully occupied at all times with chores and duties, thus there is little opportunity for the mind to wander. It has worked for me and if you visited my home I am certain that you would be impressed by the quality of my maid’s work. You would be able to see your face in the highly polished wood floors, the brass work gleams, the glasswork sparkles and there is a slight hint of the smell of polish everywhere. This is offset by the smell from the various garden fresh flower arrangements which Faggott is now very competent at doing. I would defy you to find a speck of dust anywhere and may heaven help Faggott if you did!
(LATER – NEXT DAY)
I stopped writing for a time because I had some unexpected guests drop by, my boyfriend Roger and his two daughters from a previous marriage, Angela and Rebecca.
For some time suspected that now I have Faggott’s mental prowess was being eroded, and I doubted that I could get more than 5 minutes of intelligent conversation of her. This is not surprising when you consider that for 6 years now I have prevented Faggott from reading a newspaper, listening to radio or watching television beyond the programmes which I select for her (normally cooking and children’s TV). My theory is of course that all her waking moments are to be devoted to my needs and desires and so she has no need or no time for newspapers etc. Anyway to cut a long story short, yesterday I gave a simple 20 question general knowledge quiz to Angela and Rebecca when they were here, and just for fun I included Faggott in the test.
Angela and Rebecca were boisterous and excited when I sat them down at the kitchen table with Faggott, who in contrast was visibly shy and nervous. In fact I had to reprimand her twice for fiddling with her tea towel. As an incentive I told them that the first prize would be £20 with £10 for the runner up. The girls couldn’t wait to get started. Well of course the inevitable happened. Angela scored 18 out of 20, Rebecca, bless her heart, got 12 while much to our amusement and to her embarrassment Faggott struggled to score 3. She couldn’t even name the President of the United States! Luckily for her the ones she did get right were associated with housework. I would have been furious with her if she failed on those too! Later when Faggott had been dismissed we all had a good laugh over her obvious shortcomings. Clearly my influence over Faggott had taken its toll and happily in 6 years I have succeeded in bringing him from a promising engineer to a dull, low witted housemaid.
Later in the day after the two girls had gone home Roger had Faggott fetching and carrying for him and I managed to grab a couple of photographs of them together. The difference between the two men was startling. The contrast in their appearance was obvious. Roger in check shirt and jeans while Faggott was in his usual uniform of starch and frills and looked small and very very effeminate alongside Roger’s masculine frame. Even the way they walked highlighted the difference.
Roger has a slow easy stride while Faggott’s steps are quick and mincing. While carrying out Roger’s requests, Faggott’s respect for her master was plainly obvious and given the circumstances very necessary. I wanted to send you copies of the photographs Candida, but unfortunately Roger refused to risk having his photograph published in your magazine and it was not possible to cut him off the photograph
without destroying Faggott’s image. Instead I have included some other recent photographs of my maid – which are again cut to eliminate other people but I hope that they are still good enough for your purposes Candida.
Finally I will finish by telling you briefly about a couple of Faggott’s new duties which have recently been introduced.
In one of my previous letters I told you about Helen my close friend who bears a striking resemblance to the actress Joan Collins on Dynasty. Ironically enough she also has the same confident manner about her and is always goading Faggott, for which he is absolutely no match for her. Consequently whenever she is near, Faggott is always extremely apprehensive. So you can imagine Faggott’s thoughts when one day I duly informed him that every Thursday morning he would be expected to go to Helen’s house to clean for her (plus anything else of course that might strike Helen’s whims).
She lives within walking distance but occasionally I insist that Faggott go by bus. I know that she is fearful of being discovered as being really a man but the fact that she goes anyway, indicates that she is more afraid of Helen and me. What do I care if he forgets to act feminine enough and gives himself away? I will admit though it must be a traumatic experience for him and I know that although he’s extremely nervous he’ll be trying his hardest to avoid discovery. That is just the journey to and from Helen’s and he still has to contend with her when he’s there.
Amongst other things he has to give her a report card to fill out at the end of the day on which Helen will give Faggott marks for appearance, obedience, punctuality, efficiency etc. It is sealed in an envelope and Faggott brings it home to me, uncertain of its contents and unsure whether he will receive praise or punishment. It is a good system and works very well. Helen is generally pleased with the quality of Faggott’s work although she does not let on to Faggott of course.
It was during one of these Thursday visits that Faggott was introduced to foot worship for the first time. (After 6 years of service Faggott is still crossing new horizons!)
It was one Thursday in May, Faggott was working as usual around Helen’s place. Roger and I were going out that night and he wanted a shirt ironed so rather than wait for Faggott to return, we decided to drive over to Helen’s and pick Faggott up.
When we got there we found Helen lying full length on a sun chair beside the swimming pool. A portable radio was playing soft classical music on the table beside her and she was holding a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. What surprised us was not the fact that she was completely nude but that she had Faggott kneeling at the foot of the chair sucking and licking her feet. He was concentrating on the task so well that he didn’t even look up when we approached, but with someone like Helen that was more than he’d dare do anyway. Despite the fact that Faggott was in his usual overall and apron, Helen had tied a tea towel around his neck to serve as a bib. I made a mental note of it and later on had Faggott make up a proper bib of his own. It is white cotton, over faced with white plastic which was cut from a kitchen bin liner so that it can be wiped clean if necessary. The whole thing is trimmed with ribbon and broderie angalais. I now insist that it is worn for all meals as well as for foot sessions. If I think of it I will include a photo here of Faggott wearing it and you will note from the expression on her face that she is not exactly proud of it!
But I am digressing. Helen was pleased to see us and told us to help ourselves to drinks and join her, which we did. As Roger settled in his chair he said sarcastically, “Being sucked in again Faggott, my love?” Faggott made an unintelligible noise – her mouth was full of Helen’s toes. I smiled and said, “Why, do you want yours done then Roger?” “No thanks,” he said. “But I have something else she can suck on if she likes.” We all laughed, we knew what he meant and from past experience so did Faggott. I saw her shoulders heave as she recalled the thought.
Not wanting Faggott to listen to our conversation Helen told Faggott to go to her corner in the kitchen. Faggott got up immediately, curtsied prettily to us, turned, and minced quickly out of sight, her little bum wiggling as she walked. After she had gone I questioned Helen about this “corner”. She explained that it was the one part of the house that belonged to Faggott exclusively and she had been told that she was free to go and use it any time without having to ask, providing of course that she had nothing else to do. I was intrigued and asked Helen to show it to us, which she did. When we entered Helen’s kitchen I saw Faggott kneeling upright in the far corner. Her face was crammed hard into the joint where the two walls met. On hearing us enter, Faggott’s hands which were clasped together behind her back started twitching nervously. “Faggott keep your hands still,” Helen barked imperiously. Faggott obeyed instantly. Helen went over to the corner and pointed out two eye bolt brackets – one on each wall. They were spaced about 3 1/2 feet up from the floor and about 6″ out from the corner just slightly higher than Faggott’s shoulder line. Helen must have seen the puzzled look on my face because smilingly she put her cigarette down on the edge of the table and took the short length of chain that was securely attached to one of the brackets and drew it across the nape of Faggott’s neck. She then secured it to the other bracket with a small padlock. The chain was just long enough to keep it taut. With the chain firmly in place Faggott could not sit back on her haunches nor stand up, or for that matter turn her head. She was securely locked into the corner and would remain so until Helen felt inclined to release her.
It was brilliant and so typical of Helen to think of such a thing. Both Roger and I were impressed and said so immediately. Helen shrugged and winked mischievously, “You have to know how to handle menials,” she said. We had another drink and stayed for another hour before unlocking Faggott to take her home to her ironing and another session of foot worship, this time with me. I have now permanently installed this new task into Faggott’s duties as I enjoy it so much. I am also getting Roger to install a similar locking device in my kitchen. It is so simple and effective that I recommend it to any of my sisters out there who wants to keep her “man” in his place.
Once again I have gone on longer than I intended to Candida, and I apologise, but in closing you will see that I have attached some photographs of my maid, what do you think of her?
As usual – with the exception of Faggott’s – I have changed the names mentioned herewith to protect their privacy in case you decide to publish this. If you do then I hope that your readers will get as much pleasure out of reading this as I have had in sharing it with you.
Keep up the good work.
Yours in Dominance MS. G.P. (Portsmouth)
FURTHER EXPERIENCES OF A SHE¬MALE MAID
Dear Candida,
I thought I would write to you again hopefully to try and boost the content of your magazine which I think has been slipping in recent months. One exception was the series entitled “The Transformation” (Vol.13 Nos. 5 & 6). It was very well done. Although it was a fantasy, that story was very similar to my own real life experience and I could readily identify with all the female characters. George’s transformation parallels my own work over these past 7 years with my she-male Suzette Faggott. My maid’s transformation is now virtually complete except for the “Doctoring” that George received. I wonder if any of your readers could suggest where and how I could get my maid treated in a similar way.
I must also comment on the letter from Ms.Sheena and her unpaid servant Nellie, (Vol.13 No.7). While Sheena is obviously on the right track, she still has more to learn about how to treat and train a servant. That is, if he is to be of maximum use to her … and I speak from experience! Thus I would like to pass on some advice to Sheena. For starters, you don’t allow the reading of Madame – that is just pandering to his whims. The exception would be for him to read out loud in his best girlish voice for your entertainment. Once a month for relief is too frequent. I suggest once every three months at least. If shoes are his fetish then he should get to play with your shoes only after all his other work has been done to your satisfaction. As for Nellie himself, well, what a dishrag! I have never seen such a sloppy looking male maid. I hope Sheena is not offended by this advice and I look forward to her next letter and photographs to see if any improvements have been made.
In the meantime Sheena might get some inspiration from my own experiences or rather the experiences of my maid, all of which have occurred since I wrote to you last year Candida.
Just to bring readers up to date who may have missed my earlier letters. I am going to talk about a young male who I acquired from a prostitute friend over 6 years ago and through severe training, education, punishment and large doses of hormone pills have succeeded in turning him against his will into a perfect facsimile of a female servant. In fact he is now so womanish in his ways it is difficult to think of him as anything else. But to continue…
Last year my friend Helen and I took up tennis but it got so frustrating having to stop our game every time we wanted to collect the balls at the net or from around the, perimeter of the court. That is until Helen suggested that we use Faggott as a ball girl, so we did and it worked out perfectly. Faggott would kneel by the net as they do in professional tennis and rush to gather up the balls at every opportunity. The amusing thing is that she was not dressed as a ball girl but rather in a rubber sweat suit, so that Faggott too benefited from the exercise. She was suitably uncomfortable in the summer heat and just for our amusement I insisted that she wear a heavy cardigan to add to her discomfort. Faggott’s efforts were improved by the threat of a good caning if she didn’t pick up the balls quick enough. So now Candia, we are free to enjoy our tennis games just as we planned, thanks to Helen’s bright idea.
Apart from the above, this past year has produced other ‘firsts’ for my sissy maid, including going out in public for the first time dressed in her full maid’s uniform. She had` been out before of course but only to friend’s houses etc, but always wearing a coat to hide the obvious.
But all things. must change and I had decided that if she was to fulfil her true function as my servant then sooner or later she would have to accept the scrutiny of the general public. I really didn’t see a problem, waitresses, nurses, and shop girls are not ashamed to be seen in their uniforms and working clothes and I considered Faggott to be no different from them, Her total thoughts and actions should be devoted entirely to me and if she has to serve me in public – so be it. I am not concerned about her feelings just as long as she works with ultimate needs in mind. In any event Faggott should consider it an honour to show the world that she is my maid. I knew her looks, behaviour and figure were all very feminine so there would be no trouble about acceptability, but I also knew that she would suffer extreme embarrassment just at the thought of it. But I was determined to go through with it and … one day it happened.
“Go down to the post box and post this letter for me”. I said sharply. Faggott hesitated for a moment and then with a sigh said softly “Yes Madam, I’ll just go and put my coat on”. “Oh no you won’t” I said, “There is no time for that – I want to catch the 5 o’clock collection and its almost that now so you’d better go as you are – now hurry!”
Well Candida as you can imagine, going out as you are meant going out in her distinctive maid`s uniform.
Faggott was obviously reluctant to go dressed as she was but knew that to disobey me would be more than her life was worth. I made her jump when I suddenly snapped “Hurry if you miss the post I will see to it that you will not be able to sit down for a month”. I really meant it and I could see that Faggott knew it too! As far as I was concerned Faggott was going down to the post box whether she liked it or not. I gave her the letter and roughly pushed my blushing maid out the door. It was the very first time that she had gone out in public without the benefit of her coat to hide her embarrassment. But I must admit I really didn’t care what her feelings were, I was having fun and there was no doubt that my desires certainly over rule any that my stupid maid has. You don’t think that I am being too cruel and unreasonable, do you Candida?
When Faggott came back she was blushing furiously. “Mrs White asked me why I was wearing a bib Madam”. “And what did you say?” I asked.
Faggott seemed a bit reluctant to tell me, eventually she replied by saying nervously “I… I told her that I was wearing it as a joke Madam”. I could see that Faggott was still visibly distressed and it was obvious that her first public appearance had a real shattering effect on her. But I felt no compassion, I was enjoying myself.
Looking out of the window I saw the large body of my negro friend Lisa standing in her doorway being confronted by the much smaller frame of my she-male who was nervously fiddling with her skirts as she no doubt offered her humble explanation. I noted that Lisa said quite a few words back to Faggott and I wondered what she was saying. Then she disappeared for a few minutes before returning to the front door to hand Faggott two bulky plastic carrier bags. Although she had both hands full Faggott still managed to bob a respectful curtsey before Lisa went in and closed the door.
Poor Faggott, what had started out as a harmless trip to the ‘post box had resulted in another traumatic experience in her life with me. Incidentally, unknown to Faggott I now have plans to send her to the butcher, the supermarket, cleaners and any other errand that a well trained maid ought to do for her mistress. She will also learn to shop for my sanitary napkins and other toiletries.
But Candida, I do have a soft spot. Apart from her three 15 minute meal breaks every day she is also allowed a 1/4 hour recreational period. It is during this time she is allowed to watch TV. The programmes and the time slot are of course selected by me. At the duly arranged time I will summon her from her work and she will kneel or sit neatly on the floor in front of the TV set (She is not permitted to use the chairs etc. of her superiors).
I always select. a cooking, sewing, children’s programme or anything else I consider suitable. Currently I have her watching the video of Winnie the Pooh and The Honey Tree in 1/4 hour sessions. After each session I give her a test to see if she’s – been listening and concentrating. She receives punishment of course for wrong answers and has to watch the same segment over and over again the next day and the days after until she can correctly answer all my questions, then and only then can she move on and see the next episode in her serial. I think she enjoys and looks forward to these sessions, after all it is her only real break from her work and service tome. Finally Candida, talking about question and answer sessions, I would like to finish up by telling you about one question Faggott found difficult to answer. It happened like this:
It was the week that I had Faggott busy with spring cleaning, and at the time she was out in the back garden beating the dust out of a thick Persian carpet that I have. Roger (my boyfriend) and I were in the dining room finishing off our lunch, which had been prepared and served earlier by Faggott. I could see that after several glasses of wine Roger was in a playful mood. I was right, after downing his fifth glass of Barsac he went to the French doors and shouted for Faggott to come in. A minute or so later Faggott appeared in the doorway to the patio conscientiously brushing the dust from herself. She quickly dropped a curtsey and stood there, head bowed, hands folded neatly in front of her. She was suitably dressed for spring cleaning, a pale blue long sleeved nylon coat overall, trimmed at the collar and cuffs with white lace, a frilly blue rubber bibbed apron which protected her white cotton and lace one underneath, black rubber soled low heeled houseworker’s shoes, black stockings, a pale blue turban tied at the front of her head in a pretty bow and finally the obligatory matching rubber gloves. She didn’t look that attractive, but no one could say that she wasn’t functionally dressed.
Roger smiled at me. I knew that he was up to something and I was right. I felt that he was going to try and bait and upset Faggott as he had done many times before eventually getting Faggott into a compromising situation, from which there would only be one way of escape …Roger’s way. Past performances had shown that Faggott was no match for Roger’s superior wit and intelligence and this time would be no exception.
The baiting continued and Faggott was becoming visibly more nervous and dejected by the minute. Finally with a great effort she expounded her opinion.
“Pl..Pl…Please Sir,” she said pitifully, “I think women are superior”. I smiled, at least some of my training has had an effect” Roger continued “And what brings you to that profound observation may I ask?” I could see that Roger was going all the way this time.
“Come here” Roger ordered. Faggott nervously took some halting steps over to the dining table where were seated. Roger stood up: “Here, this will help you to remind you of where you stand in our relationship. With that he gave Faggott a teeth rattling slap across the face and at the same time with his other hand he picked up the remainder of our desert – a lemon and whipped cream tart – and pushed it forcibly into Faggot`s unsuspecting face. Before Faggott could react, Roger grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her round, pushed her forward one or two steps then gave her a good kick on the behind which sent her through the patio door and ended up sprawling on the floor against the patio wall. The whole thing happened so fast I barely had time to grab my camera and take a couple of shots of Faggott’s latest predicament.
Faggott lay sprawled on the patio floor as if in a daze, but on hearing Roger’s instructions, she struggled to her feet and quickly trotted out of sight.
I am sorry for going on so long again and I hope that I haven’t bored you. At least if Ms.Sheena gets some inspiration from this, then her “Nellie” has a lot coming o him.
Finally I enclose some recent photographs again which I have had to cut off the images of other people to protect their privacy. Hope you like them.
It’s a good magazine – keep it coming.
Yours in Dominance,
Ms.G. P.
MORE NEWS OF FAGGOTT
Dear Candida,
I know that it was only fairly recently that I last wrote to you, but I am sitting here tonight feeling rather bored, there is nothing on television, my CD player needs attention, I’ve watched all my videos, so I thought I would put pen to paper again.
As I write, the time is 8.30 in the evening and my little male maid Suzette Faggott is feverishly working cleaning shoes in her basement area under Roger (my boyfriend`s) supervision. Currently we have four houseguests so Faggott is currently working on two pairs of ladies boots and two pairs of men’s shoes.
Two things strike me as I write, firstly I am lucky enough to own a house with a cellar or basement, which I have converted to contain a laundry room, wine cooler, freezer, general storage area and most important of all, an area where my maid is segregated from the rest of the house and one in which until recently she could enjoy some privacy. (That has now changed – but more about that later). In the large underground basement, Faggott has her own shower stall, washtub/sink, – which also serves for laundry use – an old tin bath and finally a sleeping/dressing area. For WC facilities she still has to use the toilet in the back garden which adjoins the old tool shed. (Up to now I can see no reason or justification to install one in the basement for her use). Thus we are able to keep her working away in an area of the house without bothering us. If I need her for anything, the house has an intercom in every room, plus a bell system with a monitoring board in the kitchen and also in the basement. By responding to the intercom or by looking at the boards, Faggott knows exactly which part of my 14 roomed house requires her services.
The other thing that strikes me about this little she male is that she has now been chastised and punished by many of my friends for even the most insignificant of errors that she is now virtually frightened of everyone, and it shows. Her inferiority complex and timidness is now almost always evident, especially when women are around and that is exactly the condition I set out to install in him’ when I started his training way back when. For this male at least there is no doubt in his mind where his status is in regard to the superior sex. His current lifestyle is living testimony to that. I– regard it as a strong testimony to my training methods over the years, in fact at times I think my work is over but then I know better. After 7 years there is always room for improvement even with such a docile and experienced maid as Faggott.
Having said all that, I had occasion last weekend to put her in her place again and it happened like this.
For three mornings out of four she had been more than 5 minutes late in bringing up the morning tea to Roger (my boyfriend) and myself. Granted she was late getting to bed the night before as I have been doing quite a bit of entertaining lately. But I was determined to stamp out her tardiness in the mornings. I didn’t see why her morning duties should be compromised just because she was up late working the night before. It is not tolerated in hotels, restaurants and other places utilising domestic staff so why should I have to put up with it?
I discussed the problem with Roger and he came up with an excellent solution. You could call it “moving female dominance into the high tech age”. Rogers plan was this – a loud electric buzzer should be fitted to the wall next to the head of Faggott’s cot in the basement quarters. This buzzer would be wired to a master control clock located in a locked cupboard in my bedroom. Thus I could set the buzzer to go off at any time I liked while I was still snug and warm in bed. But Roger explained that even with that, it was still not certain that Faggott would not go back to sleep again. So we added more equipment.
Roger also installed a small, used punch clock in the basement similar to the ones used in factories. When Faggott’s buzzer sounds regularly and loudly at 6 am every morning, she has 3/4 hour to wash, dress and prepare herself for the day before the buzzer sounds again at 6.45 at which point Faggott is required to ‘clock on’ and then proceed to the kitchen to start work for the day, cleaning up from the night before, opening windows and generally freshening the place up before we come down for breakfast. At 7.15 she would be required to bring up our morning tea. But even with the punch clock system, we were still not certain that Faggott would actually be starting work at 6.45. She could clock on, but could be wasting her time afterwards by continuing to mess with her hair or something. Somehow we had to establish a strict routine and ensure that ‘Faggott followed it – or else!
Then my clever Roger added the final touch. Being in the business he managed to get hold of two second-hand closed circuit TV video cameras. These he installed above the doors in the kitchen and the basement. These are linked back to the same master control panel in my bedroom. I can now check immediately what is happening downstairs from the comfort of my bed just by looking at my TV screen, or, as is often the case if I am asleep when she gets up I can always play the tape back later to check her morning movements. Unknown to Faggott the cameras switch off automatically at 7 am, but of course I can program them to activate at any time. Not surprisingly Faggott has not been late for work since we installed the new system, if she is, she knows what to expect. Since she has no official finishing time, she is not required to clock off. She provides service throughout the day for as long and as
often as I or my guests need it.
We installed the system last weekend and while we were doing so Faggott was again reminded of her place. Roger, myself and his friend Jack were in Faggott’s quarters fitting and adjusting the video camera in just the right position. While we were doing so Faggott came down into the area carrying her mop and bucket after cleaning the kitchen floor. She was dressed in one of her morning uniforms, a cool and crisp mint green button through overall in polyester and cotton with contrasting white collar and cuffs on the short sleeves. This was worn with a matching bib fronted green apron trimmed with white piping. To protect the uniform from the water when washing and scrubbing the floor she was wearing over it a white waterproof plastic apron complete with a large bib and back ties. The outfit was completed with jet black stockings, black rubber soled house shoes and a white broderie anglaise frilled maid`s cap. She looked very pretty and practical as her shoulder length hair bounced lightly as she came down the stairs.
She stood and watched us for a few seconds then she asked politely (but somewhat impertinently I thought), what we were doing. I looked at her in disbelief. My response was to immediately give her a good hard slap across the cheek. It landed with a crack and the impact sent her reeling against the basement banister. She held onto the bucket but the mop dropped from her hand.
For an instant as I saw her touch the stinging mark on her face I thought that she was going to burst into tears. But then she hastily controlled herself and stood demurely before me, blushing
furiously, hands folded in front of her, and her eyes glued firmly to the floor. She knew she had done wrong, I didn’t have to remind her. Speaking out of turn is expressly forbidden. I smiled as I saw the ugly weal which had risen on her face, yes after 7 years I still have some work to do.
“Get on with your work” I snapped “You’ve wasted enough time”. With that she curtsied quickly and put away her mop and bucket, then grabbing the vacuum cleaner she went back up the stairs still bearing the mark of my hand on her blushing face.
I should add that Faggott does get paid for her services. Slavery being illegal, she works for a nominal sum which she saves and uses to replace her stockings, make-up, needles and thread etc as required. I pay her about £1.12 a week, which works out to about 1p per hour. If she is just a minute late in clocking on in the mornings, her punishment is he loss of 1 hours pay and 5 strokes of my cane. I think you will agree Candida it is a good incentive.
I will close now, but next time I’ll tell you the story how Faggott learned to appreciate the importance of taking care of my underwear.
Yours in Dominance,
- G.P. – PORTSMOUTH
A LONG SUFFERING MALE MAID
Dear Candida,
It has been a while since I last wrote to you and since you published all six of my previous letters – here is number 7 for your consideration, complete as usual with photographs of my ‘male’ maid, Faggot.
My first letter appeared in Madame back in 1981 and Faggot, after all this time is still completely unaware of the existence of my letters, or for that matter of her ‘literary fame’. Much to her concern, from time to time I have threatened her that I will write to you, but little does she know that her story and photographs have already been widely circulated. She would die of humiliation and embarrassment if she ever found out. I intend to tell her one day, but for the moment I am biding my time, however I am savouring the moment with relish. In the meantime that is the way it is going to stay. The content of my letters is something only for you and your readers to share and is not something which I consider suitable for my stupid maid’s eyes and ears. The only time she ever sees a copy of ‘Madame’ is when I get her to read out loud to me, preselected stories and text for her humiliation and for my amusement. The rest of the time the magazines are kept under lock and key, so she is definitely not privy to the private thoughts and comments that I share with you.
By now you and some of your readers will be very familiar with the subject of my writings – Susette Faggott – a cute little she-male whom I have trained and transformed over 7 years from a seemingly intelligent young man into the dimwitted facsimile of a female maidservant that now caters to my every whim. Regular large doses of, hormone pills, strict diet and exercise has developed his breasts, trimmed his figure and rounded out the curves. This, coupled with very harsh training, discipline and punishment, has now made him docile, shy, timid and nervous, just as I planned. He knows that the people he now serves have the power and authority to berate, chastise and punish him at any time for his limitations and shortcomings. Thanks to my training he now acts, walks and talks like a woman and my friends and I now totally regard him as nothing else. Even his voice which was never that low is now passable.
A chastity restrainer keeps the thing between her legs out of harm’s way. It is so designed that she can perform normal bodily functions sitting down but not masturbate. On average I unlock the device about twice a year to allow her to follow my strict sexual relief procedure (see Vol.13 No1). Sometimes I unlock it more often, it depends how I feel. I find that the thought of earning these rare treats help to keep Faggott hard working and conscientious in her duties and service to me.
I will simply not tolerate a sloppy, smelly, shabbily dressed maid. A maids attitude and appearance is a reflection of her respect for her Mistress so I have now trained her to keep her body free of hair – except for her head of course – and she now regularly follows my instructions for make-up, personal hygiene and care of her uniforms. Failure to do so – which is now rare – brings instant severe punishment with no half measures.
Recently – just for fun – I have been trying to get her to take an interest in men, but as you can imagine Candida, so far it has been difficult. Some of my girlfriends gave Faggot a poster of Englebert Humperdinck for Christmas and we made her pin it up over her cot in the basement. Now my friends are claiming that Faggott secretly has a crush on him and they tease her mercilessly about it. She blushes and gets embarrassed whenever we bring the subject up. When one of his records is played on the radio she is instructed to stop whatever work she is doing and come and kneel on the floor in front of the radio and listen to her ‘boyfriend’. We normally all have a good laugh over this and afterwards we quiz Faggott to see if she has remembered any of the words. She gets flustered and frustrated when this happens and sometimes needs a good hard slap across the face to improve her memory, but I am insistent. I wonder if she ever goes to bed at night dreaming of being in his arms? But we will never know will we?
My firm belief is that it is essential to keep a servant constantly busy. It is not only productive but it is also a good way to stop their tiny minds from wandering. My trouble is that after 7 years under my rule, Faggott is beginning to get quite efficient in her work and that’s why I have to thank ‘Kate’ (Vol.14 No.7) for providing me with an inspiration. I agree with her wholeheartedly, it is simply lovely to watch them squirm and that’s why I was delighted recently when I caught Faggott deliberately going slow with her dusting, for it gave me an opportunity to put Kate’s inspiration into practice.
After watching Faggott dust I concluded that she was obviously ahead of time and was just trying to look busy. I am not easily fooled so after severely reprimanding her, I duly informed her that since she seemed to have time on her hands, she could best utilise it by following one of three suggestions that I had. She stood submissively before me, head bowed, both hands clasping the feather duster to her skirts as I outlined her options.
To utilise her time she could (1) Wash and clean both of my cars, inside and out. (2) She could go down the road to my friend Lisa’s house and ask her if she could wash out her children’s smelly nappies and clothes for a week (Lisa has three children under 5 years old), or finally (3) She could choose 15 cuts from my cane on her bare ass to compensate for her slackness, then to spend the rest of the evening practising her needlework by stripping off the old lace from one of her nightgowns and neatly sewing on new lace.
It wasn’t much of a choice, all three tasks were not exactly pleasant, but that’s why I picked them! She was taking her time answering me and obviously it was a very difficult decision for her to make. “Well?” I snapped, making her jump. “Unlike you I do not have all day to waste, so what is it going to be?” I felt a warm glow of satisfaction as I saw her squirming, wrestling with a decision. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the handle of her feather duster harder, finally with her lips twitching nervously she bobbed a respectful curtsey and said softly and politely “Please Madam I would like to clean your cars”. “Good” I said “No time like the present, off you go and don’t forget the ashtrays!” Again she bobbed her mandatory curtsey before quickly tottering off. I smiled as I watched the pale blue of her overall, framed by the white straps of her apron disappearing down the passageway. It didn’t matter to me what her choice was, for I had already made my mind up that she would be made to do all three anyway! And so it will be, much to her displeasure no doubt. It will teach her a lesson that she won’t forget in a hurry!! So thank you Kate for that tip, you are a woman after my own heart. Now, do you have any other tips? In the meantime here is one of mine that you might take note of.
I have often wondered, just how much can a person take while being at the beck and call of others? It was around 6 pm on December 19th 1987, as I was relaxing in my lounge after dinner that I decided to put it to the test.
Roger (my boyfriend) was out, the table had been cleared and Faggott was in the kitchen eating her dinner, which as usual consisted o£ my leftovers. I knew that she wasn’t particularly enjoying it for apart from the fact that it must be slightly cold by now, I had also stubbed my cigarette out on the side of my dinner plate. From past experience she knew what to expect from me if she was caught removing the butt before finishing the food. It was just another of my ways of reminding her that her thoughts and needs are ALWAYS secondary to mine and others. I knew she was hungry because I had kept her hard at work all day, cleaning and preparing the house for Christmas but I was about to demonstrate to her again that my needs come first.
I rang the service bell by the fireplace and shortly after, Faggott knocked and entered the room at my invitation. As expected she had changed from the pale green uniform that she had been wearing all day to a more formal black overall dress with white trim. Her white frilly bibbed apron was starched and spotless and was tied just tight enough to accentuate her bust and waist. The uniform was completed by thick black stockings, and medium heeled black pumps. The obligatory frilly maid’s cap was secured firmly in place atop of her neatly combed shoulder length hair. Her make-up was flattering but not overdone and a pair of cheap but pretty, stud earrings in her recently pierced ears finished off her totally feminine appearance.
Lowering her eyes she gripped the sides of her overall and gave a respectful curtsey. She stood there, feet together, hands clasped nervously in front of her and looking at a point on the floor somewhere between me and where she stood. “You rang for me Madam?” she said in her soft girlish voice. She’d had a long and busy day but unknown to her it was far from over. “Yes Faggott” I said sternly “you may pull the curtains and put the table lights on”. She curtsied again and went about her task. When she had finished she returned to her original position and said softly “Will that be all Madam?” “Yes for now. You may go”. “Thank you Madam” came the reply. Again the bobbed a curtsey and with her apron ties dangling prettily over her wiggling bottom, she minced in her well trained way, quickly out of the room. This was the basis of a routine that was to be repeated 8 times – with slight variations – over the next 15 minutes or so.
I allowed enough time for Faggott to get settled in the kitchen before I rang again. Within seconds she was back standing before me in her usual position. “The curtains, the curtains girl – you haven’t pulled them properly, you’ve left a gap in the middle at the top”. As if I needed to explain! To me it was quite obvious. “Sorry Madam” she said quickly and sprang to correct her error, before being dismissed again. Within a minute or so I had her back before me, this time to put a new log on the fire. She had barely returned to the kitchen before I summoned her again. “Really Faggott what has come over you tonight? First it’s the curtains now the log on the fire is not straight”. She quickly reposition the log so that it sat neatly in the centre of the grate, its long sides perfectly parallel to the front of the fireplace, just as I had trained her to do. It wasn’t that important of course but I was determined to stick to my rule book.
For her 5th visit a short time later, I had her put a cigarette in my holder and give me a light. This was a task I could easily have done myself since everything was close at hand, but then what are servants for? Besides I have always made her carry a packet of my favourite brand of cigarettes and matches with her in her overall pockets in case I should ever need them. So this was a good opportunity to take advantage of this service. In case you are wondering, Faggott absolutely abhors cigarette smoking and smoke as a rule, so there was no danger of her stealing from me and in addition she and I know how many cigarettes at any one time she should be carrying. That is another burden that she must carry in her service to me.
A further minute elapsed before I had her back before me once more. “Do you know where the evening paper is?” I asked nonchalantly. “Yes Madam, it’s in the newspaper rack (of course!). She went over to the rack and brought me the paper. “Did I say that I wanted it?” I asked her critically. Faggott stood before me dumbfounded, still offering me the paper. She started to speak “I..I thought that…” I cut her of f sharply, “I simply asked you if you knew where the paper was, I did not ask you to bring it to me!” I raised my voice at the appropriate points to make sure my message was getting through. She looked down at her feet and her hands dropped to her sides. “You really must listen when you are being spoken to. Now be about your work and stop wasting my time”. Remorsefully she replaced the paper, came back gave me a ,small curtsey before fleeing head down from the room, closing the door silently behind her.
I reflected for a minute on what must be going through her tiny mind – I wonder? I was beginning to enjoy myself so feeling like a drink I pressed the service bell again. When she came in to serve me the drink, I noticed a slight trace of gravy at the corners of her mouth. Sh e must have been trying to finish up the remains of my dinner which would have been stone cold by now. She knows that I can check the kitchen and rubbish bin at any time to ensure that my leftovers are eaten and not thrown away. “Finished your meal?” I said casually, “Almost Madam” she said. “But it is cold now “Madam”. “So what. Be thankful for small mercies, many people would be glad to eat that from the dirt in the earth, cold or not! You may not be privileged enough to enjoy food in its prime condition like your superiors do, but at least you eat better than most, so DON’T forget it!” She bobbed a curtsey and said forlornly “Yes Madam”. Somehow I knew that she meant it. “Now fix me a double scotch and water then you can go and finish up your meal” I said rather graciously. She did as she was ‘told before retiring to her kitchen to finish the unappetising morsels.
She was allowed just enough time to finish her food before I summoned her for the 9th time. I noticed that she took a bit longer than usual to appear before me and when she did arrive I saw a slight trace of annoyance and irritability in her eyes. She seemed a bit agitated and wasn’t quite as docile as I normally expect. I smiled inwardly to myself, this was the moment I had been waiting for. It was obvious that her patience with me was close to breaking point. Without warning I went over to her and gave her a good hard slap across her face. She gasped as it took her by surprise. “That’s in case you were thinking of saying something” I snarled. “I wasn’t Madam, honest I wasn’t”, she said most pleadingly. For good measure I hit her again and then again with all my strength on the other side of the face. The impact rocked her on her feet and she almost lost her balance. Four ugly weals rose immediately on each cheek where my fingers had landed. Her face distorted as she bit her lip trying to fight back the tears which were already welling up in her eyes. With both hands now at her sides she desperately gripped the sides of her apron as she struggled to control her emotions. “That my girl is for taking your time getting here when I rang for you just now and it is also to remind you that when you serve me YOU WILL NEVER EVER EVEN THINK ABOUT QUESTIONING MY NEED FOR YOUR SERVICES – NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I SUMMON YOU. I WILL HAVE YOU DANCING ATTENDANCE ON ME AS AND WHEN I SEE FIT AND YOU WILL OBEY IMMEDIATELY, WILLINGLY AND WITHOUT QUESTION EVERY SINGLE TIME. UNDERSTOOD?”
I emphasised every word as I spat them out into her face. Unable to speak she closed her eyes, nodded and bobbed a small curtsey. I hit her hard again and she almost broke down, but remained just on the brink, although I did see a teardrop trickle slowly down her rosy red burning cheek. I broke into her thoughts, “I hope that you do understand Faggott because if you don’t, I shall see to it that eventually you will and believe me, you won’t enjoy it!” I looked down at her, standing at my mercy. I seriously considered giving her 30 good strokes of my cane on her bare ass and then sending her off to bed but I decided otherwise. “Now Faggott you will spend the rest of your evening paying homage to me and you can start by giving me a manicure and pedicure, so go and fetch your equipment and don’t be too long about it!” Still gripping the sides of her apron, she curtsied, turned and fled sniffling out the door. Later, as I relaxed listening to my favourite classical music, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, I looked down to my feet where Faggott her face still bearing traces of my fingermarks – was delivering a very professional pedicure as if her life depended upon it. I smiled a contented smile of satisfaction and casually blew a smoke ring – this was how I liked it and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
To those who think that I am cruel and unfair to Faggott would you prefer that I kick her out to beg on the streets? That’s probably all she’s fit for now, or maybe a cleaning job. At least I am giving her a useful role in life. For whatever reasons compel people to perform tasks that others consider demeaning or degrading, it is the decision of those involved and no one else. Some of us are born to rule and be served while others suffer and serve. One cannot stop and dwell on the misery and misfortune of those that serve us. I have enough to do trying to enjoy and maintain my own lifestyle without having to worry about Faggott’s feelings and frustrations. I am just grateful that it is not me who has to do menial chores, being at the beck and call of someone all day and heaven forbid having to wear unglamourous uniforms all day and every day. I have earned my place and Faggott deserves hers. That’s the way it is going to stay!
As much as I rely on Faggott’s services, there are times when unfortunately I have to do without and I would like to finish up by giving you an example of this. One day last month when I was preparing for a small dinner party, Faggott came to me complaining of a sore throat and headache and asked if she might be allowed to go to bed early. I checked her temperature to see if she was lying but confirmed that she did indeed appear to be running a slight fever and it looked like the beginning of a cold or flu. I was annoyed, it had to be today of all days, just when I was giving the dinner party in honour of my friend Helen’s birthday. Although there was to be only the two of us at dinner it would be most inconvenient if Faggott were not around. I confronted Faggott, “If I allow you to go to bed early, who do you think will wait at the table and clear up afterwards, surely you don’t expect me to do that?” I asked incredulously. Faggott’s eyes went to her feet. There was something else that flashed through my mind. Faggott knew that Helen was coming, and you may recall from my previous letters that she delights in goading Faggott. Her striking looks and sharp tongue and wit remind one of the actress Joan Collins. Faggott is terrified of her and always tries double hard to please when she’s around, but she always finds some fault. In view of the foregoing I thought Faggott might be using the cold as an excuse hot to face Helen again. I was sure that it was a factor but I am not swayed that easily. I told Faggott that I would compromise, she would prepare dinner and wait at the table, but she could leave the washing up until the next day. Her eyes glazed over and I could see that this was not what she was hoping for, but I had no intention of making any further concessions. She wasn’t that sick.
“But what if I am no better tomorrow Madam?” she said innocently. “What do you think? The pots, pans, dishes and everything else will just stay there until you condescend to do them!” The impertinence of it. I made a mental note to knock that out of her before long. Did she really think that I would actually lower myself to perform a skivy’s menial chores while she was upstairs resting? No chance,
I hadn’t done a bit of housework in over 12 years and I was certain my not going to start now, especially for someone like Faggott! “Now get on with your work. You do not have a lot of time before Miss Helen arrives”. And with that I swept out of the kitchen leaving the hapless Faggott to her thoughts.
To cut a long story short, my small dinner party was a success. Helen arrived early, wearing an expensive, classy peach coloured leather outfit which set off her dark, attractive film star looks to good effect. She was her usual witty, entertaining self and was in top form all evening, much to Faggott’s chagrin who as usual was on the receiving end of much of Helen’s cutting remarks. To her credit, although under stress, Faggott worked quickly and diligently, catering to our every need. To mark the occasion I had Faggot wear one of her prettiest white aprons with her usual black uniform and she blushed furiously when Helen complimented her on her smart, professional appearance. (If I remember, I will include one of the photographs I took that evening). Unfortunately Helen could not stay for the whole evening and had to leave around 8.00, but as she was leaving an amusing incident took place which I simply must quickly tell you.
I was standing on the doorstep watching Helen reversing her red sports car down my long driveway, when Faggott boldly dashed past me waving a packet of cigarettes in the air and shouting in her best feminine voice – “Madam, Madam, your cigarettes, you forgot them!” It seemed that while Faggott was clearing the table, she noticed that Helen had left behind her cigarette packet and in an effort to please my fickle friend, decided to run after her. It was a gesture I would have expected from any efficient maid, and most especially Faggott! On seeing Faggott coming towards her, Helen stopped her car at the bottom of the driveway just where it fans out widely to the road and waitedpatiently for Faggott to reach her. Faggott half walked, half ran as fast as she could in her womanish way across the lawn, knowing full well that she was under the critical gaze of Helen and myself. With one hand holding the cigarette packet, the other held to her head to prevent her frilly cap from flying off, she hurried as fast as her heels would carry her, the black and white of her uniform standing out in sharp contrast to the surrounding greenery.
On reaching the car, Faggott went to the driver’s side and bobbed a curtsy. I saw them exchange a few words before Helen got quickly out of the car, snatch the cigarette packet from Faggott’s outstretched hand and throw it down angrily to the ground. In almost the same instant she gave Faggott such an almighty slap across the face that even I winced! Before Faggott could recover Helen delivered another blow to my hapless maid’s other cheek. Then, with a few unprintable parting words to Faggott, Helen quickly climbed back into her car, did a fast U-turn and took off in a cloud of dust and horsepower. As the dust cleared, Faggott appeared standing head bowed, looking lonely, despondent and obviously deep in thought.
Gathering her senses, Faggott picked up the cigarette packet from the flower bed where it had landed and briskly minced back towards me, her face a deep crimson. Apparently the cigarette packet was empty!! I smiled to myself, I could just imagine the verbal dressing down Faggot must have received from my arrogant friend. I had just witnessed another demonstration of female superiorty. I didn’t have to ask Faggott what had happened, the look on my stupid maid’s face said it all!
Apart from this latest humiliation you will recall that she was also feeling poorly, but I couldn’t let the opportunity pass without twisting the knife a little, so as she reached me I stopped her and said sharply “You would have done well to check that cigarette packet before you jumped to conclusions. I simply cannot have you wasting our time by your thoughtlessness so before you go to bed tonight you will write out 1000 lines in your best handwriting I MUST BE MORE ATTENTIVE TO MY WORK AND NOT WASTE MY MISTRESSES TIME. Then tomorrow morning you will take them round to Miss Helen, apologise for your stupidity and present your lines for her approval and may you deserve all you get if they are not to her liking”. I heard a soft “Yes Madame” before the crushed Faggott curtsied quickly and vanished from my sight. Early the next morning, after she had finished serving me breakfast, I reminded the sniffing Faggott, who was still fighting a losing battle with her cold, that she was still expected to go round to Helen. Since it was raining I made her wear her pale blue raincoat one of Helen’s old cast offs – over her pink and white uniform. Then with her yellow umbrella in one hand and her white handbag and a plastic bag containing the lines in the other, the miserable Faggott reluctantly walked off into the rain to meet her fate with the merciless Helen. The result? I am sorry but that has to be another story as I have already gone on longer than I intended.
In closing I might add that I am currently getting ready to spend a month in America on holiday. I will be staying with my sister who has a large house just outside of New York and needless to say I am really looking forward to a well earned rest. While there, my sister has promised to take me to a private fem/dom club and if you are interested I would be willing to send you an eye witness account of the proceedings if it is any good.
Obviously it is too expensive to take Faggott on such a trip – even if I wanted her there – which I don’t. I understand my sister has servants of her own so I don’t think I will feel neglected in any way. While I’m away I have arranged for Faggott to stay with my very good friend Lisa and her three young children. When I suggested the idea to Lisa, she was ecstatic. I was pleased too, for Lisa is a black Jamaican and has had a hard life, so I was glad to be able to give her the treat of live in maid service for a month. As for Faggott, well of course whe was not exactly thrilled with the idea, and she doesn’t know yet how long she will be with Lisa for that’s none of her business! But, as they say, a change is as good as a rest!
Keep up the good work. Yours in Dominance. MS.G.P. (PORTSMOUTH).
FEMDOM IN THE USA – (A RIVAL TO FAGGOT)
F/D IN THE U.S.A. 16/8
Dear Candida,
As you can see from the postmark, this letter comes to you all the way from the good old USA. I am currently on holiday here, staying with my sister, Joan, in Buffalo, New York. (Joan is not her real name for obvious reasons).
I am writing from here for two reasons. Firstly in my last letter to you (Vol.15/6) I promised to give you a report on my visit to an American fem/dom club. I went to one three days ago and I have included some information about it herewith while the details are still fresh in my mind. Secondly I want to direct a few comments to Slave.P. of Bournemouth (Vol.15/8).
A RIVAL TO FAGGOT
Dear Madame Candida,
If you find you have the space, would you kindly print the following humble letter. I am an avid follower and will continue to read the best fem/dom mag in the world. Madame may long you reign.
To: Most wonderful Mistress
M.s. G.P. (Portsmouth)
Madame of Slave Maid Susie Faggott.
Mistress G.P. Highness on bended knee,
This most humble foot slave applauds your work and writings in the past seven letters we have been honoured to have a full insight to the ‘Life and Times of Faggot”. She must be a joy to behold and her service by now must be near perfect! But of course perfect she could never be!
May I just say in her defence she is quite attractive for a she-maid, and if your highness will allow I am quite taken with her looks. I am not normally of that persuasion but would deem it an honour to serve in your household.
I would of course start at minus~1 in your household and look forward to serving under Susie Faggot as under maid! Would this be at all possible, to be lower than Faggot? Do you think she could have some help from a male foot slave? I would deem it more than an honour to serve you both in the most menial ways Madame can think up for me. Don’t you feel this would embarrass Faggot to have a rival in service?
Do you think Faggot after seven years of servitude she could possibly give a scullery maid AN ORDER.
To worship firstly your feet then when Madame has finished with her slaves, thought of kneeling at Faggots feet lick her toes and soles clean through her black stockings as she always seems to wearing in all your pictures of her.
As I live not too far from you Madame, I wonder if you would ever consider my offer as I really do think Faggot makes a very attractive girly.
Please please consider this humble slave.
Yours in servitude. SLAVE P. Bournemouth.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Last things first …. to Slave P…
To begin with Slave P, you have got your name wrong. It should be Slave PEE! PP for short.
In your letter Slave Pee, you amused me by paying Faggott a compliment on her attractiveness. I suppose I am lucky to have such a docile, attractive maid to do my dirty work. Since she is the result of my guidance and training, you were in fact complimenting me. Despite the lowliness of your status in my eyes, I thank you. Take that as a warm and generous gift from me because as a rule I do not thank servants. Period! Faggot no doubt will be thrilled to learn of your attention if I told her, but also I suspect, deeply embarrassed to know that she is now a ‘literary personality’. When the time is right I will tell her. I already have that event well planned and it’s something I’m really looking forward to.
As for the rest of your letter PP, it really annoyed me. Think yourself lucky that you are not Faggott, for if she had the audacity to write a letter like that I would have given her 10 cuts of the cane on each hand and a further 10 with my riding crop on her bare bottom. It astonished me to think that you would seriously expect me to consider you as a future servant when you do not have the common courtesy to provide me with more information about yourself and your thoughts. Who are you? You are just a piece of muck on the ground! If you are really serious about your ambitions write another letter to MADAME and you’d better make it a good one! Some of the things I want to know are; how old are you? Are you married? What is your favourite photo of Faggott? (I will have it enlarged and hang it on her wall). What other talents do you have besides foot licking? Why did you not submit photographs with your letter so that we can all see what kind of pig features you have? Do you have any previous household experience? Do you have uniform or are you planning to borrow one of Faggott’s? What do you dislike most? What is your favourite anecdote of Faggott’s experiences? How would you explain to Faggott that you want to be her rival? I hope by now Slave Pee, you have realised that you are nowhere near to qualifying for my service. If you write a letter that succeeds in amusing me and embarrasses and humiliates Faggott, I might get her to read it out loud to me and then Slave Pee you will be one step nearer to gaining my approval. Nothing comes easy Slave Pee, you’ll have to work for it.
On a more positive note I suppose it might do Faggott good to have a rival, it would help to keep her on her toes and make her even more conscientious in her work and duties. I like that thought, for as they say there is ALWAYS room for improvement. Her literary fame would then be exposed of course and she would be totally crushed. To add to her misery, she would have to give up her privacy, for I would insist that you both share her cot in the basement. To best utilise its size and to make it slightly more comfortable for you both, I would see to it that you slept head to toe. Then after a hard day’s housework, if you two simpletons want to suck each other’s sweaty, smelly feet, you’ll have all night to do it! Just as long as you both clock in for work on time the next morning. I can tell you this Slave Pee, if you ever get to serve in my household, it will be for my pleasure only and not yours. Take that and engrave it on your meagre brain or I’ll drill it into place as I have done with Faggott! The closest you will get to my feet for a long time will be to clean my shoes and wash my stockings and tights.
As for Faggott she absolutely hates to lick and kiss my feet and still gags when I make her do it, especially after I have been wearing my rubber boots all day in my garden. But her discomfort is of no concern to me, she is here for my pleasure, to work and serve in lifelong deference to the power of women. The more she hates doing something, the better I like it! Despite her limitations in foot worship, I often have her pay due homage to me while some of my friends and I watch TV. To add to her embarrassment, she is always made to wear her large white, plastic faced frilly bib over her uniform. Thus attired she reluctantly kneels submissively at my feet with her back to the TV, but in full view of my guests. Of course she is the only one in the room that has to ignore the sounds of the TV no matter how entertaining the programme may be in order to fully concentrate on her task. I invariably give her a good whack with my riding crop over her uniformed ass to encourage her to perform enthusiastically but not noisily (which distracts our attention from the TV programme). It is a test of a good servant to be able to block out any distractions that may be going on around her in order to keep her tiny mind fully on what her Mistress has ordered her to do. In my book failure to do so is gross disobedience and brings a severe punishment.
Well Slave Pee if you were to join my household I could always put you in charge of Faggott and then you could direct and teach her in her housework and foot worship tasks. She certainly needs all the training she can get in the latter. I would then punish you both for her mistakes, with you as her supervisor, receiving double! I think you have plenty of food for thought Slave Pee, so get with it, a good letter from you will please both Candida and myself.
Prior to coming to America , I deposited Faggott with my friend Lisa, who is (I hope) benefiting from Faggot’s services until I get back. Before leaving for Lisa’s house I had Faggott dress in her baby blue matching rubber underwear, complete with old fashioned styled directoire bloomers, trimmed at the elasticated knees with 2″ rubber frills. despite the fact that she has several sets of plain cotton/polyester underwear (not for her the fancy satin and lace lingerie of her Mistress). From time to time I do like to put her into her rubber outfit for a couple of reasons – (1) she just hates the feel of rubber (no rubber fetish here!) so it’s a form of humiliation for her to be made to wear it and it enforces her feeling of inferiority that she’s never allowed to forget; (2) to add insult to injury and much to the amusement of myself and others, her rubber knickers make a delightful swishing, squeaking sound as she works and serves. Still following my orders, over this she wore one of her princess style morning working overalls in mint green which contrasted nicely with her dark shoulder length hair, thick black stockings and black medium heeled pumps. It was both pretty and practical, showing her bust to good effect while flaring gently from the waist to finish below the knees allowing her plenty of freedom of movement while doing chores like bending or scrubbing.
Finally as a special going away gift I bought her a brand new matching tabard style apron and head square from Alexandra Work wear. It was an inexpensive gift and one no doubt that Faggott would rather have done without, but that wasn’t for her to decide. Thus, suitably dressed she looked very cute and businesslike.
Then, as her last duty to me for a while, I had her go down and perform orally on me. It amused me to think that it could almost have been her goodbye kiss (ha ha!). Faggott didn’t think it was so amusing however, cunnilingus is another one of her pet dislikes, but she knows what to expect if she shows any reluctance or unwillingness to obey. Although she tries to please, her best is still not good enough for me and I am still working on her education in that respect. As I ground my moist pussy firmly into her face, I remember thinking that I would have to do without this kind of service for at least a month, still it is something to look forward to when I get home. As it turned out, it wasn’t one of Faggott’s better performances but feeling in a generous mood I decided not to punish her this time. I knew that her concentration could be lacking, for knowing her as I do, her tiny pea brain would be working overtime in dreaded anticipation of what might lie in store for her at Lisa’s. She was indeed going into the unknown!
After Faggott had finished me and I had regained my composure, I ordered her to go and freshen up her make up, get her coat on and be back before me in 5 minutes. It was closer to 7 minutes before she stood meekly before me again and could offer no explanation as to why she kept me waiting. I decided that she needed a lesson in timekeeping. Using my cane I gave her 5 x 7 = 35 on her upturned pink ass and had her count out loud as I proceeded. Good timekeeping is mandatory in a servant!! After I finished, I noticed that a very much more complaisant Faggott stood before me a second time after refreshing her makeup again. I looked at her, with her old pale blue raincoat barely hiding her uniform she looked every inch like a maidservant/cleaner ready to go to work which is exactly what she was. I gave her a rare compliment. “Your lipstick looks pretty on you Faggott” I said sweetly. “That shade really suits you”. She went red as a beetroot and dropped her head in embarrassment. “Be sure to put it in your make-up bag and take it with you, as you will always want to look your best for Mrs.Robbins won’t you now. Be sure you do” I snapped changing my voice from sweetness to sour. “You will respect, honour, and obey Mrs.Robbins in every way while I’m gone. You will be representing me and all that I’ve trained and taught you over the years and if you dare as to step one inch out of line, you will hear about it when I get back”. I saw her shoulders heave as she breathed heavily, she knew that I do not make idle threats. I put my face close to her downturned head. “LOOK AT ME!” I shouted. “DO I MAKE MYSELF ABSOLUTELY CLEAR?” Her eyes welled up a little and I thought she was going to cry and ruin her mascara, but dropping her eyelids to the floor, she nodded convincingly while biting her lip and curtseying to me. I took a few photographs of her packing her case etc and we left promptly on time for Lisa’s house.
On arriving at Lisa’s place, I was warmly greeted by the lively 35-year-old black Jamaican. Her four young children (three under 5 years old) were all in bed, so the house was unusually quiet. Faggott stood politely just behind me clutching her old suitcase and handbag. She still didn’t know how long she would be staying with Lisa, I considered it none of her business. But if the contents of her suitcase were anything to go by, she knew that it was not going to be a simple overnight stay. Under my direction she had carefully packed; a change of cotton underwear, a nightdress, toothbrush, her hair rollers, make-up accessories, rubber gloves, her bib, two spare uniforms including her best black afternoon overall with white frilly aprons and cap, plus some other useful items I was sure she would need. Such as, a hot water bottle, her rubber soled house shoes, her pedicure and manicure tools, shower cap, her frilly bibbed plastic apron, a couple of her favourite cleaning products, a duster, and in case she had any free time – her needlepoint. This is her project for the year and she’s been given a maximum of three months to make a lace tablecloth to my satisfaction. One thing she always has to take when working away from home is her report card. She will get Lisa to complete it before returning it to me in a sealed envelope at the end of her stay. Faggott knows from past experience that praise or punishment awaits her according to Lisa’s assessment of her service. I can highly recommend it to all Masters and Mistresses out there. It is an excellent motivator. The suspense the slave goes through while waiting for the results from the sealed envelope is an added bonus.
Lisa and I continued our small talk in the hallway and I could see that she was excited about the prospect of having maid service and thanked me warmly. I began to reply when suddenly and without any warning she excused herself and turning to Faggott for the first time said loudly and authoritively ….”Faggott are you planning to spend all day standing there?” Poor Faggott nearly jumped out of her skin and a brief look of fear flashed across her face. While we were talking, Faggott had obviously been daydreaming but Lisa had brought her back to reality with a bang. I looked at my stout black friend and smiled, she had all the makings of a very good dominatrix. Not bothering to wait for Faggott’s reply, she pointed her finger down the hallway and continued to intimidate Faggott with her stern voice. “You will find the kitchen down the hallway to your left, go and make a start on the washing up”. Then, lowering her tone said derogatorily, “We’ve been saving it, especially for you”. Faggott was undoubtedly surprised that Lisa was issuing orders so soon and so confidently before even saying hello to her. I think at that moment Faggott knew that although she was escaping from me for a while, she was in for no easy time of it with Lisa. My little she-male looked up at me and then at Lisa and seeing no hint of compassion or sympathy in our eyes, she dropped her head, picked up her case and went to move off. But suddenly remembering her duty, she put her case down, grabbed her skirts and gave a deep and respectful curtsey to her new mistress. The die had been set! Faggott then picked up her case again and went down the hall as fast as her feminine stride would carry her, into a new experience of female domination. Lisa winked at me. “I always say you must start as you mean to go on”, she said jovially and I couldn’t have agreed with her more. “Come” she said, taking my arm and giving is a friendly squeeze. “I’ll show you where Faggott will be sleeping. She led me down the hallway and into the kitchen where I saw Faggott obediently at work at the kitchen sink. I noticed that she was dutifully wearing her mint green rubber gloves which were colour co-ordinated with her uniform and in her well trained way, she had the sleeves of her overall neatly and precisely rolled back to her elbows exposing her soft pink hairless forearms. On hearing us enter, Faggott kept her head down and paid even more attention to removing some stubborn spots of a greasy plate.
Ignoring Faggott we walked through the kitchen to a door less opening in the far wall. We went down a step into a very small windowless room. It had obviously been a scullery at one time but now it served as an excellent laundry room. Lisa switched on the light and the room was filled with a very bright white light from the strip lamp which ran down the centre of the ceiling. The room could not have been more than 6′ by 12′ in size and probably because the walls and concrete floor were unfinished it was chilly in there. I looked around, it seemed that every square foot of floor area was utilised. The room had an unpleasant musky baby odour which seemed to come from two large buckets of nappies quietly stewing in the corner, no doubt waiting for Faggot’s attention. For a laundry room, it was well fitted out with a large deep, double sink, a washing machine, a dryer, clothesline and an ironing board. In addition the room contained a deep freezer, an old wooden dressing table and mirror which had been poorly painted an ugly red and white, a yellow vinyl covered kitchen chair and finally accounting for the reason I was there, across one end of the room against the wall was an old iron bedstead. It was just visible beyond the washing machine and a rack holding a various collection of cleaning products and washing detergents. The single bed had an old, very badly stained mattress covering the springs, which in some areas were going rusty. Stacked neatly in the middle of the striped mattress was a small pile of blankets and sheets. Lisa obviously considered it beneath herself to make up a bed for a servant, that was to be Faggott’s next job.
Lisa broke into my thoughts, “It’s not exactly the Ritz but I hope Faggott will be OK here. I’ve given her two blankets but if it gets too cold, there’s some old coats under the stairs she’s welcome to use to put on top. “Well, the Ritz it certainly wasn’t, it made Faggott’s Spartan quarters at home seem luxurious in comparison, and I have larger walk in cupboards in my house. But I said “Don’t worry Lisa, it’s perfect for Faggott, she won’t be spending too much time in bed anyway”. I summoned Faggott over. She immediately put down the saucepan she was cleaning and came over instantly dripping water from her gloves down the front of her overall and tabard apron. She happily gave us her usual curtsey but her cheerfulness died when she saw the contents of the room and the bed. Feet together she stood between us and dropped her head in quiet respect, her baby blue eyes firmly fixed to the floor and her gloved hands clasped tightly together in front of her. “This is where you will be sleeping Faggott. I’ve put you in here next to the kitchen because I thought it would be more convenient for you. You have my permission to use the dressing table and the sinks for your personal use and you can clear one of the shelves on the rack to put some of your stuff up there”. Faggott looked dejectedly around the room but made no comment. her opinion had not been asked for nor was it required, it had all been decided. Any thoughts she may have had about occupying the large spare bedroom upstairs had been quashed in about five seconds flat. “When you have finished your washing up, you may bring your case in here and settle in. Now what do you say to Mrs.Robbins for allowing you to sleep down here and for going to so much trouble for you?” I said firmly to Faggott. Knowing that her every word and action would be under our intense scrutiny she kept her reply short and simple, probably to avoid saying the wrong thing. Turning fully to face Lisa she took hold of each side of her overall skirt and gave Lisa a deep and respectful curtsey while saying softly and humbly “Thank you for letting me sleep here Mrs.Robbins”. She returned to the upright position and took up her previous stance.
“You’re welcome Faggott”, said Lisa smiling, then winking at me over Faggott’s bowed head said “think of it as my pleasure”. I thought that was funny. Lisa dismissed Faggott and she returned immediately to her work at the kitchen sink, her heels clicking loudly as she hurried across the tiled floor. Lisa turned off the light and just as we were leaving I noticed a child’s primitive drawing attached to the wall at the entrance to the laundry room. On green coloured paper there was a simple drawing of a woman in a black dress, hanging out the washing. Scrawled underneath were the words MAIDS ROOM. I pointed it out to Lisa who explained that it had been put there by her 6 year old daughter when she found out that Faggott was coming. I smiled it was very appropriate. Closing the kitchen door behind us, we returned to the front door leaving Faggott alone to her work and her thoughts.
On the way to the front door, I started to give Lisa some advice on how to handle servants – a certain one in particular. But I was surprised to learn that Lisa herself had been a maid many years ago. when she first arrived in England. Not knowing any better she had suffered under some quite demanding white employers before she was able to break away and get a job in a bank. Now, she told me she was looking forward to putting the shoe on the other foot and maybe get some of her own back. I laughed and gave her a big hug. Faggott would certainly have to rise to the challenge of being a servant to Lisa and her family and in case there was any difficulty I left my trusty whalebone switch with Lisa for assurance. With that we said our goodbyes, I collected my cases from home, headed for the airport and bingo here I am ten days later in Buffalo.
Seeing my sister again has given us an opportunity again to engage in some long and interesting discussion, like we used to in England. She knows all about Faggott of course and one talk we had the other night concerned Faggott and the question of AIDS and cancer. Apparently there has been cases of cancer developing in women who have been on long term hormone treatments. Because of this I have now decided that when I return to England, I will reduce Faggott’s intake of hormones for as long as she continues to act in a truly feminine way. If any signs of manliness start to appear again than I may have to reconsider. As far as AIDS is concerned I’ll admit it is a problem, but I have NO INTENTION of giving in to Faggott’s constant pleading with me to prohibit my homosexual male friends from having their way with her. As far as I’m concerned it is her role in life to serve and obey me and my friends whether they are male or female. AIDS does concern me however so I will compromise and insist that my male friends use a condom whenever they feel the urge for my prudish maid.
The fem/dom club which we visited the other night was an experience to say the least. To save time I will just mention the highlights. The club was located in the basement of a large country mansion, just outside of Niagara Falls. All the attendees had to be members and all had to submit to a security check before being accepted. My sister had enrolled me 6 months earlier so I was able to get in all right. It wasn’t cheap! The entrance fee was the American equivalent of £60 and that was on top of the membership fee (approx £250). My sister joked that the fees were kept high to keep the club beyond the reach of the riff raff like maids and servants. That was true, being one of the working poor, Faggott would have not been allowed past the huge iron gates leading to the estate.
At the door we were taken to a small room off the huge entrance hall where our ID was checked, our money was taken and then we were led down a thickly carpeted staircase to the basement by a big black “Mr.T” type. We found ourselves in a large dimly lit room which must have run the entire length of the house. It was richly furnished with a thick red carpet, matching red leather armchairs with footstools and side tables all facing towards a red curtain at one end of the room. I guessed that there must have been enough chairs for 30 people and each one with a clear view of what was obviously the stage. A pretty French maid appeared and offered us a glass of champagne before showing us to a couple of chairs near the front. The room quickly filled up with both males and females, and all were served drinks by the ever attentive French maid who bore the nametag “Erica”. (My sister and I still cannot decide if it was a he or a she). At around 8 pm the music died and the conversation in the room stopped as the curtains slowly moved aside revealing a red carpeted stage that I guessed to be about 20′ square in size. Running across the back of the stage about 7′ from the floor ran a horizontal wooden beam. It was about 12″ from the wall and was supported by several metal brackets attached to the wall. Above this, 2′ higher was a black hook in the centre of the wall. To one side of the stage on the apron was a chair similar to the ones we were using.
Nothing happened for about a minute as we waited in suspense, then to the tune of Ravel’s Bolero, walking very slowly but purposely to centre stage came a tall, blonde, amazon like woman of about 30 years of age. She looked incredible. Stunningly attractive, she must have been at least 7′ tall in her heels and her voluptuous figure was a sight to be seen. She wore a gauzy blouse of black silk that barely covered her ample breasts which sat like pale pumpkins on a French lift bra. A black leather mini skirt zipped up the front added to her allure and her outfit was completed by high shiny black leather boots. I barely noticed the slave that accompanied her, although his arms were muscular, in comparison to his Mistress he seemed small and puny. He was completely hairless and was naked from head to toe except for a genital restrainer similar to the one that I have on Faggott. She led him on stage by a silver chain attached to D ring through his nose and on reaching a suitable spot at the centre of the stage she gave the chain, two short, sharp tugs and he immediately dropped like a stone to the floor and with his forehead touching the carpet he knelt with his rear end as high in the air as he could get it. Oh brother! Was he well trained! The woman looked slowly around the audience, gave us a friendly smile and with a tinge of European accent she told us in a soft, clear, sexy voice that her name was Angel and that she was our Mistress of Ceremonies for the evening. She then dropped the end of the chain she was carrying and went over and sat herself down in the chair. Picking up a riding crop from the side table, she whacked it harshly against the side of her boot. Instantly her slave got up and ran over to his Mistress where he promptly unzipped her skirt and plunged his head into her orifice without a seconds hesitation. Obviously he had been trained to recognise every sound or action she made.
From that point, the show got under way with Angel proving little tit bits of information about the performers that added spice to our viewing pleasure, although the first two performances featured pretty routine fem/dom fare with male slaves being made to do various party tricks before being punished by their Mistresses.
For act number 3, Angel repositioned him so that his head was resting back on the seat looking upwards. Then Angel promptly dumped her ample buttocks firmly down on his face. Wriggling comfortably back into the plush leather chair she tossed her blonde mane, gave us a warm smile, then started the proceedings by releasing a loud fart into the unfortunate slave’s upturned face. We heard a muffled, anguished cry of distress come from the seat of the chair and from our position near the front we caught a whiff of the foul stench. Angel introduced two huge negresses, Tina and Louise. They sat on chairs side by side facing us. They each wore a pair of flimsy harem style crotchless pyjamas and sat expressionless smoking cigarettes through long ebony holders. Angel told us that they were sisters and that they were female wrestlers, which accounted for their huge if somewhat flabby appearance. They were not exactly ugly but then they wouldn’t have won prizes for beauty either. They looked quite formidable. Suddenly from the back of the stage a couple of white teenagers, one a boy one a girl appeared. Each wore a brightly coloured short dress – similar to the ones ice skaters wear – thereby exposing their bare bottoms and genitals. Both wore eye make-up but no lipstick, both wore identical glittering pendant earrings, and both wore tiny bootees that matched their dress material. Even their mousey brown hair was the same length and was tied back in short ponytails which bobbed prettily from side to side as they walked. They approached the sullen negresses, knelt down in unison and like mirror images bowed their heads and offered up the cane and the crop their respective Mistress. Tina and Louise took the implements and knelt at the feet of their owners, foreheads pressed firmly to the floor and their bare bottoms shining at us like two full moons. We were told by Angel that the teenagers were orphans and that their names were Peaches (the boy) and Cream. Cutting a long story short, they were both told to have a race to see who could orally bring their Mistress to a climax first. The loser would receive ten cuts from the appropriate instrument depending on who it was. They both went about their task enthusiastically and we watched as their little bottoms wriggled frantically as they furiously strove to win the race. In the end Tina put her hand up signifying the end. Peaches had won. Tina then gave Peaches the cane and was told to give Cream her punishment. Cream knelt as she was told with her bottom high in the air. Half way through Tina stopped him and he was accused of not putting enough force into it, so she had them reverse places. Cream was handed the riding crop and was told to give Peaches ten. After a while the same thing happened as Cream was accused of exerting insufficient effort in using the crop so they were made to change places and reverse roles again. This went on until they ended up giving each other 15 good stinging cuts with no holds barred which succeeded in bringing themselves close to tears. This was all orchestrated by the black sisters who, content with cigarettes and drinks, watched nonchalantly while the orphans beat themselves for our amusement. At Tina and Louise’s orders the orphans tiptoed off the stage carrying the cane and the crop in the same way as they came on, with their red striped asses almost glowing in the dim light.
After that we found out the reason for the wooden beam and the hook on the back wall. Angel got up and literally picked up the male slave, put him under her arm and carried him to the back of the stage. She climbed up a flight of three steps and looped his nose chain around the hook allowing a short piece of slack.’ She then let him drop. He fell slightly but the only thing saving him from swinging from his nose was the wooden beam which he grabbed and hugged for all he was worth. This explained why his arms were so muscular. He hung there like a monkey on a stick, legs dangling in the air, arms wrapped around the beam and his head jerked up at an awkward angle by the chain, causing him to look far up on the wall. Angel added to his misery by locking a ball and chain around his right ankle which swung like a pendulum threatening to pull him to the ground. His only means of support was the beam and his arms. It was a novel approach to slave treatment I must say.. Just to make sure he had no other means of support, Angel kicked the steps away from his reach before returning to her comfortable chair. Fascinated, we watched as he kept desperately trying to adjust his position, but no matter how he tried, it still put a strain on his arms. Other acts came and went as he clung valiantly to his perch. At times he almost lost control as his arms grew tired and he would let out a loud cry or groan as he frantically repositioned himself to stop from falling. At one point during one of his loud groans, Angel got up and pushed a huge inflatable rubber dummy into his mouth. As she pumped air into it his mouth was forced open wider and wider causing his eyes to stare hopelessly and saucer like at the ceiling. Angel apologised for the interruption and said that we wouldn’t be disturbed again. The lady was an excellent MC!
Finally to close the show came two very different acts, the likes of which I have never seen or read about anywhere before. The first featured a tall, attractive blonde woman who Angel described as a former Miss America. She was making a third appearance at the club and was obviously popular because as soon as she appeared she received a standing ovation. Angel said that she presents something different at every performance and tonight would be no exception. Miss A as the woman was known, came on stage carrying a whip and leading two males dressed as dogs by a collar and chain. The males, walking on all fours looked very doglike. They each wore a special harness which according to Angel enabled them to walk on all fours, beg, lay down and sit on their haunches but not stand erect like a human. Angel said that the harness is only taken off when Miss A has plenty of help around for the dogs can be dangerously violent. Angel also went on to say that their tails were real dogs` tails specially imported from Korea and were attached surgically in place. Their noses and ears also could not be removed without some assistance. It got even more bizarre when Angel told us that the tendons in their mouths had been cut so that they were unable to talk. To communicate they had been trained to make a grunting or barking noise or wriggle their bottoms so as to make their tails move from side to side. Despite the unusual situation the males found themselves in, Angel said that they were well fed and very well looked after. Miss A kept a third slave whose main purpose was to take care of the dogs. He fed them on a fat free diet, full of vitamins, saw to it that they exercised regularly, and that they slept in a special padded box on the floor of a bedroom in Miss A’s Californian home. Miss A took a Mars bar from her handbag, removed the wrapping paper and promptly inserted it fully into her vaginal opening. She twisted and turned it so as to make it thoroughly wet and soggy then she threw it onto the floor and ordered the dogs to go for it. Both dogs leapt for the Mars bar and ended up fighting each other for the right to the rare treat. Since their harnesses prevented them from standing up or from using their limbs to any advantage, they were restricted to using their mouths, their weight and their front paws to fight each other off. It was a comical sight as the two males were reduced to animal like behaviour in order to get the chocolate. Miss A encouraged them with her whip and we were treated to a real dog fight complete with barks and squeals of pain. Angel added that they had been trained to accept that a Mars bar soaked in their Mistress’s juices was the highest reward they could expect, for it was the closest that they would ever get to Miss A’s sexual parts. Just then our attention turned back to the slave who was almost ready to fall from his perch so Angel went over, took off the weight from his leg, unhooked his nose chain from the wall, carried him back under her arm and dropped him face down onto the floor in front of her chair. He lay there shaking and shivering with pain and emotion and total exhaustion. I don’t think that there was any doubt in his mind about the power of a determined woman. We gave Angel a hearty round of applause. Meanwhile the dog who ate the chocolate, lifted his rear end from the ground and slowly deposited a large sausage shaped poop on the stage. The chocolate had been far too rich for his delicate constitution and had virtually gone straight through him, or so we were told by the all knowledgeable Angel. On seeing what happened Miss A got up, whipped the dog’s ass, then turning him around, she unceremoniously rubbed his face vigorously in the mess. Then waving gaily to us, the vivacious blonde led her two ugly dogs off the stage. We gave her a standing ovation, no wonder she was popular at the club, the lady was a star.
After Erica the French maid had cleaned up the mess, the curtains were drawn back to reveal a large boxing ring. Standing in the ring were four naked males each attached to the four corner posts by a long length of chain which was locked to their leather collars. The chain was just long enough to enable them to get three quarters of the way across the ring before running out of slack. I noticed that all the slaves were very well endowed in the genital area. They stood rigidly to attention in their respective corners with their eyes firmly fixed on the tall raven haired beauty standing in the centre of the ring. All she wore was a black leather peep hole bra, black leather elbow length gloves and black high heeled shoes. In her left hand she carried an evil looking whip. What caught my eye however was the natural looking cock and balls that were strapped between her legs. Angel told us that they were made from special silicone rubber which to the touch feels like the real thing. Angel said that for this, the last act of the evening, the slaves would be put into special blindfolds and at the given signal would have to grope their way around the ring to try and grasp the balls of their Mistress. One had on a Porky the Pig mask complete with its stupid grin, another had Mickey Mouse and the other two were Bugs Bunny and the Pink Panther. They looked awfully funny. The slaves or animals as Angel referred to them as, were told that they had to move quickly around the ring or their punishment would be doubled. Also when they did locate their Mistress’s balls they had to squeeze hard because the fake ones were the only ones in the ring that would fully collapse under pressure. With that the animals were set in motion. Racing against the clock and to the stirring sound of the Lone Ranger theme they all ran to the centre of the ring and promptly collided with each other and immediately started squeezing each other’s balls. Screams of agony mixed with the sounds of our laughter as we watched the hilarious spectacle. Porky the Pig was really energetic, he was running everywhere, grabbing everything that came within reach of his hands. At one point he ran down the side of the ring and was promptly jerked from his feet onto his ass as he suddenly came to the end of his chain. But he quickly got up again but then ran straight into Bugs Bunny who squeezed Porky’s balls so hard, the little runt made a loud pig like squeal before bending over double. Meanwhile the other twos’ chains had crossed, dumping them down together in the centre of the ring. Mickey Mouse won that one. He grabbed Pink Panther’s balls in both hands and squeezed so hard, Pink’s agonising scream must have been heard all the way back to England. And so it went on and I haven’t laughed so much for a long time. Unknown to the animals their ring mistress had left the ring as soon as she had the masks on them, so their task was impossible! The ring mistress’s whip soon had them on their toes again as she re-entered the ring. Nobody won of course so the animals had more agony to look forward to the next day. As the curtains closed for the last time behind them, we all stood up and gave the ring mistress a standing ovation. It was a wonderful end to the evening and it made me feel lightheaded and happy. After that, Angel thanked us for coming and advised us that the next show would be in six months time and to be sure not to miss it as more unique acts were scheduled to appear. By that time of course, I will be back in England, although if you are interested Candida, I suppose I could always ask my sister to send us a report. What do you think? Angel’s final gesture was to give us a mock curtsey from centre stage, then waving happily to us she walked sexily through the gap in the curtains, pulling the wretched slave by his nose chain behind her. He stumbled after his powerful Mistress, still weak from exhaustion and still gagged by the huge pink dummy. A warm round of applause followed before we all went home. It was quite an experience and I’m glad I went.
In closing, I must say Candida, that after seeing the way that some of the males were treated at the club I have come to the conclusion that your title to my last letter “Long Suffering Male Maid” (Vol.15/6) was inappropriate. By comparison to the males I saw, Faggott leads a soft and cushy life. That is something I will be giving some serious thought to between now and when I get home.
Keep up the good work and keep the letters coming in on primping, prissy she males working and serving under an aggressive female rod of iron!
Sincerely, MS.G.P.(PORTSMOUTH) – ALL THE WAY FROM BUFFALO NEW YORK.
HAPPY WITH RESULTS OF MY MANIPULATIVE TRAINING
Dear Candida,
I am writing to give you and your readers an update to my last letter which you published some time ago.
You will recall that I last wrote to you from North America where I was on holiday, staying with my sister in Buffalo, New York. I referred then to having to leave my little she-male creation, Suzette Faggott, behind in England working for my good friend Lisa and her four children.
Ironically this letter also comes to you from across the Atlantic, for I am back here again, albeit under different circumstances. My sister developed a major health problem after moving from Buffalo to Canada and I have rushed over here to look after her. Fortunately the critical phase is over and I can now relax a little and catch up on my writing amongst other things.
I have not read the last few issues of your magazine so I am a bit out of touch with the kind of letters you are currently publishing. I hope that this latest true instalment of my domination of the male, will find favour and trust that it will be considered for publication. It might provide inspiration to my female colleagues and provide education and food for thought for the wimpish males who aspire to be under the total control of a woman such as myself.
In resetting the scene for those unfamiliar with the background and history to my total subjugation of my male, I can only refer them to my previously published letters. These contain in detail the description of some events which happened on the path down which I have led this former engineer, to his present state and subsequent new career as a docile, effeminate facsimile of a female servant. Over the years I have taken this specimen and through superior intelligence, clever manipulation, subtle brain washing, corporal punishment, a regular diet of oestrogen female hormone pills and intense domestic training, I have created a subservient walking, talking example of female supremacy. I have virtually succeeded in creating a female personality out of a mere male. This treatment has been supplemented by careful coaching in all the nuances that make life more pleasurable for the supreme Mistress – foot worship – face squatting cunnilingus – basic hairdressing – and even manicures and pedicures.
Although it is still done today in more affluent households, it was customary in the early part of this century for girls in domestic service to be forced to wear a distinctive uniform to set them apart and to remind them of their inferior status – I make Faggott wear one.
To add insult to injury, I insist that every minute of Faggott’s waking hours is spent dressed in a typical modern maid’s uniform. This consists of suitable underwear, unflattering but practical feminine overalls, aprons, caps, thick black stockings, dainty house shoes and as a special personal touch, a bib. My maid is required to wear a bib when eating meals (normally leftovers from the table of her superiors) or when being made to perform special duties such as foot worshipping which need the services of her mouth. I don’t care whether she wears one of her own bibs or it is one that belongs to a child in the house where she may be working, but a bib will be worn, I make no compromises. This is a bit bizarre perhaps, but I believe that total domination should encompass both mental oppression as well as some physical or symbolic acknowledgement on the part of the subjugated that they are under the control of a superior power. Hence the uniform and the bib. Faggott’s appearance is made complete with carefully applied make up which she does herself, earrings and the absence of all facial and body hair.
My female colleagues will appreciate that to have a maid at one’s beck and call, gives one a sense of power and rank. Now that I have Faggott fully feminised, I have no compuncture about sending her out on trivial errands dressed in her uniform just to advertise my status symbol. In fact I get a great deal of pleasure in seeing her discomfort in this way. Faggott has still not yet gotten fully used to these enforced public appearances and although she passes undetected as a male under the feminine shroud, I know that inside she is shaking down to her girlish shoes, much to my delight and satisfaction.
Failure to conform to this enforced lifestyle brings instant punishment. Despite the fact that Faggott has been under my control for several years now, I still enjoy inflicting punishments on my soppy maid for the least little infraction or whenever it is my whim. Being physically and mentally stronger, I do not have much trouble making a point.
So successful have I been in this project that to this day some of my newer friends still do not realise that the attractive little maid that serves us so readily is a totally crushed and humiliated male. By now I have Faggott in total awe of me and I take great pleasure in manipulating her mushy mini brain to my advantage. Such is her condition that I am certain that never again will he be able to function satisfactorily as an engineer. By cutting off or controlling access to radio, TV, newspapers, books and other means of mental really stimulation, I have succeeded in creating a dull, simple minded little she male who is ruled night and day by my uncompromising rod of iron – but back to the purpose of this letter.
As I said earlier, I left Faggott in the capable hands of my portly black Jamaican friend Lisa and her four young children while I was in America. Being a former domestic herself she knew the protocols necessary for handling servants and I was in no doubt that Faggott’s time would be put to good use in my absence. Lisa and I had agreed that high on the list of duties for Faggott would be picking up after the children (three of whom are under 5), wiping runny noses, changing bums, washing foul smelling nappies as well as all the other household work that Lisa was looking forward to taking a well earned rest from. I relished the thought, indeed anyone but me, but especially Faggott! How sweet life can be for those in control.
I had been out of England for six full weeks and it was a further ten days before I eventually got around to picking up Faggott from Lisa’s place. The 10 days were spent on some important unfinished business but I made sure that Lisa knew that I was back even if Faggott didn’t. I didn’t want to abuse Lisa’s generosity in agreeing to take Faggott, but I needn’t have worried, Lisa had said that Faggott could stay and work for her as long as I wished – well, good unpaid help is hard to find these days – so almost eight weeks to the day I went back to Lisa’s house to collect Faggott, carrying with me a carefully orchestrated plan in my mind for my maid which I was sure was most ambitious yet.
Lisa was expecting me and had arranged a small welcoming party. I was greeted by some of my good friends, whom some of your established readers will be familiar with. The first person I saw was my best friend Helen Waller, a Joan Collins lookalike and Faggott’s most feared Nemesis. The others were my old school friend Karen Smoll, a bespectacled 5 foot bundle of dynamite and my other friends Marylin, Joan and my boyfriend, Roger. It was really good to see them all again.
We all enjoyed a buffet style high tea while Lisa brought me up to date with her report on Faggott. Lisa said that after she laid down the law to Faggott, my maid got over her reluctant start and got down to the serious business of trying to please her new Mistress, knowing full well the consequences would be if she didn’t. Of course Lisa saw to it that Faggott was kept fully occupied during her stay and besides baby care even introduced her to some new and different chores for the first time, much to Faggott’s displeasure I was told – for example – one new experience for Faggott was whenever Lisa took the children and their German Shepherd dog, Trixie, to the local park, Lisa would make Faggott walk a little way behind them pushing the youngest child in her pushchair. Faggott was to carry a plastic bag and trowel and was expected to watch Trixie and to pick up the large, strong smelling faeces left by the dog whenever necessary. In addition any ice cream wrappers or litter from their picnics were Faggott’s responsibility to pick up and take home for proper disposal. It was therefore assumed that a walk in the park was not the welcome break from housework for Faggott that it otherwise might have been.
I learned that another new chore for Faggott was whenever Trixie was to be fed, Lisa would make Faggott kneel down and hold the bowl for the dog, turning it as necessary to make it easier for Trixie to get to the food. Sometimes Faggott would have to put the food actually on the dog’s tongue. Such efficient maid service! Needless to say Faggott’s own meal of leftovers was taken only after the rest of the household had been served including Trixie.
Lisa said that she had kept Faggott busy all the time and indeed would be sorry to see her go. Lisa went on to tell us that at that moment she had Faggott scrubbing out the kitchen cupboards and washing all the chinaware. It was the final part of an ongoing project that saw Faggott cleaning out every cupboard and shelf in the house. We decided to bring her in and sent Milly, Lisa’s eldest daughter to fetch Faggott.
Faggott entered the room unaware of Lisa’s guests or that I was back from America. When she saw us a look of surprise came over her face which drained of all colour when she saw me. Although it had been a while she obviously did not expect to see me so unexpectedly. She quickly assessed the situation, gathered the skirt of her uniform, gave us a deep curtsy and hastily settled into a position of quiet respect, head bowed, eyes to the floor, feet together, hands clasped tightly in front of her aproned skirt. She stood there waiting for an order or reproof. She was in hallowed company.
Faggott was dressed in her mint green princess style, short sleeved overall finished at the collar and cuffs with a contrasting smart white trim.
Near the hem of her overall which fell below her black stockinged knees, there were some dark visible signs of toil from her labours. The white frilly apron, with its broiderie anglaise frilled shoulder straps, was starched and spotless. She had obviously changed into it before reporting to us. It was a custom that had been drummed into her many times – no messy or dirty aprons to be worn while in the presence of her superiors. Faggott’ s appearance was completed by a pair of imitation pearl stud earrings and a white frilly cap tied in a way which helped to keep her saucy ponytail in place. Her lipstick looked fresh so she had thoughtfully remembered to touch it up to make herself as presentable as possible for us.
If I was pleasantly surprised at Faggott’s appearance, Lisa wasn’t or maybe she was being spitefully picky when she ordered Faggott to turn around. Faggott obeyed instantly and stood with her back to us. Again Lisa spoke sharply to Faggott, her Jamaican accent sounding quite pronounced. “Did you sleep in that overall?” Lisa demanded to know. Faggott spun around to face Lisa and said innocently “No Madam I didn’t really I didn’t”. “Then why are you looking in such a state and in front of your Mistress too”. It was true that the skirt of the overall near the back of her legs was badly creased, but that would have been caused by sitting or kneeling when doing her work. It was no big deal. But Lisa obviously wanted to show off her total control over this inferior being and was determined to press the issue. I liked that. Faggott’s brain couldn’t think of any appropriate answer to Lisa’s last question, so she stood there silently with her head bowed, no doubt aware that all eyes were on her. Lisa continued…. “I do not tolerate servants who have little respect for their superiors”. Faggott started to protest but was cut off abruptly by Lisa. “No buts Faggott, your dishevelled dress is an embarrassment to me so I am giving you five minutes to be back here in a clean overall and I want you wearing your bib as well!” Lisa’s tone made it clear that there was no room for appeal and Faggott knew it. She curtsied quickly to her black mentor and left the room.
Exactly five minutes later Faggott was standing before us again. This time she had replaced the badly creased green uniform with her pretty pale blue, long sleeved, nylon overall. The clean and neatly ironed princess style overall flared out attractively from the waist and it was just the right length to hide her knees. The lace trimmed cuffs and collar matched her apron and cap very nicely. The frilly cap had colour co-ordinated pale blue ribbons which kept it securely in place on her head in a neat halo effect. Over this distinctive professional looking outfit she wore as instructed, her large white plastic faced bib, it’s pretty broderie anglaise frills standing out in white contrast to the pale blue of her overall. It almost reached from shoulder to shoulder and would have barely reached her waist had it not been pushed out by her bosom.
Without saying a word, Lisa simply clicked her fingers and pointed to her feet. Faggott knew instinctively what was required and quickly went and knelt at Lisa’s feet. Then almost reverently she carefully removed Lisa’s shoes and the short ankle socks and proceeded to suck on Lisa’s smelly black leathery calloused feet. Faggott gagged a couple of times before she settled down to the unsavoury task in relative silence, broken only by her heavy breathing and the occasional slurping sound as she desperately performed to please. Helen decided to add her own little touch to the proceedings and promptly got up from her comfortable chair and went across to Faggott, the strong odour of her expensive perfume filling the air as she walked by. Leaving her cigarette casually dangling from her mouth, she reached down and undid Faggott’s loosely tied bib. Then pulling the white satin ribbons taut, she re-tied them tightly around Faggott’s neck. My maid looked up briefly and seeing that it was Helen, a look of fear quickly crossed her face before she hastily returned her full attention to her unpleasant task. The tightly tied bib, reminding her of her helpless position. “Oh look Faggott, Mrs.Robbins is losing some of her toenail polish, why don’t you show her what a good servant girl you are by removing the rest of it for her – using your teeth, but be extra careful now I don’t want you biting her”. Helen spoke down to Faggott in her usual condescending way and giving Faggott a pat on the head she said “Be sure to do a good job now dearie and I promise you I won’t whip your pretty little ass”. Faggott didn’t answer she wasn’t required to. Concentrating on every toe Faggott redoubled her efforts. Helen looked at me, winked and smiled. Then taking a long draw on her cigarette she walked gracefully back to her chair. It was all done so subtly, in a few simple words she had increased Faggott’s concentration to the task in hand and who was now busily twisting her head this way and that in order to remove the remaining nail polish. I was pleased, not only was Faggott worshipping Lisa’s feet but she was also performing a useful function by removing the polish. I had to hand it to Helen, my friend is ingenious, no wonder Faggott dreads her.
Lisa smiled at us as she sipped her tea. “That’s what I enjoy a piece of white male trash kissing my feet”. Roger, who up to now had been engrossed in a newspaper, suddenly spoke up. “Hey Lisa, I resent that remark. Don’t lower the tone of all the male race by including Faggott with us. Look at that pile of flesh, with her boobs and the way she acts and dresses there’s nothing masculine about her”. I had to agree, Faggott does make a convincing woman. Thanks to my training, there is almost nothing at all manly about him except his little pecker which hadn’t seen the light of day since I last locked it away into its chastity device.
Cutting a long story short, Faggott finished her task but it was not to Helen’s satisfaction so she promptly gave Faggott ten stinging cuts with a cane on her bare ass. Before dismissing Faggott to, go back to the kitchen to finish her work there, Helen made her give Lisa a proper pedicure and complete the job by carefully repainting Lisa’s toenails.
A little while later I went to the kitchen to instruct Faggott to pack her bag and get ready to leave. I found her on her hands and knees furiously scrubbing out the last of the low kitchen cupboards. My timing was good as she was almost finished. On hearing me enter the room Faggott jumped up suddenly and bumped her head on the cupboard door frame. I smiled at her discomfort, “I hope that knocks some sense into your head” I said unsympathetically. She stood before me with her eyes lowered in respect as required and I noticed that she was wearing a large brown rubber apron over her uniform to protect it from the dirty soapy scrub water. I was pleased for unknown to her my plans for the rest of the day required her to be very presentable.
I gave her strict instructions to finish her work and be ready to leave in half an hour on the dot – or else – and then I returned to my friends in the lounge.
Later, as instructed, Faggott stood by the front door ready to leave. She had freshened her makeup and she was still dressed in her pale blue uniform. Her suitcase was on the floor by her side and she was carrying her old shabby blue raincoat over one arm. I had told her not to put it on because it was too warm and anyway she thought we were going straight home so there was no need to wear it to hide her distinctive maid’s uniform. But little did she know that I had other plans.
Lisa handed Faggott the sealed envelope containing Faggott’s report card. It detailed Lisa’s assessment of Faggott’s work performance, appearance, and general attitude over the last eight weeks: Not knowing whether it contained compliments or criticism, Faggott in turn dutifully presented it to me, bobbing a respectful curtsy as she did so. I put it safely away in my bag to review at my leisure, keeping Faggott waiting in suspense, who knew very well what to expect if Lisa’s report was unfavourable in any way. Lisa then brought out an attractive bouquet of flowers and gave them to Faggott as a thank you for her services. Faggott was visibly embarrassed and didn’t know what to do or say. No one had ever given her flowers before. Blushing as red as the roses in the bouquet Faggott grasped the skirt of her overall with her free hand and mumbling some words of thanks in her soft feminine voice she bobbed a cute curtsy and lowered her eyelids in embarrassment. Lisa and I exchanged hugs and kisses and she thanked me warmly for the use of Faggott’s services. I assured her that the pleasure was all mine. We said our goodbyes and I led Faggott – her face still glowing – down the pathway to my car. The next part of my plan was now ready for action.
Both before and after my trip to America I had done some detective work and I had managed to locate the whereabouts of Faggott’s mother, who as it happened, lives within driving distance from me. By various means which are too lengthy to go into now, I had managed to meet and become friendly with her. In fact prior to my visit to Lisa’s, I had actually gone out socially with his mother several times so we were on good terms with each other. She knew that I was reasonably wealthy, had my own business and that I had a maid, but she had no idea at all that my servant was actually her SON! Faggott of course had no knowledge whatsoever that I knew his mother.
But on that hot sunny day last summer I was determined that the time had come to give him an experience that would humiliate him right out of his feminine shoes. He would be taken to meet his mother! I knew his mother well enough by now to be fairly sure of her reaction – so as I drove through the Hampshire countryside the stage was set for one of my most thrilling little games yet….
Faggott must have wondered at first where we were going because we were obviously not taking the normal route home as she might have expected. As we got nearer and nearer to her mother’s place I wondered just what thoughts must have been going through my little she-male’s head. I hoped it was panic and apprehension. My training prevented her from asking questions so she suffered in silence. Looking through the rear view mirror of my estate car to Faggott’s position behind the back seat, I could see her panic stricken eyes darting nervously from side to side as she recognised the familiar sights of her childhood neighbourhood.
We arrived at the trim two storey semidetached house in good time for my previously arranged appointment. I went and opened up the back door of my car allowing Faggott to clamber out. She automatically straightened her overall and apron and repositioned the straps of her white shoulder bag back on her left shoulder. Closing the car door I said mockingly “Recognise this place Faggott?” She looked up at me with a mixed expression of fear and apprehension. Her face was as white as a sheet. “I think you know where we are going” I said harshly.
Even if I had given Faggott permission to speak I am sure she would have been speechless. She was being taken to see her mother and there was nothing she could do about it. A painful, appealing look came into her blue eyes as she realised. the impending embarrassment and humiliation she was about to endure. “Come on” I snapped. “As far as I am concerned you are a female domestic servant and you hide from no one”.
I virtually spat the words into her face I had made my point.
For a change I allowed Faggott to walk ahead, instead of behind me, so she would know there was no turning back. I was pleased and excited that for such an important and auspicious moment in her psychological degradation Faggott looked quite fetching in her blue and white uniform. She walked quickly in front of me, her hips swaying seductively from side to side just as she had been taught. As she walked, her cute ponytail bobbed and swung saucily under her frilly maid’s cap. She had never looked more deliciously pert and feminine yet quite readily identifiable as a domestic.
I made her stop and she stood in resigned silence as I straightened up her apron straps as they criss crossed over her back before meeting at the waistband. Then I retied her apron much tighter around her waist spreading out the bow so that it looked larger and neater and arranged the wide ties so that they fell attractively down over her protruding bottom. She stood before me, eyes lowered, subdued and submissive THE LAMB WAS READY FOR SLAUGHTER.
I made Faggott ring the doorbell and I could feel the dampness between my legs as my excitement grew. I had seen others get aroused by the power of control, and I had experienced it many times before but I had never felt like this, the feeling was just of this world. I spared a quick thought for Faggott whose own feelings must have been vastly different to mine. Tough!
The door was opened by a stout dark haired woman whom I knew to be in her early 60’s. For her age she was still reasonably attractive although signs of grey were evident in her hair. She was wearing a simple two piece yellow polyester jacket and trousers with a white blouse underneath. Over this she was wearing an unbuttoned petrol blue nylon coat overall, similar in style to the one that Faggott was wearing. Fluffy blue slippers and a lipstick stained cigarette in one hand completed the picture. From my previous meetings with Edith Crawford I knew that we were birds of a feather.
“Hello Luv” she said in her somewhat common Southern accent. “Excuse my appearance but I have just got home from work. It’s good to see you again”. She greeted me warmly by giving me an affectionate hug – given my bisexual preferences, she was not a woman I would share a bed with, but I did like her a lot as a person. I returned the gesture and we went inside followed by Faggott. Recognising Faggott for what she was Edith said “I see that you have brought your maid with you”. I explained that I had just picked Faggott up from my friend’s place who had been looking after her while I was in America. “Oh that’s right I remember you told me about that. Hello dear” said Faggott’s mother not knowing who she was talking to. “Say hello Faggott” I said curtly. Faggott made a half hearted attempt to curtsy and mumbled something under her breath. It was not done as she had been trained to do. “FAGGOTT!” I shouted, “Is that how you are supposed to address people? I am ashamed of you, now try it again if you please and DON’T make me raise my voice again”. Blushing furiously Faggott tried again, this time pulling the skirt of her overall wide as she curtsied to Edith and in a soft but much clearer tone she said “Hello Mum..er..Madam…er Mrs….” she finally decided as she completed her curtsy with eyes lowered. I had to bite my finger to avoid bursting out laughing at Faggott’s confused predicament.
“Do you have any more like her?” “No” I said but Faggott’s face was indescribable, if only I had remembered to buy another film for my camera. As it was my camera was empty. I could have kicked myself. How could I have been so stupid to forget to buy a film for such a momentous occasion such as this? By now I was beside myself with excitement and anticipation and I just had to relieve myself, so I suggested to Edith that while I used the bathroom, she show Faggott where the kitchen was so that she could make us a cup of tea. Edith thought that was a good idea.
My thoughts raced as I fingered myself on the throne. I was getting a lot of pleasure from the whole exercise. As I basked in the warm glow of contentment I spared a fleeting thought for Faggott, whose present condition must have been at the complete opposite end of the emotional spectrum to mine. Her nerves must have been as taut as piano wires, with her blood pressure at bursting point. If so, then good. It is a pity that not more of the male species are kept under control of a competent woman. I straightened myself, pulled up my black leather mini skirt, freshened my make up and went downstairs.
Faggot was still in the kitchen and when I entered the front room I was pleasantly surprised to see that Edith was not alone. Edith introduced me to her sister, Phyllis her husband Doug, and their daughter Jessica. Phyllis was a large, heavily built woman with dirty bleached blonde hair which was showing its roots. She was dressed in a pink floral sun dress which did nothing for her figure. I took an instant dislike to her particularly when she kept cracking the bones in her fingers. It annoyed me intensely. Her husband Doug, was a huge brute of a man, tall, fat, and hairy, much like a gorilla, with a personality to match. How they had managed to produce such a cute little girl as Jessica was beyond me. If the rest of Faggott’s family were like these two, then I didn’t think much of his stock. They were of a different class to me altogether, working class. No wonder Faggott has adapted so well to domestic service, it must in the genes. I was pleased about one thing however, for when the time came to expose Faggott for what she was, the impact would be witnessed by a much bigger audience than I anticipated. The effect on Faggot would be three times as great – but that’s another story, and I will tell you about that in another letter, which unfortunately may well be my last letter to you about Faggott. With my sister as ill as she is, I may decide to sell up in England and move to Canada permanently to look after her. If so I am then left with the problem of what to do about Faggott. Should I bring her with me? (She could join my sister’s household working under her cook, Mrs.Figgins, and her housekeeper, Rosa). I might even return her to her mother. The easiest way of course would be simply to get her to pack her bag and leave. I wonder how she would get on? Perhaps your readers might have some good suggestions.
May I thank you for an enjoyable magazine which I will continue to read whenever I can and perhaps will read of the legacy that Faggott and I have left as others follow the same path.
Keep up the good work and Power to women everywhere!
Sincerely,
Ms.G.P. – (Portsmouth) via Canada
CARROT AND STICK
Dear Candida,
I was interested to read the letter from Tom and Joan re “THE DEGRADATION OF DAISY” Vol.19/12 and was amazed at the similarities between Daisy’s apparent lifestyle (if it is true) and that of my own little sissy she-male maid Suzette Faggott.
THE DEGRADATION OF DAISY 19_12
Dear Candida,
It’s Friday afternoon and my sweet little 19 year old male maid has just returned from the weekly shopping at the supermarket. Even after three years of such service she is still embarrassed at appearing in public in her obligatory knee length rubber maid’s outfit, not that her discomfort is of any concern to me. Daisy (as I have named her) has several maid dresses, ranging from the ultra short French one to the more practical rubber outfit. The French maid’s costume is for when we have guests and the others for work around the house.
My name is Joan and my husband Tom and I are in our mid 40’s and reasonably wealthy, living in an elegant suburb of Birmingham. We acquired Daisy from a widow friend of ours. He was her stepson and was wild and rude, making her life hell. We soon cured that. First we broke his spirit, with the whip. Then we took his identity with an extensive feminisation programme (including hormone and electro treatment) and finally stole his manhood by means of a tight penis restraint. A chain around her waist, running between her buttocks draws the penis and restraint between her legs, stopping any unsightly bulge and making her sit down to pee.
Her working day as our slave starts at 6.30 cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing and anything else we choose. After showering and shaving her legs and underarms she dresses. Bra and panties, stockings and high heels. A maid’s dress and lace cap, perched high on her long mousey brown locks.
She then serves her master and mistress with breakfast in bed before commencing with her never ending household chores. Daisy obeys a strict set of rules. She must always be seen to be busy. She may be seen but not heard, which means no talking at all unless asked a direct question. (Fortunately Daisy has a nice soft voice) to avoid waste she must only eat the scraps from our plates and drink only the dregs from our cups. She must greet every order with a neat curtsy. In addition to this she may only use the outside toilet (although we have three in the house) and then no more than three times a day. Extra visits suggest skiving. Any deviation from these rules means “the bench”.
One of the five bedrooms is set aside just for Daisy. In delicate printing and little flowers are the words “Daisy’s playroom”. Inside is a long low padded bench with securing straps, an umbrella stand containing canes and riding crops, a table on which there are gags, blindfolds, restraints, nipple clamps, candles (hot wax) and butt plugs, dipped in ginger. Daisy never seems to enjoy herself in that room and often emerges in tears.
But I digress, back to Friday evening. Daisy runs a bath for me before returning to her room in the basement where she changes from her maid’s outfit into a short nightie. Then back upstairs to dry and powder me and dress me in my kaftan robe. Taking a length of cord I bind Daisy’s hands behind her back then braid her hair into two plaits, one on either side, like a milking maid.
Tom goes for a drink with friends at the golf club on Fridays and I have the house to myself. Back downstairs in the drawing room with Daisy (still bound) I settle in a plush armchair, hitch up my gown and kneel my slave between my shapely legs for a long session of cunnilingus. On a side table is a glass of wine, some mags, and the remote for the TV video. Holding a plait in each hand I draw her face into my pussy. Taking my clit between her lips and flicking her tongue over the tender flesh the way she’s been taught I soon feel the heat rising in my loins as I grind Daisy’s face into me. With my juices flowing and beginning to sweat I explode with a sudden orgasm, my back arches and my heels dig into the small of Daisy’s back. Now I can relax and take my time, waiting for a slower and more fulfilling climax. It is truly a wonderful way to pass an evening.
By the time Tom returns home I have usually showered and returned to my own bedroom. Tom knocks and enters through the connecting door. Bending over to kiss me he smells of brandy and cigars, a lovely manly odour but I am too tired and spent to make love. Helping Tom undress I press the intercom buzzer to the cellar. By the time I’ve got Tom into his own bed there’s a knock on the door and Daisy appears. Scrubbed clean and devoid of all make-up, she looks young and fresh and very vulnerable, a real turn on. Curtsying to us her nightie accentuates her fast developing breasts and slim 7 1/2 stone figure. “Tom needs a whore for the night” I snap. “Sweet dreams darling” I smile and close the door.
Daisy was late to rise on Saturday and late with our breakfast, understandable but not excusable. When Tom and I finally got downstairs she was busy trying to catch up with her chores but remembered to give us a neat curtsy. “Go up the playroom and fetch the thin cane you lazy little slut. Six strokes on each hand and a further twelve on your bare backside might help wake you up”. In tears Daisy returned with the cane. “Shall I do the honours?” Tom asked. “Of course dear” I replied. “The trouble is we are just too soft on her”.
Although some of your readers may be appalled at our treatment of Daisy I am also sure many will fantasise at being her but remember Daisy is in enforced servitude with a daily existence of hard domestic work in a vain and pitiful hope of pleasing her owners (fat chance).
Daisy’s stepmother and Daisy’s younger sister are frequent guests at our home and are delighted at her female transformation and vocation in life as a slave. They see written in her young face the change from vanity and self importance to that of despair, humiliation, and hopelessness for the future, just as it should be.
With love,
TOM & JOAN – West Midlands
As you and some of your longer serving readers’ are aware from my previous letters, the saga of Faggott’s firmly controlled slide from male to maiden has been well documented. For several years now my style of domination. discipline and training, has succeeded in turning a brash. virile young man into a shy, submissive feminised she¬male whose only purpose in life now is to serve and obey others, especially women. His thoughts and opinions are no longer required but his devotion, dedication and determination to please his superiors is most certainly required. Regular doses of female hormones and some innovative incentives on my part has ensured that acting in a feminine manner is almost second nature to her now and I am here to see that the condition remains permanent! Even in front of my men friends, Faggot has to maintain her role and to her credit most of them still think she is just my female maid and have even flirted with her on occasions.” In front of the very few who know the truth, she has no choice but to suffer in silence their cruel remarks. while undergoing extreme humiliation and embarrassment. There is no escape from my web. Degradation and drudgery are part of the job.
In Vol.21/7 J.G. a reader from Sweden had the audacity to dispute the truth of the above situation. tough! That is for him to decide. I have no reason to try and prove the truth to anyone, why should I? I know it is all true, my friends know it. Faggott’s mother and sister now know it and certainly Faggott knows it and has to live through it.
Despite her feminine appearance and her girlish ways, Faggott is still not comfortable appearing in public again. tough! She has work to be done and if it means that it has to be done in the public eye like shopping, running errands or helping out at weddings and parties etc then so be it. Her personal discomforts are of no concern to me! Fortunately I know that she is now so feminised that no one gives a second thought that it might be a man inside the feminine exterior. She is a fully conditioned female in our eyes even though Faggott herself still has difficulty coming to grips with it. A working girl should not be ashamed to be seen out and about in her working clothes – especially if it is in the service of her Mistress whose needs, desires or whims must always take the highest priority. I have a system that helps to ensure this and so far it is working very well. I call it the “carrot and stick system”. I find it most appropriate since it is normally associated with the training of donkeys. The “carrot and stick system” works like this:- Each week Faggott can “look forward” to an allowance of ten cuts with my trusty bamboo cane, whether she deserves it or not. But the allowance can be increased or decreased by me depending upon how well she pleases me during the week. Thus, knowing this Faggott constantly tries hard to please me in order to reduce the pain that she knows is coming at the end of the week. I find that I have a much more attentive and obedient maid that way. Let me give you an example of the carrot and then one of the stick.
About a month ago my best friend Helen Waller (not her real name) who is Joan Collins lookalike, with the Alexis Carrington personality to match, came over for afternoon tea. Helen just delights in goading Faggott who is well trained enough to accept and obey her demanding whims but not without a considerable amount of consternation. But back to the point. After serving us tea in my opulent lounge (a far cry from Faggott’s cramped basement area) Faggott stood back. curtsied nicely and said “Please Madam may I please ask a question?: In the presence of both Helen and myself each word was doubly important. We both gave Faggott a disdainful look before carrying on with the subject of our conversation – ironically it happened to be to do with women’s rights! While we chatted, Faggott stood submissively to one side, head bowed in respect, hands clasped tightly together in front of her aproned skirt as she waited patiently for permission to speak again. With Faggott standing there we switched our conversation into French leaving Faggott blissfully ignorant to our thoughts and opinions. A servant should not be privy to her Mistress’s private conversations. We finished our discussion and looking at my watch I noted that Faggott had been waiting for 6 1/2 minutes. “Well Faggott?” I snapped “What is so important that you wish to spend 6 1/2 minutes of your time and need I say my time standing there doing nothing?”
Faggott gripped the sides of her frilly apron, bobbed a curtsy and said softly and sweetly “Oh please Madam I noticed that Miss Waller’s sports car was looking rather dirty and I wondered if I might be allowed to clean it”. Helen and I exchanged knowing glances. Faggott was volunteering for extra work. “Have you finished all the ironing today?” I barked. She breathed deeply through her nose, her eyelids flickered nervously, then anxiously biting her bottom lip she replied softly “No Madam I have not quite finished all of my ironing”. She looked at the floor obviously waiting for my angry reaction which at most other times would have surely come. Instead she heard my unpredictable reply, which was exactly opposite to what she might have been expecting.
“Well Faggott” I said sternly “You have my permission to delay finishing your ironing until after you have cleaned the car. You have been very attentive and I am pleased with you. As a reward during your break, instead of drinking up the dregs from our tea cups as usual. You may have whatever is left in the teapot. I may even find you a couple of broken biscuits to go with it.” A rare treat indeed. “In addition I will allow you +10 and next Saturday” Faggott’s hands flew to the sides of her face in virtual disbelief at the same time with eyes wide open in amazement she let out a squeal of delight and jumped a few inches off the floor. Then suddenly remembering where she was she regained her composure, dropped a curtsy to us and with lowered eyes said softly into the frill of her bibbed apron “I am sorry Madam”.
She had every reason to be excited. It was as if she had won the pools. Tea from the teapot, biscuits – even broken ones were a luxury, plus ten too which automatically cancelled out her impending weekly allowance of ten strokes of my cane. But the biggest reward of all was that I had specifically mentioned next Saturday which meant that for the first time in nine months I would unlock her restrainer which keeps her offensive object between her legs and allow her on that day just sixty seconds to relieve herself. Frankly I find this process a waste of my time and I really cannot be bothered. Faggott’s main pleasure in life should be in serving me and not from some sixty second exercise that takes her away from her work and ties up my time in supervision. I have been talking to some medical friends of mine and I am thinking now of having her fixed. In which case she would still be working hard to please me in order to get her rewards but with that one element eliminated it wouldn’t involve any of my time.
Back to the moment in question and it was no wonder Faggott was happy, but I was determined to try in future to get her to be just as happy with even less of a reward.
“Right Faggott” I snapped “back to work, 1 don’t want Mrs.Waller kept waiting while you finish cleaning her car”. From the tone of my voice Faggott knew it was back to business. She bobbed a quick curtsy “Yes Madam thank you very much” she gushed happily and turning swiftly on her heels she minced in her feminine way out of the room.
Helen and I smiled at each other. we both enjoyed the moment and for a change Helen let Faggott escape without adding any of her usual taunting remarks. It was indeed Faggott’s lucky day.
We had more tea and then went to a window to watch Faggott hard at work trying to earn her rewards. She had put on a pair of pale blue rubber gloves that matched her distinctive pale blue and white maid’s uniform and she had thoughtfully put on a capacious transparent plastic pinny to protect her uniform from the soap and water. To appear before me or my guests in a dirty or wet apron was something that she would never dare do. Past experience will bear that out. As we watched we knew and Faggott knew too that although she was in my good books for the moment – if she failed to provide good service or do the job properly – she could lose her benefits in just as quick a time as they had been given – even worse, her allowance might even be increased! She had everything to gain but much more to lose. My system is a good motivator. At the end of the session, Helen’s red Jaguar gleamed – we were all pleased.
So much for the carrot and now the stick. You have heard the expression “Like Mistress, like maid” well that doctrine is strictly practised in my home. I expect the best service when I am at other people’s homes or when I am staying in an hotel. To ensure that my friends and guests receive the same high class treatment whenever they are in my home, I have trained Faggott and organised my home so that it is run on the same lines as a first class hotel. There is a time of the day to do everything, all items must be in their proper place. bathrooms must be clean and spotless and of course full attentive service is provided by a neatly dressed uniformed subservient maid.
To this end Faggott is expected to wear a freshly laundered uniform every day. This consists basically of a plain or striped pastel coloured housedress/overall of blue, green. yellow or pink with a coordinating apron and cap. Worn with thick black stockings and medium heeled white or black pumps, in this uniform Faggott looks like most hotel maids as she goes about her work. Unless she is instructed otherwise. Faggott has to change around 3pm each day into a more formal black or grey uniform dress trimmed at the collar and cuffs with white lace. A matching apron and cap is obligatory. Underneath as always she wears a bra to hold her rapidly developing breasts, a slip, a corset on occasion, panties and stockings. Hair and make-up should be such that it doesn’t embarrass me despite the fact that she is continuously working and she is expected to take time to tidy herself up regularly through the day and especially before appearing in front of me or before she has to reluctantly go out in public.
With all of the foregoing in mind the story of the ‘stick’ can now be told.
I was in my bedroom getting ready for a lunch appointment when I noticed a few things. I pressed the buzzer by the side of the bed to summon Faggott. Shortly after there was a soft knock on the bedroom door. I made her wait until I finished lighting my cigarette but in the meantime she knocked again. “All right Faggott” I shouted “I heard you the first time, come in”. She came into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. She minced quickly over to where I stood and giving me a respectful curtsy said softly with lowered eyes “You rang for me Madam”. I looked down at her and smiled to myself. I really had done a good job of feminising this creature. She was wearing her pale green short sleeved overall which was trimmed in white at the cuffs and collar. Over this she wore a white starched frilly apron with straps running up over her boobs to meet in a pretty bow at the back. A matching white maid’s cap. black stockings and white rubber soled house shoes completed the picture. “Look around this room Faggott. what is wrong with it?” I said sternly. She looked carefully around the room. “Look at the bed Faggott. what do you see?” “Please Madam there is a crease in one of the pillow cases” she said softly. “Correct and I do not like my clean pillow cases to be put on with creases in them do I?” “No Madam I will take it off now and re-iron it for you”. “You will do more than that Faggott you will re wash and iron it completely from scratch and this will ensure that you do”. With that I took one of my lipsticks and made a smudge on the pillow case. “Now for your laziness you will not only have to re-launder that pillow slip but you will have to get that lipstick stain out as well and I want to inspect it before you put it away again”.
“Yes Madam” she said resignedly. “Now what else is there?” I said. She pointed to a drawer that was not closed properly because a piece of a bra strap was sticking out. I smacked her hard across the face and pointed to the drawer “Fix it”. She half ran half walked to the drawer, took the bra out, refolded it neatly put it back into the drawer and closed it. “Now follow me into the bathroom”. She did as she was told. one side of her face was a burning crimson. In the bathroom I pointed at the towels “Well?” I barked. “the folded towels are not all facing the same way Madam” she said. “You can rectify that later. Finally Faggott look at the toilet roll what’s wrong with that?” I haven’t folded the end over to make a point Madam”. I gave her a hard slap on the other side of the face, thus making both cheeks glow. “Correct again my girl now fix it”. She nervously did as she was told all the while suffering under my critical glare. “Well now Faggott how many extra strokes of the cane do you think you deserve this weekend for your little inadequacies?” I said in a mocking way. Faggott looked down. Her errors had not been great but she knew that my standards had not been met. “Well Faggott I asked you a question, how many?” “I don’t know Madam. Two perhaps” she said in a little girl voice. “Very well” I said and her face lit up “two for each error that’s eight with the ten of your allowance that you have not been able to reduce this week, makes eighteen at 2 p.m. on Saturday and since today is Friday you don’t have much time to influence that figure. “With hunched shoulders. Faggott stood gazing at the floor, the stick was coming and there was little she could do now to avoid it. She would be trying harder in the future to avoid making so many silly mistakes.
I stubbed my cigarette out in the ashtray and picked up my keys from the clutter of cosmetics that I had left on the dressing table for Faggott to tidy up. “I am going out for a lunch appointment Faggott, when I return I expect to see this bedroom and bathroom looking spotless and I will be checking the top of the wardrobe and door frames for dust.” Without waiting for a reply I went out and slammed the door.
When I returned. just after 3pm I was greeted at the door by a very complacent Faggott. Having completed the bulk of her daily housework she had changed into one of her black uniform dresses with co-ordinating white collar, cuffs and frilly apron. Her saucy maid’s cape perched in its rightful place on top of her head. Thus attired she would be ready to help me entertain any visitors that might drop by. If no visitors came then her afternoon and evening would be spent ironing, sewing. knitting or on any personal task that I might set her. These tasks could include manicuring or pedicuring my nails, running my bath, serving drinks, washing and setting my hair, shaving my legs or putting her tongue to work in any place I require in order to relax me after a stressful day. When her services are no longer required she is dismissed for the night to her cot in the basement to sleep and to carefully prepare herself for another working day.
On entering the house. I went straight to my room and after a very careful examination – which no doubt had Faggott waiting in nervous apprehension in her kitchen – I could find nothing to complain about, but that did not alter the eighteen pieces of ‘stick’ that Faggott eventually received the following day which I noticed made her much more eager and willing to please in the weeks that followed.
Thus endeth another letter. I wonder if J.G. of Sweden is still unconvinced? Perhaps a photograph next time of Faggott’s weals on her bottom might convince him. I am sure he will agree that the marks could not have possibly been self inflicted. To Tom and Joan let us hear again about Daisy.
Yours in dominance. Ms.G.P. – Portsmouth
Life in service of a male maid – MISSING
NO sex just servitude to provide satisfaction – MISSING
Mistress of the MONTH – MISSING
FAGGOTT GETS RUBBER SHEETS
By Ms. Geena P.
To those who may be reading this, I will not go into the fine details of how I
came to acquire, fully train and put to work a Sissy Male Maid in my household,
but it is suffice to say that I now enjoy the domestic services of a completely
feminised she male maid where previously my experiences with traditional
household help were, to say the least, frustrating. Plus as a bonus I have a
fully domesticated she-male that can do “more” than housework. Oh Yes …l like
it and take full advantage of it
Despite the fact that my maid’s tiny masculine tool has been locked away between
her legs for some time now, there has been on occasion some evidence of
nocturnal emissions from her which did nothing for the bed sheets. Although I do
not take care of the laundry in the house (Heaven forbid…that’s a maid’s
job!)… I wanted to address the problem.
I read somewhere that Sissy Male Maids should be put into rubber sheets and
pillow cases at night, despite the uncomfortable feelings the rubber might
provide in terms of the overly hot conditions in summer and overly cold
conditions in winter, but so who cares? Surely it is just par for the course?
While many Mistresses have previously successfully put their male maids into
rubber sheets, I had the extra problem that my maid just detests the smell and
feel of rubber. (Probably something that goes back to her childhood days). So
with this in mind, I had a choice. Should I be compassionate or commanding? The
latter comes naturally to me so it was no contest.
I duly informed my maid Suzette Faggott of my decision and was promptly
subjected to her pleading not to be made to use rubber sheets. I teased her for
many months, gradually building up her anxiety. We both knew the smell and feel
of rubber was totally abhorrent to my maid. In her earlier training with me,
much to her distaste, she had been made to suffer the indignity of having to
wear a rubber bra and knee length frilly rubber knickers or bloomers under her
uniforms. She has since progressed to wearing normal feminine underwear but I
knew that rubber was still a problem for her. I was now ready to take her
through another step in her training. By now I had my mind made up and was not
going to be dictated to by the stupid feelings of this Sissy male.
Determined to get the job done I canvassed many suppliers to try and locate
suitable rubber sheeting. Eventually I found a supplier and purchased the same.
On the appropriate day, I summoned Faggott to the lounge to receive a “special”
present. I told her that as the gift was very expensive, it would have to do as
a combined Birthday and Christmas present, but it was appropriate for her to
have the gift straight away.
Under my instructions she excitedly knelt on the floor before me, arranging her
uniform dress and apron neatly around her just as she’d been taught. I could see
that she was anxious to receive her gift and she didn’t suspect a thing. I gave
her the heavy package wrapped in pretty pink paper with its cute baby motif. She
hurriedly tore off the layers of wrapping, making sure to put them in a neat
pile beside her to avoid making a mess that would only be her responsibility to
clean up anyway.
As the contents of the package revealed themselves, Faggott’s expression turned
from joy to shock to humiliation and her head dropped onto the bib of her apron
in quiet sadness. The dreaded rubber sheets had arrived. There would be no route
for an appeal. It was game over! I smiled down at her and told her not to be
upset as many Sissies in her position naturally sleep between rubber sheets
every day. It is expected of them and it is a condition of service. She had just
been lucky to this point to avoid them, but surely she realised that sooner or
later, rubber sheets in her life would be inevitable. As I forcefully hammered
these words into her sissy brain, small droplets of tears rolled down her cheeks
and fell helplessly onto the starched white bib of her apron. I knew and she
knew that there would be no turning back.
I snapped at her and told her not to be so silly, to stop sobbing and snivelling
and to stand up immediately, to pick up the rubber sheets and to follow me to
her room. I walked briskly to the maid’s area hearing my hapless maid struggling
to keep up behind me. Upon reaching the maid’s room I turned and severely told
her to strip her cot of its sheets and pillowcases and replace them immediately
with the rubber ones. She reluctantly stripped the cot of its pretty pink
frilled sheets and pillowcases and replaced them with the ugly oft-white rubber
replacements. She was totally devastated, but I warned her to expect severe
punishment if I ever caught her not sleeping between rubber sheets in future.
(Not as there would be any chance of that!). As she curtsied in acknowledgement
of my decision, I detected a sense of quiet complaisance and knew that I had won
again.
I ordered Faggott to immediately go and thoroughly wash and iron all of her
pretty cotton bed linens and to fold and pack them neatly into bags to give to
the Goodwill. Faggott knew then that for as long as she is with me, she would
never be sleeping between regular sheets again.
The next day Faggott took her time in preparing herself for the trip to the
Goodwill to dispose of the unwanted bed linens. Eventually, rapidly losing my
patience, I instructed her to instantly put her coat on over her uniform and to
immediately bring her bags of bed linens to the car for the trip to the Goodwill
outlet with me. I didn’t even give her time to remove her apron as I normally
do…. I wanted to get this episode over and done with, NOW!
Once at the Goodwill, it was no trouble to hand over the surplus linens but in
doing so the lady behind the counter saw that Faggott was wearing a uniform
underneath her coat and asked her politely In a pleasant way if she worked as a
waitress or at a hotel or something. Faggott looked appealingly at me, but
received no response. I left it up to her to reply to the shop assistant. I was
already pissed off with her for dragging out the visit to the Goodwill and she
would get no help from me.
With her eyes lowered in embarrassment she softly and humbly, in her girlish
voice, told the lady that she was a domestic and that I was her Mistress. She
kept her comments short and to the point, for very clearly she was in an
inferior position. It all went off very well and my maid returned to a very
reluctant future of sleeping between rubber sheets and a rubber pillowcase. It
was a traumatic experience for my maid and it was most certainly not her choice
but it is a lifestyle that now goes with the job.
I actually bought two sets of rubber sheets and pillow cases, one set for home
use and the other for her to take with her when she has to stay overnight at one
of my friends houses. It is quite amusing for us and humiliating for Faggott
when she meekly has to ask the Master or Mistress of the house if she can be
permitted to put her special and personal sheets on her guest bed. Invariably
they make an issue of it, asking questions about why her sheets are “special”
and why she is not permitted to sleep between regular sheets. She has to
embarrassingly explain that although she wears a chastity device, occasionally
she might have an “accident”. She can be asked what kind of “accident” and of
course a detailed reply is required. Eventually after this “cat and mouse” game
she is given permission and dismissed to her room to sleep off the humiliation.
It is surprising, this scene has been played out several times now with different
hosts and hostesses and every time the questions to Faggott are varied and
interesting and every time my maid never ceases to squirm and cringe in
embarrassment, especially when a “real man”, the Master of the house is the
questionmaster. Faggott is then really out of her depth, facing a real male she
has no creditability and must tolerantly submit to any verbal abuse and
humiliation that her Master might decide to inflict upon her. She always looks
around for someone to say something to help her, but there is no mercy and no
sympathy for her situation, as I said before, it goes with the job.
Hotel Lunch – MISSING
Faggott is Punished Properly
Bobbi,
Thank you for your letter and photographs of August 16th 1999, received on
August 23rd. I have also subsequently received the September issue of “OUR WAY”
on September 11th and will be commentating accordingly herewith. But first a
response to your letter of August 16th.
If you recall I chastised you for automatically assuming that I would comply
with your plan to involve me in the September issue and also to assume that I
would grant you permission to visit my home and take photographs of my maid
Suzette Faggott etc.
While such attention is somewhat flattering and I am still trying to fully
understand the interest you and your readers have in my situation, which after
all is just a normal life for me. However I will NOT be pressured, dictated to,
or controlled in any way. Thus I was annoyed with you for your presumptuousness,
an action that deserves severe punishment in my book. However your contrite
comments in your letter of August 16th are recognised and accepted.
In the past, Faggott has committed similar indiscretions with little
consideration for my opinions or feelings and has been punished accordingly. If
you are interested and at the risk of boring you, I will give you just one
example of when my maid overstepped her limits. If this doesn’t interest you
then I advise you to skip down to paragraph twelve.
One case that springs to mind was the time when my maid took a phone call from a
real estate agent looking for business. Without consulting me, Faggott arranged
an appointment for the agent to visit and meet with me to discuss putting my
house on the market for sale. Then Faggott neglected to inform me of this
arrangement. (A Big, Big mistake!).
I learned of this one afternoon when relaxing in my garden, I happened to take a
call on my cordless phone from the real estate agent trying to confirm her
appointment. Well, this was news to me and I was furious. How dare my maid
presume to make arrangements on my behalf without checking with me first? To
make matters worse, at the time, I had absolutely no intention of selling my
house, so I was really incensed.
I cancelled the appointment immediately and then summoned Faggott from the
kitchen for an explanation. She quickly minced across the lawn to where my
friend Linda and I were sitting on our lawn chairs and promptly gave us the
expected curtsey before standing demurely before us, head bowed and hands
clasped together in front of her aproned skirt. If you have ever seen the TV
show “Judge Judy” and her abrasive no nonsense approach with some of her
courtroom victims, then you can imagine the kind of mood and demeanour I was in
that day. Upon my questioning, Faggott struggled to come up with a reason for
not consulting me over the appointment but I was in no mood for her feeble
excuses and berated her accordingly. Linda made things worse for my maid by
laughing and mocking her at the harsh tongue-lashing she was receiving from me.
Faggott knew she was outclassed, out of her depth and miserably acknowledged
that she had been totally out of order. But I couldn’t let it rest there, that
is not my style; some retribution had to be made.
Not wishing to leave Linda out of the proceedings, I asked her what kind of
punishment would be appropriate for my maid’s indiscretion. Linda replied that
since the whole incident revolved around selling the house and since selling a
house depended upon its condition, then Faggott should be made to improve the
appearance of the premises by scrubbing and cleaning my backyard patio…. Thus
the punishment would be fitted to the crime I totally agreed…. It was very
appropriate.
Faggott was then dispatched back into the house to collect her bucket, scrubbing
brush and cleaning materials and to return suitably dressed for intensive
scrubbing duty on the 12 foot by 12-foot patio. So, wearing her pale blue rubber
gloves and a frilled, bibbed, rubber apron, which neatly matched her pale blue
uniform overall/dress, she returned to the patio and immediately knelt and went
to work as instructed. I was amused and entertained as I watched her bowed head
with its frilly cap bobbing up and down as she busily scrubbed away without a
hint of protest. The lesson had been applied.
A little later, it started to get cool as the sun went behind some dark clouds
and Linda and I decided to go inside leaving Faggott to continue with her
scrubbing. As she went by Faggott’s kneeling figure, Linda dropped her half
smoked, lipstick stained cigarette onto a freshly scrubbed patio slab and
efficiently extinguished it by grinding it into the floor with her shoe in front
of Faggott’s downturned face. Faggott accepted Linda’s actions without comment
or protest, she knew that any complaints on her part would have been ignored.
Silently Faggott carefully picked up the crushed cigarette end, put it into a
pocket of her uniform dress/overall pocket and patiently proceeded to re-scrub
the soiled patio slab with renewed enthusiasm. There was no avenue for a
protest, she knew what was expected of her and obeyed accordingly.
While we were inside the house enjoying a cup of tea, it began to rain quite
heavily. I gave my maid permission to quickly come in and put on her
lightweight, transparent plastic raincoat and rain hat before ordering her back
outside again to return to her meaningless task. Actually it wasn’t quite so
meaningless because by the time she had finished her work after spending close
to one and a half-hours on her hands and knees in the rain, she had learned her
lesson. However, as insurance I also had her write out 100 times, in her best
handwriting “A maid should never control or abuse her Mistress’s valuable time”.
Her penance now paid in full, Faggott then changed into a clean, dry uniform,
for despite having worn the rain gear, her pretty blue uniform dress was still
wet enough to make it uncomfortable and unsightly to wear. Once more suitably
attired she then began to try and catch up with her delayed housework chores,
but by the time she had finished it was well past her bedtime and finally she
gratefully went to her cot to get some much needed rest before her menial chores
would begin again at sunrise. It must have been quite a day for her. So Bobbi,
thank your lucky stars you are not in Faggott’s shoes or a similar fate might
have befallen you.
Well now, the coverage you gave Faggott and I in your September issue was most
generous and flattering. For once I am almost at a loss for words. I certainly
regard your designation as “Mistress of the Month” as an honour and it is
appreciated. As for “Mistress of the Year”, that would be glorious but as you
know I am not in this game for the recognition. I acknowledge that you do not
have a photograph of me to publish. That is a deliberate action on my part. Many
years ago I wrote an article on feminism for a local women’s publication, I
stupidly allowed them to publish my photograph with the article and subsequently
received a few unsolicited, uncomplimentary letters from local people who
recognised me from my photograph. That turned me off and since then I have never
allowed my image to be shown, not only for that but also for the protection of
my personal and professional standing.
As for the Faggott situation, it arose out of my desire to get good household
help not to get awards, recognition or International support and readership. I
feel Suzette also deserves a little credit for becoming a useful maid to my
friends and me…albeit under my direction. As her (his) mother once said to
me..Quote.”For someone who never lifted a finger around the house as a youth and
teenager, Faggott’s current lifestyle is a transformation in every way. I cannot
believe the change. Can I borrow her? “….Unquote. So although I am responsible
for this transformation, the usefulness and abilities that she now has as my
servant is down to Faggott’s own talents and capabilities as a maid. She has
certainly solved my domestic help problem even though she still has lapses of
concentration as outlined above, but that is OK because I am here to keep her on
the road to perfection, a condition which incidentally she will never achieve
for as long as I am driving the bus. But Faggott tries hard in her limited way
to satisfy my demands and desires and is mostly successful. That is something
which you might consider as qualities for “Maid of the Year” or whatever.
Finally I thank you once again for your interest and response and although
Faggott has not yet been privy to these latest interchanges between us I am sure
that if and when I allow her into this latest round of our communication, the
impact will be noticeable.
Sincerely,
Geena Parkinson
MAIDHOOD Suzette in Ontario
Suzette in Ontario, Canada
Twenty years ago Ms. Geena P. wrote to a British magazine, “Madame”, of a most
interesting maid that she was training for her personal domestic service. In the
following years Ms. Geena wrote more letters with photos to “Madame” of her
maid, Suzette, relating incidents in their lives not only serving herself but
her guests as she entertained — and even assigned Suzette to live and work with
them. On one occasion when she visited Toronto, she left Suzette on maid duty at
her boyfriend’s home in New York.
Suzette was always kept extremely well uniformed in the best fashions of the
times and Ms. Gina photographed her well in all her duties and situations. Of
course each was well documented and one of our readers, Monica from Greece,
(last month’s feature in Maidhood) compiled these and sent them on to me. I
remembered many of the issues well myself and noted that in the very early
stages of development — early 1980’s — it was not surprising to find Suzette
often being referred to as Faggott.
Ms. Geena, who signed her letters “G. P.”, described her ‘treatment’ of ‘Suzette
in a very early letter in this manner:
Since I first started to train her I have given her female hormone treatment,
lessons in make-up, deportment, and of course full sexual and domestic training.
I am currently teaching her how to sew, because I believe that it is important
for a maid to be able to do odd repair jobs. But it is her attitude and
appearance that I am most proud of and I secretly congratulate myself on what I
have achieved with her.
When fully made up with wig and clothes on, she (or he!) really looks like a
woman. You really cannot tell the difference. Sometimes I think that she even
looks more attractive than I do! Even without her corset she now looks slim and
her breasts are beginning to develop nicely. Just before I went to America I
took her to a private party and my friends complimented me on how pretty she
looked.
For those who may be interested, her wig and make-up which she now applies
herself, was just right; not overdone and dressed as she was in her uniform she
looked really smart.
I was delighted to reprint all of these in instalments in OUR WAY and they
proved to be quite popular. My postal subscription list is very private and most
times I know nothing of the reader except an address and usually with a P.O. box
number. One month after publishing the first article Monica sent me (dated 1981
— OUR WAY issue September 98) I received a request for that issue, a few back
issues and a continuing subscription. My mailing instructions included a demand
that I mark “PUBLISHING SAMPLES!!!!!” on all the envelopes. I paid more
attention to the label and address than I did the name. A year later I received
a package from Canada with a sealed envelope inside boldly labelled DO NOT OPEN
THIS UNTIL YOU HAVE READ THE ATTACHED LETTER.
I read the letter carefully as instructed and reached this:
Finally as I said in my last letter, I subscribed to “OUR WAY” in order to give
all or part of it to my maid as a reward for outstanding work and behaviour. If I
am duly pleased and satisfied, I hand my chosen reading to her on the third
Sunday of every month, which is when she has time off. Sometimes for my
amusement I have her stand or kneel in front of me and have her read it out loud
in her soft girlish manner. She gets embarrassed and blushes easily but has to
persevere. The first time I did this was when she was given “OUR WAY” for the
first time (September 98 issue). With our wine glasses fully charged, my two
girlfriends and I sat back and relaxed in our comfy chairs as my sissy maid
stood demurely to attention in front of us. She had been pre-warned that there
was going to be a “Command Performance” so we could see that she had made a
deliberate effort to smartly groom and prepare herself nicely for us. She wore
her plain, but freshly laundered, pale blue and white uniform dress, with its
matching white frilly cap and her pretty white starched frilly apron. With the
mild scent of her perfume reaching our nostrils, she began to read out loud to
us the “Suzette Faggott” story as per my instructions. Much to our amusement, as
she read further and further into the story she became visibly distressed and
shocked She realized that she was reading about herself!!
Yes indeed I am the Mistress and owner / employer of Suzette Faggott or Milly
the Maid as some of my friends call her. The attached sample of original
photographs will confirm this claim. I enjoyed reading those stories again, but
for Milly (or Faggott as your readers know her), it was the devastating
realization that for the first time ever, thanks to me, her story has now been
published worldwide and I believe that it further crushed her spirit even more
than I could ever have planned. My power over her has been reinforced and
enhanced.
Thank You, Yours Sincerely,
Geena Parkinson
The photos enclosed were not only very recent but I found her wearing identical
uniforms and aprons matching mine and one that had only recently reached the
market in an exclusive shop in NYC that I had discovered on the Internet.
Ms. Geena described herself and her long-standing relationship with Suzette to
me:
I should explain that I am a mature business woman, self sufficient, divorced
and in good financial, physical and mental shape, I am demanding, fussy and do
not suffer fools lightly (That is why I am successful in everything I do). I
have a live in sissy maid whom I have trained and controlled in every way. “She”
Is obedient, servile and fully domesticated. I have no romantic or sexual
feelings for this individual as a person but I certainly make full use of all
her “services”. Our relationship is strictly one of master (mistress) and
servant. I am commanding, content and comfortable with my position in life and
whether my maid is content or comfortable is of no concern to me but like me she
certainly knows her position. She has stayed with me so I presume that she is
happy in service to my friends and me.
Ms. Geena had moved to Canada from the UK and taken
Suzette with her as her maid!
A FAGGOTT CHRISTMAS STORY – PART 1
Part 1 to A Christmas Story
I awoke suddenly, during one of those horrific but unexplainable dreams, turned over in bed and sleepily dragged my eyes open. My mind gradually began to come back to reality. During this transition process between sleep and consciousness, I noticed that the time display on my digital bedside clock read 6:45 am and the date function told me that it was December 25th, Christmas Day. I had just received a mere 3-hour’s sleep. Stretching lazily between the soft, silk sheets of my king size bed, I turned and reached over to give Brad, my current male friend a gentle kiss on his sleeping lips. It woke him up. He smiled and pulled me down onto him and we kissed and snuggled into each other.
“Merry Christmas Darling” I cooed into his ear.
“Merry Christmas Geena” he replied in his deep husky voice, “I hope it is a good one.”
Fondling his large piece of male equipment and giving it a playful squeeze, I said, “It will Darling, it will.”
We turned and lay on our backs, hand in hand, side by side, soaking in sweet contentment. Deep down below us, in the bowels of the house, I could hear the muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner and I knew that my little sissy “male” maid was already up early as expected and was trying to clean up the mess my friends and I had made the night before. I smiled inwardly and as the soft Christmas music began to play on the radio, I closed my eyes and reflected back on what had turned out to be a great Christmas Eve……
Fourteen of us (males and females) had rented two chauffeur driven limousines between us and we spent Christmas Eve touring the local bar and club scene. As you can imagine, with none of us having to worry about drinking and driving, the revelry got into high gear pretty quickly and aided by the well stocked bars in each car we drank and cruised the night spots, partying and dancing the night away. Good and glorious fun was had by all and with the gorgeous Brad at my side, I felt like a teenager again. By about 1:00 AM on Christmas morning we were ready for coffee and snacks so I invited everyone back to my place.
Our spirits and voices were high as we noisily entered my house and I adopted the persona of party animal and hostess, offering additional drinks to those who felt they still needed one and loading some suitable music into the CD player. As I headed for the kitchen to prepare the coffee, I realised that I didn’t have a clue where anything was. Anytime I needed anything from this important room of the house in the past, I would have my maid, Suzette Faggott fetch it or show me where things were. With sixteen people (including the chauffeurs) clamouring for coffee, I was, I must admit, lost in my own home. There was only one thing for it, I needed my maid to at least come and set things up for us, so I summoned Suzette from her quarters using the intercom connection from the kitchen to the servant’s room in the basement.
I looked at my watch and paced the kitchen impatiently as I waited for my maid to appear. How dare she take this long? I was annoyed!! My guests were waiting and I needed some action. In actual fact it was only about 2 minutes from the time I summoned her, to the time when she eventually quickly shuffled into the kitchen on her fluffy pink slippers, but to me it seemed more like 2 hours. (I really must learn to be more patient). Some of my guests who were in the kitchen hooted and hollered in their inebriated state as my timid maid entered the scene. Her pink ankle length cotton nightdress with its cute rosebud motive and flounced hem was clearly visible beneath her well-worn pink polyester terry robe. Her hair, as per my earlier instructions, was neatly set in chunky medium sized pink hair rollers, covered by a large white broderie anglaise frilled mob cap with a pretty pink bow at the front. She looked tired and scared. My friends continued to laugh and joke at this apparition of a maid, who had been summoned from a deep sleep to be confronted by a noisy group of strangers in an exuberant mood. It must have been intimidating for the poor soul… but I glared at her.
“What took you so long?” I demanded.
Over the noise I barely heard her soft girlish reply explaining that she had come as quickly as she could. She fidgeted with her skirts and looked really uncomfortable. I could see that she would rather be anywhere but in front of my guests and me at that moment. To make matters worse, I think she knew that she was breaking one of my rules….namely…”A maid should not appear before her Mistress or Guests wearing hair rollers unless given special permission to do so”. She obviously had not received any prior permission, so as she stood before me, she must have known she was out of line. Of course given the urgency of my summons, she would not have had time to remove her rollers anyway. It was an impossible situation for her to be in. We both knew it.
A moment of compassion came over me….well, after all, it was Christmas!! So for the moment I decided to forget about the violation of the “Roller Rule” and concentrate on the reason why I wanted Suzette in the kitchen, so I told her in a deliberate manner that I would review her inappropriate appearance in hair rollers at a later time but I wanted her to set up and make the coffee and tea and to show me where food for snacks could be found. Despite her sleepy state and the constant jibbing from my guests, she quickly made and set up the coffee and tea things and put out food for our snacks. Once this was completed she was no longer needed, so I promptly dismissed her back to her room in the basement, back to her cot with its ghastly rubber sheets and back to her trivial servant’s thoughts. With eyes lowered and still blushing from the unexpected, embarrassing noisy interruption to her peaceful sleep, she remembered to pull her pink skirts wide and dutifully dropped a respectful curtsy to me, then followed by wolf whistles and taunts from my friends, she happily fled back downstairs into the comparatively dark and silent sanctuary of her servant’s quarters. Meanwhile the party continued until eventually enough fun was had by all.
Brad stayed the night of course while the others were dropped off at their homes by the limousines. Eventually we climbed into bed about 3:30 AM leaving all of the clearing up for my maid to attend to later. Now the reader is back to where I began these notes……..
So it was Christmas Day and I was tired. Thank God I had previously arranged with Mrs. Badley, a neighbour, to come in and cook Christmas Dinner. With more guests scheduled to arrive later in the day for this important meal, I was very pleased that I had the foresight to plan ahead and to utilise Mrs. Badley. She was a widow, who lived down the road from me and had no other family member living close by, so she had offered to cook Christmas Dinner in exchange for some company at Christmas. I was only too happy to agree. We planned the meal for 7:00 PM and Mrs. Badley promised to arrive around 3:30 PM so there was plenty of time for me to stay and enjoy more of Brad’s “Bedroom Technique”.
Brad and I continued to rest and relax in bed until punctually at 7:30 AM there was a soft knock on the bedroom door and upon my invitation to come in, my maid, Suzette, entered carrying a tray with my usual early morning tea and cookies. She looked pretty and attractive and I heard Brad gasp in amazement as a vision in blue and white daintily minced before us.
My maid was wearing her short sleeved, pale blue, buttoned front Princess styled uniform dress, with its white trim at the collar and cuffs. Over this she had put on a pretty white, lace edged, pinafore apron with cross straps which met at the small of her back in a fluffy white butterfly bow. The remainder of the apron ties flowed down over her cute pale blue uniformed ass almost to the hem of her dress. The hair rollers which we had all seen the night before had done their job well as her dark shoulder length hair had been nicely brushed into a soft and bouncy feminine style. Her head was crowned with a dainty white, lace edged maid’s cap which matched her apron. Her usual black stockings and a sensible pair of white, low heeled work shoes completed the uniform. Her makeup was tastefully applied, enhancing her appearance but not overdone, her nails were varnished to match the soft red of her lipstick. Two button pearl earrings completed the picture. She looked really “maid” for housework!!
Suzette put her tray down on my bedside table and turned on the lamp to the dim setting. She turned and was startled to see Brad beside me. I was not surprised, for although I do not make a habit of bringing new men home with me, my maid has never been at ease in the company of other males and especially with anyone who seems very close to me.
Sensing her discomfort I quickly gave her a sharp order, “I think we need another cup here, don’t you Faggott? Oh and by the way, my friend prefers coffee not tea. See to it immediately!”
With eyes lowered, head bowed and with a murmured “Yes Madam”, she grabbed the extremities of her uniform skirt, dipped the expected curtsy, turned and disappeared out the door.
Brad sat up in bed and said “Wow’. He knew about little Suzette but seeing her in action exceeded his imagination.
In a brief minute or two, there was another knock on the door and again at my command, Suzette returned with another cup and saucer, coffee and more cookies on a small tray. As she reorganised the trays and their contents I noticed for the first time that she was wearing a plastic Christmas corsage over her left breast.
“Where did that come from?” I demanded to know.
She curtsied sweetly and in her soft, little girl’s innocent voice she said, “Please Madam the paper carrier left it after I paid the bill.”
After my sluggish start to the day, I was now firing on all cylinders. “Take it off this instant and put it in the garbage can over there,” I said harshly, pointing to the garbage can beside my vanity. “You look like a cheap waitress in a greasy spoon cafe. I will thank you to ask my permission in future before you decide what to wear with your uniforms. Really Faggott, what with this and last night’s disobedience of the Roller Rule….you are not getting me off to a Happy Christmas. I hope your attitude and behaviour improves considerably from now on or your sweet ass is going to remember this Christmas for a very long time to come”.
I do not make threats if I do not intend to carry them out. My maid knew this and her head dropped remorsefully onto the bib of her apron, once more she had been put in her place, this time in front of my new husky male friend.
A curtsy and a soft effeminate “Yes Madam” greeted my outburst and she quickly removed the offending corsage and disposed of it as instructed then stood blushing, head bowed, with her hands folded over her white aproned skirt waiting for my next remark or instruction.
I must admit that I slightly overplayed the importance of the Roller Rule and the corsage incident for Brad’s benefit. I wanted him to see that I was in charge and liked it that way. I wanted to send him a subtle message that I was certainly no pushover.
So far I could see that Suzette was not exactly enjoying herself, but so what? She was in my house to work, serve and obey; it is not a holiday camp.
I spoke to her again, “This is Mr. Brad Williams, he will be staying here for the next couple of days and I expect you to serve and obey him as you would me, understood?”
There was only one expected response to that question and I received it. “Yes Madam” said Suzette, with eyes lowered and the usual curtsy.
Up to now Brad had watched the proceedings in silent fascination but suddenly he warmed to the scene and called Suzette over to his side of the bed. I could see that my sissy maid obeyed very reluctantly as with slow hesitating steps she approached her new Master. Upon reaching her destination she gave a respectful, quick bobbed curtsy to Brad and waited head and eyes lowered as Brad eyed her up and down. She waited and waited. Any self esteem she might have had was draining away rapidly as Brad silently, without a word, exercised his newly found power and dominance over this sissy male. She continued to wait, head bowed, hands folded across her pretty aproned skirt knowing that she was now going to be at the beck and call of this new male in the house.
As Suzette stood and waited patiently before her new Master, Brad continued to enjoy his cookies while carrying on a conversation with me. It was as if we were the only two people in the room. Meanwhile this pretty maid in blue and white continued to wait, head still bowed knowing that she could not move or do anything without this stranger’s permission. She stood idle and ignored like a piece of furniture as Brad continued to enjoy his coffee and me.
Eventually after what seemed like an age, Brad turned his attention back to Suzette. He had made his point, he was her superior and he had demonstrated it very well through the power of silence.
“Well now Suzette” he said smilingly, “What do you have to say to me?”
Suzette hesitated for a moment then seeing me eyeing her critically, using both hands she pulled the skirt of her uniform dress wide and with eyes lowered to the floor, gave Brad a deep and respectful curtsy and said, “Please Mr. Brad can I do anything for you?”
It was the correct response.
Brad smiled at me and replied, “You sure can my pretty maid. See my suit on the chair? Why don’t you take it downstairs and give it a good pressing with your iron? We must ensure that I look smart for your Mistress mustn’t we?”
A soft and polite “Yes Sir,” was Suzette’s brief answer before she gathered up the rumpled suit and turned to go.
Before she did, Brad stopped her by saying, “Just a minute, not so fast Susie!”
I could see that Brad was beginning to enjoy himself as he continued to speak to my sissy maid. “While you are at it Suzette, take my shoes and give them a good shine. Oh and you can also wash my shirt and undershorts but don’t worry about having them ready today, tomorrow will do fine as I have brought spares with me and Suzette?”
The question hung in the air, ” I like my shirts with plenty of starch and placed on a hanger. Do you think you can remember all that or should I write it down for you?”
Brad’s condescending manner was evident in the way he spoke down to this sissy male. Brad was sharp and a quick learner, he was a good match for me, and I liked that.
Gathering up Brad’s things Suzette bobbed a curtsy and said in her soft, innocent voice, and “No sir I will remember to do as you say.”
With that, my hapless sissy maid minced from the room with all her extra work.
As the bedroom door was closing behind my departing maid, Brad shouted after her…”Do a perfect job with those brown stains on my undershorts Suzette and you and I will get along just fine!”
Smilingly he then reached over, wrapped his muscular hairy arm around me and said, “Now Geena was there some unfinished business we need to attend to?” There sure was!!!!!
We eventually got up around midday, showered, dressed and went downstairs to be greeted by the sweet smell of Christmas mixed with the welcoming aroma of a log fire. Entering the family room we noticed that Suzette had dutifully laid out all the Christmas treats and goodies. There was a roaring fire blazing in the hearth, Christmas music was being piped in from the CD player, scented candles glowed in selected corners of the room, the Christmas tree stood proud and tall, surrounded at its base by a colourful collection of seasonal wrapped presents and a bottle of my best champagne lay cooling in the ice bucket. Overall it was a warm and relaxing atmosphere, orchestrated in part by the dedication of my little sissy male maid. If I needed evidence of success of my long and concentrated training of my maid, then this was it. The whole setting was geared to our enjoyment and I might also add, there was no evidence of any mess of our Christmas Eve festivities from the night before. My maid had done her work very well.
We decided to skip a formal breakfast preferring instead to save our appetites for the large meal that was coming later, so we relaxed in front of the fire sipping a glass of champagne. While we were absorbing the Christmas atmosphere, Suzette had turned her attention to the rooms upstairs and from above we occasionally heard the various sounds of her labours as she went about her cleaning and housekeeping duties. When her chores were finished I had her come in and give me a nice manicure and pedicure. She was just finishing my feet when the front doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I noticed that it was 3:25 PM and I knew Mrs. Badley was on time.
From her kneeling position in front of me Suzette looked up at me and I nodded my approval for her to answer the door. She got to her feet; put her pedicure tools aside, straightened her dress and apron and quickly went to the front door. In a minute or so Mrs. Badley entered the room followed by Suzette. I got up and gave my neighbour a big hug, wished her a Merry Christmas and thanked her for coming. We exchanged pleasantries and she joined us in a glass of champagne while Suzette packed her pedicure tools and equipment away and took Mrs. Badley’s bags upstairs to a spare room as Mrs. Badley had accepted my prior invitation to stay overnight.
Mrs. Badley finished her champagne and with my blessing headed for the kitchen to start work on our Christmas dinner. I followed her to ensure things got off to a good start. The turkey had already been defrosted and was waiting in the kitchen for the meal preparation to begin. Reaching into her bag, Mrs. Badley pulled out and immediately put on a white nylon button front overall, similar to a lab coat. She left it unbuttoned before thoughtfully putting on a light hairnet over her greyish brown hair.
Rubbing her hands together she said…”Right Geena, I’m ready for business”. I thought that the wearing of a hairnet was very appropriate so I immediately sent Suzette to her room to put on one as well.
My maid returned to the kitchen wearing her newly installed pale blue hairnet under her maid’s cap. She looked sweet, cute and practical as the hairnet matched the pale blue of her uniform perfectly. She knew that she was expected to act as a kitchen maid to Mrs. Badley so without being told she immediately went about putting out the vegetables and the various pots and pans that would be needed. Seeing that everything was under control I bade them good luck and returned to Brad, my champagne and the soothing ambience of my surroundings.
From about 5:30 PM onwards my various guests began to arrive. Suzette who by then had almost finished her menial kitchen chores and had changed into one of her formal black and white uniform dresses greeted each at the front door. It had three quarter length sleeves and was trimmed at the cuff and collar by a neat white eyelet lace trim. Over this she wore a pretty matching frilled white eyelet apron complete with straps which ran up over her protruding breasts and met at the small of her back in a nice fluffy bow. She had refreshed her makeup, tidied her hair and as per my earlier instructions instead of a maid’s cap, she wore a pretty white bow in her hair over her forehead. It completed the look perfectly. Again as directed by me, around each ankle she wore a cute silver anklet, both of which had a number of small bells which tinkled merrily as she walked and served. The skirt of her black uniform dress flared out slightly and aided by the high heels of her shoes, she gracefully went about her duties in a classy, attractive and “tinkling” manner. Over the rest of the evening I received many favourable comments from my guests about the demeanour and work of this well trained maid.
After serving us pre dinner drinks, Suzette announced that dinner was ready and we all made our way to the dining room. Altogether there were eight of us, Jack and Mary Connors, Bill and Margaret Shay and their 10 year old daughter Mandy, plus Brad and myself and Mrs. Badley….sans white coat and hairnet… who I had invited to join us for the festivities.
The dinner was cooked to perfection. Suzette served and waited at the table just like a proper waitress and fastidiously took care of our every need. We relaxed and enjoyed the Christmas atmosphere, the turkey with all the trimmings, followed by a choice of deserts, cheese, biscuits, coffee and tea. Champagne, wine, port, brandy and other drinks were available as required. By the time we had finished the meal we were all in good spirits except perhaps for Suzette who still had all the washing up to do and to prepare and eat her own Christmas dinner from our leftovers, this she was obliged to do in the kitchen while the rest of us enjoyed music, drinks and each other’s company in the lounge. I took several photographs that day but much to my extreme annoyance; the local camera store lost the roll of film during processing.
At approximately 10:00 PM I went to the kitchen. Suzette had been there for about an hour and was just finishing drying the pots. As expected, she was wearing her rubber gloves and one of her clear waterproof bibbed aprons, which protected her pretty formal dress, and frilly apron. As expected I was greeted by a respectful curtsy. Little Mandy was sitting at the kitchen table eating from a box of chocolates. My friend Margaret, Mandy’s mother, suddenly joined me in the kitchen. On seeing what her daughter was doing, she grabbed the box of chocolates and threw it on the floor, scattering the contents in all directions.
Margaret spoke to her daughter angrily, “Mandy, I thought I told you not to eat any more chocolates tonight! Where did you get those from?”
Mandy stood up and pointing to Suzette said “She gave them to me.”
Margaret turned her attention to Suzette who was standing respectfully to attention by the kitchen sink. “Is that correct?” She snapped.
Suzette bobbed a curtsy and with eyes fixed to the floor somewhere between herself and my friend, replied softly and quickly “Yes Mrs. Shay.”
Margaret took a quick step towards Faggott and gave her a good hard slap across the face. A half shocked—-half surprised look flashed across Faggott’s face and she started to raise her hand to her glowing cheek; then she thought better of it and quickly put it behind her back along with her other one as she returned her gaze to the floor.
My friend continued to address my maid. “Just who do you think you are to go against my wishes?”
Suzette bobbed a quick curtsy as she replied to Margaret. “Please Madam, Miss Mandy asked for them but I didn’t know…”
Before Suzette could finish the sentence Margaret interrupted her. “Then you should have come and asked for my permission. I do not appreciate domestics who think they know better than me.”
Suzette, looking crushed, continued to look at the floor. I was enjoying this little repartee, as it had been a long time since Faggott had been put in her place by someone other than myself and I was relishing in this spectator sport.
As the bright red mark of Margaret’s hand glowed distinctively on Suzette’s cheek, my maid continued to struggle to defend herself against the wrath of Margaret’s superiority.
“But, But, Mrs…..”
Margaret abruptly cut her off again, “Silence! How dare you challenge my authority!” Losing her patience she shouted at Suzette, “Now pick up those chocolates at once!!”
Suzette knew there was no room for any further explanations from her part so with the usual curtsy my defeated maid said with a resigned sincerity “Yes Madam,” and promptly got down on her hands and knees and started to gather up the chocolates and wrappers. Her plastic apron swished softly as Suzette made her way around the floor. Meanwhile I noticed Mandy giggling spitefully.
“As for you Miss”, Margaret said to her daughter, “I have a good mind not to give you your gift from under the tree, but seeing as it’s Christmas I will give you another chance, but if you disobey me again you will be in deep trouble.”
“But Suzette said I could have them,” protested Mandy.
Margaret continued to address Mandy in a stern voice…”We will not go into that again, you will have to remember that servants have no authority and they cannot make any arbitrary decisions. They are simply here to do as they are told. Faggott was wrong to give you the chocolates without checking with me first. Now that’s the end of it. We hope Faggott has learned her lesson. Now come with me.”
Taking her daughter’s hand she led her back to the lounge, stepping carefully around Suzette who was still on her knees collecting the chocolates, in doing so I saw Mandy deliberately step on a chocolate crushing its soft contents into the kitchen floor.
Mandy turned to Suzette and said “You stupid idiot, why didn’t you pick that up like you’ve been told to?”
She was obviously trying to imitate her Mother. Suzette said nothing but looked up at Mandy and then at me with pleading eyes.
Wishing to put an end to this escapade and to get Mandy away, I said “Get a cloth Suzette and wipe Miss Mandy’s shoe, then as soon as you are finished here, report to me in the lounge.”
From her position on the floor I heard her say “Yes Madam.” before she got quickly to her feet, grabbed a damp cloth and proceeded to wipe the sole of Mandy’s shoe before the girl could spread the sticky mess around the house.
As Suzette finished wiping her shoe, Mandy tossed her head into the air and in a haughty voice said “Thank you Faggott, you did well.”
Looking down at Mandy’s cleanly wiped shoe, Suzette whispered “Thank you Miss Mandy.”
This ten-year-old was a real little minx. I reminded myself to have a subtle word with her Mother at the earliest opportunity although I doubted that it would have much effect, the girl could do little wrong in her Mother’s eyes. At this point we all departed for the lounge, leaving Suzette to her remaining work.
The evening concluded with the distribution of gifts from under the tree. I acted as “Santa” and Suzette having finished her kitchen duties joined me as helper. She of course had discarded her rubber gloves and plastic cover up apron and once again looked pretty and practical in her formal black and white uniform. She stood beside my chair carefully handing me the gifts from the tree so that I could announce the names of the recipients. The mark on her face was beginning to fade slightly but was still visible evidence of her losing encounter with Margaret and Mandy, but unknown to me at the time, there was still one more act to play in their relationship.
Being the youngest, the contumacious Mandy received her gift first and in her package she was delighted to find two new video games for her computer. From there the gifts flowed fast and furious and the floor was soon a mess of paper, bows and discarded boxes. I received a very expensive diamond necklace from Brad and in return I gave him a gold bracelet. From Suzette, I graciously accepted a simple white cotton handkerchief upon which she had carefully hand sewn a pretty lace trim. I knew it didn’t cost much and I probably wouldn’t use it, but given her limited financial resources it was the thought that was more important. My gift to her was three pairs of lace trimmed cotton, floral printed panties in pink, blue and yellow plus a set of my favourite nail polish colours. It would be to her advantage to have them handy when doing my nails. The arrogant Brad gave Suzette an envelope containing hand written instructions on how to get to his condominium. He was obviously expecting to get some maid service in the future!
Suzette also received the final two gifts. The first was from Mandy and it was a large soft plastic bib with a pink polka dot pattern. Mandy giggled incessantly as Suzette pulled it from the package for us all to see.
“Thank you Miss Mandy” said Suzette softly as she curtsied to the girl.
“Be sure to wear it often” the spoilt Mandy ordered.
“Yes Miss,” was Suzette’s reply before she bent and picked up the bulky last remaining package. It was labelled from ” Mrs. Shay to Faggott.” I wondered what could be in such a large package. I was soon to find out
As Suzette knelt on the floor slowly unwrapping her gift I looked over to Margaret and gave her a puzzled look. She smiled and winked at me.
Soon the contents of the package were revealed and Margaret added a commentary. “Faggott, those are a couple of old overalls and aprons that I used to wear a long time ago when I worked as a cleaner. In my current position as Chief Accountant I am certainly above wearing such clothing but you, I am sure will be able to get two or three years good use out of them. As you can see, I haven’t washed or ironed them, that is something which I am certain you are much more capable of doing than me.”
Suzette gazed down at the bundle of soiled uniforms and then in a non enthusiastic voice said “Thank you very much Mrs. Shay, they will come in very handy for me.”
Margaret smiled somewhat maliciously, “Good I knew you would be pleased with those Faggott, make sure you launder them nicely and I will look forward to seeing you wearing them very soon.”
Margaret’s remarks seemed to have a caustic tone to them.
Margaret either missed the point that this demeaning gift had on Suzette or knew it and was simply emphasising the social gap that existed between herself and this servant. From my knowledge of Margaret and her earlier actions in the kitchen, I think I knew where she was coming from. May God bless any maid that works in her home…but as they say…that is another story.
(This story has been compiled from personal observations and notes. Some names have been changed to protect privacy.)
Geena Parkinson
A CRISTMAS STOREY PART 2 PART TWO
Part 1 to A Christmas Story
I awoke suddenly, during one of those horrific but unexplainable dreams, turned over in bed and sleepily dragged my eyes open. My mind gradually began to come back to reality. During this transition process between sleep and consciousness, I noticed that the time display on my digital bedside clock read 6:45 am and the date function told me that it was December 25th, Christmas Day. I had just received a mere 3-hour’s sleep. Stretching lazily between the soft, silk sheets of my king size bed, I turned and reached over to give Brad, my current male friend a gentle kiss on his sleeping lips. It woke him up. He smiled and pulled me down onto him and we kissed and snuggled into each other.
“Merry Christmas Darling” I cooed into his ear.
“Merry Christmas Geena” he replied in his deep husky voice, “I hope it is a good one.”
Fondling his large piece of male equipment and giving it a playful squeeze, I said, “It will Darling, it will.”
We turned and lay on our backs, hand in hand, side by side, soaking in sweet contentment. Deep down below us, in the bowels of the house, I could hear the muffled sound of a vacuum cleaner and I knew that my little sissy “male” maid was already up early as expected and was trying to clean up the mess my friends and I had made the night before. I smiled inwardly and as the soft Christmas music began to play on the radio, I closed my eyes and reflected back on what had turned out to be a great Christmas Eve……
Fourteen of us (males and females) had rented two chauffeur driven limousines between us and we spent Christmas Eve touring the local bar and club scene. As you can imagine, with none of us having to worry about drinking and driving, the revelry got into high gear pretty quickly and aided by the well stocked bars in each car we drank and cruised the night spots, partying and dancing the night away. Good and glorious fun was had by all and with the gorgeous Brad at my side, I felt like a teenager again. By about 1:00 AM on Christmas morning we were ready for coffee and snacks so I invited everyone back to my place.
Our spirits and voices were high as we noisily entered my house and I adopted the persona of party animal and hostess, offering additional drinks to those who felt they still needed one and loading some suitable music into the CD player. As I headed for the kitchen to prepare the coffee, I realised that I didn’t have a clue where anything was. Anytime I needed anything from this important room of the house in the past, I would have my maid, Susette Faggott fetch it or show me where things were. With sixteen people (including the chauffeurs) clamouring for coffee, I was, I must admit, lost in my own home. There was only one thing for it, I needed my maid to at least come and set things up for us, so I summoned Susette from her quarters using the intercom connection from the kitchen to the servant’s room in the basement.
I looked at my watch and paced the kitchen impatiently as I waited for my maid to appear. How dare she take this long? I was annoyed!! My guests were waiting and I needed some action. In actual fact it was only about 2 minutes from the time I summoned her, to the time when she eventually quickly shuffled into the kitchen on her fluffy pink slippers, but to me it seemed more like 2 hours. (I really must learn to be more patient). Some of my guests who were in the kitchen hooted and hollered in their inebriated state as my timid maid entered the scene. Her pink ankle length cotton nightdress with its cute rosebud motive and flounced hem was clearly visible beneath her well-worn pink polyester terry robe. Her hair, as per my earlier instructions, was neatly set in chunky medium sized pink hair rollers, covered by a large white broderie anglaise frilled mob cap with a pretty pink bow at the front. She looked tired and scared. My friends continued to laugh and joke at this apparition of a maid, who had been summoned from a deep sleep to be confronted by a noisy group of strangers in an exuberant mood. It must have been intimidating for the poor soul… but I glared at her.
“What took you so long?” I demanded.
Over the noise I barely heard her soft girlish reply explaining that she had come as quickly as she could. She fidgeted with her skirts and looked really uncomfortable. I could see that she would rather be anywhere but in front of my guests and me at that moment. To make matters worse, I think she knew that she was breaking one of my rules….namely…”A maid should not appear before her Mistress or Guests wearing hair rollers unless given special permission to do so”. She obviously had not received any prior permission, so as she stood before me, she must have known she was out of line. Of course given the urgency of my summons, she would not have had time to remove her rollers anyway. It was an impossible situation for her to be in. We both knew it.
A moment of compassion came over me….well, after all, it was Christmas!! So for the moment I decided to forget about the violation of the “Roller Rule” and concentrate on the reason why I wanted Susette in the kitchen, so I told her in a deliberate manner that I would review her inappropriate appearance in hair rollers at a later time but I wanted her to set up and make the coffee and tea and to show me where food for snacks could be found. Despite her sleepy state and the constant jibbing from my guests, she quickly made and set up the coffee and tea things and put out food for our snacks. Once this was completed she was no longer needed, so I promptly dismissed her back to her room in the basement, back to her cot with its ghastly rubber sheets and back to her trivial servant’s thoughts. With eyes lowered and still blushing from the unexpected, embarrassing noisy interruption to her peaceful sleep, she remembered to pull her pink skirts wide and dutifully dropped a respectful curtsy to me, then followed by wolf whistles and taunts from my friends, she happily fled back downstairs into the comparatively dark and silent sanctuary of her servant’s quarters. Meanwhile the party continued until eventually enough fun was had by all.
Brad stayed the night of course while the others were dropped off at their homes by the limousines. Eventually we climbed into bed about 3:30 AM leaving all of the clearing up for my maid to attend to later. Now the reader is back to where I began these notes……..
So it was Christmas Day and I was tired. Thank God I had previously arranged with Mrs. Badley, a neighbour, to come in and cook Christmas Dinner. With more guests scheduled to arrive later in the day for this important meal, I was very pleased that I had the foresight to plan ahead and to utilise Mrs. Badley. She was a widow, who lived down the road from me and had no other family member living close by, so she had offered to cook Christmas Dinner in exchange for some company at Christmas. I was only too happy to agree. We planned the meal for 7:00 PM and Mrs. Badley promised to arrive around 3:30 PM so there was plenty of time for me to stay and enjoy more of Brad’s “Bedroom Technique”.
Brad and I continued to rest and relax in bed until punctually at 7:30 AM there was a soft knock on the bedroom door and upon my invitation to come in, my maid, Susette, entered carrying a tray with my usual early morning tea and cookies. She looked pretty and attractive and I heard Brad gasp in amazement as a vision in blue and white daintily minced before us.
My maid was wearing her short sleeved, pale blue, buttoned front Princess styled uniform dress, with its white trim at the collar and cuffs. Over this she had put on a pretty white, lace edged, pinafore apron with cross straps which met at the small of her back in a fluffy white butterfly bow. The remainder of the apron ties flowed down over her cute pale blue uniformed ass almost to the hem of her dress. The hair rollers which we had all seen the night before had done their job well as her dark shoulder length hair had been nicely brushed into a soft and bouncy feminine style. Her head was crowned with a dainty white, lace edged maid’s cap which matched her apron. Her usual black stockings and a sensible pair of white, low heeled work shoes completed the uniform. Her make up was tastefully applied, enhancing her appearance but not overdone, her nails were varnished to match the soft red of her lipstick. Two button pearl earrings completed the picture. She looked really “maid” for housework!!
Susette put her tray down on my bedside table and turned on the lamp to the dim setting. She turned and was startled to see Brad beside me. I was not surprised, for although I do not make a habit of bringing new men home with me, my maid has never been at ease in the company of other males and especially with anyone who seems very close to me.
Sensing her discomfort I quickly gave her a sharp order, “I think we need another cup here, don’t you Faggott? Oh and by the way, my friend prefers coffee not tea. See to it immediately!”
With eyes lowered, head bowed and with a murmured “Yes Madam”, she grabbed the extremities of her uniform skirt, dipped the expected curtsy, turned and disappeared out the door.
Brad sat up in bed and said “Wow’. He knew about little Susette but seeing her in action exceeded his imagination.
In a brief minute or two, there was another knock on the door and again at my command, Susette returned with another cup and saucer, coffee and more cookies on a small tray. As she reorganised the trays and their contents I noticed for the first time that she was wearing a plastic Christmas corsage over her left breast.
“Where did that come from?” I demanded to know.
She curtsied sweetly and in her soft, little girl’s innocent voice she said, “Please Madam the paper carrier left it after I paid the bill.”
After my sluggish start to the day, I was now firing on all cylinders. “Take it off this instant and put it in the garbage can over there,” I said harshly, pointing to the garbage can beside my vanity. “You look like a cheap waitress in a greasy spoon cafe. I will thank you to ask my permission in future before you decide what to wear with your uniforms. Really Faggott, what with this and last night’s disobedience of the Roller Rule….you are not getting me off to a Happy Christmas. I hope your attitude and behaviour improves considerably from now on or your sweet ass is going to remember this Christmas for a very long time to come”.
I do not make threats if I do not intend to carry them out. My maid knew this and her head dropped remorsefully onto the bib of her apron, once more she had been put in her place, this time in front of my new husky male friend.
A curtsy and a soft effeminate “Yes Madam” greeted my outburst and she quickly removed the offending corsage and disposed of it as instructed then stood blushing, head bowed, with her hands folded over her white aproned skirt waiting for my next remark or instruction.
I must admit that I slightly overplayed the importance of the Roller Rule and the corsage incident for Brad’s benefit. I wanted him to see that I was in charge and liked it that way. I wanted to send him a subtle message that I was certainly no pushover.
So far I could see that Susette was not exactly enjoying herself, but so what? She was in my house to work, serve and obey; it is not a holiday camp.
I spoke to her again, “This is Mr. Brad Williams, he will be staying here for the next couple of days and I expect you to serve and obey him as you would me, understood?”
There was only one expected response to that question and I received it. “Yes Madam” said Susette, with eyes lowered and the usual curtsy.
Up to now Brad had watched the proceedings in silent fascination but suddenly he warmed to the scene and called Susette over to his side of the bed. I could see that my sissy maid obeyed very reluctantly as with slow hesitating steps she approached her new Master. Upon reaching her destination she gave a respectful, quick bobbed curtsy to Brad and waited head and eyes lowered as Brad eyed her up and down. She waited and waited. Any self esteem she might have had was draining away rapidly as Brad silently, without a word, exercised his newly found power and dominance over this sissy male. She continued to wait, head bowed, hands folded across her pretty aproned skirt knowing that she was now going to be at the beck and call of this new male in the house.
As Susette stood and waited patiently before her new Master, Brad continued to enjoy his cookies while carrying on a conversation with me. It was as if we were the only two people in the room. Meanwhile this pretty maid in blue and white continued to wait, head still bowed knowing that she could not move or do anything without this stranger’s permission. She stood idle and ignored like a piece of furniture as Brad continued to enjoy his coffee and me.
Eventually after what seemed like an age, Brad turned his attention back to Susette. He had made his point, he was her superior and he had demonstrated it very well through the power of silence.
“Well now Susette” he said smilingly, “What do you have to say to me?”
Susette hesitated for a moment then seeing me eyeing her critically, using both hands she pulled the skirt of her uniform dress wide and with eyes lowered to the floor, gave Brad a deep and respectful curtsy and said, “Please Mr. Brad can I do anything for you?”
It was the correct response.
Brad smiled at me and replied, “You sure can my pretty maid. See my suit on the chair? Why don’t you take it downstairs and give it a good pressing with your iron? We must ensure that I look smart for your Mistress mustn’t we?”
A soft and polite “Yes Sir,” was Susette’s brief answer before she gathered up the rumpled suit and turned to go.
Before she did, Brad stopped her by saying, “Just a minute, not so fast Susie!”
I could see that Brad was beginning to enjoy himself as he continued to speak to my sissy maid. “While you are at it Susette, take my shoes and give them a good shine. Oh and you can also wash my shirt and undershorts but don’t worry about having them ready today, tomorrow will do fine as I have brought spares with me and Susette?”
The question hung in the air, ” I like my shirts with plenty of starch and placed on a hanger. Do you think you can remember all that or should I write it down for you?”
Brad’s condescending manner was evident in the way he spoke down to this sissy male. Brad was sharp and a quick learner, he was a good match for me, and I liked that.
Gathering up Brad’s things Susette bobbed a curtsy and said in her soft, innocent voice, and “No sir I will remember to do as you say.”
With that, my hapless sissy maid minced from the room with all her extra work.
As the bedroom door was closing behind my departing maid, Brad shouted after her…”Do a perfect job with those brown stains on my undershorts Susette and you and I will get along just fine!”
Smilingly he then reached over, wrapped his muscular hairy arm around me and said, “Now Geena was there some unfinished business we need to attend to?” There sure was!!!!!
We eventually got up around midday, showered, dressed and went downstairs to be greeted by the sweet smell of Christmas mixed with the welcoming aroma of a log fire. Entering the family room we noticed that Susette had dutifully laid out all the Christmas treats and goodies. There was a roaring fire blazing in the hearth, Christmas music was being piped in from the CD player, scented candles glowed in selected corners of the room, the Christmas tree stood proud and tall, surrounded at its base by a colourful collection of seasonal wrapped presents and a bottle of my best champagne lay cooling in the ice bucket. Overall it was a warm and relaxing atmosphere, orchestrated in part by the dedication of my little sissy male maid. If I needed evidence of success of my long and concentrated training of my maid, then this was it. The whole setting was geared to our enjoyment and I might also add, there was no evidence of any mess of our Christmas Eve festivities from the night before. My maid had done her work very well.
We decided to skip a formal breakfast preferring instead to save our appetites for the large meal that was coming later, so we relaxed in front of the fire sipping a glass of champagne. While we were absorbing the Christmas atmosphere, Susette had turned her attention to the rooms upstairs and from above we occasionally heard the various sounds of her labours as she went about her cleaning and housekeeping duties. When her chores were finished I had her come in and give me a nice manicure and pedicure. She was just finishing my feet when the front doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I noticed that it was 3:25 PM and I knew Mrs. Badley was on time.
From her kneeling position in front of me Susette looked up at me and I nodded my approval for her to answer the door. She got to her feet; put her pedicure tools aside, straightened her dress and apron and quickly went to the front door. In a minute or so Mrs. Badley entered the room followed by Susette. I got up and gave my neighbour a big hug, wished her a Merry Christmas and thanked her for coming. We exchanged pleasantries and she joined us in a glass of champagne while Susette packed her pedicure tools and equipment away and took Mrs. Badley’s bags upstairs to a spare room as Mrs. Badley had accepted my prior invitation to stay overnight.
Mrs. Badley finished her champagne and with my blessing headed for the kitchen to start work on our Christmas dinner. I followed her to ensure things got off to a good start. The turkey had already been defrosted and was waiting in the kitchen for the meal preparation to begin. Reaching into her bag, Mrs. Badley pulled out and immediately put on a white nylon button front overall, similar to a lab coat. She left it unbuttoned before thoughtfully putting on a light hairnet over her greyish brown hair.
Rubbing her hands together she said…”Right Geena, I’m ready for business”. I thought that the wearing of a hairnet was very appropriate so I immediately sent Susette to her room to put on one as well.
My maid returned to the kitchen wearing her newly installed pale blue hairnet under her maid’s cap. She looked sweet, cute and practical as the hairnet matched the pale blue of her uniform perfectly. She knew that she was expected to act as a kitchen maid to Mrs. Badley so without being told she immediately went about putting out the vegetables and the various pots and pans that would be needed. Seeing that everything was under control I bade them good luck and returned to Brad, my champagne and the soothing ambience of my surroundings.
From about 5:30 PM onwards my various guests began to arrive. Susette who by then had almost finished her menial kitchen chores and had changed into one of her formal black and white uniform dresses greeted each at the front door. It had three quarter length sleeves and was trimmed at the cuff and collar by a neat white eyelet lace trim. Over this she wore a pretty matching frilled white eyelet apron complete with straps which ran up over her protruding breasts and met at the small of her back in a nice fluffy bow. She had refreshed her make up, tidied her hair and as per my earlier instructions instead of a maid’s cap, she wore a pretty white bow in her hair over her forehead. It completed the look perfectly. Again as directed by me, around each ankle she wore a cute silver anklet, both of which had a number of small bells which tinkled merrily as she walked and served. The skirt of her black uniform dress flared out slightly and aided by the high heels of her shoes, she gracefully went about her duties in a classy, attractive and “tinkling” manner. Over the rest of the evening I received many favourable comments from my guests about the demeanour and work of this well trained maid.
After serving us pre dinner drinks, Susette announced that dinner was ready and we all made our way to the dining room. Altogether there were eight of us, Jack and Mary Connors, Bill and Margaret Shay and their 10 year old daughter Mandy, plus Brad and myself and Mrs. Badley….sans white coat and hairnet… who I had invited to join us for the festivities.
The dinner was cooked to perfection. Susette served and waited at the table just like a proper waitress and fastidiously took care of our every need. We relaxed and enjoyed the Christmas atmosphere, the turkey with all the trimmings, followed by a choice of deserts, cheese, biscuits, coffee and tea. Champagne, wine, port, brandy and other drinks were available as required. By the time we had finished the meal we were all in good spirits except perhaps for Susette who still had all the washing up to do and to prepare and eat her own Christmas dinner from our leftovers, this she was obliged to do in the kitchen while the rest of us enjoyed music, drinks and each other’s company in the lounge. I took several photographs that day but much to my extreme annoyance; the local camera store lost the roll of film during processing.
At approximately 10:00 PM I went to the kitchen. Susette had been there for about an hour and was just finishing drying the pots. As expected, she was wearing her rubber gloves and one of her clear waterproof bibbed aprons, which protected her pretty formal dress, and frilly apron. As expected I was greeted by a respectful curtsy. Little Mandy was sitting at the kitchen table eating from a box of chocolates. My friend Margaret, Mandy’s mother, suddenly joined me in the kitchen. On seeing what her daughter was doing, she grabbed the box of chocolates and threw it on the floor, scattering the contents in all directions.
Margaret spoke to her daughter angrily, “Mandy, I thought I told you not to eat any more chocolates tonight! Where did you get those from?”
Mandy stood up and pointing to Susette said “She gave them to me.”
Margaret turned her attention to Susette who was standing respectfully to attention by the kitchen sink. “Is that correct?” She snapped.
Susette bobbed a curtsy and with eyes fixed to the floor somewhere between herself and my friend, replied softly and quickly “Yes Mrs. Shay.”
Margaret took a quick step towards Faggott and gave her a good hard slap across the face. A half shocked—-half surprised look flashed across Faggott’s face and she started to raise her hand to her glowing cheek; then she thought better of it and quickly put it behind her back along with her other one as she returned her gaze to the floor.
My friend continued to address my maid. “Just who do you think you are to go against my wishes?”
Susette bobbed a quick curtsy as she replied to Margaret. “Please Madam, Miss Mandy asked for them but I didn’t know…”
Before Susette could finish the sentence Margaret interrupted her. “Then you should have come and asked for my permission. I do not appreciate domestics who think they know better than me.”
Susette, looking crushed, continued to look at the floor. I was enjoying this little repartee, as it had been a long time since Faggott had been put in her place by someone other than myself and I was relishing in this spectator sport.
As the bright red mark of Margaret’s hand glowed distinctively on Susette’s cheek, my maid continued to struggle to defend herself against the wrath of Margaret’s superiority.
“But, But, Mrs…..”
Margaret abruptly cut her off again, “Silence! How dare you challenge my authority!” Losing her patience she shouted at Susette, “Now pick up those chocolates at once!!”
Susette knew there was no room for any further explanations from her part so with the usual curtsy my defeated maid said with a resigned sincerity “Yes Madam,” and promptly got down on her hands and knees and started to gather up the chocolates and wrappers. Her plastic apron swished softly as Susette made her way around the floor. Meanwhile I noticed Mandy giggling spitefully.
“As for you Miss”, Margaret said to her daughter, “I have a good mind not to give you your gift from under the tree, but seeing as it’s Christmas I will give you another chance, but if you disobey me again you will be in deep trouble.”
“But Susette said I could have them,” protested Mandy.
Margaret continued to address Mandy in a stern voice…”We will not go into that again, you will have to remember that servants have no authority and they cannot make any arbitrary decisions. They are simply here to do as they are told. Faggott was wrong to give you the chocolates without checking with me first. Now that’s the end of it. We hope Faggott has learned her lesson. Now come with me.”
Taking her daughter’s hand she led her back to the lounge, stepping carefully around Susette who was still on her knees collecting the chocolates, in doing so I saw Mandy deliberately step on a chocolate crushing its soft contents into the kitchen floor.
Mandy turned to Susette and said “You stupid idiot, why didn’t you pick that up like you’ve been told to?”
She was obviously trying to imitate her Mother. Susette said nothing but looked up at Mandy and then at me with pleading eyes.
Wishing to put an end to this escapade and to get Mandy away, I said “Get a cloth Susette and wipe Miss Mandy’s shoe, then as soon as you are finished here, report to me in the lounge.”
From her position on the floor I heard her say “Yes Madam.” before she got quickly to her feet, grabbed a damp cloth and proceeded to wipe the sole of Mandy’s shoe before the girl could spread the sticky mess around the house.
As Susette finished wiping her shoe, Mandy tossed her head into the air and in a haughty voice said “Thank you Faggott, you did well.”
Looking down at Mandy’s cleanly wiped shoe, Susette whispered “Thank you Miss Mandy.”
This ten-year-old was a real little minx. I reminded myself to have a subtle word with her Mother at the earliest opportunity although I doubted that it would have much effect, the girl could do little wrong in her Mother’s eyes. At this point we all departed for the lounge, leaving Susette to her remaining work.
The evening concluded with the distribution of gifts from under the tree. I acted as “Santa” and Susette having finished her kitchen duties joined me as helper. She of course had discarded her rubber gloves and plastic cover up apron and once again looked pretty and practical in her formal black and white uniform. She stood beside my chair carefully handing me the gifts from the tree so that I could announce the names of the recipients. The mark on her face was beginning to fade slightly but was still visible evidence of her losing encounter with Margaret and Mandy, but unknown to me at the time, there was still one more act to play in their relationship.
Being the youngest, the contumacious Mandy received her gift first and in her package she was delighted to find two new video games for her computer. From there the gifts flowed fast and furious and the floor was soon a mess of paper, bows and discarded boxes. I received a very expensive diamond necklace from Brad and in return I gave him a gold bracelet. From Susette, I graciously accepted a simple white cotton handkerchief upon which she had carefully hand sewn a pretty lace trim. I knew it didn’t cost much and I probably wouldn’t use it, but given her limited financial resources it was the thought that was more important. My gift to her was three pairs of lace trimmed cotton, floral printed panties in pink, blue and yellow plus a set of my favourite nail polish colours. It would be to her advantage to have them handy when doing my nails. The arrogant Brad gave Susette an envelope containing hand written instructions on how to get to his condominium. He was obviously expecting to get some maid service in the future!
Susette also received the final two gifts. The first was from Mandy and it was a large soft plastic bib with a pink polka dot pattern. Mandy giggled incessantly as Susette pulled it from the package for us all to see.
“Thank you Miss Mandy” said Susette softly as she curtsied to the girl.
“Be sure to wear it often” the spoilt Mandy ordered.
“Yes Miss,” was Susette’s reply before she bent and picked up the bulky last remaining package. It was labeled from ” Mrs. Shay to Faggott.” I wondered what could be in such a large package. I was soon to find out
As Susette knelt on the floor slowly unwrapping her gift I looked over to Margaret and gave her a puzzled look. She smiled and winked at me.
Soon the contents of the package were revealed and Margaret added a commentary. “Faggott, those are a couple of old overalls and aprons that I used to wear a long time ago when I worked as a cleaner. In my current position as Chief Accountant I am certainly above wearing such clothing but you, I am sure will be able to get two or three years good use out of them. As you can see, I haven’t washed or ironed them, that is something which I am certain you are much more capable of doing than me.”
Susette gazed down at the bundle of soiled uniforms and then in a non enthusiastic voice said “Thank you very much Mrs. Shay, they will come in very handy for me.”
Margaret smiled somewhat maliciously, “Good I knew you would be pleased with those Faggott, make sure you launder them nicely and I will look forward to seeing you wearing them very soon.”
Margaret’s remarks seemed to have a caustic tone to them.
Margaret either missed the point that this demeaning gift had on Susette or knew it and was simply emphasising the social gap that existed between herself and this servant. From my knowledge of Margaret and her earlier actions in the kitchen, I think I knew where she was coming from. May God bless any maid that works in her home…but as they say…that is another story.
(This story has been compiled from personal observations and notes. Some names have been changed to protect privacy.)
Geena Parkinson
PART TWO
If you have read various previous issues of “OUR WAY”, you would have read or
noticed articles on my maid Susette Faggott. The last article published was
entitled … ‘A Christmas Story” and it appeared in “OUR WAY” in the March 2000
issue.
The story detailed some events and activities that involved Susette over a
recent two day Christmas period. The piece you are about to read continues this
true tale concerning my effeminate male maid from where it ended last time and
as you will see, it was probably a Christmas that Faggott will remember for a
long time to come.
BACKGROUND
Susette Faggott, my sissy little male maid, had a busy Christmas Day working and
serving for my seven guests and me. After dinner on the evening of the 25th we
all exchanged gifts and many expensive as well as some cheaper but useful gifts
were given. I was overjoyed to receive a gorgeous diamond necklace from my new
lover, the tall and very muscular Brad (He could qualify as a contender for the
WWF!). I was also given a beautiful midnight blue silk blouse from my friend
Margaret. It was a perfect match for my favourite dark blue leather pants (She
must have done her homework). Other gifts I received that night were perfume,
cigarettes, CDs and a gift certificate for $400 at a local department store. I
did very well and I was extremely pleased. The cash strapped Faggott gave me a
plain white handkerchief to which she had fastidiously hand sewn some pretty
lace edging. It was simple, thoughtful and inexpensive. It was all I could have
expected from my maid and I knew that it was all she probably could afford from
her minimum wage, although I doubt if I will ever use it.
In return, I gave Susette three pairs of frilly lace trimmed cotton panties and
a set of my favourite nail polish colours. Both gifts I was sure would come in
very handy for her. Faggott also received an adult sized clear plastic bib with
a nice pink polka dot pattern from Mandy, the 10-year-old daughter of my friend
Margaret. Faggott’s other gifts included a $15 gift certificate for the
cosmetics counter at a popular local drug store chain, a new pair of rubber
gloves and a package of soiled aprons and uniform dresses from my friend
Margaret. Brad gave Faggott an envelope containing a hand written map and
instructions on how to get to his condominium. Clearly he was expecting some
maid service sometime in the future.
Apart from Brad’s “gift”, I could see that Susette was genuinely pleased to
receive her presents, including Margaret’s old used work clothes. Although the
gifts in total didn’t amount to much, she probably remembered that she had
received even less in the past. As the old saying goes. “We must be truly
thankful for small mercies.”
TO CONTINUE
As our long Christmas Day drew to an end, I gave Faggott permission to leave the
clearing up until the next morning providing that she ensured that the rooms
were clean and presentable for us when we came down the next day. Faggott’s last
duties of the day were to provide her usual turn down service for my guests and
to see to it that they had everything they needed for the night. As a treat for
all my guests and as a regular habit, I always ensure that Faggott puts a
freshly cut flower and a chocolate on every pillow together with her obligatory
Standard Hospitality Note. (a copy of which is attached for the readers’
interest). Once I was satisfied that all my orders had been fully complied with,
Faggott was dismissed. No doubt she was pleased to go and gratefully rest her
weary limbs, albeit between the cold and sterile rubber sheets on her small
single bed in the basement, while I was looking forward to another hot and
steamy night in the arms of the passionate Brad in my king size bed.
It was 1:30am. Faggott would have to be up again by 6am dressed in her uniform
ready to begin a new working day. Rather her than me, such is an example of the
lifestyle difference between a Mistress and her maid.
In Canada and some parts of Europe, December the 26th is known as Boxing Day,
which is for some people another holiday. I do not believe that it is recognised
in the USA. My British background encourages me to regard it as another
well-earned day of rest over the Christmas period and I am certainly happy to
follow this tradition. Susette Faggott also has a British upbringing, but for my
maid however, for the year in question, I declared that it was to be just
another working day for her, especially as I had guests in the house.
Am I unreasonable in making Faggott work on traditional holidays? No of course
not. She is my servant and maid and if I cannot enjoy her services when I need
to relax and be pampered what is the point in having her around? Does the staff
of hotels suddenly disappear on public holidays? Absolutely not and my personal
maid should not expect to be treated as any kind of an exception, at least not
without my benevolent consent.
The morning of the 26th started in much the same way as Christmas Day.
About 6:30am I awoke to hear the occasional muffled sounds of activity coming
from downstairs and I knew that Faggott was already up and going about her work.
Sleepily, I dozed off again until promptly at 7:30am when I was awakened by a
soft knock on my bedroom door. Upon my invitation to enter, Faggott entered
carrying her usual morning tray of orange juice, tea and cookies for me. Given
the events of the day before, she also brought juice and coffee for Brad, who as
Faggott thoughtfully expected, was still sharing my bed.
As Faggott made room for her tray on my bedside table, I noticed the clean,
fresh uniform she was wearing and the soft sweet fragrance of her perfume. It
was inviting and feminine but not overpowering. I smiled inwardly, this
submissive little she-male was entirely of my own creation and again I secretly
complimented myself on my excellent work.
Faggott’s eyelashes fluttered busily as she curtsied and said meekly and
nervously, “Good Morning Madam and Good morning Mr. Brad, Sir.” She was humble
and servile in every aspect of her demeanour, just as I always expect.
After putting down her tray, as expected, she took a few steps back from my bed
and stood rigidly, legs together, head bowed and hands folded neatly over her
aproned skirt waiting for any orders or instructions.
I took a cigarette from its box on my bedside table, lit it, took a deep drawl
and gazed at my effeminate sissy maid. Faggott stood there in her clean pink
candy striped maid’s dress with its white rickrack edging around the collar and
short sleeves. Over this she wore a spotless white frilled apron tied tightly
around her waist. The frilly apron shoulder straps ran up from her waist,
protruded nicely over her estrogen enriched breasts thus emphasising her
feminine figure, then went over her shoulders to meet at her back in a pretty
bow. The ties of her apron dangled loosely over her uniformed arse. Pinned
securely on top of her neatly combed hair was her matching white frilly maid’s
cap. Her usual black hose and practical white house shoes completed the look.
The outfit clearly advertised the position of this person in my household and
that is exactly the way I always want it.
The submissive maid standing before me was everything I desired in an attentive
servant. My “Boot Camp” training methods have been thorough and effective.
However, she is still disciplined as necessary, after all, one must keep
servants on their toes otherwise complacency might creep in. Faggott’s
acquiescent acceptance of her status and lifestyle is probably due to a some
latent feminine characteristics that I “helped” her discover, combined with the
likely realisation that to meet me and to eventually become a lowly sissy
maidservant was just her unavoidable and inevitable “fate”.
“Go check and see if any of my guests require coffee or tea Susette, then you
may continue with your work” I said sharply.
“Yes, Madam, thank you Madam” she said softly as she gripped the skirt of her
uniform dress and dipped a respectful curtsy to me. Then, turning quickly, she
hurried to obey my orders as she minced in her feminine way out the door,
closing it quietly behind her.
Brad turned to me and said “You know Geena darling, I still can’t believe that
underneath those frills and things, Susette is really a male.”
I smiled, kissed him lovingly on the cheek and looking him directly in the eye
said in my most seductive voice, “It’s amazing what a determined woman can do if
she sets her mind to it my love. You’d better be careful or I will do the same
to you.” We both laughed out loud knowing the sheer absurdity and impossibility
of my remark. We both knew that Brad was different material altogether from the
sissy and docile Faggott. I adored Brad just the way he was…macho, muscular,
masterful and massive! At times I felt as weak as a baby in his powerful arms
and not having to make the decisions all the time was a very nice change for me.
We sat and enjoyed our early morning refreshments as we heard Faggott busily
going around knocking on the other bedroom doors. According to the occupant, we
heard her say…. “Excuse me Sir I Madam I Miss, it’s Susette, can I bring you
up coffee, tea or anything?” We didn’t hear all the responses because we were
not paying attention. We were too busy exploring each other’s bodies again
Given the hectic last few days, Brad and I again decided to skip breakfast and
sleep in. Later we were almost tempted to get up when we caught the appetising
smell of bacon and eggs wafting upwards from the kitchen, as Faggott was
presumably busy catering to the desires of my house guests. I decided against
it, as Brad was about to deliver to me something much “hotter” than a cooked
breakfast!!!
Eventually, fully sexually satisfied, we got up at around 10:30am, showered and
went downstairs allowing Faggott to come in to change the sheets and clean up
our mess. Actually the bedroom and bathroom were in a bit of a mess, for despite
all of Brad’s good points, he is not a very tidy person and neither am I really,
in that respect he and I are a perfect match. That is at least one good reason
why having a well trained, tolerant and uncomplaining maid like Faggott working
for me is an absolute necessity.
Upon entering the lounge I was pleased to see that all my overnight guests were
nicely relaxing, reading or watching TV. I went and gave each one a hug and a
kiss and invited them to continue to stay as long as they wished. In return they
all thanked me for my generous hospitality but, except for Brad and the three
Shays, they were all scheduled to leave after lunch.
I then went and checked on Faggott in the kitchen. Having cooked and served
breakfast, she was busy tending to the washing up at the kitchen sink. She had
her back to me but on hearing me enter the kitchen, she turned and gave me her
usual curtsy and stood head bowed in her expected position. Her pink rubber
gloved hands dripped soapy water down over the skirt of her clear plastic apron,
which effectively protected her pink and white uniform.
“Have you had breakfast?” I snapped.
She bobbed a quick curtsy while replying, “No Madam, there weren’t any
leftovers.”
Already bored with our conversation I simply said…” All right. We’ll see what
happens at lunch. Oh and by the way as you know, we have men staying in the
house so be sure to check all the toilets regularly for cleanliness. Men can be
so messy at times so be absolutely sure you quickly clean up any mess they make.
You can be thankful that you don’t cause that problem!” (Faggott’s penis
restrainer ensures that she always has to sit down to pee). “Now carry on with
your work, if we need you, we will ring for you.” I said in the stern voice that
I usually reserved for her.
“Thank you Madam, I will do as you say.” My servant’s reply was brief, polite
and very sincere and it was followed by a curtsy. Susette was well trained
enough to know that her response to me needed nothing more, nothing less and
strict obedience to my orders was to be the focus of her work.
I left Susette to continue to “enjoy” her menial work and joined my guests in
the lounge where we had lots of fun playing a trivia game until about 1:00pm
when Faggott knocked on the door. Upon being invited to enter the room, she
bobbed a quick curtsy and softly announced that the buffet lunch was now ready
in the dining room.
Faggott stood holding the dining room door open for us with her head bowed in
respect as we all trooped happily and merrily past her, in doing so I noticed
the mischievous Mandy deliberately stamp heavily on Susette’s foot as she
passed. Because of her status, my maid of course was unable to respond but I saw
her face wince in pain. I ignored it. Mandy was very high spirited and I put it
down to her way of having fun.
The buffet lunch as planned and prepared by Mrs. Badley, assisted by Faggott,
was not in a grand gourmet style and was in accordance with my prior
instructions to be very low key. I will give you the buffet menu because as you
will see later, it has some relevance to this story. As I remember it, the
buffet menu as prepared by Mrs. Badley consisted of as follows:
Cold Cucumber Soup
Green Salad
Mixed Seafood Antipasto
Cold Ham and Turkey Slices Scalloped Potatoes Boiled Rice with Peas
Baked Eggplant Slices with Parmesan Cheese
Stewed Plums in Brandy with Creamy Custard Topping
Cheese Tray and Crackers
Coffee, Tea or Drinks as required.
I had previously ordered Mrs. Badley not to prepare too much food, as it would
likely be wasted. I was not expecting any huge appetites after our Christmas Day
blowout. As I found out later, I was right, for all the main dishes were
emptied, although at the end there were still some remains of half eaten food
left on quite a few plates, so the quantities had been just about right.
Susette stood at the buffet table and helped to serve my guests their food. When
everyone had taken their meal and settled down in their seats around the lounge
and dining room, I suddenly heard Mandy’s shrill voice ring out from across the
room where I was sitting…
“Faggott! I forgot to get some soup, bring a bowl in here for me at once!” The
tone of her voice was very imperious; she had obviously been studying her
Mother. To my surprise Margaret tried to correct her daughter by saying in a
pleasant voice….
“Now Mandy, it is polite to say please when you want something done.” Mandy’s
only reaction was to screw up her face and to carry on eating her food.
Meanwhile Faggott had prepared a bowl of soup for Mandy and brought it into the
room for her. In the act of trying to juggle her plate and her glass of orange
juice with the bowl of soup that Faggott was trying to give to her, some soup
was spilled over little Mandy’s expensive pink designer jeans.
“You stupid, clumsy, idiot, now look what you have done.” Mandy’s angry voice
filled the room.
Faggott was immediately apologetic and rushed to get a cloth from the kitchen to
wipe up the mess. While she was gone, I gave the incident some thought. Was it
an accident or was it a deliberate act on Faggott’s part? Knowing Faggott’s
placid and servile nature, I thought it must have been an accident although I
couldn’t really be sure. Given the way Mandy had tormented Faggott over the
Christmas, some retaliation on Faggott’s part could have been expected. Was this
a show of my maid’s frustration with Mandy? If it was, then it was a rare moment
of recklessness by Faggott. But if it was truly an accident, that was also
unfortunate because later, Faggott was disciplined anyway.
Not knowing whose fault it was, I was prepared to dismiss the whole incident but
on Mandy and Margaret’s insistence, I eventually agreed that after lunch was
over, Faggott would wash and iron Mandy’s jeans and then present them for
Mandy’s inspection before the end of the day. After which, irrespective of the
reaction to the newly laundered jeans, Margaret demanded that Faggott should
also receive 6 of the best on her rear end. Without my invitation to do so,
Margaret quickly volunteered to administer Faggott’s punishment on behalf of her
daughter. If spilling soup on the frustrating Mandy was an accident or a
deliberate act on Faggott’s part, either way she paid for it dearly. Of course
Mandy could have engineered the whole scene just to have another go at Faggott
…but then only Mandy would know that and I knew that she would not admit to it
even if we asked.
We continued our lunch and conversation to the point where my friends Jack and
Mary Conners and Mrs. Badley had to leave. This left Brad and I plus Bill and
Margaret Shay and the indomitable Mandy.
I was shocked when Mandy offered to help clear the lunch things away and knowing
that Faggott eats leftovers she also offered to prepare Faggott’s lunch. This
was totally out of character for Mandy but never the less her Mother, Margaret,
gave approval right away and I also agreed, although I was suspicious of Mandy’s
intent. So while Mandy collected the dirty plates and took them to the kitchen,
Faggott served us liqueurs and coffee in the lounge.
After a short while I decided to check on things, so I went to the kitchen to
find Mandy sitting alone at the kitchen table busy sketching and drawing.
“Where’s Susette?” I asked Mandy, who seemed almost oblivious to my presence.
“Susette?” Mandy said indifferently, ” Oh you mean Faggott, yes, I sent her to
eat her lunch in the basement because I wanted to use the kitchen table.” The
table was big enough to seat many more than one but Mandy clearly did not want
to share it with my maid.
I went down to the basement followed by Mandy. Susette was sitting in a corner
and was just about to begin to eat the meal as prepared for her by Mandy. Upon
seeing us arrive, she respectfully quickly stood up, curtsied and stood head
lowered waiting for an order or instructions.
“Faggott!” Mandy screeched beside me, “Where is your bib? Why aren’t you wearing
the one I bought you for Christmas?”
Faggott dipped a curtsy to Mandy and said meekly, “I’m very sorry Miss Mandy, I
forgot”
“Go put it on this instant!” shouted the incorrigible Mandy.
Susette curtsied and with a hurried, “Yes Miss Mandy,” quickly scurried up the
basement stairs on a mission to obey the 10 year old.
Minutes later Margaret came down to the basement, followed by Susette wearing
the large plastic bib over her pretty apron. The bib reached well below her
waist and had two pouches at the bottom to catch spills and drips. The pink
polka dots on the bib matched the pink candy stripes of her uniform dress
perfectly.
Looking at Faggott’s single plate I noticed that it was just one pile of food
and I couldn’t discern the difference between the remains of the various dishes
that we had for lunch. It was one big mess. I asked Mandy to explain…
In a sweet and innocent voice she told us that since there was nothing left from
the main dishes and bowls, she had collected Faggott’s lunch from the leftovers
from all of our plates. Rather than keeping the various food remains separate,
she told us that she mixed them all together on one plate to save Faggott the
trouble of having extra washing up to do. The sentiment was commendable but I
wondered about the method. Thus Faggott faced a combination of various fishy
seafood, mixed with custard, eggplant, plums, creamed potatoes, cheese and any
combination of the food we had left on our plates from the buffet. It was quite
a dish!
Faggott stood in her usual position, head bowed, hands folded neatly over her
aproned skirt and with her new bib tied securely in place she waited patiently
for our instructions. She looked really unenthusiastic about the event that was
to follow but we all knew that unless another meal was prepared and cooked —
and that was unlikely to happen — then there was nothing else suitable for
Faggott to eat but what was before her.
I turned to Faggott and said in my usual authoritarian manner, “You may sit down
now and eat your lunch.”
Faggott gave a respectful curtsy and said “Thank you Madam” before sitting down
to the unappetising meal. I must admit that I was sick at the very thought of
having to eat all this smorgasbord of flavours from one plate but then for
someone like Faggott, who was probably very hungry, it might also have been a
rare treat for her to be able to taste all the delicacies normally only enjoyed
by her superiors, who knows?
Under our watchful eyes, Faggott had no option but to begin her meal. Her first
few mouthfuls were uneventful but then later she started to gag and retch and
unable to control herself splattered food fragments down her bib. The visibly
excited Mandy clapped her hands with joy and jumped up and down….
“I knew that bib was appropriate for Faggott, she looks so pretty in it and see
how it matches and protects her uniform and still catches all her spills. She is
such a messy eater; I am so pleased I gave it to Faggott, it is so proper for
her.
“She spoke as if Faggott wasn’t even there. The precocious Mandy was something
else!!
Faggott unenthusiastically continued to eat Mandy’s special “recipe.” I thought
I detected a small teardrop rolling down her cheek as she proceeded to use her
plastic fork to scoop food into her mouth. She gagged a few more times and
dribbled more of her lunch down her bib, but she bravely persevered, knowing
full well the possible consequences that she could face if she failed to finish
the food that had been generously given to her.
The plate was almost finished when Faggott gave out an anguished cry. Reaching
into her mouth she pulled out something slim and wooden.
“What is it Susette?” I asked.
“Oh please Madame I think it is a used match.” Faggott replied sorrowfully.
Someone must have discarded a spent match onto their plate before Mandy came
around collecting the leftovers. She must have missed it when she was scraping
the food onto Faggott’s special plastic plate, or did she? Was it an oversight
and an accident or a deliberate act on Mandy’s part? Knowing Mandy I wouldn’t
have put it past her to deliberately include it in Faggott’s meal. This had
become an interesting day.
I was unmoved by the situation and I was not in a very sympathetic mood, in fact
I was rather enjoying the whole thing. I told Faggott that a spent match in her
food would not kill her and that she should continue with her lunch. 1 must
admit 1 was very glad it was her and not me who had to cope with this unwelcome
addition to her food. Faggott slowly and reluctantly eventually finished her
entire plate, leaving only the stones from someone’s partially chewed plums. She
must have been either really hungry or knew well enough that she is never but
never allowed to leave leftovers from leftovers, especially when she is
“performing” for an audience.
Having finished her meal and drunk her cup of water, Faggott sat with her hands
in her lap and with her head lowered, as she waited for further instructions.
With her face a picture of innocence, Mandy said sweetly, “Did you enjoy the
lunch I prepared for you Susette?”
Faggott looked at Mandy and then at Margaret and me before finally looking down
at the floor at Mandy’s feet. She didn’t know what to say. So far her encounter
with Mandy and her Mother this Christmas had not exactly been a pleasant one and
she was obviously trying to find the right thing to say. We waited for my maid
to respond as she fiddled nervously with the bottom of her bib.
Margaret spoke for the first time and Faggott jumped and was visibly startled
out of her daydream as a louder, deeper, more adult version of Mandy’s screech
reached her ears.
“Faggott! Stop fiddling with your bib. It’s for you to wear proudly not to play
with.” Faggott immediately moved her hands away from her bib and continued to
stare at her empty plate.
Margaret continued her verbal attack on the sad looking Faggott.” Mandy asked
you a question. Did you enjoy your lunch? How much longer are you going to keep
us waiting for a reply?”
At Margaret’s latest outburst of verbal venom, Faggott urgently got to her feet,
quickly went to Mandy and while curtsying to her new junior mistress” said
softly,” I enjoyed my lunch Miss Mandy.”
Mandy’s reply was immediate.” Oh goody, I knew you would. Shall I make it for
you again?”
I could see that now Faggott was trapped in a corner and there was only one way
out. Probably because she didn’t want to experience Margaret’s intervention
again, Faggott quickly bobbed a curtsy and said without committing herself…
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble Miss Mandy.”
The exuberant Mandy said “Oh no Faggott, it will not be any trouble at all in
fact it will be my pleasure.” Margaret entered the conversation again.” Now
there Faggott, Mandy has kindly offered to make another meal for you sometime,
what do you have to say to that?” Margaret said demandingly.
Again another curtsy and with a deep sigh Faggott added “Yes Miss Mandy.”
Margaret again intervened “Yes what Faggott?”
With yet another curtsy to Mandy, Faggott said meekly ” Yes please Miss Mandy,
make me another meal please.”
Mandy and Margaret had verbally beaten my maid into submission and seemed
satisfied with the outcome.
Mandy, now in total control said firmly, “Very well Faggott, since you liked it
so much, as a treat I will try to see to it that you get similar meals as often
as possible.”
Faggott received this news while gazing at the floor at Mandy’s feet and didn’t
see the smirk that simultaneously passed across Mandy and her Mother’s faces.
Inadvertently Faggott had placed herself in a position to receive more rather
than less of this sickening food in the future. I must admit that I was
entertained by the whole event and saw no reason to intervene. No harm had been
done and no one got hurt but I think I did see in Mandy the makings of a future
dominatrix!
Looking at my watch I noticed that it was close to three-o’clock. I had been
stimulated by the events of the day but now I needed to sit down and relax. I
ordered Faggott to take her plate and cup to the kitchen, remove and wipe her
bib clean and then to begin work on washing and ironing Mandy’s jeans. In the
meantime I planned to rest and watch TV in the lounge.
While Faggott went about her work, we relaxed in the lounge, all doing our
particular “thing.” Occasionally we rang for Faggott to refresh our drinks while
we mellowed slowly into the soothing ambience of our surroundings.
On one occasion, Faggott took much longer than usual to respond to the service
bell. When she finally arrived and after we gave her our requirements, Brad in
his booming masculine voice said, “Now Susette, be sure to move your sissy ass a
lot more quickly in future or I will personally come out to the kitchen and give
you a good spanking.”
I smiled, that was cute. By the look on Faggott’s face I could tell that given
Brad’s superior size and strength, my maid knew very well that if Brad wanted to
do exactly that, then she would be helpless and powerless to stop him.
Faggott’s response was a simple “Yes Sir, I will try to be much more quicker in
future.”
“Good” said Brad, “Now get your stupid, sissy ass out of here!” Fortunately
Mandy was spared hearing Brad’s colourful language because she was out of the
room at the time, although I suspected that she was quite capable of producing
some colourful language of her own if needed.
The humiliated Faggott trying desperately to keep on Brad’s good side, curtsied
respectfully to him and said…
“Yes Sir, thank you Mr. Brad Sir “, then turning quickly she headed for the door
to escape from any further darts from Brad’s domineering personality, the ties
from her apron trailing behind her in her wake. She was followed by Brad’s loud
guffaws of laughter as my outmatched docile sissy male conceded to yet another
humiliation and I have no doubt that she gladly left us to seek some sanctuary
in her kitchen. It had turned out to be quite a Christmas for her.
We continued to enjoy the rest of the afternoon watching a video edition of
“Mask” featuring Jim Carey. We all agreed that it was an entertaining film and
that Mr. Carey is very talented although I think Brad had his eyes more on
Cameron Diaz. At about the time the film finished, Faggott knocked on the door
and at my invitation entered the room carrying Mandy’s freshly laundered pink
jeans draped across her forearms. She went immediately to Mandy, curtsied and
offered the jeans to Mandy for inspection saying….
“Here are your jeans Miss Mandy, I have washed and ironed them for you.”
Mandy roughly took the jeans from Faggott and looked at them carefully, turning
them over and over, while Faggott stood anxiously before her, head lowered and
fiddling nervously with the frills at the edge of her white apron. One of
Faggott’s skills is that she is a good laundress (she’s had enough practice I)
and Mandy could find no faults with my maid’s work. Eventually Mandy gave her
verdict and begrudgingly said…
“They will have to do I suppose.” The ungrateful child replied in a voice loud
enough for us all to hear.
She continued….. “Be sure that you are not so careless in future.” Mandy’s
tone was cold and uncaring; she clearly had no feelings for my sissy maid. Then
ending her remarks and without looking, she carelessly threw the carefully
ironed jeans over the arm of a nearby chair and carried on reading her book.
Even though Faggott’s lengthy, attentive care to Mandy’s jeans may have been
dismissed in a minute by the demon child and although Faggott may have been
seething with anger at having to kowtow to this young person and for having to
accept the blame for spilling the soup, she kept cool and with her usual curtsy,
said respectfully and politely…
“Yes Miss Mandy, I will try harder in the future not to be so careless.” Without
looking up from her book, Mandy said….
“Just don’t forget it. You are now dismissed.” Faggott bobbed a curtsy to the
inattentive Mandy who was still more interested in her book.
“Thank you Miss Mandy” said Faggott softly. She was no doubt pleased to be able
to escape from Mandy’s presence.
I was proud of Faggott’s handling of the whole situation, emphasising once again
how my intensive, thorough training of my maid is affecting and benefiting us
both. Now that the jeans had passed Mandy’s inspection Margaret stood up and
said in her usual stern fashion….
“Right Susette, into the basement, you and I have some unfinished business to
attend to!”
Faggott curtsied and I barely heard the “Yes Madam” before she reluctantly
walked, head down through the open door that Margaret was holding open for her.
Mandy shouted out “Can I come too Mommy?”
Margaret said “No Mandy, this is just between me and Susette.”
While they were gone I reflected on the events of the last two or three days. It
had been quite an experience for all of us but especially for Faggott. I
couldn’t tell what was going through her mind but I was sure some indelible
memories had been created.
Margaret returned to the lounge more than slightly exhausted and I knew that
this was because of her “workout” with Faggott. I enquired why inflicting 6 cuts
of the cane on Faggott left her so tired. She said that Faggott had become
“difficult” and after restraining her with some of the equipment she found in
the basement, she had eventually ended up giving Faggott 15 cuts of the cane
instead of the promised 6 as she originally intended. She went on to say that
she hoped I didn’t mind but “difficult” servants have to be taught a lesson. I
thought that this might have been a harsh punishment for something Faggott may
or may not have been responsible for, but so what? What was done was done and it
was over. I gave the incident no further thought. It is not much use dwelling on
things that might or might not have been.
We were immediately spared observing Faggott’s condition because Margaret had
given her fifteen minutes to recompose herself. On that basis alone, I knew
right away that my little Susette was unable to sit down and was probably crying
uncontrollably into her rubber sheets in the basement. Whether she had been
responsible for spilling soup on Mandy’s expensive jeans or not, Margaret had
effectively seen to it that Faggott would be extra attentive when serving her
daughter in future.
We had all planned to go out for dinner at a classy restaurant that night, so
there was no need for Faggott’s services for the rest of the day. Faggott of
course was not included in this holiday dinner arrangement. My maid had learned
a long time ago that she had about as much chance of a snowball surviving in
hell to expect to be invited to any social function with my friends or me. She
would not fit in nor would she be welcome. She was always excluded and Faggott
has learned to expect that, unless of course it was an event that required her
domestic services, but in this case, obviously not.
Since we were all going out, there was no need for Faggott to change from her
daytime uniform into something more suitable for her late afternoon and evening
duties, so I had earlier excused her from this ritual. Later as she helped us on
with our coats, I did notice that although she was still wearing her pink candy
striped uniform dress, she had thoughtfully changed her apron. She had also
refreshed her lipstick and makeup although I noticed that there were still some
slight smudges at the corner of her eyes, showing remaining evidence of her
earlier tearful encounter with Margaret.
As we prepared to leave for the restaurant Faggott curtsied sweetly to my
departing guests and requested politely if she could collect the sealed
envelopes containing her Maid’s Report Card. Over the years I have instilled in
Susette that collecting her Report Cards in their sealed envelopes from guests
and then giving them to me in their untampered condition is her mandatory
responsibility. I find that the Report Cards help me to keep a check on the
quality of Faggott’s service and enables me to correct any inconsistencies
immediately before they grow into bad habits. It helps to keep Faggott on her
toes and maintains my standards.
My guests handed over their envelopes to Faggott who in turn curtsied and
presented them to me to open, read and to take action accordingly. I told her to
put them on my dressing table and I would read them when I had more time,
although I did wonder what kind of reports Margaret and Mandy had filed on my
maid. Faggott too must have been wondering, but she would have to anxiously wait
until I deemed to open the envelopes and then at my discretion give her the good
or bad news.
To their credit, everyone thanked Faggott verbally for her help over the holiday
including the “M&Ms”, Margaret and Mandy. I suspected that the M&Ms’ vote of
thanks to Faggott was perhaps somewhat ‘hollow’ praise, for my maid had
experienced quite a Christmas thanks to the combined efforts of both of them.
We were now suitably dressed in our winter coats and my final order to Faggott
before leaving was for her to spend the rest of the evening tidying up and to
clean and polish the silverware. I also told her that when she had finished all
her chores, she had my advance permission to go to bed without having to wait up
for me. I could see that Susette was simply thrilled with the prospect of being
able to go to bed early for a change. Her eyes grew like saucers and curtsying
quickly to me she happily and sincerely gushed in her girlish voice
“Oh thank you very much Madam, thank you, have a really nice evening.”
Her enthusiastic reply indicated that she really meant her remarks but I
wondered if she wasn’t also happy to finally see the departure of Margaret and
Mandy.
My response was simple, “Don’t get carried away Susette. I will be closely
inspecting all the silverware tomorrow morning. Now put the cases in the car.”
The pink and white garbed maid curtsied to me again and with a subdued “Yes
Madam” proceeded to carry and load everyone’s bags into the car. Everyone’s that
is, except for Brad’s suitcase, for much to my delight, Brad had decided to stay
for another day. As Faggott loaded the bags into the car, the cold wind flapped
around the frills of her maids’ cap and cast the skirt and ties of her white
frilly apron in the general direction of the wind’s intent. Having completed her
task, my windblown maid then opened the car doors for us and waited for us to
get in. She must have been cold in her thin short sleeved dress because I saw
the goose pimples standing out on her smooth, hairless arms, but she bravely
stuck to her duty. Closing the car doors behind us, she gave her final curtsy of
the day to our car and then vigorously rubbing her arms to warm them up, she
minced quickly back to the doorway to see us off.
We drove away to perhaps one of the most expensive restaurants in town leaving
Faggott standing on the doorstep perhaps thinking about our forthcoming meal and
her own simple Kraft Dinner which I had previously given approval for her to eat
for her supper. She appeared to be deep in thought as we left and I wondered if
she was reflecting upon the remaining work that she still had to accomplish
before she could enjoy the luxury of an early night or maybe she was thinking
about the vast difference between her lifestyle and mine. Either way I was
absolutely certain that my little “Cinderella” knew exactly where she stood.
(This story has been compiled from personal observations and notes. Some names
have been changed to protect individual’s privacy.)
G. Parkinson.
gp/OW/11/00
A Christmas Storey PART 3 – MISSING
Maid Specific – MISSING
More about suzette Faggot – MISSING
A Summer Story part 1 – MISSING
A Summer Story part 2 – MISSING
A Summer Story part 3 – MISSING
Dying to please – MISSING
Faggot’s Christmas present – MISSING
BORN OR MADE?
Dear Candida,
Are submissive males born and not made? In my mind it is a good question. In my experience it is probably a bit of both but it takes a smart, determined woman to recognise the signs and to take steps to capitalise on the potential benefits of male manipulation – let me try to explain,.
I have been a reader and correspondent to your magazine for a few years now and in fact several of my earlier letters have graced your pages. Thank you. I never waste my valuable time writing to magazines such as yours unless I feel that I have something to contribute to the subject in hand, which given the nature of your magazine, we both know which subject we are talking about here.
Some of your longer serving readers will know from my previously published letters that I am not a devout man hater. Why should I be? They do have their uses! Therefore I do have boyfriends, just as long as they know who is the boss. I loathe and despise men who boast and claim to be what they are not. In such cases if it takes a little help from me to expose them and put them in their proper place then I take every opportunity to make sure it happens. In addition it seems that some men are vastly inferior to others to begin with and with ‘ the right approach the real women of this world can recognise and manipulate such men to their own advantage. It is just a case of recognising the raw material and methodically stripping away the outer veneer to reveal the soft easy manageable kernel that I believe exists within most men. With experience any woman with the will and determination can recognise the raw material and like me, have a lot of fun and pleasure putting a suitable male firmly in his place.
I started such a project over 15 years ago and believe me I have had the time of my life in selecting, educating, training and dominating a specimen of the male species to the point where he now is barely a shadow of his former self. I am proud to say that I have been totally successful with my plan and methods. If I can interest a suitable publisher I may write a book on my work experience and the subsequent new lifestyle of my male servant. I took a brash, young, handsome (in a pretty sort of way), supposedly intelligent engineer and over the years I have completely manipulated and crushed him. At 5’10” against his 5’6″ frame he was no match for me physically and mentally he was way out of his depth. I had no compunction in stripping him of his money, his car, his friends and his job. I have methodically wrecked his self confidence, totally broken his spirit, destroyed his self esteem and stolen his pride and manhood (it has been locked down between his legs in a restrainer from the beginning, with only the occasional relief at my whim): I have changed his looks and appearance and rebuilt his personality completely.
With a well organised training and disciplinary plan in effect I have controlled every aspect of his life. I controlled his every waking moment and thought process until he finally accepted his new position with me and recognised that there was no way back. I cut him off from news of daily events, barred the watching of television without my permission (he is still only allowed to watch children’s programmes or cooking or needlework shows), I gave him endless physical and mentally mind numbing exercises and lots of housework training. His somewhat sharp engineering mind was dulled to that of a dim-witted housemaid, which fitted my plans for him perfectly.
Under my uncompromising “boot camp” training, I have successfully developed his latent submissive feminine streak because today “he” is my obedient and fully domesticated little maid. He is meek and mild, servile and submissive and has to please me at all times or else! Strict discipline, a constant heavy dose of female hormones and constant training in womanly ways has fully feminised her from head to toe. Her bust now protrudes nicely into a 36B bra cup and with her waist and hip measurements at 27″ and 39″ respectively, her smooth, hairless body is now more compatible with her attractive looks. Inspired by my riding crop, she now acts cute and girlish all the time and thanks to my training can pass quite easily as a female. All male clothing has been replaced by modest but very feminine underwear and she now has many pretty and practical uniform dress and aprons, not unlike those worn by hotel chambermaids and waitresses.
Since her genetic make-up prevents her from having the same menstruation cycle that normal females of her age might experience, I have now instigated a regular 2-6 day period every month where she is subjected to some unpleasant discomfort that symbolises a woman’s burden in life. Obviously these monthly periods of pain and discomfort are not welcomed by my prim and sissy little maid, but as they say, it goes with the turf.
In her new life as a maid she has now discovered that conditions at the lower end of the social scale are very different and mush tougher than the nice comfortable world that she came from. She has to be up and dressed in her uniform at the crack of dawn and be busy starting to prepare my breakfast and cleaning up the house until I am up and ready to start my day. Iler day will then be as busy and as long as I care to make it. She now has a very low status, she has virtually absolutely nothing in the world to her name, she is always taken for granted, she receives little respect or thanks from those that she serves, and probably above all she has no friends or anyone she can confide in. She’s learned that my friends and I can be very fickle and demanding so she has to work hard all day just to meet our high standards. She must have senile genes in the blood because she tries very hard to cope and so far seems to have what it takes.
I have expertly turned an affluent young man with a bright future into a poor working girl with nothing to look forward to except to work and serve. This project was completed some time ago but being a perfectionist, I am constantly looking for improvement.
I am talking about my little she-male maid, Ms.Suzette Faggott (I had her name legally changed by deep poll some years ago).
I consider that I have actually done Faggott a great favour. Albeit I have dragged her kicking and screaming down to her true position in life, but in doing so, she now has the daily pleasure of living in a large luxurious house, with an attractive, successful woman as her Mistress and mentor. She is able to see and appreciate how the rich live and enjoy life, something which she probably would never had had the opportunity to experience in her former life as an engineer. Although it is true she can only watch or participate in this world from her lowly maidservant’s position, nevertheless a rare experience in this day and age. Her cramped quarters in the basement may not be the Ritz, but they are clean and dry and it is a roof over her head. She is clothed and fed (albeit not with food of her choice, but if I am paying, then I call the shots). As long as she knows her place, does her work and always obeys me and my friends without hesitation, then there is no reason why she should not lead a life free of responsibilities and worries. Now surely that is another gift worth having.
Besides room and board, Faggott also gets paid for her work. I will admit that her monthly allowance is very meagre but it teaches her to be thrifty and frugal in money management. She has certain commitments that must be met and paid for or she can expect severe punishment. When necessary, she is expected to replace and pay for all her make-up items and personal care products. She has been taught that an attractive appearance and good grooming at all times is a MUST. She is not permitted to appear wearing pantyhose or stockings with snags, runs or holes in them so she has to replace these regularly from her allowance. In addition she is expected to pay all her own assignments outside my home. Although she abhors the habit of smoking and is a non smoker herself she still has to ensure that she ALWAYS has a FULL packet of my favourite brand of cigarettes in the house at ALL times. Again that is part of her service to me and is at her expense.
I may be tough and demanding but I can also be appreciative of what Faggott does for me. Sometimes I do try to give her a little extra something to really show my appreciation. For example for her birthday this year, besides the normal card that I always give, this time I also gave her a smart new white waitress’s apron. For Christmas I gave her an old pair of my silk knickers plus a small bonus on her allowance and she was able to go out and treat herself to a bar of chocolate.
I may be generous at times but I am also not slow to dish out punishment if Faggott fails to measure up to my expectations, so in conclusion I would like to share this experience with you – and it concerns an invention of mine that represents the best sixty five pounds I have ever spent.
A local machine shop manufactured and installed my own uniquely designed device which I call “The Think Trap” (for Faggott’s benefit I refer to it as TT for short). Most people like to hear that is ‘T’ (tea) time and it clearly shows her apprehension and discomfort when she hears the dreaded words “It’s TT time Faggott”.
Basically it consists of two identical steel “A” frames of about 12″ in height, spaced about 12″ apart facing each other and secured firmly into the concrete floor of my basement. A parallel bar is fixed between the two “A’s” at about 6″ from the ground. Upon my orders, Faggott has to kneel on her hands and knees and place her neck on the low parallel bar, her head fitting between the A frames. She kneels there looking at the floor as I then lower between the A frames. She kneels there looking at the floor as I then lower another bar that is securely hinged to the top of one A frame, down across the nape of Faggott’s neck and lock it into position at the apex of the other A. The nice thing about this bar is that it has a serrated edge that makes contact with the back of Faggott’s neck so any movement of her head from side to side would tear the skin right off her neck. There is no way Faggott can release herself, or stand up or avoid looking down at the floor and therein is the whole point of my invention, it forces her face down to a bare 4″ from the floor while at the same time her rear end is raised to its highest position, making it a prime target for my attention. It is no wonder that TT time is terror time for Faggott.
The main purpose of the Think Trap is to force her into a position where her pea sized brain has to think and concentrate on some mistake or action of hers that should not be repeated. By having her gaze at the floor between the A frames, I have ensured that there will be no distractions. In addition by having her rear end nicely elevated, it makes it much easier for me to pull back her overall and petticoat, lower her knickers and administer whatever punishment I consider necessary to enhance Faggott’s thinking process. Two months ago for example, when doing some ironing, Faggott scorched a tea towel. When I discovered it, I promptly dragged Faggott by the ear to her Think Trap and unceremoniously secured her between the parallel bars (hardly an Olympic event!) I gave her ten good cuts of the cane across her nylon panties and then placed her scorched tea towel on the floor under her nose. With her arse stinging and burning she looked down on her handiwork for two hours. I am pleased to say that I have had no scorching incidents since.
I enjoy your magazine, it provides some light reading, although I realise that it is mostly fantasy and not fact, so I hope that the above letter from the “real world” will add some balance if you decide to publish it.
I enjoyed the letter by a black Mistress Pamela in one of your magazines, she seems to have got it right and is a woman after my own heart. Her Candy Floss and my Faggott could almost be twin sisters in suffering and servitude. I appreciate her remarks about me in Vol.21/8. Keep up the good work Pamela and let’s hear more. I also appreciate the complimentary remarks in the same issue by Linda A from Beverley, East Yorks. It’s good to know that I am in good company.
Well Candida I hope this latest letter is of interest to you and possibly your readers. I could write again sometime if you wish. To conclude on my opening question “Are submissive males born and not made? I think the answer is both but as you have seen here, it takes a strong, determined woman to capitalise on the resources”. I thank God for my Mother who taught me to take no nonsense from anyone and to be strongly independent, she was so right.
Yours in dominance., MS.G.P.
Q18 Question to Suzette: What was the worst punishment you have received and what punishment do you dislike the most and try hardest to avoid?
SF The worst punishment I received was when I was in England, and it was the last time when my Mistress put me into her TT Trap.
Ms. GP Why, what did you do wrong?
SF Please Madam, I forgot to clean up some dog’s poop from the front lawn.
- GP (I should explain to the reader that the dreaded “A” frame or TT Trap (Thinking Time Trap) was exactly that. It consisted of two identical steel “A” shaped frames of about 12″ in height from the ground to the apex of the “A”, spaced about 12′ apart and connected by two parallel bars. One at 6″ from the ground and the other which swung on a hinge from one “A” frame, at a height that fitted nicely across the nape of Faggott’s neck. The result is that her down-turned head was firmly secured between the lower and upper bar, which was then locked in place. The unit was fixed to the floor. Faggott would then be kneeling on the floor, her head securely clasped between the parallel bars, her nose a mere 6″ from the ground and with her bare rear end elevated to gaze at the moon or the descending swing of the cane. Once secured into this device Faggott had no choice but to kneel there and contemplate her error. The cane helped of course but so did the gap between his nose and the floor, for it enabled me to slide in under her nose a scorched tea towel, a chipped or broken plate or anything that was connected to her error. She would then have to gaze at her ‘handiwork” for whatever time that I decided, hence the name “Thinking Time Trap”. Very appropriate, I thought.
Faggott and Brad
I noticed that the grey and white of her afternoon uniform had now been replaced by one of her morning housework dresses and she was now wearing a mint green and white short sleeved dress. It was in the coat style and buttoned in the front down to the hem. It had a white collar and the short sleeved cuffs were also trimmed with a large band of contrasting white edging. Over this she wore a spotless vee necked bib apron with a pretty ruffled frill around the edges of the skirt which carried up to the protruding bib and then disappeared from view on the straps going over her shoulders. A matching white maid’s cap was pinned securely in place which was offset nicely by her dark shoulder length hair. The image was completed by her usual round white button earrings, thick black hose, white low heeled house working shoes and of course the soft, sweet, subtle smell of her feminine cologne. She stood respectfully before me, legs together and her hands neatly folded over her aproned skirt.
She looked depressed and confused. She did not know what was going on but I was happy to put her out of her misery.
I opened with a rare compliment “You look very attractive, very pretty and practical Suzette, I am very proud of you.”
At this rare praise she bubbled cheerfully and curtsied to me. I noticed that her response was given very sincerely, enthusiastically and exuberantly.
“Oh thank you very much Madam, I really appreciate your praise, thank you again.” She gushed happily.
After all these “Thanks” I was beginning to feel a bit nauseous. I smiled at her benevolently. Sometimes it is good to hand out little tit-bits of praise now and again to a menial in order to stimulate their interest but one must remain firmly in control. So I decided to temper my remarks with a reality check. With a serious look on my face I said harshly, “Don’t let my praise go to your head Faggott, remember you are still at zero in the pecking order in this house.”
Faggott dropped a deep respectful curtsy and with lowered eyes, she said softly, “I understand Madam.”
Brad sat on his chair grinning and smirking almost uncontrollably at this encounter. He obviously enjoyed seeing how I kept Faggott firmly under my foot of authority.
Again in my dominating voice I said to her, “Now I will tell you why I ordered you to change into a clean morning uniform so late in the day.” Suzette looked at me expectantly. Her blue eyes wide with anticipation, her long eyelashes fluttering nervously waiting for my explanation. I could see that the poor stupid soul had no idea.
I gave her my stern instructions…”Today you will be going back with Mr. Brad in his car to his condominium where you will tidy and clean it up as necessary and that includes scrubbing the kitchen and bathrooms spotlessly clean until Mr. Brad is satisfied . You had better make sure you do a good job then Mr. Brad might give you your bus fare home, otherwise you will have to walk all the way back here. I believe he has most of the cleaning materials you will need but just in case, you had better take along a bottle of Windex and an All Purpose Cleaner and some of your cleaning and dusting cloths. Also you will need your rubber gloves and your plastic or rubber cover up apron. Now you can take off your white housework shoes and put them into your plastic bag along with all your other stuff as obviously you will be needing them as well. You can put on a pair of your outdoor pumps to travel in. Have I made myself perfectly clear ?
A visibly dejected Suzette curtsied her acknowledgement of my instructions knowing that the next few hours would probably mean some really hard work on her part. To make matters worse she knew that her expected work was to be conducted in the presence of and under the supervision of a physically and mentally superior male who had earlier demonstrated in front of her face that he had no respect for her. It might turn out to be a tough assignment for my little Faggott but I didn’t care. Brad had promised to get me those good theatre seats and Faggott was going to earn the tickets for me. I didn’t bother to tell her that her extra upcoming work was generated simply in order to earn some prized good seats for me at an upcoming concert. I didn’t see the need for her to know, it was simply none of her business.
I continued my instructions, ” Just slip your coat on over your uniform then you can go as you are. Now quickly get ready and don’t keep us waiting, as that wouldn’t be a very wise thing for you to do.”
I drilled my comments into her shell shocked ears. I could see that she wasn’t pleased about this turn of events but she had no choice. She knew that she had other serious work to do and without her bus fare home she could not hope to return in time to finish her chores for the day. She was totally at the mercy of her new Master.
Faggott pulled the skirt of her uniform dress wide and curtsied to me. She said in a low sorrowful voice ” I will do as you say Madam” Then she turned and left the room in her feminine way to obey my orders.
Brad came and gave me a big hug and kiss and said, “I appreciate having Faggott clean up my place, I didn’t have time to do it myself before I came over here for Christmas”, Brad said to me unconvincingly.
“Oh Yeah !” I replied sarcastically, “I wasn’t born yesterday, I know what you men are like. Most likely your bed sheets haven’t been changed for weeks and I would be surprised if you didn’t leave all your washing up until the last piece of clean crockery had been used.”
Brad grinned sheepishly, “Well Geena I do try but I get busy, that’s why I envy you. You have it M.A.I.D.” Instead of saying the word, he spelt it out.
” You don’t need to spell it out for me Brad. I know Faggott is worth her weight gold to me but I have worked very hard to train her to be that way. The only reason why I agreed for her to come over and clean up your mess today is because I want those tickets, so you had better not let me down or you and I will be having a serious talk” Brad knew that I meant business and promised to come through with top class tickets.
There was a knock on the door and at my invitation, Suzette entered, curtsied and said softly in her girlish voice, “I am ready Madam, please may I please take my cap off ?” she said innocently. I believe that the emphasis on the word “please” was indicative of her keen desire to secure my approval.
I looked at her. True to my instructions her maid’s uniform was now mostly hidden by her old pale blue raincoat, which was lined to protect her from the winter chills. She had also changed into her black 3 inch heeled pumps and besides her white shoulder purse she carried a bulging plastic shopping bag which was most certainly holding the other items I had ordered to take with her. Not having had permission to take it off, she was still wearing her distinctive white frilled maid’s cap….hence her question.
I replied in a matter of fact fashion….”No Faggott, you will leave your cap on. It looks pretty on you and you know how much I like completeness and propriety in your appearance and working uniform. Mr. Brad will be driving you to his condo so you will be not seen by the public although you might have to speak to the security guards in the lobby when you get to Mr. Brad’s place, but you will just have to deal with that.”
Once again Faggott’s head drooped in obvious disappointment. She did not speak but her silent curtsy confirmed her unwilling acceptance of my decision. I knew that after all this time together she was still not comfortable being recognised in public as a maid. It didn’t bother me, maids are here simply to serve others, in my opinion I don’t believe there is any shame in being recognised as such. It’s her life and it’s something she has to accept and endure.
After our final exchange of endearments for each other Brad said goodbye to me and grabbing Faggott’s arm, gave her a hefty smack on her rear and led her to his car. It was an interesting sight as I watched them walk away together. I saw the huge frame of Brad clad in jeans and black leather coat towering over Faggott in her heels, dressed as she was in her pale blue raincoat and frilly cap struggling fruitlessly to keep up beside him. They looked amusing together.
Late in the evening I heard Suzette come in the back door (It is her usual mode of entrance, since she has not been allowed a key to the front door). I got up and with my glass of champagne in hand I went into the kitchen where Suzette was just taking off her coat. She was still wearing her apron but I noticed that both her apron and uniform dress were both wrinkled and showed many signs of dirt. Although her raincoat had covered most of her uniform, Brad had obviously made her travel home like that on the bus. She was not wearing her frilly maid’s cap so I assumed that either it was a concession that Brad had made to her or once out of the glare of Brad she had removed it before catching the bus. I ignored it.
She saw me enter the kitchen and bobbed her usual curtsy. She looked tired, dishevelled and miserable. I noticed that her eye makeup was slightly smudged, indicating that some tears might have been shed.
“How did it go ?” I asked her pleasantly “Was Mr. Brad pleased with your work ?”
Suzette curtsied to me and replied softly while looking at the floor. “Sort of, I guess Madam.”
She was talking in riddles, “What do you mean, sort of ?” I snapped, “What happened ?”
Still gazing at the floor, Faggott mumbled and fidgeted and seemed reluctant almost embarrassed to go any further.
I was losing my patience and shouted at her to answer my question. After another few seconds of hesitation she finally gave me another hurried curtsy and said softly and quickly “Please Madam just before I came home Mr. Brad gave me a good spanking” She then hid her head in the bib of her apron and more tears flowed. Clearly she was very upset and embarrassed.
I hid a smile behind my hand as I said “What did you do wrong ?”
Her pleading reply was more a statement of defence than an admission of guilt, “Nothing Madam, honest. I don’t really know Madam, I tried to do my work to please Mr. Brad, I don’t know what I did wrong, please believe me.” She knew that if I didn’t believe her, she ran the risk of getting additional punishment from me.
With her mumbling and sobbing I was getting nowhere but then I noticed two plastic bags sitting on the kitchen floor. One was obviously the bag of cleaning materials, rubber gloves and stuff that Faggott had taken with her, the other was very much larger and had a huge red and white gingham pattern on it. “What is that ?” I said pointing to the bag.
I received the mandatory curtsy and she said quietly, “Please Madam that is all of Mr. Brad’s laundry that he wants me to wash and iron for him.”
Again I put my hand to my mouth to hide a smile, Brad was obviously making the most of the situation including taking full advantage of the opportunity to get his smelly sports gear laundered. My Brad was quite a card in that respect he reminded me of my ex husband.
I told Faggott that she could attend to the laundry the next day and to get cleaned up and ready for bed. I didn’t see my maid’s reaction as with my back turned I picked up my champagne glass from the counter and headed for the door. Suzette beat me to it as she rushed to the door to open it for me. As I walked past her she gave a deep curtsy and said “Thank you very much Madam, oh and I just love the smell of your perfume.” That was a nice gesture but I didn’t respond and continued walking. Her remark was ironic because in contrast I had to hold my breath as I walked by the stench of this combination of human sweat and cleaning fluids…..UGH !
Later I spoke with Brad on the telephone and quickly got to the point. Brad confirmed that Faggott had done a good job and invited me to send her over anytime. I asked him why Faggott had been crying. He cheerfully said that he was just having a laugh and gave her a spanking for a bit of fun. I said to him seriously that it didn’t seem like fun to Faggott. He said that my maid was just too sensitive and he was just being thoughtful by giving her a darn good spanking to help keep her warm on the bus ride home.
I laughed that was innovative at least but said for him to remember that Faggott was more sensitive than him and to take that into consideration in future. He apologised and recommitted to get me my theatre tickets and he did
All’s well that ends well.
LINK to Faggott fan exchanges : https://www.flickr.com/groups/959651@N21/discuss/72157624601134204/
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