Story: New Employee. Chapters 34-35.

by BigBird74 

34.

I woke with a pleasant feeling in my tummy. I’d been resting in that netherworld of sleep and partial awareness, my mind recalling the previous evening’s events and how the whole affair had made me feel. I was a sensitive person. Far too sensitive for the role life had thrust upon me. The gentle slights and stares I had received yesterday were nothing to what an immigrant maid must experience on a regular basis. What was it that excited me so much? The gentle conditioning I had received from the troves of pornography and erotica to be found online was one reason without doubt. Another may have been a thick slice of guilt I felt at my good fortune in life. To be born into such privilege was akin to rolling a double six when needed in a game. Did I deserve it? My recent reactions and feelings indicated that, deep down, I felt not. Unlike my sister or father, I did not feel comfortable with my good fortune. 

I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness. I was not overly spiritual, but dwelling like this on whether or not I deserved something was not right. It was almost time to get up and work again. Soon I would be pulling my cheap, short and figure hugging cleaning costume. I would be grovelling on all fours cleaning the public toilets, the stairs and the lifts. All the jobs considered beneath the others, my feet firmly on the lowest rung of the social ladder. I lay there silently, my fingers sliding down my toned torso to my damp pussy, where again I found my place in heaven. One last time I thought before I would talk to the Manageress and see where all this was leading. The three days I had promised myself had passed and I needed to see her again. Hopefully after such a gap, she would be in a good mood. Maybe, she would even touch me again. I gasped outwardly, suddenly clasping my hand to my face, hoping no-one had heard. To my relief, everything remained silent.

From that point the day proceeded as normal. I had not seen the Manageress again that morning and decided to walk along her corridor, to see if she might be around, perhaps even to talk. To my dismay the office was locked and no-one answered. I returned several times at various points in the day, but it was always the same: no answer. This proved a subtle shock to my system, feeding the low-level anxiety I had been struggling with before. Each time I approached her door, I hoped she would be there, building my hopes only to find that she was still gone.

As the day progressed I found various reasons to lurk around her corridor, invariably being dragged away by Linda or some other maid that wanted me for something. Each time, I scurried after them, afraid to upset anyone or rock the boat. This was the pattern set for the day and, by evening time, I felt my anxiety reach fever pitch. I hated not knowing what was going on. Was she ill? Was she avoiding me? Had something awful happened?

Whatever it was I needed to know. None of the others maids had an inkling of where she might be. They wanted as little to do with the Manageress as possible and warned me not to poke my nose into trouble. Still, I had to know. They did not understand what was at stake for me! However, I was helpless: who could I ask without arousing suspicion, anger or derision? I had to act now! I had to see the Manageress. I resolved to go to her home and see that everything was alright. Just one huge sticking point remained. I had no idea where she lived and no way of accessing my files to find out. But, perhaps someone else could? Desperate times called for desperate measures and I sneaked outside to find a pay phone to recapture my identity as Katherine, just for the briefest of moments, and call a friend of mine that worked in personnel.

The hotel of course no longer had a pay phone and I had to venture out once again into the world beyond the doors of the hotel. Outside the town was doused in a weakening twilight and I staggered down the road to the bus stop where I knew there would be an old-fashioned phone box. I had gathered together my tips from past day and carried them to the phone. I had just enough to call New York for a few minutes. Slamming the door of the phone box behind me, I dialled in the number for the company switchboard. Speaking once again in my ‘old’ voice made me feel so alien. Though it had only been a little more than two weeks, my time at Marta had been so intense, I really had started to pick up one or unusual ticks and errors in my language. I found myself having to concentrate hard to speak as myself.

It made little difference. My call was ‘important to us and we will answer it shortly’. On hold and increasingly desperate, I found myself shouting down the phone, the first explosion of frustration I had had for some time. Shorn of my belongings and identity, I was as helpless as any migrant maid would actually be. As my money ran out and the phone cut out, I turned to leave the phone box, only to walk into the arms of a waiting police officer. I looked up in horror, shocked into silence as my mind tried to compute this awful moment.

35.

I sat uncomfortably in the police car, my arms cuffed behind my back, forcing me sit unnaturally upright. I felt sick and numb, barely able to understand what was going on. Was this my moment to be unmasked? Would I be a figure of ridicule from now on? Oh god! How I now regretted following up on this kinky adventure! Anyone with any sense would have seen where this was going long ago. For my part, any slim chance I had to extricate myself from this was ruined seconds after bumping into the police officer.

Why did I persist with my charade? Why, when he asked my name and address, had I not told him the truth, insisting instead that I was Marta Fernandez and that I worked at “ze ‘otel.” Did he see right through my accent? As soon as I had replied, he had cuffed me and stuffed me into the back of the car. I was aghast and utterly helpless. The hotel now felt like a refuge, even with its cruel sides so brutally exposed to me. Now I was alone in the world outside of its relative safety. My choice a simple one: convince them I was Marta or ruin Katherine in a humiliating and life-destroying admittance of my fetish!

It seemed to take an age for us to get to the station. The officer decided to stop off at a 7-Eleven on his way back, leaving me restrained and perched on the back seat. People passed by, curious to see who was in trouble. I saw that look again: suspicion towards an outsider. That fuelled yet more panic as I realised how public this all risked becoming. I was going to be ruined, unmasked as some sexual deviant or candidate for lunacy! At least a dozen people stopped and stared, like I was an exhibit in a zoo. They all saw me as a problem and little more.

It was little surprise that I felt such extraordinary relief when the policeman came and took me away to the relative obscurity of the station. Inside I was sat down on a long leather-clad bench, wearing my maid’s uniform. Next to me was woman dressed so wantonly she could only have been a hooker. On the bench opposite was what appeared to be a down-and-out, dressed in tattered rags that used to be clothes. Every time someone was unfortunate enough to venture close to him, he would spit obscenities in their direction. It was only a matter of time before he laid eyes on me and the tirade of racial slurs that came my way prompted me to cry. 

I felt afraid and alone. Seeing the fracas, one of the policemen took me down to the cells and out of the way of trouble. My crying only seemed to worsen as they sealed me inside a tiny holding cell, no more than a few square metres. On one side was a long bed, covered in the cheap leather that seemed to coat almost all furniture here. On the other was a metal toilet, absent its seat. I sat meekly on the bed.

“We just need to check your status. You work at the hotel yes?” I nodded silently, still unable to bring myself to the truth. The broad-shouldered cop walked away, slamming the door behind him and leaving me to stew in my own juices for what seemed forever, my hopes raised only once when a guard came by to offer me some food and water. I had no window or clock, so rapidly lost sense of what time it was, but it must be late. 

I prayed that the police would talk soon to the Manageress! But what if they spoke to others there instead? What if they spoke to head office? It seemed my whole life was dangling by an ever thinning thread that could break any second and I felt sick and tired. After a few more hours, I succumbed to tiredness and entered a fitful sleep, marked by dozens of disturbing dreams that continued to haunt me when awake. I was now totally unaware of how long I had been the cell.

The blurring of time, sleep and my fevered imagination was ended by a sudden rapping on the door. In walked the Manageress and the policeman that had apprehended me. She glowered at me, while speaking to the cop: “Yes. I can assure you she is here legally, though only temporarily. She will be moving to another hotel soon.”

“Ok. Well… I am sorry. We do not see her kind around here often and I wanted to check.”

“Where was it you found her?”

“At a telephone booth. She looked agitated and I wanted to see what was happening”.

I was led into the main body of the station and had to wait in line with the hooker to have my finger prints taken. My god! I was now registered as Marta Fernandez in the legal system! The manageress caught my eye as I gave my hand to the policeman. He then took my picture and other biometric details. Of course, Katherine had never had this done to her, so….. my body data was now inextricably linked to Marta! This was becoming too much and I felt my knees almost give out.

“We will expect her to report here again next week.”

“I will make sure she does,” the Manageress replied. “But I think she will be here just one more week”.

The cop nodded. “You are free to go”.

We left, silently, but with so much already said between us.

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