Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 29-31.

By BigBird74

When she first started experiencing anxiety attacks a few years ago, Dahlia attended several self-help workshops that purported to give their attendees ‘greater consciousness and awareness’. Dahlia found some relief in what they said, but, like clockwork, the next fashion show would soon approach and her anxieties would return.

Even so her time there was not a complete waste. One particular idea had lingered long in Dahlia’s mind and she recently found herself reminded of it. Serious changes in our lives, when they happen, are largely something brought about by factors out of our control. Therefore, rather than fretting over change, we need to grow to accept it and adapt as best we can. Dahlia bit her lip hard as she contemplated those words. It had been ten days now since she had been checked into this exclusive clinic and she was already feeling nervous as to what she had let herself in for, wondering how she could accept the changes she was experiencing.

It was normal for Dahlia’s mind to wander when she was mopping. Though physically taxing, these simple chores relaxed Dahlia and gave her the space to explore the inner recesses of her mind. Right now she was reliving last night’s encounter with her doctor, dwelling upon how their recent interactions had changed.

Over the course of her first week at the clinic, the tender warmth of their initial encounters had blossomed into something more passionate. However, in the past few days, there had been a noticeable change. Unbeknown to Dahlia, a pattern was establishing itself in their encounters. The doctor would visit her, but only when she was dressed as Petra. Not since that first night had he laid eyes on her as ‘herself.’ He also came to see her after her only after her evening meal and once Ms Nechita had reported her progress.

As the days wore by, the increasingly lovesick Dahlia found herself pining for the doctor’s attention. Then on the tenth day of her stay something shifted. As usual the doctor visited after Ms Nechita had reported to him, though it soon became apparent that he was not going to stay. Watching helplessly as he turned and walked from the room, Dahlia felt confused and anxious as to what had happened. Their evening rendezvouses were something Dahlia waited all day for and the thought that he may be tiring of her filled her with dread.

About ten minutes after he left, there was a knock on the door. Hurrying to open it, Dahlia struggled not to show her acute disappointment when she saw it was only Ms Nechita, who proceeded to spell it out for the downhearted supermodel. “You did not finish your meal,” she observed coolly.

“But.. it was too much. I could not….I have started to….”

“I do not want excuses,” Ms Nechita interrupted, “while you are here, you are the responsibility of the clinic. You need to follow the clinical advice or…..,” she paused suggestively, “you will be asked to leave.”

Dahlia did not know what to say. Only that morning, as her hands passed over her belly, she had felt what could best be described as a slight layer of jelly-like softness. When she had pinched her thumb and forefinger together, there was an unmistakably fleshy roll sitting there. Freezing up, at first she panicked, her mind whirring into a frenzy recalling all she had eaten the past few days. Staring at herself in the mirror, she tried to gage whether her thighs were thicker. Did the gap at the top of her thighs look narrower? She could not tell.

Either way, this explained her reluctance to eat all of her meal that evening. It was not easy, after another day of hard cleaning, she was hungry and had gladly eaten the majority of her meal without much of a pause. Despite wanting more, Dahlia was desperate to take control of her diet and left her dessert. It seemed she was not ready to embrace all the changes flooding into her life .

“Please. I am sorry, Ms Nechita. I….” Dahlia continued.

“You will need to do just as you are asked or leave. This is an exclusive clinic, we do not have space for time wasters” the irate supervisor repeated. “I do not want to hear any ifs and buts. You are here because you need help. I would hate to see you go. It would not look good in the gossip columns and you would be denying yourself the treatment you need.”

Though Dahlia’s position was not utterly helpless, Ms Nechita’s comment about the gossip columns threw Dahlia. She was not thinking straight recently, losing herself in a daydream these past few days. She was also completely unaware of the media frenzy surrounding the debacle at the show. A few leaks from unknown sources had painted a wholly inaccurate picture of a prima donna model living life to an excess that resulted in her being rushed to a detox clinic.

Of course the doctor was waiting for the right moment to use this. Dahlia was progressing much as hoped and had already displayed the first signs of an unhealthy dependency on the calmness and privacy this lifestyle afforded her. This manifested itself most clearly in the panic now sweeping her at the hints of her name being bandied around in the tabloids.

After Ms Nechita had left, a confused and distraught Dahlia stared at herself in the mirror. Looking back at her was a mess. A beautiful, privileged woman unable to deal with the pressure of her fame. These past ten days had let her body relax, helping her to see things from outside her increasingly narrow viewpoint and remembering what it was like not be judged every second by those around you. ‘Petra’ was a place to go and hide. No-one expected anything from her. She was a simple cleaner, inhabiting the lowest rungs of the professional workplace. That was a notion that sizzled with eroticism and a mild desire for anonymous humiliation that Dahlia clearly desired. She still had at least a few days left here. How would that affect her? How much weight would she put on?

Putting on weight had seemed erotic and taboo from a distance. When it was a merely a possibility, it seemed a faraway risk, something Dahlia could react to and correct. But now, when it was a probability, she felt scared. Why would she knowingly do that to herself? And why on Earth would anyone seriously ask her to?

The jarring impossibility of what she was being asked to do made the anxiety worse. The sense that she could no longer cut it as a model if she let herself go, indulging her basest desires and letting her iron discipline dissolve completely. Being Petra was exciting, a taboo journey of letting go, but it meant perhaps changing herself irrevocably.

Dahlia’s nervous disposition kept her awake for much of the night. When Ms Nechita met her the following morning, the vibrant, beautiful woman that normally greeted her looked drawn and tired. For the rest of that day, Dahlia went about her duties silently and efficiently and, though she would never show it, Ms Nechita was impressed with the progress she was making: showing a close attention to detail in spite of the mind-numbingly dull chores she completed. Dahlia was clearly a bright girl, but had been stretched too thin of late. So thin that she risked breaking apart, explaining why the simplicity of a life as a cleaner appealed to her on more than a few levels.

The hours went by in a now habitual manner, a set routine that let Dahlia free her mind again to wander. Last night, as she laid in bed unable to sleep, she had determined that she needed to confront the doctor about the weight gain. Everything else she could cope with: the dowdy uniform, overt servility, the hard work and the routine. But the weight? It was fine as a game, something she could fantasise over, but to actually pile on the pounds would be so detrimental to her career.

That evening she once again refused her dessert, in spite of the cravings that her physical labours were giving her. Finding it a struggle to put aside the extra food, she nevertheless steeled herself to confront the doctor.

The conversation that followed was like trying to pin a jelly to the wall. When Dahlia complained of her diet, the doctor retorted that she was underweight for a woman of her age. When she asked him why he had given her the cold shoulder, he asked her how she would feel if someone ignored professional advice? Very soon Dahlia found her arguments unravelling around her. The smooth talking doctor made it plain that everything he prescribed was for her own good. He could not help it if she persisted in pursuing an unhealthy lifestyle that had contributed towards her breakdown.

A moment of silence followed, in which both of them seemed to take stock of the situation. Eventually the doctor spoke: “I was not going to tell you this. But I spoke with Tommy for you to let him know your progress.” It was an outright lie. He had not spoken to Tommy, but had begun to consider how to get Dahlia to stay longer at the facility and this was one way of achieving that end.

“Wh..what did he say?” She replied.

“I told him you are doing well. He sounded pleased with that. He really does care for you, Dahlia. Just…. Well…. He did say there was no need to hurry back. You see there has been a bit of a scandal surrounding what happened at that show.” With that the doctor showed Dahlia one of headlines emblazoned on a news site: Dahlia Western in Top Clinic Receiving Help.

Dahlia’s jaw dropped in shock. He leaned forwards, looking concerned and sympathetic. “We both agreed maybe you use this time seriously to get better. A clean bill of health and you could resume your career, perhaps after several months. We both……”

He paused and watched as Dahlia began to cry. The tears forming on the edge of her eyes now starting to trickle down her face. He felt a need to intervene lest her fragile mind collapse completely.

“I want to help you Dahlia. You need to break these depressive cycles that have formed in your life. The fear, anxiety and unnecessary discipline are all unhealthy for your wellbeing. Tommy and I…. both…. When the time is right…. That he can manage a return to work that can be a story of rebirth. How you conquered your anxieties and recaptured your career.”

His enthusiasm was like seeds sewn upon dry, barren land. Dahlia was not in a good place right now and unreceptive to all he said. She had thought there would be repercussions from her collapse, but nothing so public. Seeing she was almost drowning, the doctor resorted to his old tricks.

“You feel safe here Dahlia?”

She nodded.

“I want to take good care of you, Dahlia. I want you to get better fast. Do you see how unhealthy your life is?”

She nodded again.

“Stay here.. with me… I will make sure you are safe and the world cannot get you.”

Dahlia looked up at him to see his wide smile, doing his very best to reassure her and instil her with confidence. Was it working? She felt so unsure, her whole career seemingly on the precipice of disaster. Stroking her long, thick mane, the doctor spoke softly to her, helping her sink into one of those trances she so enjoyed. Her body lightened, the stress ebbing away as the warmth from his comforting words seemed to pervade her whole being.

Lost in a turbulent sea of thoughts, Dahlia resembled a small ship being tossed about on the waves of her own self-doubt. Lacking in self-confidence, she looked to the doctor for support in what felt like her darkest moment. Weeks of underhand, duplicitous manipulation now paid off for the doctor. Already believing herself unworthy of the adulation supermodels received, aching to hide from her responsibilities and fears, Dahlia took the first step down a road that would see her lose her old life.

The doctor had his prey just where he wanted and to seal the deal kissed her swan-like neck a few times. She threw her head back in delight, her paralysed mind clearing momentarily to focus on the moment. She had been aching for him to take her in his arms again. This time, she wanted more than to be caressed and she made her intentions plain by curling her lithe body tightly against his, feeling his growing stiffness against her pelvis. Her body was hot and warm for him and that night they made love for the first time.

So many red lines had now been crossed that, bound together, they would sink or swim as one. Dahlia’s vulnerability led her to obsess about the doctor from that point. Dahlia found his daily visits to see her became literally the only thing she wanted to think of. Her love for him was simple and based on attraction of mind and body as well as how he was ‘helping’ her. For him, things were more complicated. His main focus had always been Dahlia’s money and he felt every week she spent becoming Petra was a week closer to her fortune. But that hid his controlling, deviant and domineering tastes. Whenever he met Dahlia and they had sex, he was acutely aware of the slow and gradual changes starting to affect her perfect physique.  

It started with a few slight rolls of fat collecting on her stomach. The tightness of her belly had now given way to a slight puffiness. At the same time, her bottom and thighs had definitely rounded out. Her hip bones, previously so visible, were now coated in a slight layer of fat. He dwelt on how much prettier it made her. She had obviously been starving herself and the changes now underway were softening most of the sharp points about her.

While previously her face was a tad chiselled, it now blossomed into a slightly rounder softness, exuding femininity. Her small, but perfectly formed breasts had also rounded out, filling her dress a little more. But the biggest change was her thighs. Clearly this was where three-quarters of her weight gain had gone. The shift in her figure from a predominant hourglass to a slight pear looked sexy. It made him want her more. And the knowledge he was slowly changing her looks thrilled him. In fact, like a drug, he found controlling Dahlia’s very essence – her identity and appearance – so powerfully erotic that it was not long before he was fantasising of other things he might do.

For her part, this was the happiest Dahlia could remember herself being for a long time. Her new life had a simplicity to it that made it easier for her to gradually accept the changes swirling around her. All the while, the doctor ensured her mind was enclosed in a foggy haze that distorted the reality around her. Even though she increasingly grew to accept everything that was happening to her, Dahlia still needed direct coaxing whenever her doubts would inevitably resurface. With her trust in the doctor now unchallenged, her doubts resurfaced less and less as the weeks started to roll by.

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