LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER
 
	        An epistolary tale by The Nerdly, 
  based on three vignettes in French by Hanna, femme de chambre



 
Dear Hanna,
 
You asked in your last letter how I came to be Gabrielle's 
full-time maid.  I hope this will answer your question.
 
Gabrielle and I were roommates at college, where we played D/s 
games together.  We especially liked to play the game of mistress 
and maid.  Gabrielle was always the mistress, and I, always the 
maid.  Since we were impoverished college students, my maid's 
uniform was blue jeans with a white tee shirt, and Gabrielle's 
mistress clothing was the same. 
 
As you know, Gabrielle moved to Strasbourg after college to take 
a position with the École Nationale d'Administration, the ENA.  I 
accepted a junior management position with a firm in Paris.  Having 
so enjoyed the D/s games we had played in college, we agreed to 
continue them after graduation.  To play the game, I travelled to 
Strasbourg on the weekends to serve as Gabrielle's maid.  She 
expected me to wear a proper maid's uniform and carry a serving 
tray, and also to act as a chambermaid and iron her clothes -- in 
other words, to serve as her maid of all work.  We played this 
game for two years.  There were occasional aggravations, but I 
didn't mind.  I was always able to juggle my two lives so that I 
met the high expectations of both Gabrielle and my boss at my 
"real" job.
 
I'm sure you're wondering why I always played the role of the maid 
and never the mistress.  The answer is found in the photo that I'm 
enclosing with this letter.  The photo is sort of a family secret 
that I found when I was settling my mother's estate after she died. 
The maidservant in the photo is none other than my mother.  She 
had to become a maid, much to her shame, after she and my father 
were divorced.
 
This photo has had a profound effect on me.  When I'm playing 
Gabrielle's maid, I imagine that I'm my mother, devotedly serving 
her mistress.  I admit that I'm proud of my mother in spite of her 
humble occupation, proud to wear the same uniform as she, and proud 
to wear the same white apron.  But Gabrielle took no note of my 
pride and just treated me like an object whose sole purpose was 
to serve her.
 
My situation changed about six weeks ago.  As I'm sure you know, 
the graduates of the ENA -- the so-called "énarques" -- are treated 
as the cream of French society.  They get the best jobs and perks.  
Gabrielle began to consider herself an énarque, even though she's 
only an employee of the ENA and not a graduate.  She began to 
believe that she too deserved some perks, such as a full-time 
maid, and began to hatch a plan to make me that maid.
 
One day, she told me that she had invited a guest over and that I 
was to order two dinners from her favorite vegetarian restaurant.  
I complied with her order and was setting the table for dinner when 
the doorbell rang.  Gabrielle told me that she would answer the 
door and that I was to go to the kitchen and finish getting the 
meal ready to serve.  I was then to wait in the kitchen until she 
rang the little bell that she used to summon me.
 
About a half an hour later, Gabrielle rang her bell, so I picked 
up the serving tray and took it in to the dining table.  As I 
entered, I saw my assistant from work, Fabienne, seated opposite 
Gabrielle at the table.  Fabienne's clothes contrasted sharply 
with mine: she was wearing a smartly-tailored gray business suit, 
while I was wearing the plain black livery of a maidservant.
 
We stared at each other in total astonishment.  You can imagine 
what happened next.  When Fabienne recovered from her surprise, 
she began to mock and make fun of me, much to Gabrielle's 
amusement.  Fabienne knew that she had the power to humiliate me 
-- her supervisor -- without fear of reprisal, and she clearly 
relished this power.
 
I dropped my gaze -- as a proper maid should -- when I regained 
my composure.  Of course, Fabienne made a snide remark about my 
display of appropriately servile behavior in front of a social 
superior, such as herself.  My legs began to quiver like a 
trembling leaf, and tears streamed from my eyes, but I managed 
to perform my duties as Gabrielle had taught me.  In the eyes of 
my assistant, I had become a nonentity, a being worth less than 
a turd.  I had to satisfy her every whim and bear her every 
humiliation, without batting an eyelash.  All that mattered was 
Fabienne's pleasure.
 
Once Gabrielle had dismissed me after dinner, I went to the kitchen 
and vomited on the floor.  I knew that I had just forfeited my 
middle-class existence.  I was no longer a maid only to Gabrielle; 
I was now a maid in Fabienne's eyes and would soon be a maid to 
everyone.
 
Gabrielle came into the kitchen after Fabienne left and ordered 
me to clean up the vomit with my hands.  She said that it was 
unacceptable to waste good food like that.  At least she didn't 
mention the starving children in Africa.  When I had done it as 
well as I could, she had me get on all fours and lick the floor 
clean.  She told me not to worry: since it was my vomit, it wasn't 
contagious.

I returned to Paris that evening and learned at work the next day 
that Fabienne was delirious with joy as she told everyone that her 
boss had become a maid.  I couldn't bear any more humiliation, so 
I submitted my resignation and left work for home.  Gabrielle had 
anticipated this and had left a message on my answering machine.  
She offered me a job as her full-time maid.  I bowed to the 
inevitable and accepted her offer.  I became a servant whose life 
was controlled by the tiny ring of Gabrielle's bell.
 
But I was to suffer one more indignity.  Gabrielle and Fabienne 
became friends after that fateful dinner party.  When Gabrielle 
learned that Fabienne had been promoted to fill my old position, 
she invited her over to celebrate her promotion.  Of course, I 
had to wear my black maid's uniform as I carried the serving tray 
under the haughty gaze of my former assistant.  I was obliged to 
give Fabienne the révérence, the slight bow that acknowledges that 
she is my social superior and, as a consequence,  is entitled to 
my respect.  Of course, she owed me no respect at all.  We no 
longer belonged to the same caste.  I had become the assistant 
whom the supervisor no longer concerned herself with.  I existed 
solely to serve the pleasure of my mistress and her guests.  
Otherwise, I didn't exist.
 
In spite of the catastrophe that befell me, I consider it a point 
of honor to have become what I hadn't dared to before...to have 
become my mother's daughter.
 
Hugs and Kisses,

Véronique

 
P.S. I just had a terrible thought: what if Gabrielle "loans" me to 
Fabienne?



Edited by C. Lakewood