Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 27-28.

by BigBird74

27.

Just as Dahlia’s body ached, so did Melissa’s, though for very different reasons. Whereas Dahlia’s soreness was the result of crawling about on all fours, scrubbing and mopping, Melissa’s sorry state had resulted from a carefully calibrated exercise routine dreamt up by her new trainer. She had needed to summon almost all her courage to ask the receptionist to arrange for a trainer, thoughts swirling around her head as she approached the imposing desk.

Ever since gaining weight in her early teens, Melissa had thought of herself existing within a certain social box. Whenever she had tried to step beyond the bounds of that box, Melissa found herself worrying about how she was being perceived: judgmental stares, whispered comments or worse. Inevitably this pushed her to retreat back to the comfort of her box, where she typically indulged in food or television to make herself feel better.

However, she was not the same woman she had been a few weeks before. While the old Melissa would have sat by idly, stewing in her own self-contempt and too shy to do anything about it, her recent change of heart nagged away at her, imploring her to action. After all this was an expensive resort and she was not going to let the opportunity pass her by.

Much like when a tune gets stuck in your head, after her last meeting with the doctor, a familiar saying had been echoing inside Melissa’s brain: “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” Every time she found herself idling, that thought seemed to pop into her head, making her feel antsy and restless. And so it was, when sitting at the pool watching the pool boy mopping the deck, that she felt her body grow tense. After all, why was she here if not to push herself and get fit?

As if to emphasise that something had to be done, a gaggle of young women had started to circle the pool and, like a pack of feline predators, were casting glances towards anyone they considered beneath them, their giggling floating lightly on the air. Just a few weeks ago, Melissa’s reaction would have been to run back to the privacy of her room and drown her sorrows in an afternoon of TV and snacks. But that voice in her head implored her not to sit still and instead go do something about it. If she was unhappy with her body, change it!

That was when Melissa first met Annie. Initially, when the receptionist introduced them, she thought she had caught a glimpse of resignation in her eyes, the look of a weary trainer used to dealing with overweight women lacking the self-control needed to take hold of their body shape. But, as they talked, she was also struck by a deeper sense of genuine concern. The more they talked, the clearer it became that Annie actually cared deeply about what she did and that her enthusiasm was rubbing off on Melissa. It was now that the doctor’s efforts to improve Melissa’s attitude really paid off.  Building on her increasingly deep reserves of willpower and self-belief, the conversation with Annie was imbuing Melissa with a growing realisation that so much was possible, if only she was willing to work at it!

Though they talked initially of just two or three weeks, Melissa felt this would give her a solid platform from which to launch her new life. All the time they spoke, Melissa waited for the familiar sense of procrastination to rise up within her and paralyse her, but it never came. No wave of apathy, no telling herself it could not be done and no sense that she could never improve. Instead, when Annie suggested starting that very moment, Melissa jumped at it, eager to get underway.

The sea change in Melissa’s attitude was astonishing, though some her old fears circled around her, making her feel anxious as she changed into her unflattering gym ensemble, pockets of fat sticking out around the waistband of her tight lycra shorts. Seeing the nervous look in her client’s eye, Annie intervened and in one swift remark squashed Melissa’s remaining doubts. “As a gold star client, you get to use the private equipment upstairs, on the first floor.” The sense of relief that washed over Melissa made her break out in a wide smile, the tension that had built within her dissolving rapidly.  

Thereafter the afternoon proceeded surprisingly quickly. Feeling energised to an extent she had not since she was a child, Melissa found the whole experience very unlike previous attempts to ‘get fit.’ Whenever any negativity crept into her mind, Melissa’s reaction was not to shirk, but to actively push it to one side. As she progressed, so her positivity grew and a calm, quite determination took hold: she could do this! She had it in hand!

 

28.

Dahlia was also rediscovering emotions buried deep within her. The kiss she had shared with the doctor had broken an invisible dam within her, flooding her body with an excited and nervous tension. A renewed feeling of possibility crackled about her like electricity, her body warm and flushed as she set about her daily chores, mopping the corridor outside of ‘Dahlia’s’ room. Though of course that was her room, neither Dahlia nor Ms Nechita referred to it as so. Right now she was ‘Petra.’ She was dressed in her plain dress, pinafore pulled over the top to avoid dirtying the cheap material. The short-bobbed wig deployed to hide her long, luxurious locks. The way Ms Nechita was looking at her was giving Dahlia goose bumps.

When dressing this morning, curiously she had felt mildly disappointed when looking in the mirror. Though everyone here was set upon referring to her as Petra, she looked nothing like the Petra she knew. It was hard to say without seeing her again, but Petra was at least 20-30kgs heavier than Dahlia, probably more. Given her large round torso, the first thing one noticed about Petra was her enormous bust, her extensive breasts hanging gracelessly down her chest. Dahlia had often pondered how Petra looked when naked? How did it feel to carry such large sacks of fatty flesh on your body, dropping down over her fat belly, another large dollop of fat that pushed out her belly in a ball shape?

Dahlia’s fingers pressed against her cleaning smock, between the tops of her thighs, as she closed her eyes and pictured herself as Petra. She imagined cleaning the doctor’s surgery, his beautiful, bright eyes watching her as she went about her duties. The supermodel momentarily hidden beneath a layer of doughy flesh, as part of some kind of erotic game they were sharing. She felt so aroused and sexually charged every time she thought of herself that way. He seemed to be encouraging her to explore this path. But, she wondered, could he really like her as Petra? Could he like her without her supermodel body and looks? The taboo notion of letting herself go was in some ways empowering. She wanted to prove to herself that she more than a simple clothes horse that trotted from one show to the next, enduring a life of tortured discipline and denial. She could hide as Petra and find a side to her character she never thought existed.

She appreciated the way the doctor had uncovered this movement within her and how he had respected her need to shroud the whole affair in secrecy. Feeling safe had made the whole thing exciting and titillating, secure in the knowledge that this was only a game, a roleplay from which she would emerge as her old self unblemished. For the few weeks she was here, she had resolved to do whatever the doctor felt necessary, treating it all like some amazing adventure and a holiday from herself.

Seeing how ‘Petra’ had responded yesterday, Ms Nechita also seemed resolved to take her particular role farther. She bore down on the errant maid all morning, picking her up on every one of her mistakes. The fact that Dahlia offered no resistance to the deluge of mild insults and put downs, only seemed to embolden her. She had expected a much harder time managing a famous supermodel, but there was no sense of spoiled privilege or status about the beautiful girl. Not once did she baulk at anything demanded of her. No, nothing about her suggested anything of her real identity.

The attitudes of many of the ‘guests’ attending this clinic was typically appalling. Full of self-pity and otherworldly demands, most patients here were simply ticking boxes till they were discharged. But Dahlia was different. She seemed truly invested in the whole thing and that affected Ms Nechita too. Secretly she got off on watching ‘Petra’ scrub the toilets with a small brush. There was no need to use such a small implement, but her inner masochist wanted to see the supermodel debase herself. She smiled brightly when her expensively manicured nails snapped or broke, one after the other. A stern silence had met Petra’s polite request for gloves, a raised eyebrow sufficient to put the errant girl in her place.

The day was long and hard and Petra ate heartily both at lunch and dinner. Unlike yesterday, Ms Nechita seemed set on making Dahlia spend as much time as possible as Petra, directing her to the staff room for her dinner, rather than letting her eat in the privacy of her room. Petra found the sensation of eating in front of a supervisor erotic, Ms Nechita casually watching over her, ensuring the patient – after all that was what she was – did exactly as was prescribed. Petra had never dreamed of eating so many calories in one day. She was acutely aware of how bloated she felt as she ate the last of her dessert. Her belly was sticking out again, that delicious sense of fullness and sweet guilt.

A definite sense of eroticism hung over the moment. Dahlia’s behaviour was so out of character and carried the seeds of a certain recklessness that made her giddy with the possibilities were she to carry on eating like this. Ms Nechita, seeing the redness on Dahlia’s cheeks, recognised the flush of excitement. Unsure of what to say or how to react, both of them froze a moment before Ms Nechita declared the day over and Dahlia was allowed to return to her room. 

 

Subscribe to Lady2Maid Blog Newsletter