Story: New Employee. Chapters 38-39.

by BigBird74

38 & 39

The New York Katherine Webb grew up in was a world offered up on a platter. Daddy’s princess was to receive whatever she wanted: first toys, then clothes, cars, apartments and finally cushy jobs. The New York that awaited Marta Fernandez, a recent and – most likely – illegal immigrant, was not nearly so welcoming. Not that Marta complained as she scrubbed clean the floor of the building underneath Katherine’s apartment. In this day and age, it can be somewhat odd to see this kind of ‘old-fashioned’ manual labour out in the open, but Katherine’s assistant had said she wanted to see the Latino girl’s level of commitment and had got her to work almost immediately after hiring her.

Katherine’s assistant – formerly the manageress, before her elevation up the ranks – had taken up residence a week ago, having moved to New York after receiving the plum position from Katherine, who was away in Latin America of all places. At least that was what everyone thought, except for two persons: the assistant and Marta. Of course, they knew better. For Katherine was not in Brasilia, she was in the lobby scrubbing the floor clean, her mind totally fixated on the job. She did not want to think much about the preceding week for events during it had complicated her chances of restoring her life as Katherine, at least so it seemed to her. Whenever she thought about it – how to get back – two things invariably happened: she felt sick and dizzy at the enormity of her folly, and then a deep anxiety would descend upon her.

After her arrest in Abbotsville, Marta had disappeared. No-one at the hotel had seen her for days. The manageress duly reported her as having absconded: vanished into the vast pool of undocumented workers. The police were unsurprised and not terribly bothered. They had seen it all before and just filed her ‘details’ with the immigration department. Technically Marta was on the run, but no-one was looking hard. She would just have to avoid being reported or caught up in a dragnet, a common worry for undocumented workers everywhere. These persons formed an unfortunate underclass, trapped, prey to the whims of those using (abusing?) them. So it was for Marta too.

Marta was going to have to change. She had been born of a feverish and erotic imagination. Katherine’s assistant wanted someone who did not spend all day with their heads in the clouds. Marta was going to have to pay more attention to her daily rituals if she was going to avoid getting into more trouble. So, out of the window went Marta’s erotic uniform. Instead she was dressed in a drab grey dress, a few sizes too big for her, so it hung shapelessly about her. This served a dual purpose: to make the wearer invisible and to allow for room for growth. This dress had no frills, just a white trim across the hemline and cuffs, which sat midway down her arms. The bottom of the dress sat just below the knee. This was not a dress for someone courting attention. Coverage was good. Coverage was a layer of disguise.

Whether she liked it or not and in spite of her incessant moaning, Marta needed to be a big eater. Weight after all is a good form of disguise, padding away the sharp edges of a person’s face that form their identity. Marta needed to get lost in this disguise and the appalling diet she was now restricted to readily obliged in this purpose. Platefuls of fried food and sweets would happily ensure the former heiress’ graceful lines and poise would dissolve in a layer of fat.

So the baggy dress gave Marta a target of sorts. Her purpose was to fill it, no matter how hard that seemed right now. After the move to New York, her life was made simpler. She had shown herself capable of all kinds of mischief in Abbotsville and Katherine’s assistant was not going to take any more chances: Marta had to undergo a few cosmetic changes. With no-one in New York aware of Marta’s appearance up to now, Katherine’s assistant had carte blanche when it came to making alterations.  

The assistant concluded that she could cut off the thatch of ruined hair on top of Marta’s head. As it was now, her mop of curled frizz induced slightly bemused glances from people passing by.  It had to go and Katherine’s assistant set about cropping it off. The fact she did this while Marta was restrained with her hands behind her back only added to the erotic stew that was now almost constantly boiling in Marta’s loins. Up until now, Marta herself had driven the changes to her looks and appearance. Now she could decide nothing. The assistant concluded that a tidy boyish cut was sufficient and simple to keep coloured. Even if Marta’s light roots did show for a day or two, it would now be very simple to keep her disguise intact by wearing a cleaner’s cap.

Upping the dose of Melatonin was the next step. Katherine’s features, padded out by her growing weight, would also be softened and lost in a darker skin. It took about 3 days for Marta’s skin to darken to a hue the assistant preferred. Again the whole process was accompanied by a big dose of gameplay and fun. By the time the assistant was finished, Marta looked like she was possible from the South of Mexico, most probably a mixture of native Indian and European ancestry some generations ago.

One game the assistant seemed to enjoy very much was Marta divulging the remainder of Katherine’s secrets. Bank details, safe details, passwords and insurance records. The assistant needed all of this, she reassured the Latino girl, to look after Katherine’s interests. Not that Marta, gagged and bound up tightly again seemed to care much. An outsider to their little games might have concluded that Marta’s impulsiveness had gotten the better of her. But she loved and trusted Katherine’s assistant too much to question this greatly.

Perhaps she had never really known love and was confusing lust and need with that elusive emotion. It was this feeling though that drove her to fill any spare moments with her growing need to dive deeply into Marta’s world. How other girls that looked similar to her would dress. Who they would interact with. The assistant would bring her Spanish-language magazines aimed at girls like her and she devoured the pictures, if not the text just yet. She could not read after all, though had started a home course in Spanish. Building on what she already knew, she could manage a few sentences in a heavily mangled tongue, much the same as the level of English she was permitted to speak by the assistant. Marta would see how happy it made the assistant for her to speak elementary English and this filled her with more of that confused love, driving her on.

Marta’s life as Katherine had never seemed so far away. With her skin darkening by the day, her new boyish haircut, short and cropped, and constant reinforcement of poor grammar she had never felt so alienated from her old life. Indeed, while she would often find herself wondering if this whole adventure had not gone too far and fretting about what was happening to Katherine, it only took a moment to consider just how hard and long it would be to recapture her former looks and life, before she felt that uneasy sickness in the pit of her stomach.

For, in truth, while Marta often dwelt on how nice it might have been to be Katherine. The journey to reclaim her former identity and fortune seemed too outlandish, almost unreal. So it was that another opportunity to assert herself and reverse this journey passed by. In the days before moving to New York, Katherine’s assistant took delivery of Marta’s new uniform and shoes. As stated before, this time, the purpose of the uniform was not to draw attention, as had been the choice of the slutty Katherine. No Marta was to live in the shadows, be as invisible as possible.

In fact, over the next few days as she grew used to scrubbing clean the entrance way to her former Pernthouse, Marta would dwell on how well the uniform occluded her from view. She almost became a part of the scenery. People saw nothing unusual in a young Latino cleaner scrubbing the floors clean, polishing the fixtures, collecting her Mistress’ shopping. She needed to sink without a trace if that unfortunate incident in Abbotsville was not come back and haunt her.

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Each time I heard footsteps on the floor, I wanted to look up. I wanted to see who was coming into the apartments. Perhaps it was someone I knew! But I knew I must resist. The manageress had told me that my main job right now was to clean and to put on weight and I wanted to very hard to please her. She had kept me safe all this time and I trusted what she was telling me. That said, in the back of my mind, I could not quite shake the feeling that weight gain was not the best solution. Would it not have been easier to simple wear a bigger pair of glasses? But Katherine’s assistant knew best of course. All these props would be useless if I was caught. Weight gain was best form of disguise and would keep my secret safe.

For over a week now I had been eating voraciously. A particularly high calorie diet had made me feel bloated and constipated. My stomach was bulging ever so slightly after just a single week, though I knew this reflected the stodge of the food in my stomach, rather than weight gain per se. Still, I thought this would be a hard road to climb. For any disguise to be convincing it must change the face, and that was always the last place I put on weight: it was my hips and ass that any excess weight had clung to in the past.

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