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

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				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