Annette wrote a story called "Becoming a Maid" that abruptly 
stopped just as it was becoming interesting.  The following is 
how I imagine it might have continued.  I have incorporated many 
ideas from another of Annette's stories (which, over all, was 
not as good, in my opinion), as well as ideas from various other 
sources. 

I have included a glossary of French terms that appear in the 
story.  The reader may skip over it and go directly to the story 
if desired, returning to the glossary as needed. 

		****************************** 

			GLOSSARY


Au pair: A young foreign person, usually a woman, who serves as 
   a nanny or housekeeper in exchange for room and board.
BCBG: The Wikipedia defines this as the French acronym for "Bon 
   Chic, Bon Genre" or ("good style, good class").
Bonne à tout faire: "maid of all work"
Bonne vierge: "virgin maid" 
Chaise percée: Commode (literally, a chair with a hole in the
   seat).  Louis XIV is reputed to have received courtiers while
   seated upon his commode.
Cheongsam: a Chinese dress with a Mandarin collar and a slit skirt.
Chiottes sales: "filthy crappers"
Concierge: A woman living in an apartment building who performs 
   services for the residents; a custodian, a "super."
Danseuse: "female dancer" 
En Coulisse au Théâtre Expérimental: "Backstage at the Experimental 
   Theatre." 
Euro: The monetary system of most of the European Union; at the 
   time of this story, 1€ amounted to about $1.35 US. 
Faux pas: A social blunder (literally "false step") 
Frou-frou: "rustle"
Haute couture: "high fashion"
Histoires de Deauville: "Deauville Stories."  Deauville (as opposed 
   to Doeville) is a French resort town on the Normandy coast.
La Marseillaise: French national anthem
Le Silence des Agneaux: "The Silence of the Lambs"
L'Institut pour la Nouvelle Bonne: "The Institute for the 
   New Maid," an obscure story said to have been written 
   by Pauline Réage, though many doubt its existence.
Lolos: "boobs"
Mannequin: Live female model 
Marseille: "Marseilles"
Maîtresse: "Mistress"
Merde: "shit"
Mère l'Oye: "Mother Goose"
Mesdames: plural of "Madame" 
Mesdemoiselles: plural of "Mademoiselle" 
Métro: The Paris subway
Mlle.: "Mademoiselle" 
Mme.: "Madame" 
Mon Dieu: "my God" 
Oeuvre: Artistic work
Oui: "yes"
Pet: "fart" 
Petit Hameau: Marie Antoinette's play farm near Versailles
Petit Chaperon Rouge: "Little Red Riding Hood"
Pièce de résistance: "outstanding item" 
Salade de chou: "cole slaw"
Salle à manger: "dining room"
Sarah Bernhardt (not Sandra Bernhard): Famous 19th Century
   French actress.  One of her noted roles was as Frou Frou 
   in the play of the same name. 
Serpillière: Cleaning rag
TGV: "Train à Grande Vitesse" (a high-speed train)
Théâtre Expérimental: "Experimental Theatre" 
Trou du cul: "asshole" 
Tutoyer: In French, to "tutoyer" someone means to address that 
   person  as a familiar or inferior.  See the Wikipedia article 
   "T-V distinction."  This distinction does not exist in modern 
   English.  (In the story, Mme. Yang is basically asking if she 
   can treat Frou Frou as an inferior.)
Vite: "quickly"

		******************************




                       

                       BECOMING A MAID 

                             by 

                         The Nerdly
                (based on a story by Annette) 
 

                    Edited by C. Lakewood



Part 2 

I couldn't believe it: Miriam had invited my concierge, Mme. Yang, 
to dinner that evening.  Surely, Miriam didn't expect me to behave 
as a serving maid in front of my concierge, my social inferior.  It 
was unthinkable that Miriam would humiliate me like this.  After 
all, she was my friend, and friends don't humiliate each other.  I 
made up my mind then and there to confront her about this faux pas. 

But first I stopped in front of a mirror in the hall.  When I saw 
myself in the glass, I realized that perhaps Miriam was right: 
A maid shouldn't wear makeup.  My tears of rage had smeared my 
makeup.  I needed to present a dignified appearance in front 
of Miriam, the appearance of her peer, the appearance of a woman 
not to be trifled with.  Miriam wouldn't take me seriously with 
makeup smeared all over my face, nor would anyone else.  I used 
my apron to wipe off the smears and repair my makeup as best I 
could.  Once I was satisfied that I had restored my dignity -- 
it didn't occur to me at the time that there was only a limited 
amount of dignity that a maid could display -- I adjusted my 
uniform and smoothed out my apron.  I was now ready for a meeting 
with "Madame" and set out to find her. 

I discovered her in the living room sitting on a leather sofa much 
like the one in my apartment.  In front of the sofa was a coffee 
table with a single object on it: a small, silver-plated bell. 
In her hand, she held a glass of wine.  She was dressed for dinner 
in an elegant suit that contrasted markedly with my simple, 
less-than-elegant maid's uniform.  Our clothing made it clear 
who was the mistress and who was the maid, who gave the orders 
and who obeyed, who was the woman of leisure and who was the 
woman that worked. 

When I entered the room, she looked up with a quizzical expression 
on her face.  For some reason, I felt that she was expecting me. 
I looked her straight in the eye and was ready to let loose with 
a tirade, but...I was truly the prisoner of my uniform.  I had 
planned to confront Miriam as an equal.  After all, we were long 
time friends, who often spent evenings together chatting and 
sipping wine.  But an equal doesn't wear a servant's uniform 
while her mistress wears a tailored suit; an equal doesn't remain 
standing while her mistress remains seated; an equal doesn't 
respectfully address her mistress as "Madame," while her mistress 
casually addresses her maid as "Annette."  In short, I was clearly 
no longer Miriam's equal. 

I hesitated for what seemed like an eternity, confused about what 
to do.  Miriam's expression turned to one of expectation.  Finally, 
I lowered my gaze to the floor, bowed, and said, "Madame, do I 
have your permission to speak?" 

This was the instant that I realized that I really was Miriam's 
servant -- not her equal -- and had to behave appropriately. 

A sly smile of triumph spread across Miriam's face.  "Why, of 
course, Annette.  What do you want to talk about?" 

I cleared my throat and began speaking.  "Madame, why did you 
invite my concierge to dinner?  She's my social inferior.  Surely 
you can't expect me to serve her.  It would be too humiliating." 

Miriam frowned when she heard my complaint.  She was silent for a 
moment, lost in thought.  Finally, she put her wine glass on the 
table, stood up, and moved around the table with the grace of a 
dancer.  She stopped directly in front of me, still saying nothing. 
I kept my gaze on the floor, not daring to look her in the eye.  
Suddenly, she slapped me in the face...then again...and again.  
I let out a cry of surprise...and hurt. 

With this act, she broke her silence.  "Let that be a lesson for 
you, girl.  I know you're unaccustomed to being a maid, and don't 
yet understand what I expect of you.  But I can't tolerate airs on 
your part.  Yesterday, you were Mme. Yang's social superior, but 
today, you are her inferior -– what a difference a day makes.  It 
is fitting and proper that a maid, such as yourself, serves her 
betters without complaint.  Besides, serving Mme. Yang will teach 
you a valuable lesson in humility.  Do you understand, girl?" 

I replied, "Y...yes, Madame."  But I still found it difficult to 
accept my concierge as my social superior. 

Miriam continued, "Remember, you volunteered to be my maid even 
though I warned you that you were playing a dangerous game.  But 
you swore by our friendship that this is what you wanted.  Is this 
still what you want, Annette?" 

"Y...yes, M...Madame," I stammered.  But I was beginning to doubt 
whether this is what I did really want. 

Miriam smiled at my answer, and continued.  "You're not Marie 
Antoinette playing the role of a milkmaid at the Petit Hameau.  
When she tired of her game, she could go back to being the queen.  
However, as my maid, I won't allow you to go back to your 
comfortable middle-class existence.  I'm going to make sure that 
you're committed to being my maid...that there's no going back.  
I've made a considerable personal investment in you, Annette, and 
I need assurance that you won't back out once you tire of playing 
the maid.  Madame Yang is my assurance that you are committed to 
your servitude." 

I was trapped.  Miriam had planned this humiliation.  But she was 
ignoring the fact that she had, for all intents and purposes,  
blackmailed me.  To avoid a "scandal," I was going to have to 
become Mme. Yang's cleaning lady for who knows how long.  I was 
about to point this out,  but Miriam resumed speaking before I 
could say anything. 

"Annette, I cannot describe how deliciously erotic I find your 
submission to me. I once read a story by someone named 'Lady 
Charlotte' who said that middle-class women who volunteered to 
be maids wished to suffer the ecstasy of ignominy.  And suffer 
you shall.  Your suffering shall be my pleasure." 

To suffer the ecstasy of ignominy?  This phrase made me shiver 
with I know not what emotions.  Was this to be my fate? 

Miriam picked up the wine glass and said, "This is a delightful 
vintage.  Of course, it is not appropriate for a serving girl like 
you.  Otherwise, I would offer you some.  You are no longer the 
girl that I shared intimate evenings with.  You are now my maid, 
and it would scandalize my friends if I offered you wine from my 
cellar.  One simply does not waste good wine on a servant." 

Miriam was giving me my first lesson in 'the ecstasy of ignominy.'  
I wondered how many more I would have to endure.  I was upset that 
she no longer considered me part of her inner circle, but she was 
right about one thing: When I was one of her confidants, I would 
have been scandalized to learn that she was letting her maids 
sample her wine cellar. 

"Let us speak of other things." 

Miriam could see the look of despair on my face. 

She smiled and said, "Cheer up, little soubrette, I have plans for 
you that I'm sure you'll like." 

"Plans, Madame?" 

"Once you've learned true humility by working for a time as a what 
the English call a 'slavey,' I'll promote you to being my personal 
maid." 

"Your personal maid, Madame?" 

Miriam answered with a dreamy look on her face. 

"Your principal duty will be to service my intimate needs." 

"Intimate needs, Madame?" 

"For example, I might need some assistance when I bathe. You might 
be ordered to help me disrobe, or to scrub my back, or to help dry 
me with a towel.  Would you like to serve me in this way, Annette?" 

Miriam was an attractive woman, and, of course, I would love to see 
her in a state of dishabille.  I began to feel aroused. 

"Oh, yes, Maîtresse!" 

Miriam closed her eyes and a look of sheer bliss appeared on her 
face.  "You might be allowed to visit your mistress's secret garden 
and demonstrate your maidenly devotion." 

How did she know that I'd often fantasized about this? 

"Oh, please, please, Maîtresse!" 

Miriam had made me wet.  She opened her eyes. 

"But, I will only bestow my favors on a truly humble maid.  Do you 
think that you can become a humble maid, Annette?" 

"Oh yes, Maîtresse!  Help me become a humble maid." 

"Have no fear, Annette.  Mademoiselle and I shall do everything in 
our power to help you." 

She picked up her glass of wine, took a sip, smiled, and said, 
"Enough chitchat.  Report to Mademoiselle for instructions on 
this evening's meal.  By the way, your apron is dirty.  Don't let 
Mademoiselle see you like that; she'll punish you.  I've told her 
to make sure that you're impeccably groomed.  Put on a clean apron.  
You are dismissed." 

"Very well, Madame." 

I bowed, left Miriam in the living room sipping her wine, and 
then headed to my chamber, where I changed aprons.  I returned 
to the office as Madame had instructed and knocked on the door. 

"Yes?" 

Mademoiselle sounded irritated. 

"It is your maid, Mademoiselle." 

"Enter." 

I entered the office and bowed, much to the obvious delight of 
Mme. Yang, who was slouched in an easy chair. 

Mademoiselle looked at me with and icy stare and said, "Where have 
you been for the past 20 minutes?" 

"Uh...I've been talking with Madame." 

"Did I give you leave to talk to Madame?" 

Uh-oh!  In my anger, I had left the office without having been 
dismissed.  I said, "N...no, Mademoiselle....  Please forgive 
me.  I'm sorry." 

"This is a serious breach of protocol on your part.  Madame has 
authorized me to keep a 'servant's book' on you, Annette.  This 
book, among other things, contains your weekly schedule.  You 
will serve Madame for 40 hours a week, including the time you 
are scheduled to work for Mme. Yang." 

Mme. Yang smirked at this and nodded her head approvingly. 

"You'll be on standby the remaining hours of the week.  You'll 
receive comp time for any standby hours that you serve.  You'll 
also receive a small stipend for your 40 hours of service...and 
I do mean small.  However, If Madame or I judge your service to 
be unsatisfactory, we'll add extra hours of service to your 
schedule as a punishment.  You won't receive a stipend for 
punishment hours.  You'll serve these extra hours as we see 
fit.  For example, we might have you work some extra hours for 
Mme. Yang. 

Mademoiselle got up from behind her desk and stood in front of me. 

"Lesson number 4.  You are to leave Madame or me only if we 
explicitly dismiss you.  Do you understand, Annette?" 

"Yes, Mademoiselle." 

It was infuriating to see Mme. Yang grinning while Mademoiselle 
rebuked me. 

Mademoiselle returned to her chair and continued speaking.  "Your 
little escapade will cost you ten hours of punishment service." 

TEN HOURS!  That wasn't reasonable!  I started to protest.  "But, 
Mademoiselle...." 

"Silence, girl!  Backtalk is unbecoming in a maid.  Do you want 
some additional hours?" 

It wasn't fair!  But all I could do was stare at the floor while 
Mademoiselle made an entry in my servant's book.  Mme. Yang was 
gloating from the comfort of her chair while I stood meekly, as 
an obedient maid. 

I wondered, was the servant's book what Miriam meant when she said 
that Mademoiselle and her would help me become a perfect maid? 

When Mademoiselle finished her bookkeeping, she looked up at me 
and said, "You will learn that breaches of protocol are dealt 
with rather severely in this house." 

Mademoiselle turned to Mme. Yang and smiled, but kept talking 
to me, "I'm going to escort Mme. Yang to the living room to 
meet Madame. You're to return to your chamber and exchange your 
uniform for a number 5.  Then report to the dining room and wait 
for me.  Don't make me wait for you instead.  Dismissed." 

"Very well, Mademoiselle." 

I bowed, exited the office, and hurried to my room. 

Back in my chamber, I removed a number 5 from the armoire. 
It was a black uniform with long sleeves, and white collar 
and cuffs.  It wasn't tailored, but it was more stylish than 
the other uniforms.  It was apparently intended to be worn on 
formal occasions. 

Part of the ensemble was a white maid's cap with ribbons that 
dangled down in back.  But the pièce de résistance was an 
elaborate bib apron with four extra-long straps.  It took me 
several minutes to puzzle out what to do with the two upper 
straps.  They went over my shoulders, criss-crossed behind 
my back, and attached to two buttons sewn onto the back of 
the uniform.  As far as I could determine, the waist straps 
were intended to be tied into an extra-large, fancy knot in 
the small of my back. 

This was my first time I had ever put on such an apron, and 
it took me a long time to get everything adjusted properly. 
Finally I was ready to go and scurried to the dining room. 

Mademoiselle was tapping her foot while she waited for me to 
arrive. 

I bowed. 

"Two more hours," she said.  

I tried to look apologetic as I could.  How many punishment 
hours was I going to have to work? 

She looked at me and said, "Turn around." 

I turned around. 

She looked at my apron knot.  "This will never do." 

She retied my knot. 

"I don't have the time to show you how to do it properly.  The 
caterer will be here any minute.  Go to the tradesman's entrance 
next to the kitchen and wait.  When the caterer arrives, take 
the meal and put it on the sideboard over there.  Then ready the 
table with a tablecloth, place settings, and candelabra.  When 
everything is ready, light the candles, and report to the living 
room.  Announce dinner like this: 'Mesdames and mesdamoiselles, 
dinner is served.'  Do you understand, Annette?" 

"Yes, Mademoiselle." 

"You'll then follow us to the dining room.  Madame has a small 
silver bell.  When she rings it, you're to approach her, bow, 
and await your orders.  When Madame has finished giving you 
orders, bow, withdraw, and carry out the orders.  When you're 
finished, you're to stand at attention at that spot over there." 

She pointed to an imaginary spot on the floor. 

"You're to remain motionless.  I'll be watching you and don't want 
to see you move.  You're to do your best imitation of a piece of 
furniture.  Am I clear?" 

"Yes, Mademoiselle." 

"Dismissed." 

		******************************


Part 3 

I bowed and went to the kitchen, where I cooled my heels for 30 
minutes waiting for the caterer.  When he finally arrived, I took 
the meal to the dining room and arranged everything as I'd been 
instructed.  After I lit the candles, I went to the living room. 

My "betters" were chatting away.  I bowed and said, "Mesdames 
and mesdamoiselles, dinner is served." 

Miriam nodded.  "Thank you, Annette." 

She turned and looked at Mademoiselle as if on cue. 

Mademoiselle said, "Annette, I think our guest deserves an act of 
devotion before dinner." 

"Act of devotion" was Mademoiselle's code phrase for kissing 
someone's feet.  I had just learned that there was no questioning 
Mademoiselle's orders if I wanted to avoid punishment time, so I 
stepped in front of a grinning Mme. Yang and slowly sank to my 
knees and began to lower my lips to the fat woman's feet. 

At this point, Mme. Yang leapt to her feet and shouted out, "Stop! 
I have a better idea."  She turned around, stuck her buttocks in 
my face, and said, "Kiss my ass, bitch!" 

I didn't want to earn any more punishment hours, so I lowered my 
lips to Mme. Yang's cheongsam. 

A violent explosion seemed to rock the room.  I thought terrorists 
had attacked Miriam's house.  The explosion was followed by an 
indescribably foul stench.  I fell to all fours, gasping for 
breath. 

A minute or so later, when I had recovered my breath, I realized 
that my chubby concierge had farted in my face!  Today was a day 
of many humiliations, but this was the nonpareil. 

I struggled to my feet and looked around.  Mme. Yang was clearly 
mortified.  She most certainly hadn't intended to fart in front 
of her hostess.  (Though she certainly wasn't concerned about 
farting in my face.)  Madame and Mademoiselle were both holding 
napkins over their noses and were obviously having trouble 
containing their mirth. 

Miriam was the first to bring her merriment under control.  To 
put Mme. Yang at ease, she began to speak.  "I studied English 
literature in London as a student and remember a line in English 
from Mark Twain's "1601": 'Verily in mine eight and sixty years 
have I heard the fellow to that fart.'" 

My grasp of English is not very good, and I didn't understand why 
Miriam thought a quote about a 68 year old farting fellow would 
put our fat friend at ease. 

When Miriam saw Mme. Yang's look of bafflement, she decided to take 
a different tack.  "As a stuffy professor of mine in England used 
to say in his own mixed patois, 'Let us repair to the salle à 
manger.'" 

I didn't understand why Miriam thought the dining room needed to 
be repaired.  I had just come from there, and it looked fine to 
me.  Neither Mademoiselle nor Mme. Yang seemed to grasp the 
significance of Miriam's remark either. 

Finally, Miriam realized that neither our chubby caller nor 
Mademoiselle understood her English quotations, so, in 
resignation, she picked up the bell from the coffee table, 
and said, "Mme. Yang, let me show you to the dining room." 

Miriam and our guest set off for the dining room.  Mademoiselle 
stayed behind and signaled that she wanted to speak to me. 

"Annette, there's an American product called...um...oh yes! 
Beano.  It's used to suppress farts.  We have some in the 
spice cabinet in the kitchen. Go fetch it before you report 
to the dining room.  When Mme. Yang is not looking, slip some 
into her food." 

"Very well, Mademoiselle." 

I bowed, and Mademoiselle left for the dining room.  I fetched 
the Beano, but I doubted it would do much good unless it was 
industrial strength. 

I returned to the dining room, bowed, and stood at the spot 
Mademoiselle had indicated.  After a bit of small talk, Miriam 
picked up the bell and tinkled it.  I went to Madame and bowed. 

"Annette, serve the first course." 

"Very well, Madame." 

I bowed and went to the sideboard.  I put several drops of Beano 
in the concierge's dish.  I then served the first course and 
returned to my position at the "spot." 

The conversation consisted of chitchat and gossip about 
celebrities.  Since I wasn't part of the conversation, I 
quickly became bored.  Being a maid wasn't as much fun as 
I had expected.  Everybody was bossing me around, and I 
wasn't allowed complain. 

To keep myself occupied, I wondered what needed to be repaired in 
the dining room.  I stole a glance at Mademoiselle, who was busy 
chatting with Mme. Yang and not paying attention to me.  So I 
started sneaking peeks around the room to see what the problem 
was.  I did this for as long as I dared.  Then I resumed standing 
at attention.  I stole another glance at Mademoiselle, who was 
glaring at me and holding up two fingers.  Another two hours of 
extra work! 

Miriam again tinkled. 

As before, I approached her, bowed, and awaited instructions. 

"Annette, refill everyone's wine glass." 

"Very well, Madame," I dutifully replied. 

I bowed and fetched the wine.  I snuck a sniff.  It had a 
delicious bouquet.  How I wished I could join the dinner party 
and sample the vintage.  Miriam seemed to delight in lording 
over me and denying me the finer things in life. 

The second round of wine seemed to release everyone's inhibitions. 
Mme. Yang offered to tell a story.  "My dears, let me tell you 
about the Curse of Endo." 

"My, that sounds ominous," Miriam said.  "It's not even Halloween." 

Mademoiselle added, "I'd love to hear a good story." 

Mme. Yang began her story with appropriate dramatic gestures. 
"The Curse of Endo is a story that has been handed down through 
countless generations of my family.  My family tradition says 
that we are descended from Fu Lin, an ancient Emperor of China. 
He was betrothed to Ha Tay, the most beautiful woman in China. 
On the marriage day, just before the happy couple was to exchange 
their vows in front of the entire court, the Emperor hoisted 
himself by his own pet-ard, as the English might say." 

I wasn't hoisted by the fat Chinese woman's pet-ard, I was blown 
down. 

Our rotund guest continued.  "Legend has it that the sound was 
so loud that many courtiers went deaf.  Some historians say 
there is evidence that at least one elderly lady died from 
the toxic fumes." 

If the Emperor was anything like Mme. Yang, the story was 
believable.  My uniform still stank from the stench of her 
fart.  I hoped that I could wash the smell out of my hair. 

"The stench rose to the heavens and so offended the gods 
that they withdrew the Mandate of Heaven.  With the Mandate 
gone, Fu Lin's dynasty collapsed.  His tragedy is known to 
students of Chinese history as the 'Wind that Broke the 
Mandate of Heaven.'" 

She paused to take a sip of wine and continued.  "Ha Tay was 
so shamed that she committed ritual suicide that very evening 
in the wedding chamber.  Her death deprived China of the face 
that could have launched 10,000 ships.  The next day, Ha Tay's 
mother, the Witch of Endo, stormed into the throne room in a 
rage and cursed Fu Lin's family with the curse of Endo.  I'm 
sure I don't have to explain what the curse was.  (Mme. Yang 
pinched her nose in the traditional PU gesture.)  The curse, 
together with the gods' displeasure, doomed our family's 
fortunes, which went into an irreversible decline that has 
lasted to this day.  And that is the story of the Curse of 
Endo." 

When she concluded her story, I could see from their expressions 
that Madame and Mademoiselle felt sympathy for Mme. Yang.  I 
almost felt it, too, but it's difficult to sympathize with 
someone who has just farted in your face. 

Miriam was the first to speak.  "Well, Mme. Yang, I think that 
your fortunes are about to turn." 

Mme. Yang asked, "What do you mean, Miriam?" 

"Let me explain.  I am a great fan of the novelist Pauline Réage." 

Pauline Réage?  I thought the name sounded familiar.  Mon Dieu! 
That's the author of the notorious S&M novel, "The Story of O." 

Miriam continued.  "One of her lesser known works, 'L'Institut 
pour la Nouvelle Bonne,' is a particular favorite of mine.  As 
a matter of fact, I watched the film adaptation from the comfort 
of my leather sofa after Annette begged me to be my maid.  The 
story is about an school that trains maids in a fashion similar 
to that employed by that character Ann-Marie in 'The Story of O.' 
I'm using many of these Institute techniques to train Annette." 

What had I gotten myself into?  If my memory served me right, 
the character Ann-Marie beat her maids with a whip and subjected 
them to various indignities such as labial piercings.  My twat 
began to tingle with terror. 

"There is a character similar to you, Mme. Yang, that the 
directrice of the Institute uses to help train the maids. 
That's where I got the idea to have Mademoiselle call you." 

"I am glad to be of assistance," Mme. Yang replied.  

"But the part of the story I liked best was the three lipsticks." 

Mme. Yang asked, "What are the three lipsticks?" 

Miriam replied, "Normally, a maid is not allowed to wear any 
makeup, including lipstick.  But an institute-trained maid is 
required to wear lipstick that indicates her rank.  There are 
four ranks.  The lowest is called a 'bonne vierge,' the rank 
of maids who have just been admitted to the institute.  They 
are not virgins in the sense of sexual naïveté -- after all, 
Annette is notorious for being generous with her favors -- but 
virgins in the sense of being unskilled in the domestic arts." 

At this remark, everyone looked at me with that "so-she's-a-slut" 
look.  I blushed. 

Miriam resumed her explanation.  "Most maids don't remain virgins 
for long.  The next rank of maids wear brown lipstick and are 
called, unsurprisingly, "brown lipstick maids."  The maid's 
mistress orders the maid to make a specific act of devotion: 
kissing her mistress's 'brown place.'  Once the maid has shown 
her devotion, she is awarded a brown lipstick.  The mistress may 
also designate a proxy to be the object of the act of devotion. 
Mme. Yang, since you seem to be an aficionado of analingus, I am 
offering you the opportunity to be my proxy and award Annette her 
brown lipstick." 

My fat concierge smiled enthusiastically and replied, "I'd be 
delighted to help out." 

I couldn't believe it!  I was going to have to kiss Mme. Yang's 
asshole, then parade around in brown lipstick for all the world 
to see.  I hoped Mademoiselle would let me borrow the Beano. 

Then out of the blue, I remembered that many of the women in my 
building wore brown lipstick, Frau Scheißelippen, for example. 
What was going on? 

Mademoiselle turned to me and said, "Annette, I think you'll find 
that brown lipstick becomes you." 

Everyone laughed at this remark. 

Mme. Yang asked, "What are the other ranks?" 

Miriam replied, "As you can imagine, most brown lipstick maids are 
anxious to be promoted.  If they kiss the 'pink place' of one of 
their social superiors, and if the social superior attests to this 
act of devotion, then they are awarded a pink lipstick.  Since a 
Mistress considers it beneath her dignity to be kissed by brown 
lips, a pink lipstick must be awarded by a proxy.  But even proxies 
aren't eager to be kissed by brown lips, so brown-lipstick maids 
have to use all their womanly wiles to win their pink lipstick and 
put the brown lipstick behind them." 

Mademoiselle commented, "I certainly wouldn't want brown lips 
kissing my pink place." 

Miriam continued, "Maids must work hard to earn their pink 
lipstick. Once a maid has earned her pink, as the saying goes, 
she is now ready to earn her red lipstick by kissing her 
mistress's -- and only her mistress's -- pink place.  Mistresses 
grant red lipsticks to only the most perfect of maids." 

Miriam turned her gaze to me and said, "When Annette earns her red 
lipstick, her training is complete, and her term of service is up. 
Of course, if her service proves unsatisfactory at any time before 
then, she may be reduced in rank to a brown lipstick maid as a 
punishment." 

I now knew what was in store for me.  But I couldn't comprehend 
it.  How could Miriam do this to me? 

Then the thought hit me...Mademoiselle wore a very vivid red 
lipstick.  Did this mean.... 

Miriam tinkled the bell. 

I approached, bowed, and waited. 

"Annette, serve the next course." 

"Very well, Madame." 

I withdrew to the sideboard and began serving the next course. 
My lips began to feel brown. 

After I finished serving the second course, there was a brief 
pause in the conversation.  Finally, Miriam said, "Mademoiselle, 
have you picked a maid's name for Annette yet?" 

Mademoiselle replied, "Yes, I have, just now.  I noticed the 
rustling of Annette's uniform as she was serving the last course. 
This suggested the name 'Frou Frou,' which I think would be a 
perfect maid's name for her." 

Miriam thought a moment, "Frou Frou?  Hmm...I love it!  Frou Frou 
it is." 

She turned and spoke to me.  "Annette, your name is now 'Frou Frou.' 
How do you like it?" 

Frou Frou sounded like a bimbo's name to me, but I could hardly 
object if I didn't want any extra punishment hours.  So I replied, 
"It's a delightful name, Madame." 

Mme. Yang noticed the grimace on my face and remarked, "She doesn't 
look like she's delighted." 

Everyone laughed, and the conversation turned to other topics.  My 
opinions didn't seem to count for anything.  I suppose this was the 
lot of a maid. 

When the dinner was over, Miriam tinkled the bell.  I approached, 
bowed, and waited. 

"Frou Frou, prepare coffee.  We'll take it in the living room." 

I replied, "Very well, Madame." 

I then bowed, went to the kitchen, prepared a coffee tray as Miriam 
had ordered, and carried it to the living room, where I served 
everyone.  Then I stood at attention, waiting to be dismissed. 

Miriam sipped the coffee, expressed her satisfaction, looked at me, 
and said, "Frou Frou, now that you're living in the maid's chamber, 
Mademoiselle doesn't have a place to live.  I'm going to let her 
stay in the guest room tonight, but she's going to need a place 
of her own." 

I had a premonition that I wasn't going to like what Miriam was 
about to say. 

"Since you won't be needing your apartment while you're being 
trained, it would be a gracious gesture on your part to let 
Mademoiselle use your place.  Don't you agree?" 

As long as Mademoiselle controlled my servant's book, I didn't 
have much choice but to agree.  With great reluctance, I replied, 
"Uh...y...y...yes, Madame." 

Mademoiselle interjected at this point, "I notice that my old 
uniforms fit Frou Frou like a glove.  We seem, therefore, to be 
the same size.  Perhaps she'll let me use her wardrobe while 
she's being trained." 

Miriam glanced at Mademoiselle.  "I'm sure Frou Frou will have 
no objections; after all, she won't need her 'civilian' clothes 
while she's in training." 

Once again, I was being treated like someone whose opinion didn't 
count. 

Miriam turned back to me.  "Frou Frou, escort Mme. Yang to the 
door.  After she leaves, you're to clean up the dining room. 
You may treat yourself to the leftovers, but, as a sign of 
respect to your social superiors, you are to eat standing up. 
When you're done cleaning up, you're dismissed for the day." 

Mademoiselle commented, "I'll be checking up on you." 

Miriam continued, "When you're done, I suggest you go to bed. 
You have a big day tomorrow.  You'll turn over your apartment 
to Mademoiselle and serve your first day as Mme. Yang's cleaning 
lady." 

All the women then stood up.  Mme. Yang thanked Miriam for her 
hospitality.  After these courtesies, Mme. Yang looked at me. 
I gestured toward the hall and followed my concierge to the 
front door, which I opened for her. 

Mme. Yang smiled at me with a look of triumph and said, "See you 
tomorrow, servant girl.  Your brown lipstick will be waiting." 

She laughed, walked out into the evening, and headed for the 
nearby Métro station.  As I closed the door, I heard her shatter 
the piece and quiet of the neighborhood as well as offend the 
gods.  I guess the Beano finally wore off. 

I returned to the dining room and dug into the leftovers, standing 
up of course, since I saw Mademoiselle walk by the door to the 
dining room.  There was still some wine left in one of the bottles, 
so I got to try some after all.  I poured it into a water glass 
rather than a wine glass to make sure that Mademoiselle didn't 
catch me drinking it.  It was humiliating to have to resort to 
subterfuge to enjoy the finer things in life, such as a glass of 
wine. 

As I ate, I reviewed the day's events in my mind.  I was reminded 
of my former English au pair girl, who was studying theatre in 
Paris.  As part of her compensation, I let her use the maid's 
chamber assigned to my apartment as her living quarters.  My 
building, like most in Paris, was six stories high, the top 
floor being occupied by several small maid's chambers, one for 
each apartment in the building. 

I had bought my au pair a cheap maid's uniform, actually a cleaning 
lady's uniform, that I insisted she wear while she was performing 
her domestic duties.  She objected that the uniform wasn't very 
stylish, but I insisted that she wear it.  I quite enjoyed lording 
over her and watching her perform her cleaning duties in the ugly 
uniform. 

Two weeks ago, she quit.  She said that she had gotten a job at 
the Théâtre Expérimental, a job that was a better fit with her 
interests than domestic service.  I wondered, if she were still 
in my employ, whether she might have had some tips for me on how 
to handle my current predicament. 

When I finished eating, I cleaned up.  Done for the day, I went 
to my chamber, hung up my uniform, put on my red nightshirt, and 
crawled into bed, exhausted from the day's events. 

		******************************


Part 4

I was sitting on my leather sofa watching a recording of the
"Diary of a Chambermaid."  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw
Mademoiselle approaching.  Mademoiselle?  What was she doing 
in my apartment?  I don't remember inviting her over.

She moved to the sofa and stared down at me with a look of
annoyance on her face.  After a moment, she leaned over and 
began shaking me.  What was she doing?  I didn't know how to 
respond.  Her look of annoyance changed to one of frustration.  
She finally stopped shaking me, and, taking a deep breath, she 
shouted, "GET UP, FROU FROU!"

I awoke from my dream with a start.  Mademoiselle was glowering 
at me.  I struggled out of bed, still groggy from my night's rest.  
I stood at attention as best I could.  A fly on the wall would 
have no problem deciding who was the mistress and who was the maid:
Mademoiselle was wearing an exquisitely-tailored pantsuit while I
was wearing a cheap red polyester nightshirt.

Mademoiselle began speaking, "I cannot countenance a lazy maid.
The mistress doesn't awaken the maid, the maid awakens the
mistress."

I bowed and replied, "Please forgive me, Mademoiselle."

"From now on, your morning routine will be the following.  You'll
get up at 5:30 in the morning.  There's an alarm next to your bed
-- use it!  Next, make yourself presentable -- remember, no makeup 
or jewelry.  Then put out a number 2 uniform and report to the 
kitchen.  Prepare a tray of coffee and buttered toast...oh yes,
and the arts section from the morning paper.  You'll find it on
the front doorstep.  Madame is a great aficionado of the arts."

She continued, "If Madame is entertaining a guest, prepare an
additional serving and include the sports section.  Take the tray
to Madame's bedroom and place it on the night stand next to her
silver bell.  Awaken Madame by ringing the bell.  You'll then 
stand at attention until you are dismissed.  Madame may direct 
you to draw her a bath or prepare a more substantial breakfast.  
Do you understand?"

I wasn't entirely awake yet and didn't quite comprehend
everything that Mademoiselle had just said, but there was 
only one possible answer: "Yes, Mademoiselle."

"Your inexcusable behavior will cost you four punishment hours."

Perhaps it was best that I was still somewhat befuddled -- 
otherwise, I might have fainted at the prospect of four
additional hours.

Mademoiselle concluded, "Madame awaits her breakfast.  Get moving, 
girl."

With that, she turned on her heel and exited my little maid's 
chamber.

I scurried to get ready.  First, I stripped off my nightshirt and
stepped into the shower and experienced my first shock: there was
only one tap.  It was a cold-water shower!  I slowly turned on 
that tap and experienced my second shock: the cold water just about 
gave me a heart attack.  I cursed the soap every time it slipped
out of my hand.  Every instant I spent groping for the soap was
another instant spent in the ninth circle of hell.

Finally, I decided that I was clean enough and ended my ordeal.
I wasn't groggy anymore -- I suppose that was a benefit of a 
cold shower.  I doubted there were others.

I quickly put on the pink number 2 uniform.  Since I was not
permitted to wear makeup or jewelry, all I needed to do to get
ready was to put my hair into a chignon and put on my maid's cap.

I smoothed out my apron as I rushed down to the kitchen to prepare 
a breakfast tray for for Miriam as Mademoiselle had ordered.  I 
carried the tray to Miriam's bedroom, where I was unsure about what 
to do.  Yesterday, Mademoiselle said that I should always knock, 
but today she told me to enter Miriam's bedroom.  I decided to 
gently knock, but there was no answer, so I entered the bedroom.

Miriam was asleep in her silk pajamas.  I placed the tray next to
the silver bell as instructed.  I picked up the bell and rang it
several times until Miriam began to stir.  After a while, she sat
up -- stretching her arms as she yawned -- and said, "Good morning, 
Frou Frou."

I bowed.  "Good morning, Madame. I've brought you breakfast."

"Thank you, Frou Frou.  I had a very pleasant night's sleep.  I
think these new Frette sheets that I bought last week contributed
to my comfort.  They cost 1700 Euros.  All the best hotels and
homes, such as mine, use them.  You ought to give them a try...
but I suppose that, on your stipend, you probably can't afford 
them.  Oh well, too bad.  Please draw my bath."

Miriam obviously enjoyed lording over me.  I have to admit that
her comments irritated me, but I had to endure them as her maid.
As I entered the bathroom, she started pouring herself a cup of
coffee.  If Miriam wasn't careful she might get some some coffee
stains on her sheets.  Oh well, wouldn't that be too bad.  I drew
her a bath as instructed and returned to the bedroom.

Miriam was reading the arts section of the newspaper and licking
butter from her fingers.  She glanced at me and commented, "The
paper says that a British film company is shooting a children's
TV show in Paris.  I wonder why they picked Paris instead of
London?"

I had no idea how to answer that question, so instead I bowed and
said, "Your bath is ready, Madame."

"Thank you, Frou Frou."

She got up and walked past me, without a glance, into the
bathroom.  She called out from the bathroom, "Frou Frou, 
will you help me out of my pajamas?"

I went into the bathroom, bowed, and said, "At your service,
Madame."

I helped her out of her pajamas.  She didn't seem the least bit
embarrassed at being nude in front of me.  It was almost as if 
I didn't exist.

"See to it that my pajamas are laundered."

I guess I did exist when she needed some menial service.

She then climbed into the bathtub, sat down in the warm water,
and leaned back.  A look of sheer bliss spread across her face.

I stood there holding her foul garments, which were no longer
fit to be worn next to milady's delicate skin.  Meanwhile, she
luxuriated in the warm bath water with her eyes closed.

Even though my head was bowed respectfully, I could see that
Miriam was very attractive as she lay in the nude, framed by 
the bathtub.  In spite of my irritation with her, I wished 
that I were one of her "guests."

At length, she opened her eyes.  "Frou Frou, isn't a warm bath, 
first thing in the morning, wonderful?"

Miriam clearly delighted in rubbing my face in my servitude, but
I certainly didn't need convincing about the pleasures of a warm
bath.

"Yes, Madame."

"I won't be needing your services any more this morning.  Make my 
bed...oh yes...and put on the new outfit I bought yesterday.  Then 
report to Mademoiselle.  Be quick about it.  Today is the day you 
lose your maidenly virginity to Mme. Yang.  Dismissed."

"Very well, Madame."

Of course, Miriam enjoyed reminding me that today was the day
that I'd kiss Mme. Yang's asshole.  I bowed and exited the
bathroom.  I flung Miriam's pajamas into the hamper and made
her bed with its €1700 linen.  I was surprised that she would 
let a mere maid like me touch her exquisite sheets.  Out of a 
sense of duty -- and fear of Mademoiselle -- I refrained from 
ripping them to shreds.

While I made her bed, I could hear Miriam splashing and cooing
in the bathtub.  I was tempted to bring her a rubber ducky, but
decided against it.

I took Miriam's new outfit -- a robin's-egg-blue suit coat and 
skirt combination -- from the armoire and put it on the bed.  I 
couldn't help but notice that it was much more BCBG than my pink 
maid's uniform.  I'm sure that Miriam noticed, too.

Once I was satisfied that everything was in order, I was about
to look for Mademoiselle, but first, I peeked into the bathroom.
Miriam was masturbating in the bathtub.  She told me yesterday
that she found my servitude "deliciously erotic," that my
suffering would be her pleasure.  And so it seemed.  Apparently, 
she had dismissed me from the bathroom so that she could jill off 
in private while savoring my humiliation.

I then left to bedroom to find Mademoiselle.  My first stop was 
at the office.  I knocked on the door.

From within, Mademoiselle said, "Yes?"

"It's your maid, Mademoiselle."

"Enter."

I entered the office where I found Mademoiselle sitting behind
her desk, making an entry into my servant's book.

She looked up and said, "I assume that Madame is enjoying
herself?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

"So you peeked in the bathroom....  But, back to business.  Because
of your lack of attention to your duty, I had to prepare my own
breakfast.  I left my dishes in the kitchen sink.  Go wash them.
Dismissed."

"Very well, Mademoiselle."

I bowed and left for the kitchen, where I began washing the dishes. 
When I had finished and was drying my hands, there was a knock at 
the tradesman's door.  I opened it and found the delivery man from 
Miriam's valet service.  He was holding the suit I had worn to 
Miriam's house yesterday morning.  I took the suit from the man, 
wondering what to do with it as I closed the door.

Just then, Mademoiselle walked into the kitchen.

"Good, your suit has arrived.  When you're not in Madame's direct
service -- for example, when serving Mme. Yang -- you're not to
wear Madame's livery.  Right now, the only 'uniform' you have
available for serving Mme. Yang is that suit.  Go change into 
it and report back to me in the entrance hallway.  Dismissed."

"Very well, Mademoiselle."

I bowed and went to my chamber, where I changed into my suit, and
reported back to Mademoiselle in the entrance hallway.

After I bowed, she said, "Hand over the keys to your...I mean, my 
apartment.  By the way, what's its address?"

With great reluctance, I handed Mademoiselle the keys and gave
her the address of the apartment.

"Hmm, third floor.  How quaint....  I'm going to take a taxi to 
my new apartment.  Obviously, I'd never be able to face my friends
if I coddled a maid with a taxi ride.  Besides, the maid might
develop delusions of grandeur.  You're to take the Métro."

At this moment, Miriam appeared at the end of the hallway, and,
acting like a mannequin on a runway, sashayed down the hall in
her new outfit.  When she got close to us, she struck a pose.

"What do you think, girls?  This is the outfit I'm going to wear
tomorrow at lunch with my friends."

Mademoiselle rolled her eyes and commented, "Your friends will
turn green with envy, Madame."

"Very nice, Madame," I murmured.

Miriam beamed.  "Why thank you, Frou Frou.  You're finally
developing a fashion sense. It must be my good example rubbing
off on you.  Too bad you won't be able to see my fashion triumph
at lunch tomorrow.  But, of course, a maid doesn't dine with her
betters -- though she might be given the honor of serving them.
But I'd never humiliate you like that in front of your former
friends."

I couldn't believe that Miriam thought her fashion sense was
better than mine.  Her outfit was cute but hardly a "fashion
triumph."  But, as a maid, I was hardly in a position to point
this out.  Especially considering that Miriam would be dining 
with our friends tomorrow.  One word from her would ruin my 
reputation.

Miriam dropped her pose and turned to Mademoiselle.  They embraced
and passionately kissed.  At length they separated, and Miriam
turned to me.

She pecked me on the check and said, "Frou Frou, today is your
first day serving Mme. Yang.  For your sake, make it work."

Miriam then turned away and sashayed back down the hall.

Mademoiselle and I were left to wait for the taxi, which arrived
after a few minutes.  I opened the front door for Mademoiselle,
who walked out to the taxi and got in.  I exited Miriam's house,
and, having closed the door behind me, began walking toward the
Métro station and my rendezvous with Mme. Yang's asshole.

		*****************************


Part 5

I just missed my train at the Métro station, so it took longer
to return to my apartment building than I had expected.  When I
finally arrived at the front door, I automatically reached for my
keys, but they weren't there.  I forgot that I had given them to
Mademoiselle.  How was I going to get into the building?  I didn't
want to ring for Mme. Yang; I wanted to avoid her for as long as
possible.

Just then, Frau Scheißelippen opened the front door and started
to exit the building, but, when she saw me, she stopped in the
doorway.

"Good morning Annette.  I'm glad I ran into you.  I saw a young
black woman enter your apartment.  I talked to her."

My heart skipped a beat.  I was frozen with fear.  Had Mademoiselle
told the Frau about my servitude?

Frau Scheißelippen continued, "She said that she knew you.  Is that 
true?"

Thank God!  Mademoiselle had told the Frau nothing.  I began to 
relax a bit.

"Uh....  She is a colleague of mine from...um...Marseille.
I'm...er...letting her stay with me for a few days.  It's 
okay, but I appreciate your concern.  It's nice to know that 
we neighbors are looking after each other."

Frau Scheißelippen smiled at her good deed and continued through 
the door.

"Good day, Annette."

"Good day, Frau Scheißelippen."

I slipped through the front door before it closed.

Once inside the building, I took the elevator to the third floor
and stood in front of the door to my...former apartment.  I 
hesitated for a moment, but I knew that I couldn't delay the
inevitable forever.  I knocked on the door.  After a moment, 
the door opened, and Mademoiselle appeared.  I bowed.

"At your service, Mademoiselle."

She frowned.  "The Métro must be getting slow these days.  The
apartment is not all that I had hoped, but it will do.  Follow 
me."

I entered the apartment and closed the door behind me.
Mademoiselle marched me into the kitchen, where she pointed 
to a door.

"What's the purpose of that door?"

"That's the maid's door, Mademoiselle."

I explained to her that maids were not allowed to use the front 
door to the building.  There was a door reserved for maids in 
the back of a building.  It gave them access to a set of stairs 
for maids.  They were not allowed to use the main stairs or the 
elevator.  Each apartment in the building had a maid's door to 
allow maids to enter the apartment of their employer from the 
maid's stairwell.  The maid's stairwell also went to the top
floor where there was a maid's chamber for each apartment in 
the building.

Mademoiselle seemed intrigued by my answer.

"So this apartment has a maid's chamber that goes with it?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

"Take me to the chamber for this apartment."

I opened the door, and Mademoiselle stepped in to the stairwell.
I followed and closed the door behind me.  I led her up to the 
top floor and pointed out the chamber assigned to her new 
apartment.

"Let's take a look, shall we?"

I showed her which key opened the chamber.  She unlocked the door 
and entered, and I followed.  The chamber was similar to the one 
in Miriam's house, cold water shower and all.  I saw that my former 
au pair girl had left the place a mess.

Mademoiselle commented, "This place looks like it's been lived in
recently.  Do you have a maid?"

I replied, "Uh....  No, Mademoiselle."

"Are you sure?  I can always call Mme. Yang to find out if you're
lying, in which case I'll give you some extra punishment hours."

"Well...I had an au pair girl, but she quit a couple of weeks ago, 
so I'm not exactly lying."

She shook her head.  "You had an au pair girl, and now you're
playing at being Madame's maid?  Frou Frou, you're a fool."

She started laughing uncontrollably.  When she finally regained
her composure, she said, "Back to the apartment.  It's time I
handed you over to Mme. Yang."

We returned to the apartment, where Mademoiselle called Mme. Yang
on the telephone.

"Hello, dear, this is Mademoiselle.  Are you ready for Frou Frou?  
Good, we'll be right down.  Bye."

She hung up the phone and said, "Let's go."

We took the main stairs down to Mme. Yang's chambers.  I felt
like Jodie Foster in "Le Silence des Agneaux," descending for
the first time into the hellish bowels of the prison in which
Hannibal Lecter was incarcerated.  I once read a film review that
said that this scene symbolized a descent into hell.  Mme. Yang
was my Hannibal Lecter, and, unlike the movie, I was to be flung
into hell with the monster.

Down and down we went until we reached the portal to the infernal
regions, the door to Mme. Yang's chambers -– or perhaps it was
hell's asshole.  Mademoiselle knocked on the door.  Mme. Yang was
obviously waiting in anticipation on the other side, because the
door immediately opened.  The creaking of the door sounded like 
the agonized cries of the damned, or so I imagined.

Mme. Yang, wearing a brilliant red cheongsam, smiled at me 
contemptuously.

"Mme. Yang, I present your new housekeeper, Frou Frou," 
Mademoiselle said. 

"Hello, Mlle. Maid.  Welcome to my demesne."

The demon, Mademoiselle, was handing me off to the Princess of
Darkness, Mme. Yang.

"May I 'tutoyer' her?" Mme. Yang asked. 

Mademoiselle replied, "Of course!  Frou Frou's only a maid.  You
don't have to handle her with kid gloves.  As a matter of fact,
it's best if you don't."

Mme. Yang looked at me and said, "Get in here, girl!"

I meekly passed through the door into the infernal regions,
abandoning all hope as I did so.

Mme. Yang was about to to close the door, when Mademoiselle
remembered something.  "By the way, would you give Frou Frou 
the maid's keys for my apartment?  Thanks."

Mme. Yang replied, "Of course," and closed the door.

She said, "Wait here," and disappeared into her chamber.  She
returned with a blue smock -– a sort of cheap lab coat -– that
she flung at me.  "Put this on, girl."

I put it on and started to button it up, when my chubby mistress
shouted out, "Idiot!  You're putting it on backwards."

Mon Dieu!  The smock buttoned up from the back, not the front.  I
took it off and turned it around.  I had to fumble for the buttons
as I reached behind my back.  Without a friend to help me, it was
slow going.

Mme. Yang tapped her foot impatiently and said, "Hurry up, bitch!
Don't make me call Mme. Miriam and complain about your lack of
enthusiasm."

I finally managed to get it on.  Mme. Yang marched me to the broom
closet and gave me two rags and a bucket.  She then placed me in
front of her living room windows with a rag in each hand.

"When I clap my hands, wipe the window with the rag in your right
hand.  When I clap a second time, wipe with your left hand.  Then
we'll rinse and repeat.

She then began clapping her hands, and I started wiping.  After
a while, she clapped faster, then faster, then still faster.
My arms began to ache.  As I swung my arms to the rhythm of her
clapping, I could look out the windows and see two lovers walk
past.  It was like the damned being granted a glimpse of paradise
as a form of torment.  Finally, when the windows were sparkling,
Mme. Yang stopped clapping.

"That'll do.  You'll get better with practice.  At least you better
get better.  Follow me."

She then marched me into the kitchen.  The sink was piled high
with filthy, food-encrusted dishes.  No wonder Mme. Yang was so
fat.  She slid a small box in front of the sink.

"Put your left foot on the box and keep it there while you wash
the dishes.  I'll be checking up on you."

She then left for the living room, where she watched soap operas
on TV in between farts.  I started washing the dishes.  Because my
left foot was on the box, I had to lean forward.  This was a very
uncomfortable posture for washing dishes, as I'm sure Mme. Yang
intended.  My body soon began to ache.

As I washed the dishes, I heard Mme. Yang answer the phone and
chat away with an occasional laugh.  Before she went back to
watching TV, she checked to see how I was doing.  She seemed to
know when I finished because, as I was drying my hands, she
walked into the kitchen.

"Time to wash the floor.  Get down on all fours and run the 
serpillière over the tiles.  When you're done, I have a treat 
for you."

She went back to her soap operas.  I was left to contemplate my
"treat."

I got the bucket and a serpillière and started washing the floor.  
The smock I was wearing didn't breathe very well, and I was 
sweating profusely.  Salty sweat ran down my forehead, stinging 
my eyes.  I heard Mme. Yang move into the doorway of the kitchen.

"Nice knickers, bitch.  They're rather fancy for a maid."

I blushed and pulled the smock and my skirt back down over my
ass.  I guess they rode up as I was washing the floor.

Finally, Mme. Yang declared the floor done and had me put the
bucket and rags back in the broom closet.  She then marched
me into her bedroom, where she stripped nude.  The sight was
revolting.  She reminded me of a big bowl of Jello with legs,
as she quivered -– not walked -– over to her bed, which she 
mounted with her ass thrust up into the air.

"Time to pop your cherry, bonne vierge!  Get busy.  You know what
to do."

Wave after wave of revulsion swept over me as I stared at her ass.

"You don't want to cause a scandal, do you?  Get busy NOW!"

I approached her ass.  I couldn't even see her trou du cul; it was 
completely hidden by her massive butt-cheeks. Using both hands, I 
pried them apart.  There, staring back at me, was my concierge's 
"trou" in all its glory.  Poets sometimes call it a "rose," but no 
poet ever stared into Mme. Yang's hideous, foul pit.  How could 
Miriam do this to me?

I think it best to draw a veil over what happened next.  Suffice it 
to say that I earned my brown lipstick.

		******************************

After the deed was done, Mme. Yang struggled to her feet with a 
grunt and made her way to an armoire.  On a shelf, there were about 
two dozen tubes of lipstick and a videotape (which appeared to be 
a copy of "l'Institut."  At dinner yesterday, Mme. Yang had acted 
like she was unacquainted with that particular oeuvre.  Something 
was going on that I didn't understand.

She took a tube of lipstick from the shelf and turned to me.  
"Hold still, bitch, while I apply your lipstick."

She then smeared the brown lipstick on my lips.  Glancing into a 
mirror behind Mme. Yang, I could see that she had made me look 
like a member of the demimonde.  When she was done, she pressed 
the lipstick into my hands.

"Congratulations, you're now a brown-lipstick maid.  You may now 
kiss my toes.  It's part of the initiation ceremony."

After what I had just experienced, kissing her toes didn't seem 
particularly humiliating.  I sank to my knees and abased myself.  
I took consolation from the fact that I smeared some of the 
lipstick, with its symbolic significance, onto her toes.

Finally, she said, "Your service has been satisfactory...but just 
barely.  You'll need more training, and I'm the one to give it to 
you."

She turned to the armoire and picked up a set of keys, which she
tossed to me.

"Here's your servant's keys, Mlle. Maid.  Don't let me catch you
on the main staircase."

I caught the keys.  "Yes, ma'am."

"Take off the smock and put it on my bed.  Mademoiselle wants you
to report back when you're done here.  Dismissed."

I struggled with the buttons and finally got the smock off.  My 
suit looked like I had rolled around on the floor, which I suppose 
I more or less had.  I put the smock on the bed and headed for the 
maid's door in the kitchen and the maid's stairs.

As I climbed the stairs, I contemplated my predicament: I wondered 
if mouthwash would help.  I didn't see how things could get worse. 
At least, I was climbing out of hell into purgatory, if not 
paradise.

I finally arrived at the maid's entrance to my former apartment.
I was about to unlock the door, when I heard someone enter the
stairwell.  I went over to the handrail and looked down.  I saw
what looked like Frau Scheißelippen, in a maid's uniform, 
descending the stairs, but I wasn't certain.  I put this out 
of my mind and turned back to the door.

		******************************



Part 6

I stood staring at the maid's door to my former apartment, hoping
beyond hope that it was a magic door that would somehow reveal
the way out of my predicament.  But the door was silent; no 
solution was forthcoming.  So I reached into my jacket pocket 
for the key that Mme. Yang had given me.  I opened the door with 
the key and stepped into the kitchen.

As I closed the door, I wondered what I should do.  Mademoiselle
had not indicated what protocol I was to follow when I used the
maid's door.  I had laid down a protocol for my former au pair 
girl: she was to announce her presence whenever she entered the 
kitchen by saying, in English, "Here I am, Your Majesty."  But I 
doubted that Mademoiselle would find this particularly amusing, 
even if in English, so I decided that I should probably take a 
slightly different approach.

I noticed that the door to the rest of the apartment was closed.  
This reminded me of the door to Mademoiselle's office at Miriam's
house, so I knocked on the door.

From the other side of the door, I heard Mademoiselle say, "Yes?"

"It's your maid, Mademoiselle."

"It's about time.  Come in here."

I opened the door and stepped into the dining nook.  Beyond, in
the living area, I could see Mademoiselle sitting on my leather
sofa in one of my favorite outfits.  I walked over to her and
bowed.

"At your service, Mademoiselle."

"Your clothes are a mess, but the brown lipstick becomes you,
just as I predicted," she said.

At this very moment, there came a tapping, a rapping, at my 
apartment door.

"Don't just stand there, Frou Frou.  Go answer the door."

I wondered who the mysterious visitor might be.  I opened the 
door, and standing there was the raven-haired Nell Gwyn, my 
former au pair girl.

She was holding a box and what appeared to be a cane under her 
right arm, though it was too thin to be used as a walking stick.  
Her outfit was hardly what you would call BCBG: red sneakers, 
blue jeans, and an orange tee shirt that declared, "Shit Happens," 
in English.  I have often seen anglophones wearing similar tee 
shirts and have always wondered what happens to the shit.

I was so surprised to see Nell that I stood there staring until 
she finally said, "Aren't you going to invite me in, Your Majesty? 
Or, perhaps I should say, your maid-ship."

Then, in her most histrionic voice, she declaimed, "Oh, how the 
mighty have fallen...fallen!"

Mademoiselle chided me, "Invite Miss Gwyn in, Frou Frou."

I motioned for her to come in.  She handed me the box and walked
past me into the apartment.

Mademoiselle invited Nell to sit next to her on the sofa.  Nell
sat down and laid the cane on the end table.

I put the box on a table next to the wall and stood discreetly
just out of sight of the two women.  I couldn't bear the thought
of standing in front of Nell.

"Get over here, Frou Frou!" Mademoiselle commanded. 

I moved in front of Mademoiselle, and bowed as Nell tried her best
to keep from gloating.

"At your service, Mademoiselle."

Nell giggled.  "Frou Frou?  I thought her name was Annette."

Mademoiselle replied, "Frou Frou is her maid's name.  The name is
part of Madame's training program for her.  It helps her adjust to
her new status."

Nell, of course, found this amusing.

Mademoiselle said, "Frou Frou, show your devotion to Miss Gwyn."

I slowly moved in front of Nell and dropped to my knees.  I
lowered my head and kissed Nell's smelly sneakers.  As I lifted
my head, I could see that Nell looked like the cat that ate the
canary, to use one of Miriam's favorite English expressions.

Nell turned to Mademoiselle and commented, "That's an odd shade
of lipstick she's wearing."

Mademoiselle explained its significance.  On this particular 
occasion, Nell proved to be an exception to the rule that the 
English are a reserved people.  She openly gloated at my 
humiliation, and laughed and laughed.  

Mademoiselle said, "Frou Frou, Miss Gwyn has a gift for you."

Nell said, "Frou Frou," she had to pause a moment while she
chuckled at my name, "your gift is in the box."

Mademoiselle said, "Bring the box over here, and let's see what's
in it."

I fetched the box and placed it on the coffee table in front of 
them.

Nell said, "Open it, Frou Frou."

I opened the box and looked in.  There was the maid's uniform that
I had bought for Nell when she was my au pair: a cheap blue
dress, a bandana to be worn as a headscarf, and a pair of clogs.

"Show me your gift, Frou Frou," Mademoiselle prompted. 

I picked up the box and held it so that she could look inside it.

"Excellent!  You don't have to wear my suit anymore.  Aren't you
going to put it on?  I always like to put on my new clothes as
soon as possible."

I also like to put on my new clothes as soon as possible, but I
wasn't too keen on putting on these new clothes.  I picked up the
box and headed for the kitchen, where I planned to change.

Mademoiselle intervened.  "Where are you going?  Put on your new 
outfit here.  After all, we're all girls."

I put the box back on the coffee table, but hesitated at stripping 
in front of Nell and Mademoiselle.

Mademoiselle said, "Vite!  Vite!  Hurry up!"

I started to strip.  First my jacket, then my skirt.  Soon I was
down to my underwear.  Mademoiselle watched with rapt attention.
Nell whistled some bump-and-grind music as I stripped.

Nell stopped whistling and commented, "Those are rather posh
knickers for a maid.  Do you always indulge the domestic help 
like this?"

Mademoiselle replied, "Of course not.  I don't like my servants 
to put on airs."

"Frou Frou is definitely wearing a mistress's lingerie, not a
maid's.  She may begin to think that she's your equal."

Mademoiselle thought for a moment and said, "You're right.  I
can't tolerate that.  She needs to be taught her place."

"May I make a suggestion?" Nell offered. 

"By all means."

"As a prefect at St. Ashwhypps School for Young Ladies, I become 
skilled at wielding a cane.  Let me discipline her.  That will 
teach her her place."

Mademoiselle looked thoughtful.  "Hmm... Madame became acquainted 
with the cane when she was a student in England.  She has always 
praised its educational benefits.  Perhaps it would help Frou Frou 
learn humility.  I would be delighted if you gave a demonstration."

"And I would be delighted to give you one."

Nell rose and picked up the cane.  She turned to me and pointed at
a dining chair with the cane.  "Frou Frou, bring that chair over
here."

I fetched the chair and placed it in front of the sofa with the
back facing Mademoiselle as Nell instructed.

Nell said, "Strip off the offending underwear.  You're not worthy
of such finery."

I turned away before I started stripping, but Nell insisted that
I face Mademoiselle.  I removed the "offending" lingerie.  When I
was done, I assumed the "Venus" pose of modesty, with one arm
over my breasts and the other hand over my pubes.  But Nell would
have none of it; she made me stand at attention with my arms at
my sides, facing Mademoiselle.  Unlike Miriam in the bathroom this
morning, I was acutely aware of my nudity.  Mademoiselle smiled a
smile of smug satisfaction at my embarrassment.

Nell flexed the cane.  "Shall we start, Frou Frou?"

		******************************

Part 7 

Here I was, in my apartment, standing at attention, totally nude,
in front of my former au pair, who was about to beat me.  And all 
I could say was, "Very well, Miss," when she asked if I was ready 
for my beating.

She had me stand behind the chair, lean over the back, and rest
my hands on the seat.  She stuck the cane between my ankles and
tapped the sides of my legs, indicating that I was to spread my
legs apart.  She kept this up until the most intimate parts of my
anatomy were fully exposed for Mademoiselle's viewing pleasure.
Whatever shred of dignity I had had was gone.

"Frou Frou," Nell said, "as I apply the strokes, I want you to
hold this position.  If you don't, I'll award you penalty 
strokes.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good.  You are to count each stroke and thank me.  Once again, 
if you don't, I'll award penalty strokes.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Then let's get down to business, shall we?  Since this is probably 
your first time with the cane, I'm only going to give you six 
strokes -- six of the best, as we English like to say."

She then swished the cane in the air and rubbed it over my ass.
For the effect, I suppose.  Six strokes didn't sound too bad.

Nell did nothing for a moment, presumably to build up anticipation. 
Then, suddenly, she struck the cane across my bottom.  It felt like 
a sting, nothing particularly painful, or so I thought.  She was 
again motionless.

Then, unexpectedly, a line of fire shot across my ass; the pain
was unbearable.  There was a momentary delay between when Nell
struck me and when I felt the pain.  I jumped to my feet and
grabbed my cheeks with both hands as I danced about the chair.

Nell shook her head.  "Tsk, tsk.  You haven't learned to obey your 
mistress's orders: you didn't hold your position, you didn't count 
the stroke, and you didn't thank me.  That'll cost you three 
penalty strokes, one for each fault.  GET BACK INTO POSITION RIGHT 
NOW!  Or I'll award you four penalty strokes."

I couldn't handle one stroke.  I didn't see how I could tolerate 
nine.  But I managed to position myself in spite of the pain.

"Let's start from the beginning, shall we?"

SMACK!  She laid the cane across my ass again.  Through the pain, 
I managed to say, "One.  Thank you, Miss."

"Much better."

She waited a moment, presumably to let me "savor" the pain.  Then, 
SMACK!  She struck me again.

"MON DIEU!  Two.  Thank you, Miss."

The pain was so bad that I had trouble maintaining my position.
I started shaking my ass in an attempt to lessen the agony.

"Having trouble standing still, are we?" Nell asked. 

"Yes, Miss."

SMACK!  Her last comment threw me off the count.  Was it two or 
three?

"MERDE!  Two.  Thank you, Miss."

"Oops!" she laughed.  "Missed the count did we?  That was three, 
not two.  Besides, merde is not a number.  One additional penalty
stroke."

SMACK!

"Four.  Thank you, Miss."

The pain became even more unbearable, if such a thing was possible. 
I was on the verge of losing all control.  My legs started pumping 
uncontrollably.  My hips gyrated like a belly dancer's.

"This is delicious," Mademoiselle commented.  "It's a good thing
there are no men here.  Frou Frou would be ravished by now.  They
wouldn't be able to control themselves."

Nell said, "Frou Frou, stop that shameful display.  Be still!"

Somehow, I managed to calm my legs and hips.  How, I don't 
remember.  But Nell continued her relentless beating.  I 
received 18 strokes in all: three times six of the best.

Finally: "It's all over, Frou Frou.  You may stand up."

I rose from the chair and slapped my hands across my bottom and
started rubbing.  The pain was starting to abate, but it was 
still excruciating.

"Put the chair back where you found it."

I carried the chair with one hand and rubbed the my ass with the
other.

Nell continued, "Now stand facing the the wall over there.  Cross
your arms behind your back and press your nose against the wall.
Don't break your position, or I'll start the caning all over 
again."

So I crossed my arms behind my back and pressed my nose against 
the wall, and Nell sat down on the sofa and started chatting with 
Mademoiselle.

Mademoiselle remarked, "You laid those stripes down with
geometrical precision.  They're exactly parallel and 
evenly spaced.  Amazing!"

"I pride myself on my artistic skill," Nell replied.  The cane
is as much an artistic instrument as a musician's violin or a
painter's brush.  Frou Frou's arse was my canvas.  Art is my 
great passion in life."

My ass didn't feel like a work of art.

Mademoiselle said, "You're much like Madame.  She has a passion
for the arts.  Unfortunately, she's a failed actress.  Did you 
know that?"

Nell replied, "I had no idea, but I'd love to meet her.  I'm also 
interested in the theatre."

The conversation continued in this general vein until the time the 
pain in my ass had subsided to a dull throb.

Mademoiselle said, "Well, Frou Frou, it's time to try on your new
uniform.  Get over here!"

I lifted my nose and cringed at the little spot it left on the 
wall.  I went to the box and looked in.  "But Mademoiselle, 
there's no underwear here!"

Nell said, dryly, "You didn't let me wear underwear.  Why should
Mademoiselle let you?"

"Well said, Nell!"

So, I pulled the uniform out of the box and started putting it on.  
Unlike Mme. Yang's smock, the dress buttoned up the front, so it 
was easier to fasten.  But it was shapeless and didn't compliment 
my figure at all.  It was made out of a coarse fabric.  When the 
cloth rubbed against my nipples, they stiffened.

Perversely, in spite of the relative stiffness of the fabric, it 
molded itself around my nipples with surprising fidelity.  Even 
if someone failed to notice the jiggling of my breasts when I 
moved, it was easy to see that I wasn't wearing a bra because 
my perky little sentinels would be standing at attention.

"Put the rest of it on, Frou Frou," Nell ordered. 

I slipped on the clogs and tied the bandana around my head.

Nell was obviously pleased to see the tables turned: I was wearing 
the ugly uniform, not she.

Mademoiselle had me do a runway walk.  I went to the kitchen and 
sashayed toward the sofa accompanied by the FLOP, FLOP, FLOP of 
my clogs.  I almost fell down because the clogs were so hard to 
walk in.

I once dated an engineering student who, if he had been here,
would have described my breasts as exhibiting "several degrees 
of freedom" during my runway walk.

Mademoiselle had me stop and strike a pose near the sofa.  Both
she and Nell laughed at the sight of a maid assuming a haute
couture pose.

"Frou Frou, Nell has given you a very valuable gift.  I think that
it's only fair that you repay her generosity with a gift of your
own.  Since the only thing you have of value is your time, I think 
that...say...50 hours of service would be fair.  Don't you?"

50 hours of service!  I was going to be an indentured servant for
the rest of my life.  Besides, I had bought the uniform in the 
first place.  But, as always, there was only one possible answer: 
"Yes, Mademoiselle."

Nell spoke up.  "Mademoiselle, may I make a suggestion?"

"Of course.  What is it?"

"I don't know if you are aware of it, but I work at the Théâtre
Expérimental.  We've been having problems recently finding
someone to clean the toilets.  Could I use Frou Frou's 50 hours 
for that?"

"That's an excellent idea," Mademoiselle replied.  "Frou Frou 
needs to practice her housekeeping skills in a public place.  
It'll help her accept her new status.  Besides, Madame complained 
the other day about how dirty the toilets were when she attended 
a performance at the theatre.  She will be delighted to learn that 
Frou Frou will be cleaning the toilets for her next visit."

"May I start using her 50 hours tomorrow?"

"Certainly.  In the morning?  Neither Madame nor I will need her 
tomorrow morning."

"That would be great.  The morning is probably best.  I'll drop by 
about 8:00 am to pick her up."

"See you then."

Nell glanced at her watch.  "Look at the time!  I've got to be 
running.  Thank you for your hospitality...and the opportunity
to help with Frou Frou's maidenly education."

"You're welcome."

Mademoiselle turned to me.  "Frou Frou, escort Miss Gwyn to the 
door."

FLOP, FLOP, FLOP, FLOP.  I escorted Nell to the door and opened
it.  She walked through without glancing at me, acting as if I 
were too lowly a person for someone of her exalted stature to 
notice.

As I closed the door, Mademoiselle said, "Prepare me a light
dinner, and then you are dismissed."

I fixed Mademoiselle's dinner as she ordered, made a sandwich for 
myself, and retired to the maid's chamber on the sixth floor.

It took me about an hour to clean up the mess Nell had left behind.  
She certainly wasn't an artist when it came to her living quarters. 
When things were finally under control, I set the alarm clock, 
stripped off my uniform, and crawled into bed nude, lying on my 
stomach because my ass hurt if I pressed it against the mattress.  
I wondered if I would be dreaming of toilets as I drifted off to 
sleep.

		******************************


Part 8

Last night, when I went to bed, I worried that I would dream of
toilets, but, this morning, when the alarm rang, toilets were
the last thing on my mind. The pain from yesterday's caning had
mutated into an almost intolerable itch.  Instead of slapping my
hands against my ass to rub away the pain, I slapped my hands
against my ass to scratch away the itch.

After scratching my ass for a couple of minutes, the itching
subsided enough for me to get out of bed.  I stumbled into the
shower and turned on the water -- cold of course.  When the 
chilly water struck my ass, the itching flared up again.  I was 
in a textbook example of a double bind situation: if I scratched 
my ass, I prolonged the agony of a cold shower; if I washed myself,
I had to endure an unendurable itching in my ass.  I attempted a
compromise: I washed myself with one hand and scratched myself
with the other.

I soon gave up and stepped out of the shower to dry myself.  The
rough texture of my towel -- as I discovered much to my delight 
-- did a good job of scratching my ass.  I was even more delighted
to discover that the rough texture of my uniform had the same 
effect: all I had to do was move around, and my uniform kept my
ass scratched.  By standing up and swaying my ass, I was able to
apply my lipstick without mishap.

After I tied my bandanna around my head, I was ready to start the
day...except for the part about cleaning toilets.  I descended
the maid's stairs to the kitchen, where I wondered what I was
supposed to do.  Mademoiselle had left no instructions.  After
a moment's reflection, I decided that, since Mademoiselle had
served Miriam for many years, the latter's behavior probably
shaped Mademoiselle's idea of how a mistress should act.  Thus,
if I served Mademoiselle in the same way that I served Miriam,
everything would probably turn out okay.

Miriam expected a tray of coffee and buttered toast first thing
in the morning, so I prepared a tray of coffee and buttered toast
for Mademoiselle.  Miriam also expected the arts section of the
newspaper, but Mademoiselle would have to do without, because I
didn't subscribe to a paper.

I carried the tray to the bedroom, where Mademoiselle was
sleeping in a pair of my silk pajamas.  Miriam also slept in
silk pajamas.  I placed the tray on the night-stand.  There 
was no silver bell to wake her up with -- I didn't own one that
Mademoiselle could filch -- so I shook Mademoiselle until she
began to stir.  After a moment, she sat up -- stretching her arms
as she yawned, just like Miriam -- and said, "Good morning, Frou
Frou."

I bowed and said, "Good morning, Mademoiselle.  I've brought you
breakfast."

Next, I expected her to ask me to draw her bath -- that's what
Miriam would have done.

"Frou Frou, please draw my bath."

I bowed.  "Very well, Mademoiselle."

I went to the bathroom and drew a bath, after which I returned 
to the bedroom.

Mademoiselle was licking butter from her fingers, just like
Miriam would have done.  I bowed and said, "Your bath is 
ready, Mademoiselle."

"Thank you, Frou Frou.  I'd also like some pancakes.  Dismissed."

I wondered if Miriam liked pancakes as I bowed and said, "Very
well, Mademoiselle."

I went to the kitchen and cooked up a batch of pancakes.  I ate a
couple myself as I waited for Mademoiselle.

I heard a knock at the door and flopped over in my clogs to open
it.  There was Nell wearing almost the same outfit as yesterday:
red sneakers, jeans, and a white tee shirt that read "Eat More
Possum" in English.  I wondered what possum was.  Perhaps I could
persuade Nell to serve me some so I could find out what it tasted
like.

Nell walked past me and stuck her head in the kitchen.

"Yummy, pancakes."

Nell sat down at the dining table while I went to fetch her some
pancakes.  As I was serving her, she asked, "Why are you swaying
your hips like that, Frou Frou?"

Before I could answer, Mademoiselle walked in wearing one of 
my favorite outfits, just like yesterday.  She sat down, and 
I served her some pancakes.  Nell and Mademoiselle chatted for 
a while until finally Nell said, "Frou Frou and I must be off 
to the theatre."

(This was the moment I was dreading: I was going to have to go out
in public, in my ugly uniform, to clean toilets.)

Mademoiselle replied, "See you this evening.  Let me know if
Frou Frou performs her duties in any way that is less than
satisfactory.  I'll see to it that she makes up the time."

"Will do," Nell replied.  "Toot-a-loo."

She then turned to me and said, "Let's take the back stairs."

Nell and I left through the maid's door and took the back stairs
down to the ground floor.  Mademoiselle wouldn't have demeaned
herself by taking the maid's stairs, but Nell didn't seem to
consider it a big deal.  Or perhaps she just didn't want to 
wait for the elevator.

Once outside, Nell strode purposefully toward the Métro station.
I struggled to keep up: my clogs kept me from walking as fast
as her.  My struggles allowed my lolos to announce their
liberation from traditional feminine restraints to all and 
sundry.  Even a casual passerby could see that I wasn't wearing
any underwear.  I felt nude even though I was wearing a uniform.

I felt better when we reached the Métro.  Although I had to stand
while Nell sat, my lolos were muted, and I didn't feel quite so 
exposed -- except for my nipples, which put on quite a show for
the male passengers.  But my ass had stopped itching!  However, 
all good things must come to an end: we arrived at the station 
that served the Théâtre Expérimental.

When we climbed out of the station, I saw that a workman was
changing the sign on the marquee.  I wouldn't have been 
surprised if the new sign were to read, "Chiottes Sales!"

Nell and I entered the theatre from the front and walked down 
the center aisle toward the stage.  I could see that something 
was being filmed on the stage.  Nell pointed to a man sitting 
in a director's chair on the stage.

"That's my boyfriend, Charles.  He's the second Charles I've
dated.  He thinks he's Steven Spielberg.  A studio in London 
is having him shoot some nursery rhymes here in Paris."

"You mean like Mère l'Oye?" I asked. 

"Exactly.  Right now, Charles is shooting 'Old King Cole.'
His concept is to have a maid recite the rhyme to a group 
of children."

I said, "I don't see any children."

"This is a rehearsal shoot to check the sound, lighting, and so
forth.  He won't bring in the children until the final shoot.  
See those stagehands sitting on the bleachers at the back of 
the stage?"

I replied, "Yes," as I looked at a bunch of very bored stagehands.

"Charles is using those stagehands as stand-ins for the children."

Just then, Charles spotted us and called out, "Nell! Bring your
friend up here!"

Nell led me up onto the stage.  The stagehands become noticeably
less bored as I jiggled across the stage.

Charles said, "Nell, could I borrow your friend?"

"No!  She's the maid I brought in to clean the toilets.  She needs 
to get to work."

"I know the toilets are filthy, but the actress who's to play the
maid missed the TGV and won't get here until tomorrow.  I can't
afford to miss a day of shooting.  I need a stand-in for the maid.
Your friend will make a perfect stand-in, and, besides, she's
ready to go."

"Well...okay," Nell reluctantly replied. 

Charles turned to me.  "Miss...?"

Nell interjected, "Her name is 'Frou Frou.'  Just call her that."

"Okay, Frou Frou, do you understand English?"

I nodded.  "A little bit."

"Great!  I'm going to teach you the rhyme 'Old King Cole.'  Now
repeat after me: 'Old King Cole was a merry old soul, and a merry
old soul was he.'"

I repeated the line.  I didn't understand how a sole could be
merry.  Apparently, King Cole had happy feet.

"Very good!  Now for the next line.  'He called for his pipe, and 
he called for his bowl, and he called for his fiddlers three.'"

"What was in the bowl?"

Charles had an exasperated look on his face.  Finally, he said,
"Cole slaw."

"What's Cole slaw?"

Nell spoke up.  "Salade de chou, Frou Frou."

Salade de chou didn't sound like a dish fit for a king, but I
supposed it made sense that a King Cole would like cole slaw.

"Excuse me," Charles said.  "But could we get back to the matter 
at hand?  Please repeat the line, Frou Frou."

I repeated the line and eventually learned "Old King Cole" to
Charles's satisfaction.

Charles said, "Now we're going to film you reciting the rhyme to
the children...I mean, those stagehands over there.  Are you ready?"

"Oui."

"Lights!  Camera!  Action!"

I faced the stagehands and was about to begin reciting the rhyme, 
when, out of the blue, the itch in my ass returned with a 
vengeance.  I felt an almost irresistible urge to scratch my ass.  
But I didn't want to do it with everybody on the stage looking
at me and become known as the ass-scratching maid.  So I tried to
ignore the itch and recited the first line, "Old King Cole was a
merry old soul."

But the itch would not be ignored.  I had to do something about
the itch before I could recite the next line.  I decided to
thrust my hips to the right to see if the coarse fabric of my
uniform would give me some relief.  I had to swing my arms to the
left to maintain my balance.  My lolos couldn't have felt more
liberated if they had begun singing "La Marseillaise."  I noticed
that the stagehands were beginning to enjoy my performance.

My move had relieved the itch, so I recited the second line, "And
a merry old soul was he."

The itch roared back just as I finished the line.  This time I
thrust my hips to the left and my arms to the right.  As before,
the move relieved the itch.  It had also lit a fire in the eyes
of the stagehands.

I continued reciting the lines, but, after each line, the itch
returned.  I tried thrusting my hips all over the place: forwards,
backwards, up, down, round and around, and anything else I could
think of.  The stagehands were cheering me as I recited the rhyme.

When I recited the final line -- "With King Cole and his fiddlers
three" -- the itch had vanished!  I assumed the pose of a 
victorious athlete with my arms stretched up and out.  The 
stagehands jumped to their feet, and began clapping and shouting 
out their appreciation.  I took a bow (not thinking until much 
later what a view that must have given those behind me).

I glanced at Charles, who appeared thunderstruck.  He turned to
Nell and said, "That was amazing!  Old King Cole done Hip-Hop
style!  Frou Frou is a genius!  She's the reincarnation of Sarah
Bernhardt!  I'm going to use her instead of you-know-who for the
final shoot."

Charles's comment sent a chill down my spine.  Miriam had always
wanted to be an actress and would become insanely jealous if she
found out that I'd landed an acting job.  She'd make me clean
toilets from now until doomsday.

Before I could begin pondering my predicament, a man walked onto
the stage and said, "The inspector from the fire department is
here for the fire inspection.  Would everyone please leave the
theatre until the inspection is over.  It will take about three
hours."

Nell and Charles conferred for a moment, after which Nell walked
over to me and said, "Charles is going to stay here to close down
his operation for the inspection.  Let's go back to Mademoiselle's
apartment for lunch.  We'll return afterwards for the final shoot."

She then started toward the front of the theatre, and I flopped 
along behind, trying to keep up.

		******************************


Part 9

Nell had been a rather sullen au pair girl when she was in my 
employ, so I was surprised to learn that she was something of 
a chatterbox when the shoe was on the other foot.  She talked 
and talked as we returned to Mademoiselle's apartment.  Her 
boyfriend, Charles, was her favorite topic of conversation.

"Did you know that Charles served for a time in the British Army?  
He wanted to be a combat cinematographer, but he ended up in the 
artillery.  The constant thumping of the guns affected his hearing, 
like most cannoneers.  He sometimes has trouble identifying people 
from the sound of their voices.  By the way, that reminds me: did 
you know that Charles is vain about his appearance?  He refuses to 
wear glasses even though he is near-sighted.  So not only does he 
have trouble identifying people from the sound of their voices, 
but also from their appearance.  I told him that he should try 
contacts.  He does have a well-developed sense of touch, however.  
Let me tell you a story about that...."

Nell looked up at this point in her narrative and noticed that we 
had arrived back at the of the apartment building.

"Oh, look!  We're here.  I don't like waiting for elevators.  Let's 
take the back stairs."

So we climbed up the maid's stairs and entered Mademoiselle's
apartment through the kitchen.  I was about ready to announce 
our return, but, before I had a chance, Nell sauntered into 
the dining nook, where I heard her say, "Oops!  Sorry."

"Oops" sounded like something that would require the attention
of a maid.  I decided that it would be best to respond proactively 
and went to see what the problem was.

As I walked into the dining nook, I saw that Miriam was sitting
on my leather sofa.  She had been reading a book, which was now 
on the floor.  It was entitled "Histoires de Deauville" and was 
authored by Joseph Deau, a writer with whom I was unfamiliar.  
She was wearing her new blue outfit, her fashion triumph.  She 
had hiked the skirt up around her waist and had lowered her 
panties down around her right ankle.  Her knees were spread apart, 
and, between her thighs, was Mademoiselle's head.

The slurping sounds I heard suggested that Mademoiselle was 
performing some unusually intimate secretarial duties.  I 
had suspected that Miriam still treated Mademoiselle as a 
red-lipstick maid, given the brilliant scarlet that 
Mademoiselle always wore.

Miriam looked up with an expression of bliss on her face.

"Oooh....  Oh!  I didn't expect you two back so soon."

Miriam acted as nonchalantly as Louis XIV greeting his courtiers
whilst seated upon his chaise percée.  She gave no indication
that our arrival caused her any embarrassment at all, even though
she she was receiving sapphic service from her former maid.

Though I said nothing, I wished that it were I between Miriam's
thighs instead of Mademoiselle.  But, of course, I was an
"unclean" brown-lipstick maid, unworthy providing such a service.

Mademoiselle suddenly became aware that she had an audience
and stopped her slurping.  She slowly got up from her knees,
and, unlike Miriam, was clearly embarrassed to have her secret
perversion revealed to all.

There was an awkward silence for a moment.  Finally, Nell said,
"Well, it looks like you two are having fun."

Miriam replied, "I'm merely exercising one of the prerogatives
of a mistress....  But, I'm curious.  Mademoiselle said that you
weren't expected back until later this afternoon.  Why did you
change your plans?"

Nell shrugged.  "They're having a fire inspection at the theatre 
right now.  Everyone had to leave until the inspection is over.  
I decided to return here for lunch instead of waiting outside the
theatre."

Miriam nodded.  "Mademoiselle told me that you're having Frou
Frou clean the toilets at the theatre.  It's about time.  The
toilets were filthy the last time I attended a performance.  
Is Frou Frou doing a good job?"

Oh, no!  It was the moment I was dreading.  Miriam would be beside
herself with jealousy when she learned that I was going to star in 
a production of "Old King Cole."

Nell described what had happened at the theatre.  She told Miriam
that Charles has declared me to be the reincarnation of Sarah
Bernhardt and that I was to return this afternoon to star in the
final shoot of "Old King Cole."

As I had feared, Miriam flew into a rage.

"What!  How could Charles have done that!  Frou Frou has no
theatrical training at all.  She's no Sarah Bernhardt.  With
my stage training, I could do a much better job, especially
in a Mère l'Oye story.  My childhood interpretation of Petit
Chaperon Rouge is still remembered to this day as the definitive
performance at my school."

Miriam rose to her feet.  Her skirt fell back down where it
belonged.  She looked quite the stylish middle-class woman,
except for the panties around her right ankle.  But she had 
an ugly expression on her face as she said, "I think Frou Frou 
needs some additional work don't you, Mademoiselle?"

Mademoiselle looked like she was plotting something as she
replied, "Perhaps you could replace Frou Frou at this 
afternoon's shoot, Madame.  After all, it would be better 
to have an experienced actress, like yourself, in the part 
-- rather than a rank amateur, like Frou Frou."

Miriam cooled down and reflected for a moment.

"Hmm....  Yes, that's true.  But Frou Frou doesn't look anything
like me.  Charles wouldn't be fooled for a second."

Nell interjected, "Trust me, Miriam, I know Charles.  If you wear
Frou Frou's uniform, Charles won't be able to tell you two apart.
The important thing is to do Frou Frou's dance routine exactly
the way Frou Frou did it.  Charles loves to watch danseuses."

Mademoiselle continued, "Madame, you've always wanted to be an
actress.  This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get your
foot in the door.  I'd take it if I were you.  You may never 
get another chance."

After a moment of pondering, Miriam turned to me and said, "I
think Mademoiselle is right.  Frou Frou, strip.  Now!"

For the second time in two days, I stripped out of my clothes in
front of an audience.

Miriam blinked.  "Where's her underwear?"

"She isn't wearing any," Nell replied.  "If you want to take her 
place, you'll have to forgo lingerie.  Charles is near-sighted  
and not very observant, but even he noticed that Frou Frou wasn't 
wearing a bra.  It's a knack men have."

"Very well, I suppose that one must sacrifice for one's art."

Miriam stripped off her new outfit and put on my uniform.  She
stepped in front of a mirror and said, "This is an unbelievably
ugly uniform.  It just proves what I have always said: Frou Frou
has no fashion sense."

She turned to me and said, "Show me your dance routine."

I danced my routine in the nude for Miriam.  If the stagehands
had been present, they would have probably been even more
enthusiastic about my performance than they had been this morning.
Miriam picked up my routine quickly.  She had training as a dancer
in addition to training as an actress.

Once she was satisfied that she had learned my routine, she
turned to Mademoiselle and said, "Mademoiselle, I want you
to send Frou Frou back to my house this afternoon and have
her get down on all fours and wash the hallway floors with a
serpillière."

"Very well, Madame.  But first, I think that you should 'get into
character.'  You've often explained to me that a great actor must
become the character he or she is portraying, even off the stage.
You've got to start acting like a maid...in particular, like the 
maid Frou Frou.  I can help you.  Ask me to accept you as my maid. 
It will help you get into character"

Miriam didn't look too happy about this suggestion, but she was
noted for insisting that an actor must "get into character."

"Well, I suppose so...."

Mademoiselle interrupted her.  "You're not acting like a maid.  
Let's try that again."

Miriam straightened up.  She was clearly angry: her mouth was set, 
and her hands were balled into fists.  She obviously wasn't happy 
about acting like a maid in front of us, but she also obviously 
wanted to be a successful actress.  Finally, she bowed, lowered 
her eyes, and said, "Mademoiselle, will you accept me as your maid?"

A look of triumph flickered briefly across Mademoiselle's face.
Miriam didn't notice it because her gaze was on the floor.

"Very well, if you insist.  I'm going to treat you like a simple
bonne à tout faire.  Since you're playing Frou Frou, I'm going to
call you that.  To avoid confusion with Annette, I'm going to call 
her by her old name.  I expect you to obey me as my maid until 
shooting is complete.  Do you agree?"

Miriam (now the maid Frou Frou) said, "Yes, Mademoiselle, I agree."

"I want to be sure there to be no confusion.  Do you promise to
serve me as my maid until shooting is complete?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle, I promise to serve you as your maid until
shooting is complete."

"Very well.  I must warn you that I'm going to be very strict
and nothing less than complete obedience on your part will be
acceptable."

Mademoiselle turned to me and said, "You heard Miriam -- er, 
Frou Frou.  Return to her house and start washing the hallway 
floors.

"But, Mademoiselle, I'm nude!"

"Put on Miriam's new outfit.  Switch to a number 1 uniform when
you arrive back at the house."

Miriam was outraged that Mademoiselle had given me her new outfit
and was about to object, but remained silent when Mademoiselle
glowered at her.

"You're learning quickly, Frou Frou -- remember that that's your
new name.  I think that you're going to give a very convincing
performance as a maid."

I put on Frou Frou's new outfit, starting with the lingerie.  The
clothes gave me a renewed sense of confidence, so I decided to
take a risk.  I struck a pose and said, "What do you think, girls?"

Nell said, "Very nice, Annette."

Frou Frou was seething, but didn't dare say anything with
Mademoiselle present.  I walked over to Frou Frou and pecked 
her on the cheek.  I then turned around and sashayed over to 
the front door.  Mademoiselle said nothing.  My daring had 
paid off.  And I loved the look on Miriam's face.

I took the elevator down to the first floor.  I passed by Mme.
Yang as I left the building.  She was astonished when she saw me.
I took the Métro back to Miriam's house.  The men on the train
treated me with much more respect than this morning when I was
wearing my uniform.

Back at Miriam's house, I realized that it would be several hours
before anyone returned, so I decided to take a bath in Miriam's
bathtub.  It didn't make any sense to take a bath before I washed
the floor, but it was a now-or-never sort of thing.  So, I drew a
bath and stepped into the tub.

The warm water was heavenly after two days of cold showers.  
As I luxuriated in the tub, my thoughts drifted back to the 
apartment, and I visualized Mademoiselle treating Miriam as 
a maid.  These thoughts aroused me, and I began caressing 
myself.  Miriam had masturbated to my humiliation, and I was 
masturbating to hers.

		******************************


Part 10

Delicious.  I was drifting in a warm, fragrant pool, relaxed and 
satisfied....  But I also knew that I couldn't dawdle here 
indefinitely.  Finally, reluctantly, I decided that I had spent 
as much time in the tub as I dared.  I got out, dried myself off, 
and quickly cleaned the tub.  Then I walked in the nude to my 
chamber, where I opened the armoire and took out a number 1 
uniform: a blue cleaning lady's smock (with white pin stripes, 
white collar, and short sleeves with white cuffs) and a blue 
apron with white trim.  And clogs, of course.  I dressed.  Even 
though it was a uniform for performing menial tasks, it flattered 
my figure much more than the uniform I had bought for Nell.  When 
it came to maids' uniforms, Miriam did have a much better fashion 
sense than I.

Once I had adjusted the uniform to my satisfaction, I went to
fetch a bucket and serpillière.  As I passed by the living room,
I happened to notice Frou Frou's new television set.  Purely on 
a whim, I darted in, snatched up the remote, plopped down on the 
leather sofa, and clicked on the TV.  As it happened, it was tuned 
to a public access channel.  I normally don't watch such channels 
because the shows are so dull, but this channel was presenting a 
show called "En Coulisse au Théâtre Expérimental," narrated by 
Laurent Roy, who was wearing his signature suspenders.  I decided 
to watch for a while.

Laurent rambled on about the history of the theatre, past 
productions, and so on.  I was starting to get bored and 
was about to change channels when I saw Mademoiselle, Nell, 
and Frou Frou appear in the background.  Laurent noticed 
them, too, and started walking in their direction.

I spotted a blank tape next to Frou Frou's VCR, so I popped it
in, and starting recording the show.

As Laurent approached, I saw Charles's assistant walk over to
Nell.  I could hear the assistant say, "Bad news, everybody.
Charles has had a family emergency.  He left for London on the
Chunnel train about an hour ago.  We've stopped shooting 'Old 
King Cole' until he returns.

Laurent butted in at this point.  "Sounds like a problem on the
set, folks.  Let's eavesdrop."

Frou Frou looked very disappointed and said, "I guess we might as
well go home.  There's nothing for us to do here."

Nell made a throaty, negative noise.  "Actually, there IS something 
we can do, or, more precisely, something YOU can do.  The toilets 
still need cleaning."

Frou Frou looked astonished.  "Surely you don't expect me to clean 
the toilets, do you?"

"Remember," Mademoiselle interjected, "you are playing the role of 
Frou Frou.  One of her jobs is cleaning the toilets.  Get busy!"

"What!  You can't be serious!  There's no way I'm cleaning the
toilets."

Mademoiselle slapped Frou Frou's face.

"You agreed to be my maid 'until shooting is complete.'  Shooting
is not complete; you're still my maid.  As your mistress, I'm
ordering you to clean the toilets.  I expect total obedience on
your part, with no backtalk.  NOW CLEAN THE TOILETS!"

Frou Frou was taken aback, and her lower lip started quivering.

"Let me get you started, Frou Frou," Nell said.  "Follow me."

Laurent Roy stuck his head in front of the camera and burbled, 
"I don't know what's going on, folks, but whatever it is, it 
looks interesting.  Let's follow and see what happens."

As Laurent followed Nell and Frou Frou, Mademoiselle started
flirting with a stagehand.  She obviously found the stagehand 
more interesting than the toilets.

Nell and Frou Frou disappeared into a broom closet in the back
of the theatre while the cameraman focused on the door (which
was not a particularly interesting door).  Laurent chattered on 
in the inane fashion of newscasters waiting for something to 
happen.

A few minutes later, Nell emerged from the closet followed by
Frou Frou, who was pushing a cleaning cart loaded with mops,
rags, and other cleaning supplies.

Laurent stuck his microphone in Frou Frou's face.  "What are you 
doing, Mam'selle?" he asked.

Frou Frou looked extremely irritated and gave Laurent Roy a
digital gesture incompatible with the graciousness on which 
she so prided herself.

Laurent said, "She's not very well bred, is she?"

Laurent and the cameraman followed as Nell led Frou Frou to the
ladies' restroom.  Nell had Frou Frou take a folding sign off the
cart and put it on the floor outside the restroom.  The cameraman
did a carefully composed closeup of the sign.  I don't know what
was so intriguing about a sign that said, "Restroom Out Of 
Service."  I have to admit, however, that it was marginally 
more interesting than the door to the broom closet.

Nell then held the door to the restroom open as Frou Frou pushed
the cart in.  Laurent followed with the cameraman.

"Phew!  This place stinks.  It definitely needs cleaning," said
Laurent as Nell handed Frou Frou a toilet brush and a bottle of
cleanser.

Nell said, "Okay.  Let's get busy.  Start with that toilet over
there."

Frou Frou opened the stall door and just about gagged at the
sight and smell.  She squirted some cleanser in the bowl and
started scrubbing with the brush.  The cameraman got some 
teasing, tantalizing shots of portions of Frou Frou's naked 
ass peeking out from under her uniform as she was bent over 
the bowl.

Laurent said, "Well, that's enough for now.  Let's come back 
later and see how Frou Frou's doing."

Laurent then went to the theatre manager and interviewed him
about his artistic vision and so forth.  It was boilerplate 
stuff straight out of the "How To Be a Theatre Manager" handbook.  
I would have changed the channel except that I wanted to see Frou
Frou cleaning the toilets again.

Finally,there was a pause.  "Let's see how Frou Frou is doing, 
shall we?" Laurent said. 

He and his cameraman went back to the ladies' restroom.  Nell was 
now having Frou Frou scrub the floor on all fours with a scrub
brush.  Frou Frou's ass was pointed at the camera, and, as 
cleaning uniforms are wont to do, it had ridden up over her hips, 
exposing her naked ass.

"Oops!  Don't let the kids see this, Folks!"

Laurent rushed over and pulled the uniform down back over her
ass.  I couldn't see Frou Frou's expression, but she stopped 
scrubbing and put her hands over her face.  

The rest of the show proceeded in much the same way.  Scenes
alternated between Frou Frou cleaning the toilets and interviews
with theatre personnel.  I was impressed with Frou Frou's
"thespian skills" and couldn't remember when I had enjoyed 
an actress's performance more.

Finally, there was a shot of Mademoiselle, Nell, and Frou Frou
leaving the theatre while Laurent said, "And that's all, folks!"

I knew that someone would be returning back here in an hour or so
to check up on me, so I turned off the VCR and hid the tape.  I 
then scurried off to get a bucket and a serpillière.  I filled 
the bucket with water and started washing the hallway floors on 
all fours. 

I was exhilarated.  Imagine!  Turning on the TV out of sheer 
caprice -- and seeing THAT!  And having the ability and the 
presence of mind to actually RECORD it! 

But the work was exhausting, and I was taking a needed breather 
when I heard someone approaching in the hallway -- Mademoiselle 
or, more likely, Miriam.  I started scrubbing again because I 
didn't want to be accused of being a lazy maid.  The footsteps 
got closer, until I saw red sneakers.  It wasn't Miriam; it was 
Nell.

I looked up, and Nell said, "Well, Annette, today is your lucky
day."

"What do you mean, Miss?"

She then narrated the same sequence of events that I had watched
on TV.  I pretended that her story was new to me, but I did enjoy
hearing it all over again.  I didn't know what had happened
after they left the theatre, and I hoped Nell would tell me.

Just then she stopped talking for a moment and inspected the floor.

"You missed a spot over there."

She then resumed her narration.

"Afterwards, we went back to Mademoiselle's apartment.  When we 
arrived, Frou Frou insisted on returning here.  Mademoiselle
pointed out that she needed a maid and that you weren't available
because you had been sent away.  She told Frou Frou that she would 
serve as Mademoiselle's maid at the apartment 'until shooting was 
complete.'  Frou Frou refused, but I reacquainted her with the 
English educational methods that she so admired as a student in 
London.  A few stripes on her arse convinced her that obeying 
Mademoiselle was her best course of action.  Mademoiselle told 
her that she would be spending her nights in the maid's chamber 
rather than here."

I wondered how agreeable Frou Frou would find cold showers.  And 
her ass would probably itch tomorrow like mine had this morning.  
I hoped that she would serve Mme. Yang rather than me.  Perhaps 
Mme. Yang will award Frou Frou her brown lipstick.

"Mademoiselle and I agreed that I should house sit here until
shooting is complete.  I was given you as my personal maid while
I'm house sitting.  I've a lot for you to do, but, first, finish
your work here, then report to me."

I couldn't bow while on all fours, so I dipped my head and said,
"Very well, Miss."

"Now I'm going to go check out Frou Frou's wardrobe."

Nell turned and walked back down the hall.

Although I felt a certain schadenfreude over Frou Frou's plight, 
I also sensed dark clouds on the horizon.  The two mistresses had 
become maids, and the two maids, mistresses.  I doubted that this 
boded well for either Frou Frou or myself....

		******************************

I leaned back and stretched.  Hearing the little silver bell in 
the distance, I sighed and bent over the keyboard once again.   

	Dear friend, I must run.  My mistress calls.  Perhaps 
	we can get together in the near future, and I can tell 
	you the rest of my story.

	A.

I clicked "Send," saw it on its way, logged off, and hurried back 
to my duty.

		******************************

Author's Note:
I did not originally plan on creating a 10-part story.  I'm reminded 
of a quote from Pascal: "I would have written a shorter letter, but 
I did not have the time."  -- T. N.



Edited by C. Lakewood

