Story: Mika, the Constant Cleaner

The first part (chapters 1-9) of this excellent piece by Monica Graz was published nearly a year ago on this blog. Now Monica, as I keep saying one of the original inspirations for this blog, is back with the rest of Mika's story. Shared with the author's permission.

MIKA

THE CONSTANT CLEANER

 

CHAPTER 10

Saturday Morning

First person narrative - Mika 

I felt her hands cupping my breasts and her body pushing on me from behind as I was standing in front of the sink doing the dishes. 

“We suppose to go shopping today. Have you forgotten missy?” Linda whispered in my ear as she playfully moved her tongue around sending a wave of shivers in my body. 

“I’m finishing here Madame and then I’ll go and change to my street clothes.” I replied with excitement in my voice. 

“I want you in pants today Mika, I’ll prepare an outfit for you. Come in my bedroom when you finish here.” She said summarily and left, making me feeling totally puzzled looking down at my rubber gloved hands and wet apron front.  

Pants? What she meant by that? Does she want Mike back? I haven’t worn pants since I became Mika on a full-time basis months ago. I got so much used in exposing my legs either naked or covered in stockings or tights that the whole idea sounded utterly absurd. 

I finished my chores as quickly as possible removed my wet apron and literally run upstairs to the master bedroom. 

Madame Linda was arranging some clothes on top of the bed and turning to me, a Cheshire cat grin on her face said, “Here is your outfit, black girly pants with a side zip, pale blue blouse with a low neckline and puffy short sleeves and two-inch black pumps.” 

“But why pants Madame? I never had pants on since I became Mika full time. I’ll feel more vulnerable and probably more detectable as a male.” I asked in a puzzled voice.

 

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 53-54.

 by BigBird74

Hilltop had many advantages. The biggest, as its name suggests, is that it sits atop a particularly steep hill that overlooks Barton in the valley below. Its isolated position ensures a great deal of privacy and was one of the reasons Dahlia originally opted for it. However, for someone of Dahlia’s current physique, it was something of a nightmare to climb. Of course, to those with a car, this poses few problems, but to those forced to use public transport, the nearest bus stop is several hundred metres down a winding road.

Never having taken a bus to Hilltop before, Dahlia was not completely sure of where the stop was and was looking anxiously from the misted window for clues that she was getting close. The bus was crowded and Dahlia had been crammed into the passenger well with a half dozen other people, all tired and irritable. If people’s faces do truly show how they have lived their lives, this group had been particularly hard done by. As it juddered along the road, the bus kept coming to a sudden halt, throwing all the standing passengers forwards and onto one another. After being hounded by those kids in Barton, Dahlia was hypersensitive to any signs that the other passengers would find her disagreeable. But, fortunately or not, a pall of various body odours hung over them all. Tired, hot and sweaty people, all mixing together. Each time the bus swerved, Dahlia found herself instinctively reaching to push back her hair. Years of habit left her fingering her short masculine haircut, feeling sick to the core that this time she could not remove her wig to reveal her golden tresses. No this time it was real and it could be permanent. For all her bodily changes, her hair had acted as a kind of mask or shield. Now, without it, she felt unattractive and exposed, and was doing her best to avoid making eye contact with any of her fellow passengers.

Captions Sunday!

More excellent captions/short stories from Dolores Azul. Enjoy! 

“All About Eva” 

Carolina and Eva: two rising executives in the hospitality business. Both of us work for the third largest hotel chain in the world, and we both worked our way up from the bottom—Eva in the kitchen, and myself in housekeeping. 

Eva is still a rising executive. I am...not. Her salary just crossed the quarter-million dollar level. My income is a tiny fraction of what it once was...Both of us took pride in starting from the bottom. Safe to say we both know everything about running a hotel! We both understood what it means to be at the bottom of a corporation—and a society! So when a new hotel-wide training program was due to touch down, we both drew straws to see who got to work incognito and “start from the bottom” as a new trainee! 

I drew the Lucky Short Straw, but Eva generously lent me a whole battery of materials she had intended to use for herself! What an arsenal it was! In order to truly play the part and not give herself away, she got some smaller-than-microdoses of psyllocybin, with cannabanoids, along with MP3 recordings to listen to at night, to gently hypnotize the listener! She used them to up her leadership skills (I had no idea!) but the ones she gave me were designed to keep one cheerful on the job, no matter how stressful! She even lent me a key to a small apartment of hers, so I could immerse myself into my role, riding the bus to orientation instead of my dead-givaway Lexus! I put one of the lozenges under my tongue the day before orientation and put headphones on before going to sleep. 

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 51-52.

by BigBird74

Dahlia had received a few shocks in the past few days and was about to experience one more. Until the moment she had stepped from the limousine, Dahlia’s newfound identity had been rather a private affair. Sure the doctor, Ms Nechita and now Melissa had provided a daily witness to her decline, but they all shared one important piece of knowledge. They all knew who it was under that vast bulk. For, despite all that had happened to her, inside her head, Dahlia still saw herself as a slim supermodel contained within some kind of fat suit. She had yet to accept that her new shape might be ‘permanent’ or long lasting in any meaningful way. But as she eased her fat body from the luxury of the limousine to the dusty poverty of Barton High Street, she was about to experience what her new life might really involve.

One cannot blame Dahlia for her myopia. After all, she had lived a life of luxury and privilege for almost the whole of her adult life, starting on her modelling career at such a tender age. Before that she had been cosseted within the bosom of a loving family. She had never wanted for anything, nor had to experience the harsh realities involved in ekeing out a living from one’s own meagre talents. Everything she was drove away in that car. Melissa now inhabited her space and seemed intent on shutting the door on Dahlia’s route back.