Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 11-12.

by BigBird74

11.

It actually took a couple of days for the bulge in Dahlia’s stomach to work its way out of her body. The thick glutinous sludge of the various treats she had enjoyed that sinful night was hard for her bod - used to a richly fibrous diet - to digest and expel. When it finally vanished, she felt mildly remorseful, as her guilty souvenir from the weekend had been lost. The strange thrill of appearing to be less than perfect was matched by the sweet tingling she got inside of her every time she recalled that weekend’s events.

In fact the only downside had been the strained conversation she had with her sister when she returned to find the mansion virtually spotless and cleaned. Melissa swallowed Dahlia’s explanation that she had hired a ‘one-time’ cleaning company to deal with the mess. She was on too much of a high after the weekend camp that she was not in the mood to deal with what she saw as minor triviality. For her part, Dahlia was relieved that Melissa bought her story with relatively little fuss.

The only fly in the ointment was that the clean-up had done nothing to correct Melissa’s slack attitude and, two days into the new week, the house was already looking untidy around the edges. This left Dahlia confused as to how to handle the situation. Perhaps she really should hire a cleaning company and be done with it and let Melissa have her ‘victory’?

These were the thoughts swirling in her mind as she met with the doctor again for their first session of the week. He seemed much more animated than usual as he lightly interrogated Dahlia as to what had had occurred that weekend. Once in the state of blissful relaxation she had come to expect on these visits, she laid back and her innermost thoughts flowed forth like an opened tap.

By letting Dahlia lead the narrative without questions, the doctor was able to understand what parts of her experience had most affected her and he was not to be disappointed. He could see her flush brightly as she spoke of her feelings as she pulled the cheap dress on; how it seemed to give her a new identity; how right he had been about the thrill she felt at being ordinary, somehow anonymous. Much of this he expected as he had been feeding her suggestions along these lines for a few weeks now. But what followed was not expected.

For starters, he had not expected her to start placing herself in the mental framework of ‘Petra’ - that was an added bonus. He was also taken aback at how she spoke of gorging on those sugary junk foods and how obviously she was attracted to the feeling that it somehow made her less attractive. The fact that she clearly wanted more was not a surprise, but the depth of thought she had given it was.

Professionally speaking, he could see so much to work with here. Unprofessionally his heart was thumping hard as he began to see a world of new possibilities open up in front of them both. He shifted awkwardly in his chair, his sense of deviancy rendering him as excited as her. He barely needed to push her at all, she was making so much of the running herself. This exquisite, beautiful woman was walking into a trap of her own making. The only this was that he wanted to be the one holding the key.

“So becoming Petra again is something you want, huh Dahlia?” He asked her softly.

“Very much so. It felt so exciting, so liberating!” She replied with gusto.

“Being Petra means not feeling pressure. Petra’s life is simple Dahlia. She does not have to perform, to please other people all the time, does she?”

Dahlia nodded silently.

“That is just how you want to be. I understand. You want to be ordinary, unremarkable. You want to be able to hide and not feel anxious and judged for your looks every time you enter a room.”

As he spoke she nodded again and again, her chest rising and falling slowly, her body palpably showing her arousal.

“Bring your uniform with you….. Petra. Bring it next time and I can help you hide.”

He had now well and truly crossed a professional red line and was moving fast into the shadows. But the idea was only his to harvest, the seed having been planted a long time ago in Dahlia’s fertile and receptive mind. The idea had taken root weeks ago, he was merely reaping what her own imagination had nurtured.

Dahlia herself of course felt very little was wrong. Though certain senses were dimmed, the sessions were not in any way a mystery to her, she remained fully aware of her surroundings throughout the sessions. As she left his room, her face maintained its redness. She could not quite believe what had happened and how loose her tongue was. The doctor had a knack for getting her so comfortable and relaxed, she just felt no need to hide what she was thinking or how she felt. She trusted in his professionalism and assumed she was in safe hands, the slight flickers of doubt put to the back of her mind.

As she got to her car she checked the time. 4pm! There was still time to collect the extra items needed for her outfit.

12.

Dahlia was feeling anxious in the hours leading up to her next appointment with the doctor. She had spent the morning putting the final touches to her uniform, trying to get her look absolutely correct. The image of Petra she held within her mind was not that which stared back at her from her bedroom mirror, but it would do. What one definitely could say was that you would have had to look two or three times to recognise her as Dahlia Western, supermodel and face of Diabolique.

As she dressed for the day, Dahlia dwelt on how it would feel to walk into the doctor’s office as Petra. The guilty stirring of her loins explained a big part of why she was subjecting herself to this nervous torment, but it was not the whole story. Dahlia’s little game was leading her somewhere, to a conclusion she could almost envisage in her head, though it scared her a little too much to flesh it out too much: being in a room where no-one noticed her, where she could melt away to nothing. Much as she tried, she could not make herself out. How did she look?

She packed the uniform into a few carrier bags, so that they resembled shopping from some expensive boutique. Nothing was to suggest she was anything but the successful rich supermodel everyone expected. She had decided to dress to the nines. Her long legs displayed to perfection under a small, tight dress that showed off her perfect body. Her tummy was flat again; her hair cascaded down to her shoulders, where it sat seductively, forming long defined curls. She looked a million dollars. Perhaps the only thing missing was her normal, impeccable makeup, but she figured she would wipe it all off anyhow, so she opted for something light and barely perceptible.

No, she wanted to feel the change. The thought of playing dress up thrilled her to the core and she wanted to savour every moment of her naughty little game. One final inspection in the mirror as she left, a guilty smile and she was on her way.

Upon arriving at the office, Dahlia noticed that the receptionist was not at her desk. As she crept into the empty room, she wondered if she might be late, so devoid of life everything seemed. She walked to the heavy wooden door of the doctor’s office and knocked a few times. Those doors are heavy for a reason, they dim all the noise that might emanate from inside. Dahlia was not sure if she could hear footsteps so she leaned in towards the door. Just at that moment, it swung open and the doctor stood there smiling.

“Petra, so pleased you made it for your interview,” he said in a perfectly normal business manner, his eyes drinking in the figure standing before him. He had noticed the effort she had gone to and understood her need to contrast herself with what she was about to become. “You may change in the adjoining room. Come through when you are ready.”

Dahlia’s heart was in her mouth as she nodded, her face a picture of acute embarrassment. Unlike her earlier visits, she had not been placed in a relaxing trance so she felt a sense of unease at what she was doing. But if she was more aware than usual, her inner desires where just as strong as ever. This was a test the doctor had in mind, to see how strong her inhibitions were and to check whether they had been overcome. She felt on fire as she walked to the adjoining room. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. It was one thing dressing up in private, quite another to adopt another persona in front of man she was desperately attracted to.

Once inside the empty office, she undressed, removing her earrings, her jewellery. Next to go was the delicate pumps that perfectly matched her peach coloured dress. She lifted her arms and pulled that off next, before catching her mostly naked body in a side mirror. She was gorgeous. She was bright and alive, so excited and turned on. Her arms shook as she pulled off her expensive lace lingerie and laid them neatly on top of her – no Dahlia’s – clothes.

No. She was now Petra. She wore a cheap, crisp and scratchy uniform. Underneath were a pair of knickers and a bra she had picked up from a discount store. As she secured the cups around her breasts, it all felt so flimsy and loose, not like the firmer, quality materials she usually bought. The sexual tension she felt was so powerful and risked overwhelming her as she pulled the dress up her body. Unlike the other day, everything she wore was a couple of sizes too big. She had bought various slices of sponge padding to fill her body out and make her figure resembled something much more normal and unexceptional. Alongside the wig and heavy glasses, she hoped the effect would be mask her looks completely. Finally, she rolled the thick denier tights up her legs and torso, till they reached all the way to her midriff. After inserting the largest sponge around her stomach in the lining of the tights, she took a step back and stared at her reflection in the mirror. 

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