CLEANER: Chapter Seven - Part Four

DAHLIA

When the tool shed was clear I got a broom and went in there, sweeping up the dirt, leaves and other assorted crap that had fallen to the bottom.

It was quite ground in so it was strenuous work, especially because I was keen to do it right. I made a heap of detritus in the middle of the wooden floor then raised the broom and used it to pull down dust and cobwebs from the walls and ceiling and off the window. I hummed a little tune as I worked; something from when I was a girl that my mum used to sing while she was doing housework. The connection of nostalgic memory with simple and honest activity gave me a wonderful feeling of tranquillity.

In no time I’d cleared away the bulk of it and I stooped down to get up the pile I’d made on a shovel. I was unsure where to dump it and stood, pondering, for the better part of a minute.

There were wheelie bins concealed in a tasteful enclosure at the front of the house but I couldn’t go out to them because somebody might see me.

To could I?

What if one of my neighbours was passing and caught sight of me? What if they engaged me in conversation?

But surely in this disguise they wouldn’t recognise me; wouldn’t think to start talking. From their point of view I’d be just a drab cleaner. Those who could afford to live in Pinecrest weren’t the sort to chat to the help. Even if there was someone out there I would... most likely be safe.

And what was the worst case scenario? Who cares what they thought? I could tell them I was trying out a fancy dress costume. They’d believe that sooner than they would think I was swapping places with my cleaner on a daily basis.

Yes. I was going to do this. And as soon as I decided that I got a crackle of sexual energy between my thighs that cinched it.

Nervous and excited, I carried the shovel with the piled up dirt down the side of the house to the gate. I took hold of the catch, took in and held a serrated breath and then opened it and stepped out.

There was a high straight hedge to my left and the side wall of Summertop to my right, a long corridor stretching before me to where it opened out onto the drive. The side door to the house was about ten feet down.

I started walking, each step sending further jolts of regret, panic, dread and sheer bloody ecstasy through my limbs.

Closer I got to the open drive. Closer and closer and closer and closer.

There was still plenty of time to turn back; not risk it; but now that I was on this crazy, risky path I couldn’t bear to turn back for fear I wouldn’t have the gumption to do it again.

One step before the end I faltered.

Then I stepped out in full view and stopped, savouring the moment. The front drive of the house was as wide as the manor with extravagant flowerbeds and shrubbery. It dropped away down-slope and the valley opened up beyond. I felt like I was exposed to the world, though no individuals were in sight.

I was hyperaware of my cleaner’s uniform; my brown bobbed hair; my glasses; the padding round my middle; the shovel in my hands; the dirty job I was in the middle of doing.

In a rush of emotion I suddenly had an intense desire to do this more publicly; to go where I could be seen. I wanted nothing more than I wanted to have people see me like this who would really think this was me. I wanted it more keenly than I remembered ever wanting anything.

And I wanted it now. I longed for someone to walk past the drive entrance and look up to me. But nobody came.

I waited. But no one walked past.

Disappointed, I reminded myself that just doing this at all was an incredible thing. I opened the enclosure built to house the wheelie bins. It stunk in there in a way that I had seldom in my life been exposed to. I guessed that was a smell that cleaners had to put up with on a daily basis. It was disgusting, but I didn’t run clear. I paused, still, and then inhaled deeply.

It was a truly awful smell; it really was. But this was stock in trade of being a cleaner. As long as I... as long as I was one then I had to get used to it.

I lifted the top of the bin and tipped the dirt in, then locked up the enclosure and walked back through to the tool shed, smiling contentedly.

The shed was looking ten times better now but it needed a proper dust before I reorganised the interior.

I glanced toward the house. It was nice being out here and getting on with all this but... it was inside where I had always seen Melissa. I was keen to get back in and go on cleaning properly.

It was a shame there wasn’t more mess. With just one woman living alone there wasn’t enough to engage a full-time cleaner, much as I’d like to.

I frowned, wondering if there was some way I could increase the amount of mess.

I wished I could go and do Melissa’s other jobs, pretending to be her. How marvellous would that be – to be out in the world, pretending to be someone else – someone so anonymous and absorbed?

But that was ridiculous. There had to be a limit to all this, surely.

I just wanted that limit to be a long way off.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Six - Part Nine

Hattie set her book down on the chaise longue in her bedroom when she realised that for the last page and a half she hadn’t been taking in what she’d been reading, maybe even longer.

She was thinking instead about ideas she’d had regarding the pendant and her desire to see them acted out.

She knew what she wanted to do now and in the hours since making that decision she’d allowed her quiet mind to work out the best way to go about it. It was a little complicated but she was sure that it would all come together smoothly now, as long as she maintained control. All it would take were several steps, that night and the following day, to put it all into place and secure her revenge.

The first one was, admittedly, a little precarious, but she felt confident that it would transpire as she expected it to. She would have the pendant and keep hold of it. She would never let it out of her sight.

It was a questionable decision to allow herself to be changed as well; surely it was; but it was the only way she could see to put her plan seamlessly into effect and to be able to maintain overall control as it proceeded.

And she wasn’t above admitting to herself that the idea of becoming someone else for a couple of days really was remarkably exciting; titillating even.

To dress in another person’s clothes and to present oneself as that person to others. To have their face and the sound of their voice. Nothing in her life so far could match that for sheer newfound delight.

And her transformation wouldn’t be like the others that had occurred so far. She would get to sip from the cups of two different people: become not one but two others before the night was out... if she dared to go through with it.

She sat up, placing her feet together on the floor. She sat with almost still thoughts like that for a full ten minutes, her mind ticking over at a very shallow level, staring into the middle distance. Then she came back to herself.

She did want to do it. She knew there was an... element of danger, but it was minimised because of the care she had taken to design her strategy. There were a few wild cards in the mix but none that were likely to cause much difficulty.

She stretched, smiling to herself, imagining the second change in particular; relishing the possibilities that would present themselves. But the first change was going to be remarkable too. She was looking forward to that one almost as much.

As much as what she would do later to those she felt had wronged her?

Perhaps.

But truly, she longed to settle those scores more than anything. She giggled and then gave a full throated laugh to think of the hijinks that would result from her activities.

She wished she could do it all now and see it play out, but she couldn’t. She had to wait until the time was just right. It was a shame that part of it couldn’t really take place until the next morning, but it was important not to rush. She still had time to review her plan and weed out any inconsistencies. She wasn’t a fool. She knew that it would be senseless to rush glibly in as her sister had done.

Hattie shook her head. How could Ann have been so idiotic as to trade places with a stablehand for two whole weeks? Clearly, the longer spent in a new form, the more that form’s inclinations affected the new owner. Becoming Burt was like stepping wilfully into a deep mire. She should have known there was no way to get herself out. Why, it amused Hattie greatly that she was the only one with the power to save Ann from her dirty fate. And where was the rush in that? Let “Burt” muck out the stables for a while longer. “He” clearly didn’t know any better anymore.

But on the other hand she had no particular desire to have a filthy stablehand or a barmaid for that matter outstay their welcome within the Neville family. Once Hattie had had her fun she would set everybody back in their proper bodies and send the peasants back out to their hovels where they belonged.

Yes. Effect the change and then explore it for no more than a day: that was the plan. Nothing could go wrong within those parameters because insufficient time would go by for much in the way of personality alteration to occur.

Hattie paused, thinking it through one more time.

Was she really sure she was going to go through with this?

Yes. Yes she was.

She was going to do it and see it through to the bitter end.

She was entirely confident that nothing untoward would deviate her from her objective and that she would be back in her own body by no later than Thursday morning.

CLEANER: Chapter Seven - Part Three

MELISSA

I turned off my cartoon a few minutes after Dahlia left the room and took my feet down from the pouffe; sat mulling for three or four minutes; got up; sat down again.

Then with a tasty smile curling my lips I walked through to the pool room and headed for the far right corner.

It was a cloudy day but the greenhouse quality of the enormous room made it warm enough still. The swimming pool was still like glass. I wondered if Dahlia was still using it. It almost made me consider...

I gazed down into the pale blue water.

I had the hair. I wasn’t wearing the glasses. I had the clothes and the house. What if I could somehow get the figure too? What if I started exercising?

There was nothing to stop me. I could go swimming or use the treadmill in the gym room round the side of the building. I could work out for an hour or two a day whenever I was here; maybe over time really start to lose the excess weight I had and trim down; really start to look like... like Dahlia.

I shook my head and sneered.

“Stupid cow,” I muttered.

I’d never look like Dahlia, no matter how much weight I lost. She was beautiful. I was ugly. And how much time and effort would it take to get me down to her size? It would be months of intensive training and gruelling diets. I had no illusions about my willpower for that kind of thing. I liked my food far too much. And what would be the point of it anyway? Did I really expect Dahlia to go on wanting to play this stupid game for more than a few more days? A week or two?

No. There was no point starting off down that path. I was obese. I was always going to be obese. I’d reconciled with that a long time ago.

I made myself put it out of mind and went on to the opposite corner, looking through the glass into the garden as I walked.

The pool room pushed out into the expansive garden at the back of the house such that greenery was visible on three of its four sides. Through the right hand wall was the patio and a curved wall of tall box-sculpted hedge that concealed it from any hope the neighbours had of overlooking, distant though they were. There was a pristine lawn and full flowerbeds.

Sure enough, when I reached the furthest right corner of the pool room it opened the view out enough to see the concealed tool shed... and Dahlia.

Except it wasn’t really Dahlia anymore.

From behind she looked like nothing but one of the help, struggling with the long garden tools, shifting them around. With her uniform and brown hair it was like she really was a totally different person. And this was an activity now that she would never have done. Ever. Stooping down, picking out all the individual bits of junk from the floor of the shed, disentangling items and laying them out on the grass.

I gave a little chuckle and it slid right on into a rich giggle. It was just so funny watching this jumped up rich bitch getting a wake-up call to how normal people lived. It didn’t matter that she had always been civil with me. I could read between the lines. I’d been watching her sort all my life. I knew they all looked down on the rest of us plebs. It was a true delight to see the mighty fall so low.

My giggle turned into a laugh, surprising me, and I covered my mouth with my hand. I was afraid Dahlia would hear through the glass, but she didn’t seem to have. And now that it was out I could barely constrain myself. I sniggered through my fingers then the giggles cam again. She was down on her knees now, reaching for rusty old bits of crap at the back of the shed and I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. The longer I watched her working out there, the more I laughed. I looked down at my expensive clothes and across at the pool and laughed even louder.

She was such an idiot – wanting to do this. What could possibly have possessed her to crave such a preposterous exchange? But more fool her! I was more than happy to take full advantage of it for as long as I possibly could.

Tears were brimming round my eyes and as I swiped at them it made me laugh even louder. It was so hilarious.

A phone started ringing and I looked in its direction, still chuckling. It was Dahlia’s mobile over on the table.

There was an external door to the pool room. I could have run and grabbed it then run it out to her in the garden, but I didn’t feel like running anywhere. I decided to just leave it but I did saunter over out of curiosity.

The name on screen was Dahlia’s brother’s.

I glanced in the vague direction of the tool shed then picked up up and answered on a whim. “Hello?”

“Dahlia. It’s Steve. How are you?”

Time truncated. My eyes went wide. Surely he didn’t... But he did. He thought I was her.

Flash-thoughts popped and fizzled across my brain pan like a huge firework made up of dozens of little bursts.

Did he really think I was her?

Could I answer? Pretend I really was?

It was only one word that I’d said. I couldn’t possibly fool him with a whole conversation.

Or could I?

Our voices were similar in pitch, even though our accents were different.

What if I tried it?

What if I went along with it and saw how far I could take it?

But what if he realised?

What if he told Dahlia?

What if she got angry and stopped doing these swaps with me?

What if she fired me?

“Dahlia? Are you there? Hello?”

I shouldn’t do it.

I couldn’t hope to pull it off.

Dahlia would definitely find out.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m here.”

My stomach dropped ten feet. My veins tightened. My head felt pinched and clamped.

“How are you feeling today?”

“I’m... well,” I said, regretting this terribly. My brain felt like it was being electrocuted from the inside out. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m well too. I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was wondering...”

I waited, afraid to say anything else.

“Are you free this evening?” he asked. “To come round for a drink?”

I went rigid with panic. What could I say? I couldn’t accept or decline an invitation on Dahlia’s behalf. How could I?

“Dahlia?”

“Uh yes,” I said. “That’ll be... lovely.”

“Oh. Good. That’s great. I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

Oh shit.

I didn’t say anything else. After a long pause, Dahlia’s brother said, “Alright then. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

“Yes,” I replied, just wanting to get off the phone.

“Good. That’s perfect. I’ll see you at eight then Dally.”

He rang off and I sat down, my limbs weak and shaking.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “Bloody hell.”

That was amazing!

I grinned and then giggled again, covering my mouth.

I’d loved it! I still felt hypercharged, even now. I wanted to do it again!

But I looked back in the direction of Dahlia and the tool shed and a counterweight of terrible regret came afterwards.

I’d just said I would be there – that she would be there. I couldn’t go obviously. But how was I going to untangle this now? Dahlia was going to be furious when she found out.

TALONS OF THE HAWK

Hi Finnsters,

Talons of the Hawk now has a brand new cover, rather more in keeping with its subject matter, and to celebrate I thought I'd showcase why the transformation stories inside are awesomeness personified.

Talons of the Hawk contains six different transformation and bodyswap stories.

Bear in mind most bodyswap "novels" available on Amazon contain one short story and charge the same price or more then this may seem like a pretty good deal.

The stories take place throughout history as a powerful magical artifact is passed from hand to hand, granting the power of transformation to whoever holds it.

Seduction

This story takes place in Roman times and is the tale of a powerful Roman leader who is seduced by his wife into the idea of changing places so that he can experience the joys of sex as a woman. As you might be able to conclude from the new cover above, the seduction is a success, but the story is far from over as betrayal and death throw our new woman into dire peril.

The Princess & the Slave 

In the days of the Arabian Nights, Princess Saffie is a spoiled but beautiful creature who sees those around her as nothing but playthings. When she gains control of the mystical hawk statuette she uses it to toy with the lives of her slaves, forcing them to undergo many transformations. But when Princess Saffie decides to use the hawk to switch bodies for a time with her slave Raul, she learns very quickly just how little control she now has and how much danger she is in.

To Be the Khan 

In ancient Asia, a young girl and her family are kept as slaves by the great Khan and his warriors, worked to the very edge of exhaustion. But our heroine's spirit is not quelled and she is willing to do anything to make her escape... even trade bodies with the powerful Khan himself. But when she takes on the Khan's monstrous form she starts to see life from a new perspective and slowly comes to realise that there are pleasures now available to her she couldn't conceive of before.

Whispering Death 

In Eastern Europe in the seventeen hundreds, Alexandru's family and entire village have been slaughtered by a man with the power to transform live flesh into dead bones. He flees to warn those ahead of the Whispering Death's approach, but in the next town he is met by an old man with dark knowledge who promises a chance for him to avenge himself and defeat this killer... but only if he will imbibe a potion that will change his own form into the likeness of the one woman on Earth that the Whispering Death would never kill...

The Master Race 

In Nazi Germany, the Jews are being persecuted and killed, driven to waiting trains to be taken to the death camps. One vicious Nazi captain enacts his dark will, but careless words put him under the spell of the hawk statuette and he soon finds himself in the very position of those he was brutalising: a young Jewish girl with no family, no future and no hope. Only swift action can save him from this fate but there is no guarantee he can ever reach safety.

Dotage 

The final story is set in modern day Nockton Vale where a beautiful but greedy young woman meets her match in the shape of the aging grandmother of her fiance. Careless wishes are again the order of the day as this beautiful girl gets first hand experience of life for the elderly.



Talons of the Hawk is the first in a series of story compilations that will be coming out in the near future. The other books will have more tales of transformation set down through the ages, each one filing in more detail on the path of the hawk statuette and its terrible power to alter the lives... and forms of those it touches.

You can get this first book right now on:

Amazon.com 

Amazon.co.uk 

Smashwords

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Six - Part Eight

By the time she reached Griply village, Ann was utterly exhausted.

She had run until she couldn’t anymore then slowed, only to run again as soon as she could. Her throat was stripped raw in the cool air and sweat was streaking down her face, cleaning the grime in narrow sorrowful streaks. Her back and hair was soaking with perspiration. Her calves felt like series of needles were pinned into them. Her new body might have been as young as her former one, give or take a year or two, but it wasn’t built for speed. With her broad hips and bountiful bosom, running was the very last thing it was built for.

But she didn’t stop. She daren’t. Any wasted time could mean that the noose would tighten, trapping her in this new state. She had to keep going, despite the pain. She paused, just for a moment, then ran on, ignoring the curious looks of passersby. Someone laughed at her ungainly pace but she tried not to hear them – to compare the derision to the respect she had enjoyed as the lady of the manor. She was going to be Lady Ann again! She had to be!

She passed into view of the station and let out a great gasp of relief that pulled her to another stop when she saw the coach still parked at the front of the building. And there was no train visible! She still had plenty of time to get to Mavis before she could get away.

But even as she had the thought she heard the whistle and the rumble of the wheels on the tracks and turned her head to see the train coasting in toward the station, steam pouring up from its funnel.

“Oh Gawd, no,” she muttered, but even seeing it couldn’t put movement back into her limbs. On the contrary, it stripped the energy from her along with all hope. She was never going to be able to stop them in time. Her endeavour was doomed to failure.

But she narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose in anger. “No.” She was going to stop that ruddy slag or she was a monkey’s uncle and no mistake.

She hitched up the front of her skirts and ran as fast as she could toward the station, just as the train pulled in to a stop with a squeal of brakes.

The coachman was just getting ready to set off. Ann ignored him, circling past to the front door of the station building. She hurried inside, past the ticket office and toward the platform.

Just before she could burst out into the sunlight, the stationmaster stepped into the doorframe, blocking the way. “Let’s see yer ticket young missy. What’s yer hurry?”

“I just have to get onto the platform for a minute to speak to someone,” she said. “I’ll only be a moment.” But despite the relatively cultured tones coming from her throat, the stationmaster didn’t step back or smile.

“Yer’ll need a ticket to proceed,” he said.

“I don’t have a ticket,” said Ann, feeling exasperated. She peered past him and caught sight of Ann and Richard at the train-side. Richard opened the door.  “Please.” I can see my... my friends right there. Just let me past an I’ll be right back.”

“Not without a ticket luv.”

“Please! They’re right there!”

The stationmaster folded his arms. “Ticket office’s right there.” He gestured with a tilt of his head.

“Alright, fine!” Ann broke off and went across to it. “Please yer ruddy self.” She caught the ticket seller’s eye and said, “Gimme a platform ticket willya.” She begrudgingly went through the pockets of her skirt, carefully, then increasingly urgently; finally frantically. “Chuffin eck,” she said. “I ain’t got no money. Can’t ye just do me a favour an give me a ticket anyway? I’ll pay you back right away, I promise.”

The ticket seller gave her a curt smile. “I’m afraid not. We don’t sell tickets on credit.”

“Oh Gawd,” said Ann, turning back to the stationmaster who continued to regard her suspiciously. He put his hands on his hips and broadened his stance in the doorway, completely blocking any means of getting through. “Please,” Ann begged. “I only wanna go out there for a minute.”

“I’m afraid not luv. Not a chance.”

The whistle blew. All along the train doors were slamming shut.

Ann paled.

Then she sprinted out the front of the building and ran round to the fence at its side. She had a clear view of the train and there in the window of the first class carriage was Mavis, in her body, and Richard, sitting there peacefully, oblivious to her predicament.

“Hey!” She yelled, waving her arms. “Hey! Wait! I need to talk to you!”

There was no response from either of them so she waved her arms more frenetically, jumping up and down. “Ey! You! Look over ere! Mavis! Stop for chuff’s sake! Talk to me! Please!”

In the window, Mavis turned her head lazily and saw Ann’s frenzied attempts to gain her attention. For a moment, Ann felt relief, then Mavis turned her smile of contentment into a sneer of ridicule.

The two women stared at one another, then the train jerked as it started to move and Mavis’s mocking smile grew wider.

“Stop!” cried Ann, her voice becoming an uncouth bellow, riddled with crass Yorkshire inflection. “Get yer skinny ruddy hide out’ve there now ye bloody skank or I’ll scratch yer eyes out!”

The train started to move off, steam streaming down the sides. In the carriage, Mavis went on looking at Ann, Richard oblivious opposite her.

“Get back ere! That’s my body ye’ve got there!” shouted Ann. “That’s my flippin’ body! It’s mine and I wan’ it back!”

But the train didn’t slow and it didn’t stop and in seconds Mavis was carried far away, leaving Ann hoarse and screaming as the horror and finality of her predicament closed tightly about her.