Story: New Employee. Chapters 32-33.

by BigBird74

32.

Two days elapsed before I next spoke to the Manageress. In that time, my life achieved as much normality as could be hoped for in the given circumstances. At times I even found myself getting used to the menial tasks that were now my primary occupation, occasionally exhibiting some pride in a clean floor or basin. It was sensible for me to obtain as many of a cleaner’s trade ‘secrets’ as I could. I learned what a bit of soda and vinegar could achieve when mixed with lemon, and the time it could save me.

What no-one told me was the effect it would have on my hands if I were not wearing gloves. The constant scrubbing and exposure to various bleaches, chemicals were ruining my hands. My nails were worn down past my fingertips. Small, rough callouses that would take months to rid myself off were appearing on my usually soft skin. The signs of decline were everywhere. My skin had managed to turn a few shades darker after its treatment and after a week had passed it showed few signs of wearing off or fading.

I certainly did not look myself. Gone was the fresh faced, young woman. In her place was a woman who looked tired, disheveled and robbed of much of her femininity. My legs and armpit were covered in stubble and I found myself powerless to stop this remorseless march to mediocrity, given that the Manageress now had all of Katherine’s belongings. While doubts continued to nag at the back of my mind, I had found the best way to ignore them was to set myself a limit. I thought I would not approach the Manageress for 3 days. In that time, I would become the maid I came here to be, forget all about Katherine and her life. After all? If things were to end badly, what could I do about it now? Nothing! I put aside my fears and dived into my life as Marta.

It was hard work to keep up the pidgin English. Always remembering to speak with a heavy accent and bad grammar. Still, I found by applying a few ‘rules,’ I could achieve a great deal. 

Mispronouncing certain letters and using the wrong case all the time really broke my grammar. So that: ‘She ran around the ragged rock’ became… ‘She run eeround ze rag ged rock’ or ‘Please may I have some salt?’ became ‘Pleeeze salt may I?’

With some practice I even found myself ad-libbing to some extent, confusing countable and uncountable nouns, using quantifiers badly and mangling the language with some truly awful pronunciation. It gave me a thrill when people did not understand me and asked me to repeat myself. Once I even managed to make Linda give up on me completely, leaving me to stew in my erotic imaginings. Now, fully aware of the cameras dotted around the hotel, I even found myself looking up at the camera that surveyed the toilets. I hoped against hope – just once – that the Manageress might see and follow me inside. The overall effect of letting go was incredibly liberalising. I felt free – Well, as free as one could in a cage of her own making. Free at least to indulge my helplessness, protected by someone I thought was my ‘friend’.

It was during happy period that I decided to step away from the confines of the hotel. The town was a short bus ride away and, even though I had no payment cards, I had been given some tips that I had scraped together into about 20 dollars. I suppose the Manageress thought I was trapped with no money, unable to leave the hotel even had I wanted to, so I needed to be careful. Still, that evening I waited patiently in the wings watching her leave, my eyes drawn as usual to her tight skirt and slim legs all shaped beautifully by her high heels. My heart and tummy felt that usual drag and warmth, and for a moment I felt I should stay in place and obey her like a good little maid. But, my furtive desires were building to a new pitch, fueled by thoughts of taking my experience outside of the hotel. Once I had gotten the bit between my teeth, it seemed little would stop me.

The Manageress’ car sped out of the parking lot and I followed moments later. Without access to my other clothes, nor willing to ask the other maids for help, I was still dressed in my work attire. Fortunately, I still had the less sexual of the two uniforms and it was in this worn and used dress that I re-entered the world outside the walls of the hotel. I had seen a timetable at reception and knew a bus would be due soon and had to hurry if I was to catch it. Shorn of my belongings, I longed for some basic beauty products to stop my decline and had decided to make my way to the mall on the outskirts of town. It was risky, I knew that. I was undocumented. Carrying nothing. But somehow I felt more secure in my working clothes, as though they conferred a degree of officialdom onto me. I paused at the bus stop and cleared my head of thoughts, keeping myself to myself and avoiding any kind of eye contact.

33.

When I finally got to the mall, I was feeling a little flustered. The bus has been terribly full. No doubt many other people had had the same idea as me and the crowded, smelly box of sardines I found myself loaded upon was a particularly rude lesson in using public transport. I could not help but reflect on how different this was to the chauffer-driven luxury I had been used to. I felt sick as I recalled how it felt to sprawl out on the large leather seats, dressed as I was, looking like a little princess. As always, the sickness gave way to a delightful twinge in my nether regions and I looked down, remembering that, for now at least, this was my place.

It was such a relief to leave the cramped confines of the bus and make my way into the mall. Even though the place needed a touch of modernisation and was lacking many of the best brands, I knew I could find what I was looking for here. The melatonin would keep my skin this colour for some time, I knew that. But my hair was another matter. It looked a frizzy mass on top of my head, but my roots would soon show unless I had something to counter it. Also, I wanted to get some razors to help maintain my feminine self at least a little. If this whole adventure – nightmare? – was to last much longer than originally thought, I had to do something in that department.

The cashier sniffed at me as I handed over the payment in a collection of small notes and coins collected from various clients. Of course, my uniform told everyone I met what I did for a living. It became the first thing they noted. I was a servant. Then they saw the dark skin and tightly curled hair and saw an immigrant. If they had spoken to me, they would have thought I was recent. Each time someone looked at me that way, I knew what was going through their mind. It served to diminish myself in their eyes and reinforce my new identity.

This was unintentional of course, but it was an unexpected thrill. This is what I had wanted: to feel how it felt to be this person. I kept my deferential stoop in place and continued on my way. I passed by several clothes shops, each one a discount store offering tacky merchandise at bargain prices. Normally I would never consider even pausing at the window of such a place, but I had so few choices now and I needed something to wear other than a simple uniform. Perhaps if I kept my head down and got more tips, I could buy some shoes or even come shopping more often? I felt warped and twisted as my desires for humiliation and degradation pulled at me to go inside and buy the cheapest, trashiest dress I could find. Resisting the pull, I stepped down the mall, only to feel the tug again at the next shop. This time, it was a tight lycra dress that caught my eye. It was just the kind of cheap, tacky sexual clothing that I should be wearing I thought. I felt my insides burn. The same drive that had made me order those over sexualised uniforms was pushing me over the threshold of the store and towards the display for those dresses.

At a little under 10 dollars, buying this would exhaust my remaining money, leaving me with just enough to get back to the hotel. I was trembling when I picked up the dress. It was a single size, so I knew I did not need to try it on, but I wanted to. In a daze, carrying this slutty little number, I walked to the dressing room and showed the attendant what I was carrying.

The look she gave me was priceless: a mixture of disdain and distrust. Did she think I might try and steal this cheap, tacky dress? I felt a wave of outrage, quickly dampened by the recognition that I was putting these thoughts in her head. She had said nothing. Just, if a picture is worth a thousand words, her glowering was worth double that.

Alone in the cabin, I slipped out of one uniform and into another. Not a uniform in a formal sense, but still, another layer of identity to those already so apparent. I was shaking as I stepped out from behind the curtain and inspected myself in the mirror. I….. I looked so trashy.. it was…. perfect. The hem of the skirt was in constant danger of riding up to my buttocks. The bust and waist were perfectly shaped. I felt my skin flush, though the effect was hidden underneath my melatonin-induced darkness. What would people think of me now? Would I actually be brave enough to wear this anywhere but the confines of a room behind a safely locked door?

Suddenly, in my mind, the doors to a whole new world were flung open to me. I could have a life away from the hotel! I had no real notion of what this meant and the alarm bells ringing in the back of my head were muffled beneath a massive dose of irrationality. But at that moment, I felt …… alien. It was me in the mirror, but even my mind now seemed to acting differently, driven purely by a desire for degradation and humiliation. Katherine was drowning in a sea of erotic adventure. And it felt wonderful. 

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