Preface: I found this story about 30 years ago in a small publication without a notice of copyright or reserved rights. I never saw any other story by the same author. I believe the story is too good to be forgotten, so I turned it from printed to electronic form. If the author objects, she should contact me at RhondWagrm@aol.com and I'll do my best to remove it from all archives. Hopefully - if she sees it here - she'll agree with me and take this form of re-issue as a compliment to her writing skills, which I admire.
To all others: enjoy it.
Rhonda Wagram
A Male Turns Female
By Connie Verbeck
Miss Gloria Chesterham The Ritz Hotel Paris, France
January 29, 1901
Dear Gloria:
It is now exactly a week since our good Queen Victoria passed away. Papa has now returned from the funeral and told us all about this sad event.
With things at home gradually coming back to normal, I want to write you and thank you for your nice letter and Christmas greetings. I hope you had a good time also in fabulous Paris. I wish I could be there, too, in the midst of the social season.
We had a nice white Christmas with the usual large pinetree in the ballroom and many guests visiting. And, as usual, we spent one evening caroling with the servants.
Since Papa entered the House of Lords, he has been very busy. He feels that the aristocracy of England should become active in order to fight the advance of dangerous socialist doctrine, as the new labour party is making inroads everywhere. Papa has been very active in politics ever since general Gordon was sacrificed to the dervishes at Khartoum by Chamberlain.
You may wonder about my knowledge of such matters, being that I am a girl. Well, Mama has been very active in politics, too. She has joined the women's suffragette movement. Although it embarrasses Papa terribly, she continues to have meetings for the liberty of women, and some of it has rubbed off on me, I guess. I think it is about time we women of the world attained equality with men. To do so, we must be interested in world affairs and politics instead of merely being the inferiors of males, tending house, and making babies. Do you feel the same way?
On New Year's Eve we had a large affair with many important government people present as well as friends from neighboring estates. I wish you could have been here to see with your own eyes how attractive our new maid Anne looked and how nicely she performed her duties, serving all the guests and doing all the things a ladies' maid is suppose to do in fashionable homes like ours.
Although you seemed fascinated by my story of how a mere male was transformed into a beautiful maid-servant, I read some doubt between the lines of your last letter.
Well, I assure you, everything I told you about my former male step-cousin Armand becoming our maid is true! Fortunately, as you are not here to see for yourself, I enclose with this letter photographs taken by me during the past few months with the camera Papa gave me for my eighteenth birthday.
I guess the suffragette movement motivated both Mama and myself to dominate a male when the opportunity presented itself. To answer all your burning questions, I will tell you the whole story. I hope you will find it entertaining, and if at times it is a trifle naughty, please don't be shocked.
You already know that Armand was the stepson of uncle Richard, who was a general in the British army. I gather from gossip that the general's second was with a woman way below his class, and Armand was the son of this woman by a previous marriage.
The family strongly disapproved of his second wife, but uncle Richard was always a wild scoundrel, as Mama told me, and not one to heed family counsel. Uncle Richard died in a riot in Alexandria during the trouble with the Arabs, when Armand was still a young boy, and Armand lived all this time in London with his mother on a small pension in near-poverty.
We, of course, never met until Armand came to live with us, as the family completely ignored them. But his mother died last year and, there being nobody else, Papa felt that we had to take him in.
So he arrived ten months ago, a quiet unassuming youth of sixteen who had only finished grammar school and had then served as an errand-boy for some merchant to help his mother financially.
Armand had very few clothes when he arrived on our doorstep, and he certainly was not very bright. His eyes were wide in wonderment about the luxurious circumstances in which we lived.
Nobody paid much attention to him. Papa did not care, and mother ignored him as an offspring of "uncle Richard's hussy," as she called her.
In the beginning I used to take him out riding, but I soon was bored to death by this poorly educated lad - he had never even heard of lord Byron! - and I soon treated him as an ordinary lower-class lad.
Armand was still in short pants, as many lower-class boys are, and he seemed to be continually overwhelmed by his surroundings, frequently making me laugh at his faux pas. But he looked up to me as if to a princess, and I soon learned I could order him around and make him do anything I asked.
He obeyed without question, and i'm sure he was too terrified of Mama to ever complain.
I became more and more demanding, and he dutifully obeyed my every whim, no matter what I asked him to do. And that is how it all started.
Several months ago, our old faithful maid Bessie died, and mother desperately combed the village for other young women she could train to take Bessie's place. In the meanwhile we were short of help.
Fancy me, the daughter of Lord Rothmere, having to do her own laundry and ironing and such things. I am much too fragile for manual work, so I made Armand do these chores, starting out with simple duties such as filling my water basin and carafe and tending the fire in my bedroom. As I watched him doing these things with a mixture of disdain and amusement, an idea occurred to me. I ran to Mama and asked her whether we still had some of my old white pinafores I used to wear until I turned sixteen. Remember them?
"What in heaven's name do you want them for?" mother inquired.
Not telling her the real reason, I said I needed them to protect my lovely dresses as I did maid's work.
"But they'll be much too short for you?" Mama protested.
"Well, better them than nothings," Mama got them out for me, and I held one out in front of me, shaking out its many ruffles and furbelows. "They will do nicely," I said, grinning, then I returned to my room.
Then I called Armand. When he came in, I told him I did not want him handling my nice things while he wore such grimy clothes. So I made him put his arms in the armholes and, turning him around, I buttoned him up the back. It was a perfect fit, as he is small and petite for a boy his age. Armand was terribly embarrassed as I made him twirl about and he felt the lace hems swirling about his bare knees. I started to take off his tie, which he wore under his Eton collar, but he protested that everybody would think he was a girl. I decided to let him keep his tie for the time being. "You will have to wear this all the time in the house," I told him firmly. I saw he felt terribly, and I was surprised that he did not dare to argue or refuse. Apparently, I had more of a held on him than I had realized.
Cleverly, I sent him on an errand to Mama, I had to laugh at the way his shoulder ruffles and hem flounce fluttered busily as the left the room. His short pants peeked out from under the hems and did not look right, but at that time I did not know what to do about it.
Miss Johnson, Mama's secretary, told me later what Mama's reaction was when she saw Armand in his pinafore for the first time, her eyes became as big as saucers, and her pleasure was obvious, for the very first time, she smiled a little at him as he gave her my message, "please, Aunty, Helen asks whether you have any ironing for me to do."
"We certainly do," Mama told him on recovering her aplomb. "Go ask Mary, the cook, to show you where the clothes are in the laundry room."
I joined him in the laundry room a few moments later. Mary seemed to accept his dressing in a pinnie as a sign that he was being relegated to the servant class. She became very condescending and familiar, calling him "dearie." I asked Mary to show him how to iron all those things, and she spent half an hour with him. As he obediently wrestled with the four big piles of underwear, sheets, tablecloths, etc., etc., she continued to check on him every now and then, making him do a piece over if it were not perfect.
This was Armand's first lesson in domestic service. I must admit that he did the ironing rather neatly, getting better as he went along, showing he had a real inclination for this type of work.
When he was finished, he came to my room, saying that he wanted to freshen up for dinner and asking me to take off the pinafore, since he could not reach the buttons in the back."
Jokingly at first, I said, "no, Armanda, I told you you'll have to wear it all the time around the house."
"Even when I'm not helping you?" he stammered, his face a study in discomfort and disbelief when I nodded.
"Of course," I pointed out. "We'll never know when I shall need your help again as the evening progresses, will we, now?"
Morosely, he turned around and went to his room.
You should have seen the look on the face of Jim, Papa's valet, who served in the dining room as a footman, when Armand arrived for dinner, his hair neatly combed and a fresh tie on, but still blushingly wearing his cute pinafore.
Mother and I exchanged looks, and I now knew that I had her support for whatever I was planning for Armand. It gave me a great amount of pleasure, this feeling that I was teaching a man what equality means - and then some, I guess Mama had that same feeling, being able to get back at a mere male.
When Mary brought in the food, she told Armand to help Jim serve and to carry the empty plates and dishes to the kitchen. When the boy came back from his first trip blushing furiously, I knew that the rest of the staff - our coachman, stable-boys, gardeners, and all - had enjoyed seeing him nicely pinafored.
After dinner, Mama even condescended to speak to the lad. "You served us very nicely, Armand. You may do it at all meals. Later in the evening, I made Armand turn the pages for me while I played some Chopin. I could see that he was impressed by my accomplishments in music. Then Mama and I did our usual needlework, and I decided to teach him to embroider, giving him some simple beginners' work. Now he had something to do also in his idle moments and Mama looked on approvingly. He must have felt silly, but we made him get used to that same routine every evening afterward that we did not have guests in.
After two weeks, everybody in the house had become used to seeing Armand in his pinafore, and I guess he himself had adjusted to it as well. He seemed to take his new duties as a maid in stride, so I decided that he was ready for the next step.
In the morning when he reported to me I told him that he slumped too much and that I had something for him to wear which would help him achieve a better stance and posture.
You may have guessed already what I had in mind for poor Armand, Gloria dear.
Calling in Jim, our footman, I instructed him to take the corset I gave him and to lace Armand's waist in to the full twenty-two inches, getting the corset fully closed.
Jim smiled and then told me a story about a family where he had been employed before he became Papa's valet years ago. A disobedient boy in the household had been completely cured of his recalcitrance by what Jim called petticoat punishment, and he recounted the feminization of the young man in detail, while Armand listened in helpless horror.
Jim now told Armand to remove all of his outer clothes. The boy was terribly ashamed at being undressed in front of me, especially to have to ask Jim to undo the buttons of his pinafore. hen the boy was finally down to undershirt and shorts, Jim managed to get the boy's waist corseted in to a neat twenty-two inches. So tight were the corsets that Armand had difficulty pulling on his clothes, being red in the face and puffing for breath. When he was ready, I fastened on his pinafore once more.
While I knew he must have been quite uncomfortable, his posture was much improved, chest forced forward and fanny protruding in a remarkable way. Too bad most of his good points were hidden under the loose pinafore, including a rather formidable tool which had reared up during his corseting and which I could not help but see the outline of.
Surreptitiously, I felt his waist while appearing to straighten out the skirt of his pinafore. It was a real girlish size now, and I knew he must be suffering from the compression.
It was an uncomfortable week for him, and when he complained finally about the pain some days later; I told him that it was because of his bulky underclothes. Then, giving him some of my prettiest chemises and knickers, I ordered him to put them on the next day under his corset.
You should have seen him blush as he took the lacy and beribboned feminine undergarments, but he took them silently. I guess he would have done anything that promised some relief from the discomfort.
The next morning I contrived to be present when Jim corsetted Armand. The poor boy was terribly embarrassed at being seen in his lacy pink silk chemise and long, nearly knee-length, knickers. But from the way his tool stuck out in front of him as Jim pulled in the laces, I sensed he had become aroused by the soft rustle of silk and lace against his soft girlish skin.
It was a real delight to see Armand going about his chores with traces of lace and ribbon emerging from under the hems of his pinafore at virtually every movement. Several times that day I saw him hitch his trousers down because he was aware that his feminine knickers showed. When I asked him how his chemise fit, his face became as red as a peonie, and he lowered his eyes, mumbling something about the corset hurting him less now.
The next day Armand asked me for permission to go to the village to have hi hair cut. I had already taken note of the fact that his curly locks were becoming rather long and unkempt.
I said it would be all right, but he must do it in the afternoon after he had attended to his ironing.
Armand came to me about four o'clock and asked me to unbutton his pinafore so he could go to the village barber. I shook my head. "No, Armanda, your pinafore is now your proper outfit. You'll have to go as you are."
He blushed and for a moment I thought he was getting angry. However, I looked him straight in the eye, and he cowered and looked at his feet, saying, "but Helen, I can't go to the village looking like this. I'd look silly.
"Balderdash!" I said, most unladylike. "As long as you keep your pinafores spotlessly clean and nicely starched as you have been doing, it is nice and becoming to you, especially the sweet little snippets of silken ribbons and lace peeping out below your skirts."
I turned around then and left him to do as he pleased. Needless to say, the barbershop was never mentioned again, and his hair remains uncut, but very nicely waved and coiffed, to this day. His reluctance to brave the village in pinnies and girlish knickers fitted in quite well with my plans for him.
Later, as I saw him disappear into his room, I decided that his short pants had to be the next to go - and the sooner the better!
But the next step was a big one. I thought long and hard about how to get my dear boy cousin into skirts.
Then, one evening, one of Papa's good friends, a Scotsman named Lord McCormack, came to dinner. He wore his kilts with dignity and style, and suddenly it hit me that kilts were the answer!
After having had a few whiskeys, our guest from the highlands was arguing hotly with Mama against the feminist movement. I suppose that scots, wearing skirts, have to be dominating and superior at all times to compensate for their lack of trousers, don't you think so, Gloria?
You should have seen Lord McCormack's disgusted looks at Armand, who silently helped serve and clear the table in his pinafore!
The very next day I went shopping and bought two nice kilts in red and blue plaid. I bought girl's kilts, figuring Armand would never know the difference. In the late afternoon, when he returned with my neatly ironed laundry, I asked him what he thought of Lord McCormack's kilts.
"He looks as though he belongs in them, Helen," Armand replied.
"Well, so do you!" I said in a very tough tone of voice, and I handed him the kilts, saying, "Knee-socks won't look good on your girlish legs, so you'll have to wear these long stockings."
I gave him a pair or two of ordinary black cotton stockings and a pair of pink garters to hold them up. I also gave him several frilly petticoats. "They'll feel much nicer under your kilts. You may ask Mary how to fasten them," I ordered.
The naive boy apparently thought it fun to be copying the clothes of the highly masculine lord McCormack, and he left with the feminine garments over his arm.
I stealthily followed him to make sure nothing would go awry. I was a little surprised when he followed my orders to go ask Mary's help, rather than Jim's. He was dumber than even I thought! Mary and Armand went to his room, and Mary left the door an inch or two open to preserve her propriety, just enough so I could peek in without being seen.
I was surprised at how sweet the boy looked in his lacy pink silk chemise, with lovely frills about the neckline and waist, and the matching pink silk lace knickers.
And I could not help but notice how enticingly his manly weapon stood out and pressed tent-like against the front of his drawers. Mary appeared to pay not a bit of attention to his state of excitement.
Mary dutifully installed the petticoats and stockings and garters, then she put the feminine kilt about his waist. I withdrew, lest they come out and discover me peeking, but I felt a certain odd sensation and dampness in the crotch of my own knickers. Heavens, was I becoming attracted to this boy in skirts?
When Armand reported to me in my room, strutting in what he must have thought was a manly fashion, never realizing that he now was in feminine clothes from the skin out. The faint outline of his pink chemise showed through his boy's blouse, with which he still wore a tie, and I wished I had thought to buy him more girlish blouses. I wanted that accursed tie off very badly, but he kept on insisting that this would make him look like a girl. So, grinning inwardly, I let him retain his symbol of masculinity for a while longer.
By now, Mama and Mary were aware of what I was trying to do. Both thoroughly approved of my plan. As it permitted them to take advantage of the situation and let Armand fill the position of maid.
So they gave the transformation I had embarked on another push. I guess Mama was unconsciously punishing Armand for his mother's sins, as she now began treating the boy completely as a servant.
"I don't want you to call me Aunt Elizabeth any more," she said. "You are too old for such childishness now. You must refer to my husband and myself as Lord and Lady Rothmere from now on."
I could see that Armand was ashamed and confused by this, as he blushed furiously, his face clouded with doubt. Nevertheless, he said nicely, "Yes, Lady Rothmere."
Mama frequently had guests for tea, many of them ardent feminists like herself. She began insisting that Armand learn to serve tea properly, and she began to teach him all the tricks of the tea-serving trade. You know how meticulous Mama is about her formal teas.
After much trial and error, Armand finally was able to do it to her satisfaction. Mary, the cook, then suggested that kilts were not formal enough attire for tea-serving and poor dumb Armand replied, "But my trousers would be even less satisfactory." he was walking into our trap very nicely.
"How right you are, Armanda," Mama said, smilingly. Turning to Mary, she said, "we still have those uniforms that the young maid Lisa used to wear before she left our service. They ought to fit our new young maid very nicely."
"Yes, madame," Mary replied, then turned to Armand. "Come dearie, go up to your room. I'll be along directly."
Within a few minutes, Mary came back carrying several dark blue cotton uniforms over her arm. She proceeded to his room and I sneaked after her and, when the door was closed, I listened at the keyhole.
There was some sort of an argument, as he apparently was resisting the idea of putting on what was uncompromisingly a girl's dress. I heard Mary slap his face several times. "Do as you are told, dearie," I could hear her saying. then she ordered him to get needle and thread from the sewing room.
I hurriedly dashed to the music room to prevent him seeing me spying on him. he soon came back and closed the door to his room, and I returned to my listening post.
All I could hear was the sound of cloth rustling and work of sewing being done. Finally, there was a sigh of satisfaction from Mary. "There now, that's much better. Now go show yourself nicely to Miss Helen." I ran as fast as I could to get back to my room. I picked up a book and was nonchalantly reading it, when he knocked on the door. He entered, and I could not help but smile at his proper feminine appearance. He was every inch the proper maidservant:
There he was in a perfectly fitting maid's uniform under his pinafore. The skirts came to just below his knees and showed smooth stocking which were now gartered tightly to his corset.
I felt warm with triumph and pleasure, and I felt a little trickle of randy excitement in the crotch of my knickers. I knew I would not stop with his feminization now, for he looked exactly like that saucy little scullery maid, Lisa, with whom I had had a nice warm after-hours relationship before she ran off with one of Mama's suffragette friends. You remember my telling you all the shocking details of our lovemaking, only the love which you and I shared while roommates at finishing school could equal the passion I felt for Lisa. But now I had another Lisa, and this time she had a certain piece of fascinating equipment which would eliminate the need for a dildo.
I was determined not to rest until Armand was completely made over into a well-dressed, proper maid with long skirts, a bosom, and everything. Well, not everything, but almost everything.
I complimented the boy on his new outfit. "It's really nice and proper for you," I commented.
Armand just looked embarrassed, being so terribly confused about the rapid events that his dull mind had still not comprehended what was happening to him.
The only flaw in his appearance was that silly tie which he wore at the throat of the blouse, tucked into the jumper top of his uniform. I wanted to rip off that stupid rag and tear it to shreds, but I controlled myself.
It was, after all, the last straw of his masculinity, to which he clung to with all his might. I thought that if he ever had any male instincts, there was now left very little to be noticed.
The next morning, I added some nice white cuffs to his uniform and made him pose for me again, demanding that he show his pretty scalloped petticoats by putting his foot on a chair-rung. When I complimented him on their daintiness, the poor fool actually seemed pleased, and I noticed a bit of a bulge in the front of his skirt.
It seemed certain that he was finding a kind of allure in his dainty lingerie.
That afternoon, Mama had some socially important friends and acquaintances in for tea, all of them feminists.
As Armand served us luncheon, Mama looked at him, his hair still a bit too snort, his boy's shoes, his silly tie. "He'll have to do, I suppose," she said.
Later on, when the guests began to arrive, Mama insisted on his removing the necktie. I was astounded that he obeyed her without protest of any kind. He must have been really terrified of her!
Armand managed to serve the tea that day silently and properly, not ever spilling a drop.
Mama would have died if anybody had found out that this servant was in any remote way related to us, no matter how tenuous the connection was.
But everybody apparently thought that he was a young girl being trained as maid and waitress, and they were too polite to comment about the bulky shoes or funny hairdo.
When the guests had left, Mama was so glad it all had gone well that she gave Armand one of her few words of praise: "You served like a proper waitress." Later on, he came to my room as I was resting in my negligee prior to dressing for dinner and inquired as to whether I needed him for anything. He still looked proud and smug at Mama's less than sensational compliment, just as if he had won the battle of Waterloo.
I was tempted to have him help me with my bath and dressing, but I decided it was still a little early in his transformation for such intimacy as that!
That evening, Mama had another important dinner party planned. She told Armand that he would have to eat in the kitchen with the servants, but that he was permitted to help serve in the diningroom.
I think Armand finally began to experience some feeling of humiliation then. He began to say something, but Mama looked coldly at him and he began to stutter and finally blushed and lowered his eyes.
"Yes, L-Lady Rothmere," he replied.
Mary had overheard Mama's remarks, and she said, "We'll be glad to have you with us, dearie."
That "dearie" business was working on my nerves even. I wonder how Armand felt!
Mama could not help sinking in another knife into Armand's floundering spirit. She told him that from now on he would be expected to curtsey whenever any of the family or guests spoke to him. Mother entrusted me with the task of instructing him how to curtsey properly, and I spent several hours on this project up in my rooms before he was able to curtsey respectfully and elegantly like a real serving girl.
I decided to twist the knife a little more. In a very snooty voice, I said, "From now on, I expect you to address me as Miss Helen, understood?"
I saw hesitation in his hurt expression, so I added, "If you forget just once, I shall send you to the village in your girl's clothes on an errand."
Armand blanched as he saw in my eyes that I meant what I said. And he knew that he could not expect any mercy from me. I must admit that I had no family feelings left for this sissy maid. I got out my camera and took picture after picture of him curtseying to me showing off his pretty frills and laces.
When I finally dismissed him, Armand remembered to curtsey, saying, "Very good, Miss Helen." It had been quite a disheartening day for him.
The family soon got used to the services of our new maid and took them for the most part for granted.
Armand now had to take all his meals with the servants, who were now on quite familiar terms with him.
Mary had now taken him in hand. She had plucked his eyebrows, taught him to powder and rouge his face, told him off whenever he made some untoward masculine movement, and chided him constantly about any ungirlish behavior.
Soon he was behaving so femininely that not even she could find fault with him. She also began to supervise all his spare time activities, putting him to work in the sewing room repairing clothes, and he was kept busy from early morning to late night like all the other servants.
I convinced mother that he should be given more girlish shoes, and she promptly sent Mary down to the village to buy two pairs with medium heels.
I asked Mary if she could do anything with his hair, but she replied, "It's not quite long enough, Miss Helen, but Lisa's caps should be able to hide it until it is."
From that day on, Armand was obliged to wear a large white maid's cap to cover most of his head and hide his hair, except for some curly locks which Mary arranged so as to show in front and on the side.
Mama also had remarked to Mary one day that while Armand walked nicely now in his girl's shoes, perhaps a tighter corset would also help improve his appearance.
He had gotten completely used to his twenty-two-inch corsets, so she ordered Mary to ask the local corsetiere to come to the house and measure him for a new corset.
"We ought to get him down to an eighteen-inch waist," Mama said. "That would look very nice."
"Yes, Mama," I said with a giggle, "and it should be a longer corset that will also cover his bosom." I blushed a little to be using such a naughty word to Mama.
But Mama thought it was also funny, and she instructed Mary to make sure that the new corset had some padding in the right places. Mary, too, was pleased at the idea.
When the lady came to take his measurements the next day, Armand knew that he was in for some tighter lacing. However, by now, he had become so browbeaten and subservient and used to his position in the household that he did not even protest.
Not that we would have paid any attention to his protests. As far as we were concerned, he was now a poor insignificant illiterate working girl.
I decided to be present when the corsetière made her measurements, and so I went to his room before she arrived, to make sure he would cooperate properly.
I found him dressed only in his lacy knickers and matching pink silk vest. He was a bit disturbed that I came in as I did, without bothering to knock, and I soon saw why.
In the front of his pretty knickers was a rampant display of lust by his randy tool. Obviously he had gotten to love the delicate touch of silken garments against his maleness, and it stood out a full ten inches wreaking havoc with his feminine appearance.
This would never do, I decided, and I ordered him to subside. He protested that he had no control over it, so I commanded him to lie back on the bed while I took matters in hand. The corsetière was due in a half an hour, and really drastic measures were needed if she were not to discover the true gender of her client and spread the news all over the village.
Bidding him to draw the hem of his lacy chemise upward, I pulled the waistband of his knickers downward. What a surprise was in store for me!
I hope you are not shocked by my factual account, dear Gloria, but we have spoken of men's dickeys before, and this one was well worth describing.
It stood up straight as a bargepole, a full ten inches, white as polished marble. It was obviously straining for release, so I decided to do it as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Taking another pair of his drawers in hand, I draped the lacy garment over his tool and began pumping away on it, my hand hard-pressed to grasp it fully enough.
In a very few minutes, during which poor Armand sighed and moaned in purest lust, I felt the hot warmth or his climax coming inside the fragile silken cloth. To make sure that I caught it all, I hung on for dear life until the last drop had leapt out.
Armand looked up at me with intense love and gratitude, and my heart almost melted right there. But I steeled myself to being businesslike and wiped off the still rigid tool carefully.
Then I bade him to stand up, his pretty knickers still down to his knees. From his sewing basket I took a long wide band of pink elastic and wound it about his middle, forcing the now softening organ up against his belly. Then I pinned the elastic in back, so that it would act as an effective cache-sex, keeping his protuberance out of sight.
When I drew his knickers up once more, Armand was girlishly flat-fronted and respectable.
But as you might expect, I did not feel quite so respectable. The delightful sensations Armand must have felt as I took him in hand had transmitted themselves to me, as if by osmosis, and I found myself hard pressed to sit still while the corsetière came in to take his measurements.
Of course, we of the family are not to blame for the way Armand's new clothes were changing him. The newly manufactured corset which came a few days later was, of course, terribly tight, but it did wonders by giving him curves at the right places. It was a pity that his new charms were still mostly hidden behind the loose pinafore.
The servants had taken to calling him Anne, and we began to call him that as well.
It had been six months since Papa had been at home. He had been terribly busy in Parliament fighting the influence of that radical, Ramsey MacDonald, who was secretary of the Labour Representation Committee which wanted to establish the socialist party in the house of commons.
Papa looked tired and drawn and was quite irritable. He never even recognized Armand, assuming only that he was merely a new scullery maid named Anne. At dinner that evening, I could see that Armand was terribly nervous in the presence of his uncle while dressed as a maid.
Mama insisted on bringing up talk of women's suffrage. She did not get very far that night.
As he loved to do, father quoted the philosopher Nietzsche several times. For instance, "Women are not capable of friendship, they are birds, cats, or at best cows."
I perked up my ears. I had not been allowed to read "that bad book," as my mother called it. I decided that I did not like this Nietzsche one little bit if that is the way he looked at women.
It would have served him right if some strong woman had gotten hold of him and put him in knickers and chemises and pinafores and made him her slave!
Armand made matters only worse by nervously spilling soup on Papa's lap.
"You stupid female!" he shouted at the hapless boy in skirts. "Watch what you are doing!"
When Armand had fled in terror, Papa asked, "Who is that girl anyway?"
Mama told him it was Armand.
You should have seen Papa's face, dear Gloria. It was in a state of total shocking disbelief, even though he knew that Mama never lied to him.
"Armand?" Papa sputtered. "That is Armand?" he paused for a moment to think things over. "What in the world have you women done to him?"
Mama explained that the boy had been hanging around the house doing nothing while we were short of maids. "So one thing just followed another," she pointed out.
Father was becoming a bit amused now. At least his tone was less gruff than before.
"I had completely forgotten about him, to tell the truth," he said.
"You can tell that he has had no breeding by the way he has become so familiar with the servants," Mama said cattily. "He's merely the son of a hussy."
I had to agree with her. I know if I were ever forced into service, I would never be able to adjust to dining with the coarse, unmannered servants.
Did you ever stop and think what it would be like to have to be a maid, Gloria, wearing coarse uniforms and starched aprons and having to work from early morning to late at night with no days off at all?
I am so glad that I have been born into the ruling class.
But to return to our dinner conversation the night that Papa returned home from the political wars. Papa began to protest our pressing Armand into servitude, but only on practical grounds. "But you can't use his services without paying him for it. That is slavery, and it's highly illegal in Great Britain."
"If that's so, then we should pay him a regular wage," Mama said, undaunted.
"Won't the other servants wonder why he isn't living in their quarters?" I put in.
"Well, then," Papa said, "he'll just have to move to the servant's quarters on the third floor."
And so it was that Armand was summoned to the drawing room, where we were all having coffee and cordials.
Flustered and nervously fiddling with his frilly skirts, the boy entered. Mary had made him put on a fresh pinnie and cap before appearing before us. He curtseyed prettily to each of us. Papa just nodded and began. "Armand err.. that is, Anne ... you are almost seventeen now. Lady Rothmere tells me she is most satisfied with your services in return for our sheltering, dressing, and feeding you."
Armand smiled nervously and said, "Thank you, Lord Rothmere."
"We have decided to pay you for your services from now on," Papa continued. "I believe you will find that a shilling a week is a very fair wage these days."
Armand nodded and tried to stammer his thanks and fiddled with his skirts.
"Do stop fiddling, girl," Mama said, "and stand still."
Armand blushed and folded his hands demurely in front of him.
"Now that your status in our household has been made official," Mama said to him, "you will go to your room and remove all or your things and take them to the servant's quarters. Your new room will be assigned to you there. It is the one which Lisa used to occupy before she deserted us. Jim will help you get settled."
"But ..." Armand started to say, but Mama heartlessly cut him off, bringing tears to his eyes.
"And, yes, now that you are nearly seventeen, those pinafores and short frocks will look childish on you. We have decided purchase you some nice new well-fitting uniforms with longer skirts. We can no longer tolerate our guests being served by maids who are not properly attired in attractive uniforms.
"Also, from now on you will be addressed as 'Anne' by everybody in this household... Can you imagine a proper maid being called 'Armand'?" Mama said as an aside to us.
Armand was by now in complete shock. He stood before us, stiff as a rod because of his tight corseting, his hands demurely folded in front of his pinafore skirt, his eyes filled with hot tears.
The boy looked at us for even the smallest sign of mercy or pity or help, but none of the three of us said anything further.
After an awkward silence, Papa said, "That will be all, Anne."
Papa began reading his paper, while Mama and I acted as though we were concentrating on our reading. Finally, Anne came to his senses. Realizing that there was nothing more to discuss, the skirted boy curtseyed prettily and quickly left the room.
Mother and I exchanged happy looks. Without ever consulting each other we had completed a plan which, although never formulated or expressed in words, showed that women can dominate a male if they put their minds to it.
And Papa never had a chance to interfere, a member of the male sex was humiliated and feminized without him having a word to say about it.
To make matters even better, we had ourselves a nice-looking, well-trained obedient maid, to boot.
That night, I found it impossible to sleep. I was so excited at the challenge I had met and conquered, and I couldn't rid myself of the thought that now Anne was in my dear Lisa's very own bed!
About midnight, I put on my most enchanting negligee over my flimsy nightie and crept quietly up to the third floor. I knew exactly where Lisa's room was, having made the trip many times while its former tenant was living there.
I did not bother to knock. One simply doesn't have to when one is visiting a mere servant who must cater to one's every whim.
Dear Anne was lying, still awake, on the coverlet of his new bed, dressed only in one of the pretty nightdresses I had given to Lisa during our love affair months and months earlier.
Anne was weeping sad tears of humiliation and chagrin, and he wasn't even aware of my presence until I touched his soft shoulder.
"Oh, Miss Helen," he sighed, "I was just about to crawl under the covers."
"No need to do that, my girl," I said to him sweetly, "I have come to have my way with you."
"But ... but what do you mean?" the girl-boy said, blushing in maidenly modesty.
I threw off my delicate negligee and let him feast his eyes on my bounteous charms - just as I was feasting my eyes on his main charm. My diaphanous nightie did nothing to conceal my well-rounded breasts and the opulent vee at my thigh juncture.
Nor did his lovely nightgown conceal every detail of his male symbol as it began blossoming forth in all its glory, making a tent of the silken material. Quickly, I climbed astride him and pulled the intervening nightgown up out of harm's way, then, unceremoniously, I sat on him in such a way that the full ten inches of his tool was plunged deep within me.
In a few moments, I was lifted to the heights of the stars by a tumultuous wave of sensation. I covered his feminized face with wet kisses, crying out, "Oh, Anne, Anne, at last I have you where I want you."
Hours later, sated at last, I crept back to my own room after first having exacted Anne's promise never to reveal our liaison to anyone and never to mention it to me in the course of his day's work.
In the morning, bright and early, I took my camera and went upstairs once more to the servant's quarters. On the stairs, I met Mary and asked, "is Anne all dressed?"
"Anne has started," she said. "She is in her room."
"Oh, good," I replied happily, "I want to take some pictures of her,"
Together Mary and I entered Anne's room, where I found her in her underwear.
She was just pulling up her knickers, and I began snapping photos of her immediately. I couldn't help noticing that her corset now met in the back, meaning that it now met Mama's requirement of eighteen inches. I don't know how she can ever get it on, can you, Gloria?
I was amazed at how girlish and real her bosom looked. Mary must have been using a breast-enlarging pump on her. It could not have been merely some well-placed pads, for the valley between the breasts is far too realistic looking. While taking some of the photos, I made her put her hands behind her back, so as to make certain that her small waist will show.
Anne was terribly humiliated having to pose for me in her underwear. "You will not be showing any of those photos to a man, will you, Miss Helen, please?"
"Of course not, Anne dear," I said. "Just to some of my girlfriends and some of Mama's friends."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Helen," Anne said gratefully.
The next photograph I took of her showed Anne after she had tied the leg-ribbons of her pretty pink knickers. I was pleased by the way she struck a demurely feminine pose with no hesitation or need for prompting from me.
I was also pleased to see that Anne was no longer shy in the presence of two or more females, for Mama, curiosity getting the better of her, stuck her head in once or twice to see how things were progressing.
I do believe that that was the first time Mama had ventured up to the third floor in all the time we had lived in the house.
Anne's aplomb continued to surprise me. After all, she was really a male in the presence of persons of the opposite sex and dressed in the frilliest, most delicate lingerie, having her pictures taken.
Could it be that she thought of herself as a female already? After what she and I had done the previous night, I rather doubted she could believe so much in an assumed femininity.
In the meanwhile, Mary had readied her petticoats to be tied on, she carefully put it over her head, then let it slide down about her waist, where Mary tied the drawstrings tightly around her nipped-in middle.
Then we paused for another photograph - which I have enclosed with this letter.
As you can see. The first petticoat - although of plain cotton as a servant ought to wear - is elaborately decorated with lace and ribbons and prettily scalloped. And it is voluminous.
Anne still has a tendency to stand with her legs apart, but Mary scolds her immediately when she does it. Pretty soon she will be standing as a modest girl should.
If she doesn't, I know of a device which will correct her stance. Two steel bands go around the legs above the knees, and they are connected with a short chain which will not permit the victim to take more than six-inch steps or stand with her legs more than six inches apart at the knees. I have threatened Anne with it.
Anne was now behaving so humbly and obediently, that I could not help thinking of one of the quotations Papa likes to use from the works of that horrible little man, Nietzsche.
"When you go to a woman ... don't forget your whip."
But we had gotten Anne into shape without having to use a whip - or any force of any kind.
I think that proves that women are more clever at getting things done by our wits rather than by brute force.
Now Mary tied on the second petticoat even prettier than the first one.
While I took the next photograph, which I have also enclosed, Anne voluntarily held out her petticoats to show the camera how pretty they are.
Now, whenever she walks or moves at all, there will be lots of rustling skirts to remind her that she is now a girl, and a very pretty girl at that.
That is all to the good, don't you think, Gloria?
Mary was also getting into the spirit of the thing. She kept on repeating, "my, my ... don't we look pretty, dearie." and "Now you look like a proper modest girl, dearie."
Anne blushed deeply at these words, but I did seem to notice a coquettish look in her eyes and her body movements.
Then Mary helped Anne into her new uniform, which she had altered to fit the newly nipped waist and in the oddly swelling bodice.
The skirts swung out and flared out prettily because of the two petticoats and their voluminous flounces. It was just the modern-length skirt to show the trim ankles and the girlish servant's shoes with their patent leather and straps.
The heels are not very high as yet, so Anne may work in them without undue discomfort. But they are high enough to force her to take small elegant steps as she walks or serves.
Mary fastened the trim white collar about Anne's long neck, and then buttoned on the neat white cuffs.
I have enclosed a photo of Anne's next movement. When she thought nobody was looking at her, she bent to adjust her pretty garters, as the stockings were not quite taut enough on her legs to suit her. She blushed quite prettily when she found I had taken her picture at that embarrassing moment.
Mary had outdone herself in making the apron. It was very fancy and made Anne look ever so feminine.
This apron, as you can see in the accompanying photograph, has very cute scalloped shoulder-ruffles, and it fits tightly across his uniform so that Anne's fine figure is not hidden.
The front has a large panel of feminine ruffles, and it fits tightly about the waist, and the large flounce at the hem makes it easier to walk in, I would suppose, than otherwise, and it does not distract from the efficient, attractive appearance.
It is obvious from her smiles that Anne is totally delighted with her new outfit - and with her feminine way of life. I wondered how much our little love session (if that is what it could se called) had to do with her acceptance of what she has (almost) become?
You can see by the photographs I am enclosing that it will not be easy for Anne to hide in such an attractive and distinctive maid's uniform.
Anne can be sure that all the boys in the village will watch her closely and carefully wherever she goes.
I found it impossible to stop admiring her very small neat waist and her demure pose. It is amazing how in just a few short months she has learned to manage her hands without pockets to stuff them Into.
During the fitting of Anne's uniform, Papa's valet and footman Jim stuck his head in the door to see what was going on. I wasn't sure at the time, but I detected a look on his face that showed he was smitten with her beauty, in spite of the fact that he knew very well Anne was, under the frills, a mere boy.
Now that Anne was ready for work, we all went downstairs together, giggling and smiling at one another.
Mama was very pleased at Anne's appearance and told her so in glowing terms. You should have seen Anne's delighted smile at hearing Mama's praise.
Yes, notwithstanding her tears of the evening before, when she had been told of her new reduced status in the household, Anne seems to have adjusted nicely to the role of a girl.
Her long skirts swish and force her to take small steps. And the pretty frou-frou she makes with every motion is a delight for all of us to hear.
As Anne served us our luncheon that day, even gruff old Papa could not keep from saying nice things about her for her proper appearance and demeanor.
You should have seen her curtsey so nicely as she said, "Thank you, my Lord."
I instructed Anne to make sure that from now on, she maintain that aura of propriety and attractiveness.
"You must change your pretty aprons often so that they appear starched and immaculate every moment of the day. And the same goes for your pretty lace caps."
Anne curtseyed sweetly to me and replied, "Yes, Miss Helen. I will be sure to do as you say."
"See that you do," I said.
The idea kept creeping into my mind that Anne must have derived from a long line of servants. Otherwise, how could she have adapted so quickly and so completely to her new status as a girl and a maid-servant?
That afternoon, I just had to show Anne off in the village. So I took her out shopping in our open carriage, driven by the coachman in his most formal livery.
Of course, Anne went without apron or cap, but her hair was now long enough to be combed out into a pretty coiffure. I forgot to tell you that Mary had made her put it up in curlers every night, so that it did not look boyish any longer.
I can't wait until Anne's hair is grown in to waist-length like yours and mine, so that she will have to find out about the hardships we must go through to keep it clean and manageable.
You would have loved to see how our dear boy-girl blushed when we approached the village streets. She sat opposite from me, her hands demurely in her lap, politely anticipating my every wish.
As I alighted, I made Anne walk a respectful three steps behind me. As we went in and out of shops, meeting various people, I noticed that Anne seemed terribly shy and self-conscious.
I told all the merchants that Anne was our new maid, and that from now on she would run the errands and do the shopping for me.
Many of the shop-lerks could not keep their eyes off her lovely face and figure. While they always looked at me with icy respect, as was due to my station in life, they saw in Anne a little lassie whom they would like to make passionate love to.
No doubt, with her well-proportioned figure, she will be courted ardently by the boys of her class in life.
The butcher said, "Nice to know you, lassie!" and Anne blushed deeply and nodded, afraid her voice might give her away. But Mary and I have been working on her voice and it is now acceptably feminine.
Nonetheless, Anne must be careful.
When she was finally loaded up with packages, she had pretty much forgotten to worry about her appearance and seemed much less shy. Some of the boys ran to assist her with her bundles and I smilingly allowed them to do so.
Anne became less agitated when she realized that everybody took her for what she was, a pretty, saucy maid-servant.
So here you are, Gloria. This is the complete story. Now, do you believe me?
I hope that you will come to see us soon so that you may enjoy the services of our new maid Anne yourself. And I do mean in both the ways I enjoy her services myself, a ten-nch, built-in dildo not being anything to sneeze at!
I have no pangs of conscience about what I have done in transforming Armand into the beautiful Anne. I think I have helped Anne to find her true status in life, and still was able to do the family some good in the bargain.
With great affection,
Helen
Miss Gloria Chesterham
c/o the Hotel Ritz
Paris, France
February 14, 1901
Dear Gloria:
Thank you for your sweet letter in reply to my long one of January 29. I am afraid it will be impossible for you to come visit us at Rothmere Manor next week, because of a multiplicity of disasters which have overtaken this family in two short weeks.
The first indication of things going terribly wrong occurred ten days ago when I, seeking a passionate interlude with my dear boy-girl Anne, crept up to his room, only to find him passionately entwined with our footman, Jim. I do not know who was buggering whom, for I did not stay there long enough to keep score.
For the next few days, I kept the news of Anne's concupiscence and perverted betrayal from everyone else in the household. I am certain that Anne, in her own defense, would have told everybody about our own mad ruttings in her room, which had gone on for many months.
But finally, it was weighing on my mind and I was about to have father throw the both of them out on some trumped up charge or another.
They beat me to it, I fear. Three days after I had discovered them in flagrante delicto, the two of them packed up their bags, carefully robbed the wall safe in library of six thousand pounds sterling, and took the early morning boat to America.
Anne left me a touching note confessing her passion for Jim and telling me that she was going to marry him aboard ship.
Papa took the loss of the money very badly, for it was funds he had been illegally siphoning off one of the accounts in his brokerage, and the crown inspectors were due in momentarily for an audit.
During the next few days, his accounts were audited and his financial empire came crashing down about his ears. He was drummed out of his old regiment; divested of his title, thrown out of the House of Lords, and had to forfeit the deed to Rothmere Hall, from which we have just now been dispossessed.
We are totally homeless and penniless, with Papa now in prison awaiting a trial that will surely see him convicted and put in gaol for the rest of his life.
Meanwhile, Mama and I, because of our elegant upbringing, are being eagerly sought after by wealthy families to become, respectively, governess and maid-servant.
In spite of all that has happened, I hope that my creation, the beauteous Anne, will be happy in her new home in America with her loving husband.
Affectionately,
Helen
The End