Story: New Employee. Chapter 6-7.

Thankfully my post a few days back made Bigbird come out from the shadows. Here are the next two chapters of his tale that has all the makings of a great lady-to-maid story.

New Employee

By BigBird74

6. The following weeks featured many more ‘little’ lies. I had to keep telling myself that that was it they were, little white lies, or else I would send myself into a panic as to what I was doing. Since I was young, I have found it easier to do difficult things if I think a little less and just act. I suppose I am naturally impulsive and, while to date, I had not suffered as a result, there were a few times I had skirted close to disaster. Still each of my new lies were now reinforcing older ones. Marta was on the books. A few days later, I had needed to make up a social security number. Then, if that was not bad enough, I crossed my own personal Rubicon. Personnel had requested a photograph.

When I first read that request my heart had jumped several somersaults and my stomach sunk to my feet. In all my planning and scheming, I had not thought that particular problem through. I searched my aching head for an alternative – any alternative – to actually sending a picture. I thought of using a fake picture off the internet, but that would merely be adding to my troubles. Oh god! I had really gotten myself into a tangle here.

It was then I considered actually taking a photograph and actually sending them a picture of Marta, well, me. My eyes ran over to the box that had been delivered some days earlier, containing the various uniforms under consideration as the new standard for all cleaning staff. I had not touched it for a day now. I giggled, mocking my own reluctance to risk opening the box, fearing a repeat of my initial, overexcited reaction.  Almost as soon as the door had slammed behind the delivery boy, I had stripped naked and tried all the uniforms on. I had squirmed as I felt the cheapness of the material up against my body and revelled in the tawdriness of it all, recalling how that cleaner had looked on her hands and knees.

Instinctively, I had sunk down to my hands and knees too and started to imagine I was cleaning the floor. I spoke in my poor Spanish: I am Marta. I am from Mexico City. I like cleaning. I said it over and over again, trying to perfect the lisp and lilt that language carries with it. The arousal I felt was so intense, my breathing had almost stopped and I felt dizzy. I got up and skipped back to the box to try another uniform on.

That had gone on for a day or two. I could never leave that box alone for long and found myself returning for my ‘fix’ a few times, trying on another uniform and forming another lust-filled fantasy in my increasingly warped imagination. And, right now, as I looked at the box again, my pulse was quickening. I felt a rush of impulsiveness grip me: in a haze, I wrapped myself up in a coat, hat and sunglasses and grabbed my purse.

After a few minutes casing the joint, which happened to be the cosmetics aisle of the local supermarket, I had managed to grab a bottle of hair dye and tanning lotion. Whatever else happened I could not afford to be recognised. Unlikely I know, but you just never know who you might bump into when you least expect it. As I walked to the cash till, my heart raced. A few times I caught myself thinking: “this is stupid. Turn around, put the bottle down and go back to your normal life.” Each time, I swallowed down the panic and then, it was done! I had bought the dye and was walking out of the store.

As I walked home, my insides were on fire. I was going to become Marta for the first time. Not only that, I was going to take a picture of myself as her. I really was going to do this. I could barely stop myself from running back to my penthouse, but I needed to maintain my disguise for a few more minutes, skulking to the back entrance and up the service elevator. Once I crossed my door, I slammed it shut, embracing the privacy that was letting me indulge in this fantasy.

I ripped the bag from the bottles and read the instructions, noting that the effects of the wash would last two days, while that of the tanning lotion would be longer. Again I felt a mild panic. This was not planned, I had nothing prepared that could explain my absence for this period. I also had a big meeting in two days’ time. I felt a wellspring of anger and frustration rise inside of me, upset at how this unexpected hurdle had blocked my path. The first possible date for my ‘tour’ was still a few weeks away. How could I miss this meeting?

It was then I took my first reckless step. Unplanned and as ill-conceived as it was, I thought I would simply skip the meeting. I would pull a sickie! After all I had never done that before and surely I was due one. Before I could think things through, I was measuring out the cups of hair dye and tanning lotion and, with one deep breath, coating my hair and body with the creams and dyes.

7.

I have no idea how I managed to wait half-an-hour without looking in the mirror or peeking under the towel wrapped tightly around my head. It seemed an eternity and my nerves, already shredded by the constant flow of adrenalin coursing through my veins, were not helped every time I heard a message arrive on my phone.

Each second seemed to last a minute, and the minutes dragged by. I could not concentrate on anything except………

It was then I noticed the tanning lotion was starting to work. I almost let out an excited shriek as I saw a few streaks of dark on my normally fair skin. I knew the first attempt would look dirty, but this was not what I had planned. The lotion had done a reasonable job but left a mottled effect on much of my body and arms. I sighed and thought I would need to do a correction job on this later. I walked back into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

What I saw disappointed me greatly. Sure I was a little darker, but the tan was more an orange hue, as opposed to the browner shade I had hoped for. Still, as I waited and peered into the mirror, the effect was becoming more pronounced, even if it did leave me looking more like a c-list celebrity with a bad tan, than a Mexican maid.

Finally the minute hand clicked onto the half hour mark and I unfurled my turban to see what had happened. Unlike the tan, I was a little taken aback by what I had done to my previously light tresses. Almost jet black strands of hair fell down over my face, shocking me a little with just how dark they had become. I looked back at myself. I was a mess. My hair was bordering on black, frizzy and looked a bit of an unkempt mess. Perhaps my hair had reacted a little with the dye? As I searched for answers on the bottle, this time paying closer attention to the instructions, my phone rang and, seeing it was my father, I decided to answer it promptly.

“Hi Daddy!” I said excitedly. I always liked Daddy to know how special he was and, well, to keep him sweet. He could be a bit difficult on occasions and I knew what I had planned would require extra helpings of the good girl act.

Still what he had to tell me was a mixed blessing. He seemed more than happy for me to go on my extended trip come holiday. At several points in the conversation, I was sure he was distracted by something else preying on his mind, as though he had wanted to tell me more, but was stopping himself. However, just when I thought of asking him, the clanger dropped. He reminded me to be on my guard at the meeting in two days’ time. In other words, there seemed no way out of this meeting in a couple of days. After hanging up, I sat glumly on the bed wondering how to get myself out of this mess, which was fast becoming overwhelming. I must have been crazy. This warped fantasy of mine was already leading me to the brink of disaster and I had not even started in earnest. It was possible to back out still surely? I mean, there would be a lot of questions asked. Maybe I could talk my way out of it? I felt sick and walked back to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror and what I saw made me stop dead in my tracks.

The tanning liquid obviously had needed a little longer to work and, this time, staring back at me, open mouthed, was someone I did not fully recognise. Someone you would not characterise at ‘white’, perhaps of mixed race. Even the mottling had faded away. Of course, if someone who knew me had walked in then, they would have recognised me easily. But to someone who did not know me, I could pass for someone different. I was buzzing. I am Marta. I am from Mexico City. I like cleaning.

My body was pulsing with heated excitement. Each time I looked at myself it felt unreal, as though this were some out of body experience from which I would awake at any moment. I turned and walked into the main room and stood over the box. I bent down and lifted out the uniform folded neatly on top. This. This uniform was the one I had chosen for all cleaning staff to wear. It was a knee length, blue cotton dress. It was ever so slightly fitted to flatter the bust and waist a little. But otherwise it was devoid of class and quality. It was cheap and as I slipped it over my body, my brown body, I felt thousands of small electric sparks flicker across my skin.

It took me a few minutes to prepare. I did not need much in the way of make-up, but I had to style my hair so that it was tied back in a tight ponytail. I found some old training shoes. White and a little battered and they did the trick perfectly when teamed with some dark stockings. A little red lipstick, and that was it. Or was it? I gazed back at myself in the mirror and realised that I needed to go further. I would still be recognisable to a lot of people. Heck anyone that had met me might do a double take. I stepped back towards the box and retrieved three more items I had bought to concoct some kind of disguise: a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, a scarf, which I proceeded to tie around my hair and scalp, and lastly a pair of prosthetic teeth that gave me protruding buck teeth at the front of my face.

I had tried all these items separately, but to see them on myself together, all at once, was a bit of shock. I really did look different! By this stage I could feel the moistness on myself. My upper thighs a little cool from the dampness. This was all I had hoped it would be. I felt like I walking away from my old self into someone new. It was then my impulsiveness pushed me to take the photo quickly. I chose a plain white wall and looking into the computer camera snapped a photo of myself. It really did not look like me. At least it would take a lot for someone to realise it was. My hands shaking, my finger hovered over the send button. My other hand slid along my thighs, lifting the hem of my cheap dress. It felt wonderful: the cheapness, the depravity. My fingers found their target and I started to caress myself. When the file was sent after a few moments, I was climaxing intensely, barely able to think any more about the consequences of what I had done.