Story: Annabelle's New Role

By Violet Carson

Let me introduce myself, I’m just over a month away from my 28th birthday, my name is Annabelle Jemima Parfitt (known as AJ to my friends) and I’ve been married to the gorgeous Mark for almost three years. We live in a four-bedroom detached house with a large garden and double-car garage in a beautiful English village just outside St. Albans, 30 minutes north of London. Despite the on-going protestations of Mark’s parents (his mother in particular) we have no plans to have any children in the near future.

I was born Annabelle Ophelia Edwards to two frightfully ambitious middle class parents, a bank manager and a school teacher who were simply desperate for me to make the most of life’s opportunities, hence the horrendously pretentious names I was given. They couldn’t afford to send me to a boarding school as much as they would have liked to, but I did go to a very good girl’s school outside Reading where I was brought up. In addition I studied piano to Grade 8 in addition to taking ballet lessons and having tennis coaching. I’m 5ft 7” tall with a slim toned figure, firm pert 34B breasts, long legs and slim athletic waist and have blond expensively highlighted wavy hair tumbles that go just over my shoulders My only obvious physical shortcoming is that unfortunately I’m rather short sighted but from the age of 18 onwards I have worn contact lenses which, if anything, make my eyes slightly larger in appearance and hence to most people, boys in particular more attractive.

I have to admit that all my parents support, hectoring, encouragement and hopes paid off as I was offered a place at one of Oxford University’s oldest colleges to study Classics which I passed with a 2.1 Honours degree.  However, this pales into significance when compared to my mother’s delight at my leaving university with the previously mentioned Mark as my by then long-term boyfriend.

Mark was one of the stars of the university. He didn’t quite get a blue, but came close to it in both cricket and rowing and at 6 ft 3” of solid muscle and a charming smile he was quite a catch! Mark is a year older than me but we were in the same year in college owing to his having taken a gap year to go to South East Asia, which was all the rage in the early 2000s.

We met at what turned out to be something of an S&M party and hit it off instantly. It was a Friday night party and I didn’t end up leaving his rooms until about 4pm on the Sunday. It was quite some weekend and I can still hear the wolf whistles as I walked across the quad on that sunny Sunday afternoon wearing my French maid’s outfit. At least I had the good sense to carry my fishnets and black stilettos! Looking back since, I also cringe at the outfit, some horrible satin thing with a white apron and a cap I bought at a tacky sex shop for about £15. I was also desperately hoping that the hand-cuff marks would have disappeared from my wrists by Monday’s lectures! I think they did or at least if they hadn’t no-one dared mention them. I was less worried about the tie marks around my ankles as I usually wore jeans or opaques to lectures anyway.

As you can probably tell Mark had some very interesting and creative ideas in the bedroom and for a girl with very few previous boyfriends it was quite an eye-opener but more importantly had me completely hooked from that day forward. I didn’t realize that I was a sub until that moment and from then onwards despite my success in my career I’ve never been able to get enough of it or of Mark!

I should probably tell you a little more about Mark and our life together. He’s the son of the recently knighted Sir Richard Parfitt and his wife Jayne. He has an older sister Rebecca who’s very happily married with two young children. Sir Richard is a self made man, a highly successful property developer with developments and office blocks all over the UK as well as Dubai and southern Spain. Partfit Developments is privately owned and I reckon he’s worth c£200m. Straight after university, Mark joined the firm, joining the finance department and has recently been promoted to Financial Controller boosting his six figure salary to something closer to £500,000pa, hence our wonderful house. For my part I spent two years working at one of the big management consultancies before taking a year off to study for an MBA in London and since we got married I’ve been self employed, largely working from home conducting research and providing strategic advice to companies looking to enter new markets. With Mark’s salary I clearly don’t need to work but with my qualifications, without working too hard I can earn £60,000 to £70,000 per year, which is basically my spending money – gym, facials, hair, Jimmy Choos etc etc.

One of the main reasons we bought the house other than its size and location is that it had a cellar of two rooms, one a gym for Mark and the other, discretely disguised as a store, is an impressive equipped dungeon that would be the envy of many a London Dom – St. Andrews Cross, a rack, punishment chair, cage and enough masks and heavy duty latex to satisfy all bit the most discerning participants. I shudder to think how much it all cost but its been worth it as I’ve spent many an unhappy hour hot and sweaty with my rib cage squeezed into some impossibly tight boned corset and my breathing and vision distorted by gas masks and a variety of tubes attached to any part of my body that either Mark or my deviant mind could think of.

Every weekend we’d use it, as I begged for forgiveness from some imaginary crime and I loved every minute and the release it gave me until very recently when for some reason – growing up, simple boredom, I don’t really know what, but it wasn’t exciting me the way it had.

One of the great advantages of meeting your future husband at an S&M party is that you both pretty quickly know what each other is into and also it enables you to discuss pretty much anything with each other pretty openly without the other partner being hurt or upset. I’d told Mark that the S&M thing wasn’t really working for me in quite the same way for me anymore and he did appreciate that without the sub being genuinely into the scenario then it was all fake and despite my fake tan, false nails and my blond shoulder length highlights we both hated – fake. The irony of it!

I knew I had to make a change for the sake of both of us, then quite by accident the trigger went off.

We employed a domestic cleaner via the agency that cleaned all the properties in Parfitt Development’s portfolio. It was always Rose who cleaned for us, every Tuesday and Thursday she’d turn up at about 9 after Mark had left for his office in Hemel Hempstead. She was in her early 50s, poorly educated ,but an absolute gem. She’d put her pink or lemon housecoat and tabard on and clean the house from top to bottom (excepting the dungeon!) Well I lie, she’d clean but I would still have to do parts that she couldn’t be bothered to do, but nevertheless the house was always a lot cleaner than it would have been with just me doing it. I think Mark had only ever met her once or twice in the two years or so that she’d worked for us but if I was working from home when she was around which was usually the case we’d always stop for a chat and a cup of tea, well black coffee or green tea for me, white with 2 sugars for her.

She was simply so different to me with her short permed grey hair, cheap clothes and flat shoes. The only flat shoes I had were Hunter wellies, a couple of pairs of ballet flats all of which were rarely worn and flip-flops for the beach plus a few pairs of trainers for my regular dance or spinning classes. However she didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Her husband Dave was a long distance lorry driver who had just taken a redundancy, partly on health grounds and they had two children that she was immensely proud of both in their 20s, Darren a builder who was married with a young son and Tracey a beautician. There was I, with everything in comparison to her and I was secretly desperately unhappy and yet she was so contented with her meager lot. What did it all mean?

Anyway, the trigger!! Partly due to husband Dave’s retirement they had decided to sell their ex council house and retire to Spain, where they could live in the sun for less. I was genuinely delighted for her and she told me she would work her two weeks notice and had informed the agency the day before. Could I not replace her and do the housework, Mark could take complete charge and make all the decisions and dominate me in an entirely new way? My mind was racing and I was sitting there talking to Rose seeing myself in her shoes, her tabard and housecoat, I was actually becoming wet, just thinking about it. I could feel myself blushing at the thought and hoping Rose couldn’t tell. My mind was made up I simply had to try this and when Mark returned tonight I would sow the seed.

The Conversation

It was about 7:30 that night when I heard Mark’s white Porsche turn on to our short gravel drive and the remote slide the garage door open. He carefully parked alongside my yummy Range Rover Evoke in the same colour as his. I just loved my car!

I’d cooked a seafood risotto.

Since getting married I’d turned into a fairly decent cook and I’d opened a bottle of suitably chilled New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. I was dressed to the nines for my big conversation, one of my favourite dresses, a low cut but beautifully tailored tartan Vivienne Westwood number which finished pencil tight just at my knees with a slight fishtail. I had a pair of scarlet red Vivienne Westwood elevated platforms on and unusually for me tan ultra thin holds-ups. With ruby red lipstick and my hair parted on one side and clipped behind my left ear, falling over to the right hand side. If I say so myself I looked pretty damned hot and on my second glass of wine I was beginning to feel more confident.

“Hi AJ” Mark casually said before he caught sight of me; he followed it up with a far more acceptable :”God, you look absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks” I said. “Just a little something I found in the back of the cupboard.”

“Here, have a glass of wine, food will be in ten minutes”

“It smells as good as you look” he thoughtfully replied.

We sat down to a great meal and he told me about his day, which had been relatively uneventful, other than a few delays on one of their new projects but nothing to be too concerned about.

I had been looking for the right moment to mention my plan but kept losing my nerve, so I opened a second bottle which surprised Mark, especially on a Thursday!

He said:”Hey AJ what’s up? Something’s obviously troubling you, come on, spit it out”

“Well, Rose has resigned,” I said, as a half-hearted attempt to break the ice.

“What, the cleaner? I’d hardly recognize her. I’ll call the agency tomorrow to get another.”

“No, don’t do that” I said sounding far more pleading than I meant to. “I have a better idea”

“What’s that?” said Mark.

“I could clean, its not hard and I’m at home and my work looks like getting a lot quieter over the next few months and it would save us a few pennies.”

“Are you kidding me?” said Mark. “You want to clean and save money?”

“Well," I said, trying to sound cool, “Remember when we met, that French Maid’s outfit, that was one of the best night’s of my life and, if I remember correctly, yours too!”

“It certainly was” replied Mark wearing the grin that made him so endearing, “but I’m not sure it’s a very realistic option on a daily basis, as great as you’d look, and what about the rest of your work?”

“Well as you’ve often said, I don’t actually need to work and, to be honest, the clients are a pain and although I get well rewarded for it, its not actually why I went to University or got an MBA” I said.

“Whereas gong to university to end up as a cleaner is,” he sighed exasperatedly.

“No, Mark, that’s not the point” I replied. “I want to see what it's like to truly submit, to have no control. It’s the cleaners and people doing menial tasks across this world just to earn a meager living that are the real submissives, not the people like us, playing in silly costumes. I don’t know why, but I really want to try this, just for a while, please?” I smiled as sweetly as I could under the rather strange circumstances I found myself in.

“Silly costumes, that lot downstairs set me back about ten grand,” he stammered.

“However I suppose it could just be a bit of fun,” he answered surprisingly. I swear my heart must have missed a beat.

“I’ve got a bit of spare time tomorrow so I’ll think about it and I’ll give you my decision tomorrow night” he said. “But no promises, it sounds too crazy for words”

“Oh Mark, that’s all I ask” I practically squealed giving him the longest sexiest kiss ever.

“Umm” said Mark, “But be aware if we do this, and it’s a very big if, it won’t seem like a game to you. I will be in charge, you will effectively be my slave, or at least an employee and it will be bloody hard work, you will clean the house and do all the shopping and cooking, it will be humiliating, degrading and probably mind-numbingly boring, is that what you really want?”

“Well let’s try it for a few weeks and see how it goes” I said.

“Oh no: a few weeks would be just another little game, if we do this we really do it, agreed?” said Mark.

“Agreed” I stammered, not exactly sure what he meant.

Part 2 – The Decision

At 3.15 my mobile rang as I was just leaving the gym before popping to the supermarket to get some food for dinner. It was Mark.

“Hi hon” I answered.

“Is that the cleaners?” he jokingly asked.

“Wow, is that a Yes,” I practically screamed.

“It’s a yes” he said, “I couldn’t wait until this evening. I’ve been thinking it through, it will be great, I’ll draw up a contract this afternoon before leaving and the you can start as soon as Rose leaves in 2 weeks time.”

“Contract?” I queried, wondering exactly what I was letting myself in for.

“Oh, its nothing, but you need to know your position and responsibilities so that you’re safe, it will be very simple, I just want to make sure you know where you stand. You know I’d never do anything to actually harm you don’t you?” he replied.

“Yes of course” I said trying to sound unconcerned. “I simply hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms, but I’m sure you’re right and I suppose you will be the one in charge.”

“I certainly will,” said Mark, “But don’t worry, this is going to really move our marriage on and I’m sure we’ll both look back at this as the best thing we ever did. Anyway must rush, I should be back soon after 6.”

“Love you,” I replied to the sound of him ringing off.

I raced round the supermarket with my head spinning, I’ve no idea what I bought and at one point turned the corner of an aisle to crash into a little boy pushing his mum’s trolley almost as erratically as I was. I apologized profusely, but I’m sure his mother thought I was some spoilt bitch, and she was probably right, but at least it looked as though all that could change very soon. I was in a dream. I hit the gas pedal in the Evoque as hard as I could and got home safely somehow! I put the food into our enormous American fridge-freezer, made myself a Nespresso and rushed upstairs to change for Mark. I don’t know how many things I tried on, my Stella McCartney black mini and my yummy Armani grey silk dress, but nothing felt quite right. I finally settled on a “rock-chick vibe”. A dark olive green t-shirt mini, topped off with a wide black leather belt, brown opaque tights and my flat over the knee Alexander McQueen boots. Mark normally likes me in heels but I dropped so many hints about these that one Saturday when we were on Bond Street I dragged him in, tried them on and he bought them for me on the spot. They cost him a small fortune but he’s so sweet and I love him to bits.

Anyway it had taken me so long to get ready that I’d barely started cooking when he was walking through the door. We hugged and kissed very passionately before I plucked up the courage to say.

“Its on then, yes?”

“If you really want to. Then, athough I think we’re both crazy, yes, why not let’s treat it as a big adventure and see where it takes us!” he replied.

I could barely speak for excitement and for some inexplicable reason started crying like a little school girl. I don’t know when I last did that, I felt so ashamed. But Mark simply took me in his arms, stared down at me from his height and said.

“I know this is a huge decision for you and we don’t have to go ahead if you don’t want to.”

“No” I said trying to wipe away the tears knowing my mascara would be running practically down to my chin. “I’m so sorry Mark, I don’t know why I reacted like that, I love you so so much and as long as you’re happy with the decision I really do want to go ahead, at least for a little while.”

“Ok, its agreed,” he said holding me tight as I practically melted in his arms, heart pounding. “Let’s eat dinner and then discuss it.

“And I have the contract!” he exclaimed.

We finished our dinner, ravioli, well Mark did, I could barely eat for nervous excitement, then I loaded the dishwasher and over coffee he handed me the contract.

It was short, sharp and to the point, very businesslike, typical Mark in such matters, how can someone be so loving and yet simultaneously so emotionless in business I wondered. Anyway, there didn’t seem to be anything too alarming. In brief he agreed to look after me and minimize any risks to me, I would be paid the equivalent of the minimum wage less deductions for board and lodge (living in my own home!) and uniform and casual clothing would be provided (this seemed strange as I had my own non-work clothes) but he said it just meant he could buy me extra clothing in addition to my workwear which appeared to make sense. It said the hours would be from 7am to 9pm six days a week but I would need to remain flexible and that the place of work would be our home but that could change if necessary (he said this covered us moving which I thought highly unlikely, but it was a standard phrase he’d borrowed from one of his firm’s employment contracts. The start date would be two weeks on Monday as soon as Rose left and it would last for 6 months extendable if both parties agreed.

Six months, I gulped but he explained in his own sweet but professional way that he would be investing in this and that would be wasted if it were just for a few weeks and also would I really experience the drudgery of working as a domestic with all the associated boredom and repetitiveness if I simply new that a return to my old life was just a week or two away. I did understand his logic and although I offered some mock protestations, deep down whilst secretly scared to death I was absolutely elated.

Anyway, I gladly signed as did he and he said he’d get someone to witness it in work tomorrow saying it was just a deed that needed a signature and that no-one would even read it.

We agreed that he would take responsibility for buying all the clothing I’d need and that he would store them as they arrived in his study (our fourth bedroom). He would keep this locked and so the big surprise would be ready for two weeks time which would give me enough time to complete my current projects and then tell clients I was taking a short break but would contact them when I was back at work. I was to tell Rose not to clean in there as we were using it as a short term store so she didn’t suspect anything.

My parents, especially my mother, might be less easy to deal with, so we agreed to say we were going to Mark’s office in Dubai for an unspecified period, but probably a couple of months. We only saw them once a month anyway so although my mother was a little upset she knew it wasn’t for too long. We rarely saw Mark’s parents anyway as he saw his father practically every day at work and his mother would still drop in to the office at least once a week. They never came to us as my mother-in-law saw me as a “golddigger” who, unless I fell pregnant, was best left alone, which suited me fine!

As you can imagine, the two weeks raced by in a blur. Mark seemed to be constantly running up and down stairs with bags and boxes and even what looked like some flat pack furniture. I had no idea what it all was or why we’d need so many things, but I was delighted that he really seemed to have embraced the idea and despite me being absolutely petrified, I couldn’t wait.

I found it very hard to concentrate on my last few projects and was also trying to watch Rose as much as I could on her last few shifts with us to get some ideas. Sometimes I think she must have thought I was acting rather strangely, but I hope she felt that, as we’d become quite close I was going to miss her, which was at least partly true.

Anyway, Rose’s last Thursday shift arrived and Mark announced he would be at home to say goodbye, I thought that was very sweet of him, but also I think he wanted to watch and get some ideas. He made her milky tea with two sugars checking that it was just the way she liked it and even spoke to her in the garden when she went out for one of her many cigarette breaks. I don’t know how many she must smoke in a day, but the ingrained nicotine smell on her breath and all her clothes was one of the few things that I really didn’t like about her – urghh!

Finally the time came for her to say her goodbyes, Mark gave her a very large bouquet, too big in my opinion and a box of chocolates and after hugs and kisses on both cheeks she was off. I waved goodbye turned around and closed the front door wondering what had I let myself in for.

Part Three – Monday, First Day at Work

I was rather expecting to be kicked out of the matrimonial bed at some particularly ungodly hour, but I awoke at about 7.30 to hear Mark already in our on-suite. He emerged, gave me a long kiss and said I should shower and then just put my dressing gown on after which he would give me my uniform and my new life would begin.

I showered, shaved my legs, armpits and somewhere else, shampooed and conditioned my hair and emerged soon after 8 wearing a white towel turban style around my wet hair and my pale grey silk dressing gown. I hadn’t put my contacts in and wasn’t wearing my back-up glasses so things were a little blurry but I could see Mark standing there holding a very plain beige button up the front housecoat that looked to be about knee length with knit whit ecollar and trim on its short sleeves and that the bed was covered in various other items of clothing.

“Right, Mrs. Mop, it starts here,” he said, instructing me to remove my dressing gown.

For I think the first time in my life I actually felt embarrassed standing naked in front of him. The first item he handed me was flesh-coloured and looked something like a waist to mid thigh pair of Spanx, but there was a difference, they were quite heavy, they must have weighed at least 10 pounds and I could see they contained pockets filled with silicon pads.

I said, “I can’t wear these, that’s not part of the plan”.

But Mark calmly explained that I didn’t want to go out looking like AJ wearing cleaners’ outfit did I? And my figure was just too good for a typical cleaner and that he thought I’d simply wanted to blend in and be ignored as most domestics were.

Although it seemed a bit freaky, I could understand his logic and after all they were far less strange than some of the things I’d worn in our dungeon.

I pulled them up over my thighs. They were actually a surprisingly tight fit and weren’t likely to fall off, which was at least something of a relief. I could see that they must contain five separate pads in different pockets. Two on my bum, which padded that out but didn’t unfortunately in any way make me look like JLo's. One fitted across my stomach completely changing my waistline but most alarming were the two that ran down from my hips to mid thigh on the outside of my legs giving me real hips and flabby thighs. With one single item of underwear my body felt transformed.

“Well this is certainly different” I said to Mark and I asked him if he expected me to wear this all the time and he said other than when I was sleeping, yes and I could wear it then If I wished although it might get rather sweaty. He also explained that there was a discrete slit between the legs enabling me to go to the toilet without having to take it off, how thoughtful of the designer!! I wondered where he’d got it and he said that they were used by theatres and very popular with trannies, which would explain the convincing figures of one or two of the individuals we’d met in some of the more interesting parties we’d attended. He then handed me a pair of panties, they could not be called knickers! They seemed enormous and devoid of any style, plain white cotton with an elasticated waste. They looked about three times the size of the lacy silk ones I usually wore, but when I pulled them on they actually fitted over my newly grown hips. He then handed me a white cotton bra, not padded or underwired and clearly at least one size too big. I told him the size was wrong but he said no, that’s what he wanted that my breast hung down and didn’t seem their usual firm pert selves. I sighed but tightened it as best as I could looking at what appeared now to be too very small breasts lost in two rather loose cups.

Of course, he hadn’t finished there. He handed me a pair of tan coloured tights that he had thoughtfully removed from the packet. They felt cheap and nasty and far thicker than any I would normally wear in anything approaching that colour and I think they were pure nylon as they crackled as I pulled them on and, while sitting tightly around my hips and thighs, left subtle, but obvious wrinkles around my ankles, yuk! Not quite Nora Batty but it didn’t seem far off. How bad could this get? With that he handed me a white cotton slip with thin shoulder straps that fell just above my knees. I put it on and caught a blurred image of myself in the full-length bedroom mirror, seeing a woman with no figure at all, just a sack with hips and bum.

He then handed me the housecoat, which I slipped on and buttoned up. I’m not sure what size it was but it was fairly loose around my chest but clung to my hips before flaring out before ending at knee length. I was actually glad of some coverage and then a matching tabard that I pulled over my head and buttoned at both sides. I was finally starting to feel like a domestic worker and getting strangely and rather worryingly quite excited. He then gave me a pair of back court shoes, which were obviously second hand. They were without doubt the ugliest shoes I had ever set eyes on. Black, with a heel about 1” high, but in a slightly scalloped almost wedge style and a rubber sole. They had virtually square toes with a small decorative buckle on the outer side, which the “designer” possibly thought added some style – he was wrong! They were absolutely gross and I didn’t want to touch them but put them on and at least they fitted and were surprisingly comfortable. I suppose I‘d have to get used to wearing them for 12+ hours per day so comfort would be important.  

Just as I was “admiring” the new me in the mirror the front door bell rang. I desperately looked at Mark thinking he might expect me to answer it, but he blithely said “Don’t worry I’m sure that will be the hairdresser she said she could come at 9.

“Hairdresser,” I cried, “I always go to Tony on the King’s Road and he doesn’t do home visits out here.”

“Don’t worry,” said Mark this girl comes highly recommended and you need something more practical for your new job.

With that he rushed downstairs and told me to go and wait in the kitchen.

As I was coming across the hall I set eyes on one of the most alarming looking creatures I’d ever seen.

She was wearing combat pants covered in some kind of graffiti pattern, a khaki coloured vest and well worn denim jacket. On her feet were heavy-duty industrial style boots and her hair was cut in a pudding bowl undercut, dyed peroxide blond with dark roots showing underneath. She looked like exactly the last person I would let loose on my hair.

“Hi, I‘m Zoe,” she confidently said in a strong Australian accent putting out her hand in my direction.

“I like the look,” she said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“You too,” I nervously replied.

I felt thoroughly overwhelmed; Mark had obviously gone to quite some effort here with the clothes and now this. What did he and this Zoe character have planned?

I was sat at the kitchen table whilst Zoe took her jacket off to reveal a large tattoo on her torso and a full sleeve design on her left arm. Without my contacts I struggled to make out the detail, but as she threw the plastic cloak over my shoulders, I also noticed a large septum piercing. Great, I thought, who is this monster?

She put her large bag on the table, got out a comb and scissors and removed the towel from my head. She combed it all through a few times and said, “Wow, this will take some work.”

“I’ve never had that reaction from a hairdresser before,” I thought.

With that, she quickly grabbed her scissors and in a matter of seconds had cut my wet blond locks off just below my chin.

“Mark,” I yelled, “Stop this woman!”

“Now, AJ, don’t be silly you know what we agreed and you can hardly go around with your expensive hair the way it was, as much as I love it, it just wouldn’t work. Anyway you’d be too easily recognized.”

“But Mark,” I practically begged. "I didn’t expect to look like this 24/7.”

“Well get used to it” he coldly replied.

I was beginning to see a rather different and disturbing side to Mark.

“Can we get on?” said Zoe, “I’ve got a lot of work to do here.”

“Yes,” said Mark, “Just as we agreed.”

“That’s right, isn’t it, Annabelle?”

“Yes,” I meekly agreed, “Do your worst.”

With that I was marched up to the bedroom where Zoe put a plastic shawl over my shoulders and donned a pair of disposable plastic gloves, telling me to crouch over the bath.

I knew what was coming next – hair dye!

She was pretty expert at this I could tell. After at most 10 minutes she had my hair covered, topped off with a plastic shower cap. I wasn’t sure what the colour was but I could tell from what was left in the washbasin that it was pretty dark!

“How long do I have to wait?" I asked.

“Let’s give it 30 minutes just to be on the safe side,” twanged Zoe, “Plenty of time for coffee.”

The three of us trudged downstairs where they watched me make three coffees, probably the first of my many housekeeping duties.

I noticed Zoe had a strong back Nespresso just like me.

So that’s two things we have in common I thought - strong coffee and bad hair!

Zoe was obviously very eager to find out what Mark and I were up to and I tried to keep my answers as brief as possible, but much to my embarrassment, Mark was only too happy to discuss me in the third person and my desire to serve. I could have killed hm.

He them decided to take Zoe off to show her the dungeon. I didn’t know whether I was relieved or worried.

Anyway on their return I was ushered back to the bathroom where Zoe showered my hair - definitely dark!

We then went back to the kitchen where she put the shawl over my shoulders and commenced some serious cutting.

I could instantly tell that she’d given me a fringe and cut more off the length especially at the sides but most alarming off all as I watched the dark brown tresses fall into my lap she seemed to be thinning it out like crazy. After what seemed like an eternity she got her hairdryer out and quickly dried it flat without any brush to add body and certainly no styling product.

Both she and Mark pronounced themselves delighted with the result as if I didn’t matter and after some small talk she was off wishing me well with my new career. Cheeky bitch, I thought.

Mark returned after seeing her off saying, “Right, almost done, let’s go upstairs to the bedroom.”

I sheepishly followed behind making no sound on the tiled hall in my rubber soled shoes.

With some relief he handed me my contact lenses, but I quickly realized they weren’t mine, they were brown in colour, but he insisted I wear them. So I put my eye-drops in and placed them in one after the other. I could tell they were darkening my vision slightly but they obviously weren’t corrective.

When I complained, he said they were theatrical. It was important to change my appearance so I didn’t get noticed but I should wear them just as I did my usual contacts and take them out at night.

“But how will I see,” I pleaded

“Glasses,” he replied, handing me a hideous pair of clear and pink plastic frames that from the size of the lenses must have been made in the 70s or 80s. I put them on - at lest the prescription was correct. He told me he’d copied mine form my desk drawer. They had plastic lenses meaning they looked much thicker than the ones that I occasionally wore when I was taking a break from my contacts.

With that he told me to walk over to the full-length mirror to admire the new me.

I could have screamed and I did in fact cry again!

What stared back at me was an absolute frump, with lank brown hair cut in a cross between a bob and a pudding bowl, enormous glasses hiding brown eyes not my usual sparkling blue ones and the housedress, tabard and world’s worst shoes and slightly saggy tights to round it off. And my hips looked enormous!

However, once I stopped my childish sobbing, I actually started to enjoy it. I was a different person; I couldn’t recognize the old AJ at all. I was a shapeless nobody that anyone would ignore in the street. I wasn’t quite ugly, but I was most definitely plain and very beige. I think I actually loved it, but I had to keep telling myself that this wasn’t just dressing up for the day, this was me for 6 whole months. Could I handle it?

“Well," Mark said. “Do you like it, Rose?”

“Rose,” I said. “I’m still AJ!”

“No,” he replied. “Who’s ever heard of a cleaner called Annabelle or even AJ for that matter. Its Rose, easy to remember.”

“Mark, you really have planned this, haven’t you?”

“Mr. Parfitt to you,” he replied.

“Yes. Sir.” I jokingly responded.

“Don’t joke,” he sternly replied, “We’re not Edwardians, Mr. Parfitt will do fine”.

“Shall I curtsey as well?” I asked

“No, don’t be stupid, just show due respect and some deference to your employer.”

“Of course, Mr. Parfitt,” I said meekly.

“Now let me take you to your new room,” and he instructed me to follow him.

“My room?” I exclaimed. “Don’t you mean our room?”

“No,” came his reply. “You will sleeping the small spare room that used to be my study, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to sleep with the staff and I will work in your office downstairs as you won’t be needing your computer, iPad or iPhone for the next six months. I’ve got you a cheap old Nokia Pay as You Go phone in case of emergencies.”

With that he opened the door to my new room, his old study that was about 10ft by 8ft, the smallest room in the house, which he had completely refurbished.

His desk had gone and there was an obviously second hand single bed and small chest of drawers, a cheap flat-pack wardrobe and one chair. There was a cheap floral pink carpet on the floor and a pair of tacky curtains. On the walls were one small mirror and two prints, the type you find in an OAP’s flat. One of two kittens playing and one of a bunch of flowers. The whole room was hideous compared to my old master bedroom suite.

He then opened the wardrobe door to show me my new outfits. There were three maid’s housecoat style dresses all in exactly the same style as the one I was wearing, each with matching tabards, another in beige, one in pale pink and one in a pale green colour. There were two other dresses hanging up, but in floral chintzy prints, three skirts and a few blouses and cardigans. Most of them clearly came from charity shops and nothing resembled in any way anything I would ever normally wear. This was really going to take some getting used to! I also noted two pairs of trousers with elasticated waists – they were simply horrible, one in navy blue and the other again in beige. I really was gong to become a non-person wearing this lot. There were also two coats, one a simply awful pink anorak and a burgundy ¾ length raincoat – Yuk! Finally the wardrobe contained two extra pairs of shoes, a beige pair of sandals with 1” wedge heels and elasticated sides and a pair of very plain navy blue court shoes with a heel of possibly 2” and squared off toes’ like something a schoolteacher might have worn in the 1908s. They were relatively unworn but obviously second hand.

Mark then opened the chest of drawers to show me some white underwear all very similar to what I was wearing and about 6 pairs of tan tights. In addition, I had three floral button up to the neck cotton nighties that appeared to be knee length and a pair of fluffy slippers placed below my chair.

On the back of the door hung a dark pink polyester dressing gown and two imitation leather shoulder bags one in beige again and the other navy blue, Gucci they were not. Mark explained that he’d put a few bits of basic makeup and my car keys and a cheap plastic purse in the blue one, along with my house keys. He said that’s probably all a cleaner on the minimum wage would be able to afford and I should be very thankful that I didn’t have to buy an entirely new wardrobe. He then presented me with a bottle of perfume named after some D-List celebrity; it looked as if I wasn’t even going to keep my J’Adore.

“Thank you, Mr. Parfitt, you are very thoughtful.”

“Less of your sarcasm, Rose,” he tersely replied.

He told me I would find a new credit card that he had opened for me in the name of Mrs. Rose Edwards (nice of him to keep my maiden name I thought). He told me it had a £1,000 monthly limit and it was to be used for all food, petrol and household purchase, the bill was linked to his card account so he would know exactly what I’d bought and he gave me the PIN.

He then told me I should go off to the supermarket to do the weekly shop and that I should start cleaning on my return. He had a meeting to go to and he expected dinner served at 7:30 pm. What he ate was up to me (arsenic felt like a possibility!).

“I’ll go to the supermarket straight away, Mr. Parfitt."

I took off my tabard and put on the raincoat which was a little loose but did sort of fit and I looked at the new me with my beige handbag over my shoulder. I was certainly instantly forgettable.

Before leaving I checked in my bag, the few bits of makeup were horrible and cheap with no foundation so I simply added a little bright pink lipstick which I think actually made me look worse!

I then rummaged around for my car keys but found a few unexpected surprises. Firstly I found a packet of Silk Cut cigarettes and a cheap plastic lighter. I asked Mark what they were for and he asked whether I’d forgotten that my main complaint about Rose was that she stank of cigarette smoke. He expected me to do the same. I was to smoke when driving with the window closed and then smoke in my room with the door closed but wardrobe opened so all my clothes would soak up the ghastly smell. I couldn’t believe he was being so cruel. He knew how much I hated smoking and the smell of Rose’s clothes was the one thing I absolutely detested about her

I complained bitterly but he would not accept any of my objections. Did he really expect me to become her?

I then told him I couldn’t find my car keys and he then picked up the bag and found them. But they weren’t mine. He informed me that they were and my car was outside. I ran outside without thinking how I looked with my new hips wobbling and brushing the door frame, to find a brown Vauxhall Nova that must have been at least 10 years old.

Again I almost cried, but Mark’s logical mind took charge.

He said that a poor cleaner couldn’t afford my old Evoque and also I had the number AJ 67 and I was likely to either get stopped by the police or spotted by friends so I grudgingly accepted that he was right. It was leased via his company and he had it returned.

I got in to the wreck with its saggy seat and started the tinny engine. It had done 93,000 miles and then I also discovered that the radio didn’t work – great!

I drove ultra carefully to the supermarket for my first exciting but nervous adventure outside as Rose Edwards!

I parked slowly; partly through nerves and also trying to forget about the way I usually drove – way too fast! That certainly wasn’t going to be on the agenda with this car as it spluttered its way into the car park. I had visions of breaking down and I hardly looked like a damsel in distress. I looked like the old maid who got stuck on the side of the road for hours.

Anyway, into the supermarket I went pushing my trolley looking like a cross between a bag lady and a domestic worker. I desperately hoped I wouldn’t be recognized and instantly saw someone I knew from the gym. Not really a friend, but someone who I would certainly usually spend a few minutes passing the time of day with. I walked straight past her and there wasn’t the slightest hint of recognition other than I noticed a slightly derogatory look at my clothing as I went past.

At the butcher’s counter was the usual middle-aged male assistant who always rather flirted with me, but he too simply treated me as another ordinary customer. I suddenly thought to myself: “I can do this, I can actually do it”. I loaded up the trolley and went to the checkout where I paid without any incident and slowly loaded up the hatchback before heading back home as carefully as I’d come.

As I pulled into our drive I saw Mark helping a young guy load the back of a white van. I asked Mark what he was doing but was informed to go inside and unload my shopping, which I did with little hesitation - I was clearly already starting to adapt to my new status.

Mark then told me he was going into the office and would be back for dinner at 7:30 pm. He expected me to make a good start on the cleaning before he returned, but he expected me to have had a few cigarette breaks in my room and I wasn’t to empty the ashtray so he could check on me.

I decided to start upstairs with the bathrooms which I hoovered, mopped the floors and cleaned all the baths, showers basins and even the toilets thoroughly. I quite drifted off just focusing on my menial tasks, it was just what I’d hoped for, I kept telling myself “I’m not Annabelle, I am Rose a poor domestic cleaner thankful to earn a few pennies”. I also got a small thrill catching the occasional sight of the new dowdy me in one of the bathroom mirrors.

I had my first cigarette break in my room. I had a few quick overpowering puffs before letting the cigarette burn itself down in the ashtray. At least it would hopefully provide the nicotine smell Mark was looking for without killing me in the process!

I then decided to clean our, I mean Mr. Parfitt’s bedroom. All of my wardrobe doors were open and they were completely empty. I had had over 50 pairs of shoes and at least ten designer handbags – all gone as well as all my clothes - dresses, skirts and even jeans and t-shirts. I looked in horror at my dressing table and all my lingerie had gone as well as all my cosmetics from the en-suite bathroom. I was mortified, I ran through to the other bedrooms to check there and none of my things were anywhere in the house.

Then the penny dropped - the van driver; he was taking all my possessions away on Mark’s instructions. All I had in the world were the few down-market styled rags that Mark had put in my room.

I really was metamorphosing into Rose!!

After I recovered my composure I got ready to prepare dinner for the evening.  I thought I would cook two nice fillet steaks and prepare a salad to go with them and I opened a bottle of Bordeaux that I knew Mark would like.

He returned from work with the introductory line “downstairs doesn’t appear to have been cleaned, what have you been doing all day Rose, sitting around watching television and drinking tea?”

“No,” I replied “I have cleaned everything upstairs”

“I will clean down here tomorrow,” I replied

“I hope so,” said Mark “Or we will have got off to a very bad start.”

“Mr. Parfitt, can I ask you a quick question?” I hesitatingly stuttered

“Yes, Rose, as long as its quick, I’ve just returned from work and I would like to eat my dinner and relax.”

“Of course, Mr. Parfitt, I do understand, but I simply wondered where all Mrs. Parfitt’s clothes have gone.”

“Rose, I don’t really think that’s any of your business, Mrs. Parfitt has gone away and she must have taken all her things. I don’t care to discus Mrs. Parfitt any further with your Rose. Is that understood?"

“Of course, I apologize for being so nosy, it won’t happen again.”

“Good, now Rose please stop gossiping and simply serve me dinner.”

“Yes Mr. Parfitt, it’s steak, it will only take ten minutes.”

Shorty afterwards I laid out the kitchen table with steaks and wine for both of us and called Mark in.

What was I thinking? I’ve never seen Mark so angry! What on earth was I doing? He screamed in my face. He furiously made it plain to me that he wasn’t eating with the staff. His dinner was to be served in the dining room and he was not having me eating steak or drinking his expensive wine.

I was told I was to eat alone in the kitchen after he’d finished his meal. I apologized profusely and quickly laid out the dining room table for him as Mark poured my wine away and put my steak in the bin. He sat down to eat and told me to wait in the kitchen until he’d finished eating when he’d call me to clear the table.

After he’d finished he called me in to clear the table, reminding me not to use the dishwasher for the crystal glasses or dinner plates, as it scratched them. I told him I’d fully understood his instructions.

He told me he was happy for me to eat once I’d washed up and that I could then retire to my room for the rest of the evening.

He slightly cheered me up by saying he’d bought me a couple of books as he thought I might be bored in my room. I looked at them, two awful Mills & Boon romances that he’s clearly bought second hand. I told him how thoughtful he was and that I’d look forward to starting one of them later in the evening after I’d finished my chores in the kitchen.

He sarcastically told me that I’d probably enjoy them whilst I had a cigarette in my room before bed and that he’d check the ashtray shortly. To my horror I suddenly remembered that I’d only smoked one cigarette today, which I’m sure, wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him. I made my excuses and quickly rushed upstairs to try and smoke one before he checked.

Of course this backfired when five minutes later he barged into my room without knocking to see my second cigarette of the day smoldering in the ashtray. He was clearly very annoyed and insisted I smoke it all and light another one as he watched from the doorway. I practically gagged on the taste and finally stubbed out my third cigarette of the day. I couldn’t wait to clean my teeth to get rid of the rancid taste. I was determined not to get hooked on the things.

It dawned on me that all I’d eaten today was a slice of toast at lunch, no wonder I was flagging, I could have murdered that steak but I wasn’t desperate enough to get it out of the bin so I quietly went downstairs and made myself beans on toast and a cup of tea in the kitchen. Mark came in and announced that he was very pleased to see me eating a low cost meal and that that was the type of food he expected me to eat from now on. I thanked him and made sure to let him know that I would include low cost basics in the weekly shop for myself.

After washing the dishes I made it to my room where I put on the first of the awful nighties. At least I wouldn’t have to spend time removing my make-up. I started to read the first of the romances about some French count whose wife had died leaving him sad and lonely with two young children. I suspected the governess would become the love interest but I hadn’t got to that before I couldn’t take anymore, took my glasses off and coloured contacts out and turned out the light for my first night in my cheap single bed.

To be continued...