Story: New Employee. Chapters 28-29.

 by BigBird74

28.

Everything felt different. Being ‘found out’ and confronted by the manageress was akin to crossing the Rubicon in my mind. She knew who I was, the rich heiress, destined for fame and fortune – albeit shared with my sister. Despite that she had not flinched one inch, not shown me any real deference. I shivered. Other than my family, this was the first person to so totally ignore my privileged status and family name, Webb, instead opting to treat me like Marta Fernandez. It seemed that she was opening the door on my sleazy game and entering the room. Would she take control of it, change the rules? She had not yet hinted at revealing my secret, though that threat was very real and dangerous. But. Yet. Her smile had given me confidence that this may all yet work out so well.

That smile. It had set forth the usual wave of butterflies in my stomach, only this time they were morphing into something even stronger and more pleasurable, their pulsing wings sending shocks of raw pleasure to my upper thighs and loins. Three times today I had found it necessary to sneak off to what now seemed my only sanctuary, the toilet cubicle. Mindful of how I had been caught out before, this time I remained silent as I pressed my way to heavenly bliss.

Linda had been her usual mixture of vulnerable and aggressive. Vulnerable to compliments, even those little more than bare-faced lies masquerading as a compliment. And aggressive, to the one maid in this hotel that she felt some undeserved sense of superiority towards. I dwelt upon that sense of entitlement for a moment and saw parallels with the way I expected my name and money to purchase a certain prestige and degree of respect. I remembered the encounters I had had with people of different ethnic backgrounds before, usually maids, cooks or staff. Naturally, each had treated me well and it was what I expected. But was this because of their position relative to mine, or did race have any part to play?


For someone like Linda, very much towards the bottom of the social pile, a marker as strong as race would hold much greater importance. I could sense this in the way she used expletives when talking to me, a total lack of respect for my sensibilities that I had never before encountered. After all was I not the same person, just in a different body? I had wanted to see what being powerless was like. I had wanted to understand how it felt to be that Latina maid in the hotel I had visited all those days ago.

For her part, Linda seemed an unwitting, but completely willing accomplice in this strange adventure. She revelled in meting out the most degrading jobs to me, seeming to enjoy watching me crawl on my hands and knees, or crouch down to clean some foul, caked-on mess from the floor. Once or twice her enjoyment seemed so great that I wondered “does she know about me?” That chilling thought was enough to quash any anger I may have experienced and made the little mouse I was fast becoming only scurry around faster for her supervisor.

It seemed to me that my ‘race’ was playing a role in her treatment of me and not just my ‘newness’. Bullies are insecure people and they tend to zero in on people with a vulnerability they can exploit. I could see how race pushed certain social buttons for the worse, especially for those competing for the same jobs, same apartments. It is all too easy to see someone’s skin and see a difference.

I did not dwell on these thoughts again until the evening. After another 30 minutes or so of waiting, the manageress showed up and led me into room 501. Reclining comfortably in an easy chair, she asked me to explain why I had chosen to disguise myself as a Latina. She could understand the maid, but why the different race? Growing increasingly uncomfortable, I told her of the incident at the other hotel and how it had triggered so many of my previously held fantasies. Of how I concluded it would also act to best disguise me and, with some coaxing from her, I finally admitted the great hidden secret, suddenly crystallised in my mind after hours of thinking: “It… it adds to the…. humiliation. I feel a little like an outcast, p..people look at me oddly, they treat me so differently. It is almost a 180 degree reversal in my life.”

Whether it is the relief of finally sharing my deepest secrets with someone, or a genuine masochistic tendency to want to give others power over me, in that moment of earnestness, I saw the proverbial lightbulb fire up inside of her head. Little did I know, but she had already read the runes and had come prepared.


29.

My head was spinning after my admission. Was I racist? Was I just demented? It was all so wrong.

“I have something that will help make you feel like were actually Latina,” she pauses checking my reaction, which must have been dumbfounded bordering on incredulous.

“Undress for me now, Marta.” I shivered. With the use of that one word, Marta, she instantly tapped deep into my submissive tendencies, bringing them to the fore and making me more malleable.

“Place your items neatly on the bed”. It was a relief to get out of that cheap, slutty uniform, if only for a moment. When I turned back to face her, standing in nothing but my cotton bra and panties, she was holding two syringes and two vials of some clear liquid. Katherine is curious, she wanted to know what was contained in those little glass bottles. Marta was obedient and knew better, opting instead to let her ‘social better’ speak first.

“Everything off Marta. Panties and bra too. I want to see just how good a job you did with your tanning lotion.” I nodded meekly. I could not even muster any real aversion to what she had just ordered me to do. That buzzing between my legs was back with a vengeance, taking control and pushing aside my inhibitions and fear. I pulled down my underwear and piled them on top of the uniform. Totally naked, this time I turned to face the manageress completely shorn of pride and any semblance of self-respect.

The manageress walked around in me in little circles. Every so often she would prod at a patch of my skin, checking for spots that I had missed or done a poor job of covering with the tanning lotion.

“Not the best of jobs,” she said. “It is even wearing off in places where your uniform was tight! No.. this will not do, we will have to try something else.” Something else? My ears pricked up.
She had returned to cabinet where she had placed the vials and syringes. “This will help keep you darker without all those patches.”

What is this stuff? My head was nearly aching wanting to ask, wanting to know more. This was not what I planned on at all. Sure being a darker hue was part of my plan, but at a time and place of my choosing and, most importantly, for a period of time I wished for.

“How… how long does this stuff last?” I regretted asking almost as soon as I did.

“Do you not trust me, Marta?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she reached across for my hands which were trembling. Clasping them in her grasp, she proceeded to guide them towards my stomach, my mound and my now slick pussy lips. I gasped as she curled her own fingers, in turn bending mine so that they parted my lips and sank into my moist opening. My trembling only intensified as she began to caress and massage me and then things moved to a new level.

“You do want to experience the life of a lowly Hispanic maid, don’t you Katherine?” Her words were silky soft, seductive and pressing at the same time. Her question had already been answered by my lustful reaction to her advances, seemingly unable to do anything but crumble in front of her. Each gently stroke of my clitoris was divine and seemed unreal, as though I were entering an out of body experience. It was almost as if I were looking down on the scene as third person.

I nodded my response to her question. She continued: “You do not deserve to be a rich heiress do you? A rich heiress would be confident and commanding, not the lowest of maids in a rundown, out of town hotel.” Her finger continued to massage me expertly, crowding out the doubts that were criss-crossing my mind. “Not Katherine Webb….. No… you are Marta Fernandez…”

I felt a faint prick on my ass cheeks that made me jump and cry out. I did not need to turn to know that she had injected me with whatever had been in the vials.  Her fingers, planted deeply inside of me, felt my growing wetness a shameful confirmation that I was revelling in this moment of entrapment.

“I am using something called melanotin*. It lasts weeks, maybe months before you need a top-up. I guess you had originally planned to be here, what a fortnight?” She pauses and injects me again, this time on my upper thighs. I feel myself frozen in place once more, the full consequences of what she is saying hitting me hard. Detecting the stiffening in my body, as I grew increasingly tense, the manageress hurried to qualm my anxieties.

“Good girl. It feels nice yes? Changing, becoming Marta for real, huh?” All the while, she never relaxed her fingers, working incessantly at my hot and dripping sex, until that delicious moment when I felt myself overwhelmed by everything and I collapsed into her arms delivering myself mind and body to her.

*Author’s note. For those interested in authenticity see this: https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/3324752/martina-big-this-morning-shocked-wannabe-barbie-skin-mahogany-tanning-injections/

Subscribe to Lady2Maid Blog Newsletter