Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 19-20.

by BigBird74

19.

Dahlia slept peacefully through the night. After she had been helped from the car to her room and readied for bed, she had slept almost ten hours straight. When she did finally awake it was into unfamiliar surroundings. The plush decor of her home could not have been more different to the Spartan interior she now found herself in.

As she gazed slowly around her, she could tell that she was in some kind of medical facility. Definite clues to that surrounded her everywhere: the pale, wipe-clean décor, the patient’s chart hanging on the wall, and the functional bed linen. While some effort had been made to make the room feel less functional and more like a hotel room, it was still obvious that Dahlia was in a clinic of some sort.

She pulled back the covers, stretching her lithe body, clothed only in a patient’s gown, as she arose from her deep slumber. Spotting a mirror on the side wall, she took a few slow steps towards it and peered at herself. She looked tired. Very tired. Her face had taken on a heavy look overnight. Slowly the memory of just what had happened hit her. An all-consuming sense of shame took hold as her mind pieced together the broken fragments of the evening’s events.

Oh god! What had happened? She felt she must ring Tommy! She looked for her phone and realised it was nowhere to be found. She hunted through the few cupboards that lined the room, searching up and down, opening and closing every drawer in a rising panic.

Just at that moment, a middle-aged woman entered the room. By the way she was dressed, Dahlia could see she was a nurse or some kind of attendant.

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 13-14.

by BigBird74

13.

How many thresholds do we cross in our lives? When we leave home? When we enter our marital home for the first time? However many it would be, we can all relate to the sensations as we do it. A feeling of bubbling excitement, a step into the unknown or a moment of acute anxiety as we push ourselves forward. That was how Dahlia felt as she walked into the waiting room and then into the doctor’s office dressed as ‘Petra.’

In the back of her mind, she still felt she risked a ridicule. But that child-like moment of raw excitement pushed her into his room, her eyes cast to the ground. It was strange how dressing up can affect a person’s whole demeanour, how their body language can shift in a moment. Dahlia felt like a massive weight was pressing down on her shoulders, making them slouch. She struggled to lift her eyes to the level of the doctor. Shorn of her ‘body’ and the confidence her beauty had given her, she found herself a shy, retiring woman.

That said, the redness in her cheeks was not from shyness. Dahlia was experiencing a tremendous sexual high as the handsome doctor surveyed her, not as a supermodel, but as an ordinary, dumpy cleaner. Oh god! Why did she find this so arousing? “Good Mornin’ Sir,” she said in her mock accent.

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 11-12.

by BigBird74

11.

It actually took a couple of days for the bulge in Dahlia’s stomach to work its way out of her body. The thick glutinous sludge of the various treats she had enjoyed that sinful night was hard for her bod - used to a richly fibrous diet - to digest and expel. When it finally vanished, she felt mildly remorseful, as her guilty souvenir from the weekend had been lost. The strange thrill of appearing to be less than perfect was matched by the sweet tingling she got inside of her every time she recalled that weekend’s events.

In fact the only downside had been the strained conversation she had with her sister when she returned to find the mansion virtually spotless and cleaned. Melissa swallowed Dahlia’s explanation that she had hired a ‘one-time’ cleaning company to deal with the mess. She was on too much of a high after the weekend camp that she was not in the mood to deal with what she saw as minor triviality. For her part, Dahlia was relieved that Melissa bought her story with relatively little fuss.

The only fly in the ointment was that the clean-up had done nothing to correct Melissa’s slack attitude and, two days into the new week, the house was already looking untidy around the edges. This left Dahlia confused as to how to handle the situation. Perhaps she really should hire a cleaning company and be done with it and let Melissa have her ‘victory’?

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 9-10.

by BigBird74

 9.

It was hard to adequately describe the feelings Dahlia experienced as she dragged the cheap polyester dress up her lithe, beautiful body. She had slowly removed the adornments one expects of a beautiful, rich woman: the expensive earrings, the tasteful layers of makeup lightly covered her face, her full mane of long blonde hair now tied up into a tight pony tail. Of course, Dahlia still looked better than 95% of other women, even in her natural state. Deep inside her own thoughts, she considered how a woman of her status, a cleaner that is and not a successful model, would act. That sent a spasm of pleasure shooting through her body. As did the next thought: “For this weekend, I will think of myself as Dahlia Western’s cleaner. I will be…. Petra.”

To those of us unaware of the doctor’s shenanigans, this would all appear a sudden epiphany. But that is to miss so much of what had happened the previous few weeks. The doctor had pumped Dahlia full of the idea that she yearned for anonymity. Dahlia’s desire to slowly fade away was a symptom of this and being a cleaner made that happen to sudden effect. While she was suggestive, he had also evoked the sexual eroticism that can be achieved by safely degrading oneself. What would be hugely embarrassing in public, might be highly enjoyable in private. Psychologically, she had been groomed for this moment and was totally unaware how her natural tendencies had been worked up into a frenzy. So it was only natural that, once dressed in her cleaner uniform, Dahlia felt an explosion of euphoria as though she were escaping all that fear and angst that had built up.

Now it is important to remember that Dahlia was not some kind of automaton. Hypnotherapy does not affect those unwilling to move in a certain direction, but it most certainly gives a big shove to those that are inclined towards that action. Her inhibitions had been lowered in a way one might see on a drunkard. The mind is still there, just many of its defences are lowered.

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 7-8.

by BigBird74

7.

What was she doing here? The cool, dank room reeked of the lavender scent used to ward off moths. Dahlia only knew of this place as Petra’s expenses had included an invoice for a new uniform from this shop. The shopkeeper looked equally baffled. Dahlia felt antsy as he stared at her, plainly unsure of whether he knew her or not. 

“What did you say you wanted again?” He asked.

“A cleaner’s overalls and the dress that fits underneath,” she replied. “It is for my cleaner….” Dahlia stopped herself, reminding herself she had no reason to justify or explain anything.

“I see,” he nodded as he wandered off to find the attractive woman what she wanted. “And she is your size, you say?” He asked, slightly incredulous.

“Yes, that’s right,” Dahlia replied curtly and a little agitated.

After what seemed half an hour, though in reality little more than a couple of minutes, the shopkeeper returned with a cheap polyester cleaning smock. Long, grey and very drab looking would be how one would charitably describe it. The rough material had fine lines running from top to toe in a failed effort to impart some ‘fun’ into the dress.

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 5-6.

by BigBird74

5

Sitting in waiting rooms can be a great form of therapy for the troubled mind. It forces a moment of quiet reflection as you watch the minutes tick by. So it was for Dahlia on another visit to the dreamy psychologist. As you may guess from that last sentence, Dahlia’s relationship with the Dr Jacobs had moved on, at least in her own mind. The pleasant fluttering in her stomach confirmed a hidden reason for her visits on top of wanting to get control over her anxiety attacks.

The previous few days had been difficult. Melissa’s fit of anger the other night was still raw, with both sisters forming an uneasy truce which had seen the normally pristine home descend into an untended anarchy. Neither wanted to seek a truce just yet and the situation was getting difficult. Just that morning Dahlia had almost – almost – broken and thought of clearing away the clutter.

Of course, she had considered just telling her sister to go. That was always an option after all. But something in her pulled her back from that particular place, opting instead to wait. After all, it is typically the threat of pulling a trigger that focuses minds, not actually doing it!

Bang on time, the doctor appeared, looking as handsome as ever. He could see from Dahlia’s pallid complexion that she was not in the best of spirits. That was only to be expected. He had learned a great deal from his sessions with her sister. At first he had been uncomfortable about taking her on as well. Dahlia was a rich client and a good paying one at that. He was sure he could earn enough out of her to keep him in clover for years and did not want anything to spoil it.

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 3-4.

by BigBird74

3.

Home at last! Travelling through the centre of town was never a good idea and late on a Friday afternoon was probably the very worst moment. Dahlia took a deep sigh of relief as her car wended its way up the hillside to her remote outpost atop one of the hills overlooking Barton. Hilltop was an exclusive kind of place. The grey, drab and overcrowded apartment blocks that predominated Barton’s heartlands gradually gave way to ever more greenery and wide expanses of countryside. Dahlia’s magnificent home was perched on the side of cliff face. Far below in the shallow below sat Barton, a slight haze sitting over it, the result mainly of traffic pollution but also natural weather patterns that conspired to keep the bad air down there, while up here, the air was crystal clear.

The house itself was massive and pristine. The whitewashed stone walls kept the building comfortably cool in the summer, while retaining its warmth in the winter. Nothing had been overlooked in the design of this palatial home. Dahlia had taken some credit for the munificence, but in reality her involvement had been as token as picking between one of three pictures displaying an artist’s rendition of how the place could look. Her heels clicked loudly on the solid stone floor as she slinked her way indoors, where her maid, Petra, was waiting for her.

Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 1-2.

As a fan of Emma Finn's work I was at first slighly hesitant a retelling of this classic tale was needed but after seeing the material that BigBird shared with me I am all by confident that Emma herself would have approved of such "fan fiction". It's a great story on its own that lovers of transformation genre are bound to love. The story is going to be a long one and will be published in multiple installments. Please feel free to comment and share your ideas. 

If for some reason you missed Emma's novel, I highly recommend Book 1 of the unfinished trilogy, but if you want a completed shorter version, you can also read Cleaner: The Original Story, one of the first (and best) lady-to-maid stories out there. 

The Cleaner Returns

by BigBird74

Many of you will recognise the title of this story. In places, Cleaner (an alternative) leans heavily on Emma Finn’s wonderful book. However the aim of this project is to offer a whole new story that touches on the original material every so often. The overall plot is very similar. The feel is very different. Other than Melissa, the characters are the same largely speaking.

I hope you all take this as it is intended, as a tribute to Emma. I was lucky enough to exchange ideas and emails with her on several occasions and always found her a joy to talk to. I was deeply saddened when she had to leave us and her work was left unfinished. I wondered whether to try and finish it, but then decided to take an alternative (easier) route and rework the story.

I hope you enjoy!

BigBird

1

I stretched my legs towards the driver’s seat, tipping the heels from off my feet. It felt good to finally get those killer shoes off my suffering toes. I had been on my feet almost constantly this morning, strutting up and down a catwalk as we practised for next month’s show. I felt my stomach turn at the thought.

Why had I been so stupid to agree to do that show? I must have seemed somewhat desperate, as people were constantly pushing for me to do one more show before taking up my longed for retirement. Now, after four assignments in seven weeks, I was feeling stressed. The reason I wanted to retire - panic attacks - were not getting any better. Now, with my retirement as out of reach as ever, matters were coming to a head. Typically, in such a high-octane environment, one becomes largely immune to the catty remarks, put downs and constant pressure to look one’s best. However after what felt like a lifetime in the industry, my confidence was waning fast and my ability to stand tall badly diminished.

That explains why I was now on my way to an appointment with Dr Mark Jacobs. Okay so many would write him off as a quack shrink, but his adverts are everywhere and I was desperate for help. He was also available. It usually takes several weeks to get an appointment to see a guy of his experience, but after telling him my name – Dahlia Western – the door opened much more quickly. I smiled at that thought: perhaps I still had it after all! Almost twenty years after my first modelling job, I was still able to turn almost any man – and, come to that – woman’s head. I rummaged through my handbag and found my pocket mirror, checking my makeup.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Epilogue.

by Violet Carson

Epilogue – 3 Months Later

Annabelle looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror of her new Golf. She had thought of this moment for much of the last three months and it had finally arrived as she sat in the car park of Getaway Holidays as the workers drifted home at the end of this bright spring working day. When she arrived, the car park was largely full, but as it started to clear she had managed to move her car to a space very close to Andrzej’s Honda.

She had come a long way in just over three months since her accident. She had spent the first three days in a coma in hospital and had been described on the local news as an unidentified elderly lady who had been the victim of a mugging. Thankfully, both Jack and Jenny had heard of the incident and as she hadn't returned calls made their way to the hospital and from then on visited regularly. Jenny had told Annabelle’s now ex husband about the situation and once she’d regained consciousness, he had, after some persuasion paid to have her transferred to a private hospital where she had received the best possible care.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 19.

by Violet Carson

Part 19

We sat in the back of the taxi with Jack holding my hand as if he were a teenager on his first date. I don’t know why, but any sense of trepidation of what lay ahead of me had disappeared. I didn't know if it was the wine over dinner or if this was simply another logical step into my decent into my new life as Rose!

Jack spoke quietly close to my ear trying to give the situation a sense of intimacy that the taxi driver wouldn’t be able to overhear, but unfortunately due to Marj’s handiwork his sweet comments were largely lost on me. I occasionally looked up to catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror, not knowing if he was thinking how strange it was to see such elderly lovebirds whispering to each other, or if he’d spotted I was a fake and couldn’t stop himself from looking to check that his eyes weren't deceiving him.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 18.

by Violet Carson

My second date with Jack was now just two days away and I was more scared than I’d ever been as to whether I’d be found out and would he expect me to spend the night which he probably would and could I fake an orgasm as an old lady and even would I actually have to fake it! Also would he be able to manage it!

I finally got to the flat and on opening the door saw a rather large official looking envelope. I bent down carefully easing my bad back to pick it up,

It was addressed to Mrs. Annabelle Parsons {nee Edwards) from Sedgewick, Rowe & Smith who I knew were Mark’s solicitors, informing me that they had been instructed by Mr. Mark Parfitt to initiate divorce proceedings.

I stared at the letter for what seemed like an eternity as the tears ran down my face dripping on to the letter. I suppose it was inevitable after what I’d put Mark through that this would happen, but somehow the tragic reality of the situation still hurt immeasurably. A few months ago we’d been the perfect couple until I embarked on this crazy journey, “What had I been thinking and was my mother right all along that I must be having some kind of breakdown!”

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 17.

by Violet Carson

Part 17

It was Sunday afternoon and I need to get to getaway Holidays to complete my week’s work there. On arrival I was surprised to see Marj and of course she grabbed my arm and sat me down in her office demanding that I tell her all about my afternoon with Jack.

I told her how sweet he’d been and that he wanted to take me out again but I didn’t know how I could go along with it without hurting his feelings. We sipped our teas together whilst Marj explained quite firmly that I was to go out with him and be the doting partner that he so wanted and we would then see how things turned out and she was sure that the longer I stayed as Rose the more I’d start to think as her and find myself drawn even closer to Jack. After all she said how could someone who looked like me expect to attract a younger man and when I looked in the bathroom mirror after completing the indignity of cleaning the toilets I had to agree with her. There was no doubt that what stared back at me looked like a woman in her 60s. I just didn't know if that was what I wanted or not.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 16.

by Violet Carson

Part 16

I stood in the ladies toilet at Imperial Foods touching up my make-up after a long and tiring shift. This morning for the first time I’d gone to work wearing my curlers but as I had an appointment at the hair salon that afternoon decided not to remove them and go straight there. I’d worn an old floral headscarf tied under my chin on the way to work and had now replaced it with my hairnet for work. I couldn’t wait to have my hair done at the salon again. Sitting under the hairdryer with my curlers in was such a turn-on and I so wanted to look my best for my night out. But in the back of my mind was the constant nagging worry about the state of my insides, but I knew that I had to take the risk as Marj would not tolerate me letting Jack down. Although Marj seemed so friendly towards me I was beginning to think that maybe she was starting to dominate me in a similar but more slightly subtle way than Mark and Lucy. But what was I to know? I was just a cleaner and had to do what she said and take her advice.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 15.

by Violet Carson

My first morning at Imperial Foods had arrived. I had driven past the large old factory a number of times as AJ, but never for one moment had expected to be walking through the gates and going to reception as an employee.

At the main gate a rather smartly dressed security guard stopped me and asked who I was.

I gave him my name and was asked to sign his Visitors Book and he directed me to a side entrance where the cleaning and shop floor staff entered the building, not via the smarter main reception area that was used by management and visiting sales representatives. This was another successful downgrade I thought to myself. Why would a poor cleaner be entering via a main entrance. I was Rose not AJ.

I presented myself to a rather disinterested black girl at the small and battered staff reception desk. There were quite a few rather sad looking individuals sitting around who I soon learnt were people hoping for work on the shop-floor or as cleaners. They all seemed to be foreign immigrants of some description. I sat there hoping that I wouldn’t have any of the “little accidents” that I’d had recently and that my pants were secure or I’d probably lose my new job before it had even started!

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 14.

by Violet Carson

I returned exhausted from my evening shift to find the group of Africans sitting on the stairs as I made my way up towards my flat. They didn’t move out of the way and I fearfully had to squeeze in between them smelling the alcohol on their breath.

I was petrified and as I passed one said in a thick African accent.

“Hey lady, have you got any cigarettes?”

My mind raced: should I lie and say no or give him one.

I reached into my shoulder bag and said: “Yes, but I only have a couple for myself.”

“They’ll do,” he replied, snatching the half full packet from my hand and passing it amongst his friends. Amazingly he returned the packet with two remaining cigarettes to me.

I was so relieved that I’d actually got off so lightly. It had even crossed my mind that I might get raped, but I suppose I looked such a turn-off to a group of muscular young men that any such thoughts would have seemed repulsive to them.

Another worrying thought was that when they passed the packet around I thought to myself,

“Please don’t take them all. I’ll have none to smoke later!”

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 13.

by Violet Carson I realized that I needed to stop daydreaming and get on with some work, reminding myself that I was a cleaner and my new home needed some serious attention. I slipped on my housecoat over my old dress and got to work. Even now, after three months of this life, that sensation of pulling on the cheap polyester material still thrilled me. I spent over three hours on my hands and knees wiping the kitchen and bathroom floors and thoroughly cleaning the cooker and all the kitchen units. I don’t know when they were last cleaned, but they were filthy. I deliberately didn’t wear any rubber gloves as I was determined to accentuate the dry redness of my hands and further enhance the experience of pain and discomfort of the poor working woman that I’d become. At the end of my cleaning shift, both my knees and back were in absolute agony and it was a real struggle to stand up straight. Sometimes I did wonder why I was putting myself through this and compared the pain and resulting stimulation to some of my old and probably never to be repeated S&M sessions with Mark.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 12.

By Violet Carson

It took me ages to get to sleep as I tossed and turned fingering myself and almost bringing myself to a climax thinking of having sex as Rose, my life was becoming so surreal. Anyway, I must have finally dozed off as I woke with a start at 6.30 with my tinny alarm ringing like crazy. It dawned on me that I hadn’t packed many of my few possessions but also that I must have been quite drunk last night as I’d forgotten to put my curlers in and my hair was a disaster area which almost brought me to tears as my perm had looked so perfect the night before. I quickly put curlers in and covered my head with hairspray and a hairnet hoping to repair some of the damage.

I got dressed, slipping on a tabard and my flat shoes and started on breakfast for Mark and Lucy who must have returned sometime after me as I could see their door was closed. I now automatically thought of my old bedroom as their room

When they finally emerged, Lucy asked me if I’d packed and then admonished me when I said I hadn’t had time as she told me there was a taxi booked to take me at 11 and I had better hurry. I apologized and rushed back to my room to pack everything into my case, shopping trolley and a couple of large carrier bags that were in the cupboard under the stairs.

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Part 11.

by Violet Carson

My mind raced as I sat down on the surprisingly empty train. It was so quiet that as the guard checked my ticket he made polite conversation about how much easier it was travelling on a Sunday and it dawned on me how readily I was now being accepted as Rose!

I desperately hoped that after I’d finished my shift, Mark would be home alone as I needed to have a serious talk with him. I needed to get him to understand that working for him was fine, but being at Lucy’s beck and call wasn’t and if he wanted to keep her, then I needed to move on with my life and for the time being at least that would be as Rose. I simply couldn’t comprehend pulling on my old silk underwear and designer clothes any longer. I wanted to disappear from my old life and emerge fully as Rose. I even thought such insane things as if I divorced him with my settlement, would I be able to find some crazy plastic surgeon to actually make me look older. But I quickly pushed those stupid ideas to the back of my mind. I wanted to look older and plain now, but did I really want to look like that for possibly up to another 50 years, probably not! However, somehow I felt I still wasn’t quite living as Rose would and that other than my sore back and knees from all my bending down and scrubbing floors was I genuinely experiencing life as a poor cleaner? The answer was obvious. No I wasn’t. But how exactly could I move this beyond the charade it sometimes appeared to be to really make this become my life?

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Parts 9-10.

by Violet Carson

Part 9

I returned home from my meeting with Jenny in a state of shock and abject fear. I had no idea what my parents would say when they found out that I’d lied to them about Dubai and no doubt they’d be absolutely perplexed and deeply hurt by my transformation intro Rose. They may even side with Mark, thinking I’d had some kind of breakdown and be very concerned for the state of my marriage. Clearly, some of those thoughts were even shared by me. In reality all of them were:

“Why was I so drawn to becoming Rose?” I asked myself. It was humiliating, frightening and degrading, but somehow I felt totally unable to break away from this person I’d created. It was as if she was completely replacing my own personality, thoughts and tastes with those of a downtrodden poorly educated old maid, and for some inexplicable reason, I was totally engrossed.

Mark returned from work, thankfully alone and I insisted he listen to my tale of what had unfolded with Jenny. I told him I expected my mother to be in touch at anytime and that we had to admit to her that we’d lied about Dubai.

My mind raced, could we say it was some kind of social experiment? Could we say I’d just had enough of my old work or it was some crazy bet? Would she buy any of it and was our marriage effectively over?

Story: Annabelle's New Role. Parts 7-8.

by Violet Carson

Part 7

A week later Mark approached me with an idea that had almost undoubtedly been driven by Lucy.

He had arranged for me to have an interview the following week with Dave Smith, MD of Office Sanitation. His firm cleaned all of Parfitt’s properties as well as many others. Mark didn’t tell me how much Mr. Smith knew about Rose, but he couldn’t afford to lose Parfitt’s as a client, so I’m sure the job, whatever it was, was going to be mine. This was a deeply worrying turn of events and one that I hadn’t seen coming at all. My plan had been to have some fun being subservient to Mark in our house, not to be a slave to that Chinese tart Lucy or be farmed out as a professional domestic!

Mark and Lucy had obviously spent sometime planning this over the past week, as he then presented me with a piece of paper that was Rose’s Resume and biography that I was to learn for the interview. I read it, completely dumbstruck by what they’d prepared.

My real date of birth was 28th July 1988, however Rose Edwards was born on the same day but in 1963, I was supposed to be 53. I knew I could probably be seen as a woman in her 40s as Rose, but 50s, no way! I protested to Mark but he reminded me that the contract I had signed said “place of work may change”, I assumed that was just something he’d copied from one of his work employment contracts. I never for one minute imagined it would be used. And then he said Zoe had agreed to come over the next day to help me prepare and that Lucy would be on hand as well, as she had “offered” to take the day off to support me.