CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Seven

DAHLIA

I worked my afternoon shift in a state of mind where my consciousness was supressed. I didn’t reflect on what I was doing or who I was; I simply did it. The duties were so natural to me now. I needed no direction or reflection on what needed doing; I just got it done.

It was funny to think about a time when hair and make-up and lights and glamour were what my life consisted of. Now it was only dirty toilets and dirty floors, soiled sheets and filthy baths. It felt like there was no transition between these two states; that I couldn’t have ever been a model. How could that slender beauty be anything to do with the leviathan on her hands and knees scrubbing the gaps between the floor tiles? It wasn’t possible.

Once I was done with the cleaning and helping serve the evening meal I piled my usual plateful of fattening food and went through to the break room. I ate alone, going back for seconds, thirds and fourths, my appetite not allowing me to pause or hold back in any way. My stomach was like a great maw now, a bottomless pit that demanded filling, and I was addicted to that sense of bloating: the intense pressure in my stomach that meant I had gone too far; that my fat cells were expanding; my flabby body getting even fatter than I had been the day before. In my former life I had hated that bloated feeling. Now it was the only thing that made me content.

But it also made me feel wretched. I knew this was wrong., Of course I did. But I couldn’t stop.

I joined the other cleaners for their evening festivities but as always, I remained on the periphery. I tried to join in the laughter but could never quite connect and my courage was minimal when it came to contributing. I had no gift anymore for conversation or humour and when I did speak I spoke with Melissa’s voice. My constant practice had done its job. Her inflection and word use was more natural to me now than my own.

The term “my own” didn’t even seem appropriate anymore. It was my voice.

The other cleaners drifted off one by one but I didn’t shuffle back to my room. I was hoping to see the cook when he got off. Seeing Melissa with that man at her hotel bar earlier had made me feel lonelier than ever. I knew he didn’t really care about me as a person, but I craved the physical contact. I needed to be close to somebody, even if it was a lie.

In the end, only Maxine and I remained in the staff room. She was very drunk and exuberant. I was at least as drunk – I had gone on drinking all evening – but my own inebriation was more dour and introspective.

“I’ve been watching you Little Piggy you know,” said Maxine. “Since you started here. How long’s it been now?”

I looked at her shyly. She didn’t seem to require an answer. She didn’t really care about the specifics.

“Every night you sit in here and eat more than I’ve ever seen anyone put away,” she said. “More than anyone should eat. I mean, it’s okay to splurge here and there but it’s like you want to get fatter.”

In my lap, my fingers curled, the knuckles whitening.

“You were a bit chubby when you got here but nothing like you are now.” She chuckled. “I shouldn’t really be calling you Little Piggy anymore. Plain old Piggy would suit you better.” She laughed.

I blushed, smiling with half of my face because I didn’t want her to think I was touchy about it.

“Why do you do it?” she asked, and her voice wasn’t goading suddenly. It was different from any tone she had ever used with me before: genuine and curious and maybe even caring.

“I, er…” I cleared my throat and then did it again.

“Am I right?” she asked. “Are you eating so much because you want to get fat?”

“I, uh, I don’t know why,” I mumbled. “I just… I like to eat.”

She was being so uncharacteristically kind, I almost wanted to confide in her; maybe even tell her everything; but I knew that nobody could ever understand. It was amazing that Melissa had but she was wound up in it. If she hadn’t been getting a benefit from it then surely she would have found it more difficult.

And also I hated the idea of breaking character. To Maxine and all the other staff here I was Melissa Chapman.

“You should watch yourself Piggy,” said Maxine. “One day you might pop.” She gave a raucous laugh.

My headache increased in intensity and then wavered, vibrating my brain.

“Actually, on another subject, you’ll never guess what happened to me,” said Maxine. “I was over on the coast yesterday and I was talking to a bloke at one of the big hotels. He told me they had a big celebrity staying there.” She smirked. “Turned out it wasn’t such a big one but you might have heard of her. Dahlia Western? She’s a model; or she used to be. Pretty big a few years ago.”

I stared at her. My throat rattled.

“Made me want to go and get a look,” said Maxine, “so I snuck into the hotel and checked her out. She was by the pool.”

“Did you… Did you recognise her?” I asked, nervous.

“Yeah. Sure,” replied Maxine. She looked a bit different from the pictures but not so much and she was definitely the one. Had a lovely body. I envied her. I wish I looked like that. Don’t you?”

“What?”

“Don’t you wish you were slim and beautiful?”

“Uh…”

“And rich of course. She must be loaded staying there. Apparently she’s been there all summer. Wouldn’t you love to be her?”

“I… Well…”

“It’s not a hard question Piggy,” said Maxine. “Would you rather be a big fat butterball cleaning lady or be a rich, sexy model?”

I couldn’t get a word out. I just looked at her.

Maxine laughed finally. “You don’t have to worry,” she said. “The decision’s been made for you. There’s no way you could be as slim as her, the way you eat. And no offence but you aren’t exactly model material.”

I blushed again.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of Piggy. Some people are cut out to be beautiful and the rest of us have to clean up after them. Am I right?”

I looked at her.

“Eh? Am I right?”

All I could do was nod.

She certainly wasn’t wrong.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Fifteen

At the end of the evening, Hattie entered her father’s bedroom to find Reggie, in her mother’s body, already fast asleep in the large four poster bed.

Once she’d closed the door she paused, unsure exactly how she felt about that. It was all such a tangle already. It was difficult to keep track of who was who. Going to sleep in her father’s bed was once thing. Doing it in her father’s body was something else. Getting into bed with her own mother was a step even further than that, but beyond everything was doing all of that while knowing that her mother, or wife now effectively, was really a four year old boy.

Hattie chuckled, shaking her head, relieved that Reggie was asleep. If he hadn’t been it might have been too strange to cope with.

She went to the bed and turned back the covers on her side. Her father’s pyjamas were folded there ready for her to put on. She regarded them for a long moment. This game hadn’t been meant to go on so long really. Or at least she had planned to end it in the middle of the night. Putting on these pyjamas and going to sleep meant another day as her father; another full night for the progressive alteration of her psyche to tick on. She honestly didn’t think it would go too far in such a short time but it was still disquieting. She was already able to act so much like her father. How much further could that progress over the course of another twenty four hours?

She undressed, climbing out of her suit, still careful not to let her attention sink down to her crotch. She laid her clothes over a chair and put the pyjamas on instead. Dressing in the suit that morning had given her a sense of choosing to become more like her father. This had the same effect. She was putting on more of his clothes. That decision was another step deeper into his life.

The pyjamas were made of the finest silk and were very comfortable but were also entirely different from any nightclothes she had worn before. They made her feel odd.

She went to the dressing table and looked at her reflection.

Her reflection...

Her father’s face looked back at her; still rather jarring, though surely she was getting used to it by now. Being the Earl was so different from being herself. It wasn’t something she could forget from moment to moment. Every single minute in his form was a reiteration of her new identity, reminding her of who she was now.

She straightened her pyjama top in the mirror, scrutinising herself from waist to crown. When she caught her expression, she noticed how stern it was. She had never seen such a look on her real female face. Seeing it and recognising the difference gave her another shiver of that feeling she had had in the hall earlier, shouting at her father the maid: that she really was the Earl now; that she really was Howard Neville.

That would really be an awful happenstance but she couldn’t deny how much she was enjoying it, nor or well her mischief had done so far. Everything had been seamless. It couldn’t have gone any better.

Her mother made an adorable little Reggie being punished for daring to complain about her sad lot.

Her father was being bullied as a servant and had already taken on so many traits of the girl he used to be.

And Nellie and Reggie were functioning fine in their new roles, supporting the changes that needed to occur.

One more day and then she would put everybody back the way they were meant to be.

She stroked her rough, lined face down to the chin, smoothed her bushy moustache and then straightened the crescent of hair about her ears, glancing at her gleaming baldness. She had done such a good job imitating her father. In fact she had enjoyed that aspect even more than the revenge itself. It was a very welcome side-effect.

The funniest part had been pretending to share her father’s views on women, them being so contrary to her own beliefs, but again, she couldn’t help but reflect on the differing perspective she had now. Being a man had opened her eyes to so many things. Who would have guessed that she, a secret feminist, would come to accept the limitations of the female gender, but she was starting to. It was simply a fact that men were superior to women in many different ways. That was something she knew now to be true.

She supposed it was a shame she had realised that because it would make going back to being female a step down in many ways. Before, as a woman, she hadn’t recognised her inferior status. Now that she had she would miss being a man. But it couldn’t be helped. She missed being herself terribly.

Still, it was funny to imagine becoming more and more comfortable in her father’s form; come to understand his perspective and beliefs in more detail. It was so interesting becoming somebody else.

It reminded her of the lines she had given Reggie that turned him more into her mother. Again she was tempted to do the same herself.

She gazed at her craggy face and smiled with the side of her mouth, her moustache curling up.

What would it hurt, just to try it out just once before she went to sleep? It wouldn’t have much of an effect if she didn’t repeat it.

But dare she risk it? Was it a mistake to do so?

Only once couldn’t be a problem surely. Reggie had done his lines a hundred times.

Her lips straightened and she inhaled, staring into her own eyes, and said, “My name is Howard Bartholomew Neville, the Earl, Lord Neville. I am a fifty six year old man who owns the better part of this valley.”

She felt a faint buzzing at the back of her neck that made her feel very pleasant. That feeling coaxed her on.

Seeing her father’s face looking back at her and hearing those words with his voice made it seem so much truer. It made it feel real. She liked that feeling.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to do it a second time.

“I am Howard Neville,” he said, then nervously, he continued. “I am a bombastic and confident man who looks down on women and bullies all those around him.”

That gave him an odd feeling in his nether regions as well as intensifying the pleasant stroking at the base of his skull.

He stroked his hand back across his bald head.

“I am Lord Howard Neville. I have a wife named Elizabeth and two daughters named Ann and Harriet.”

He felt so content suddenly; so relaxed. He was sleepy. He wanted to get into bed now.

It had been nice to do that and he could sense no unpleasant side effects. Doing it more than once really hadn’t been a problem.

Perhaps one more time would be good before he settled down to bed.

“I am Howard Neville, the Earl of Griply Hall. I am a haughty misogynist who looks down on everyone about him; an arrogant and overconfident aristocrat.”

A New You: Volume 5 - What You're Missing

Well if you haven't given volume 5 of A New You a read then you're missing out on something and I am here to tell you exactly what.


The New You books are a series of anthologies containing short transformation stories just like the ones I used to post on Fictionmania (and still do from time to time).

Most of the stories are self-contained but sometimes one or two of them follow on from volume to volume as serials.

Here's what's in this volume:




Indefinite Overhaul 

The first story is all about a young man who is jaded with his life and seeks a change. Hearing of an old man in Nockton Vale who can offer the chance to swap bodies with someone else, he goes and signs up. But our young hero expects to remain a man after the switch. When he finds out his new life may be that of a woman - and a woman rather older (and chubbier) than himself - he has to ask himself if he's really willing to go through with it.

Reflections 

The second story is a stand alone sort-of-sequel to my other story, Likeness. Wanda, the beautiful young woman depicted on the book's cover, experiments with a magic mirror with the power to swap her body with that of a stranger. The stranger in question is a grossly obese fast food worker named Justine. She tries it out briefly without much incident but when Wanda tracks down Justine she runs the risk of swapping again and this time it might just be permanent!

Workwear I & II 

In Workwear I & II (two interconnected stories), Nancy and Janelle are slutty girls looking for fancy dress costumes to attend a party. When the local costume store is closed they decide to see what they can get in Barton Workwear, a shop that sells work clothes. Everything seems innocent enough until both girls discover that the clothes they are trying on are changing them bit by bit into the people who would normally wear them. This might not be so much of a problem except for the fact that one is dressing as a workman and the other as a French maid.

Proof of Age III 

Here we follow the continuing story of Trinny, a thirteen year old girl who has aged forty years. Trinny has found new resolve to fight back against the magic that changed her but as she sets out to win her youth back it quickly becomes clear that it might be harder than she thought.

Wishing Well V 

The final story is a continuation of the ongoing gender change story from earlier volumes as Lionel and Jenny find themselves in a terrible fix as they wake up in the bodies of twin six year old girls. Trapped in an unhappy home man miles from Nockton Vale they must make a decision quickly. Do they accept their new lives and remain as children or do they begin an impossible journey together across the country to try and get their real bodies back?

Where Can You Get It? 

The book is available as a kindle book from Amazon. If you don't have a Kindle you can download the Kindle app to your phone, tablet or computer.

It's also available in virtually every electronic format from Smashwords.

Amazon.com 

Amazon.co.uk 

Smashwords

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Six

DAHLIA

On the journey back to the hotel and my filthy menial job I alternated between three contrasting states, flipping between them in sequence, one after another and back again.

In the first state I simply stared out of the bus window, eyes rigid, blurred out of any kind of interest in the scenery I was passing as my sluggish thoughts went back over the... obscenity... I had just witnessed; the insane situation I had found myself in.

Then my thoughts would drift to the second state where my memories of the humiliation and envy of my real life took on a rosy golden glow; a simmer of gently bubbling arousal between my swollen, fleshy thighs. This arousal was like the silvery film around a bubble, floating in a breeze, each one holding a different image of this awful sordid life I had inherited and the questionable decisions I had made. One bubble might be the massive amount of fat I had piled onto my body, another the pathetic and dirty job I willingly did when I was meant to be a wealthy model. Another was my eyesight, ruined possibly beyond repair; another was Melissa living my life as a superior clone of me, telling people how ugly and fat I was; how beneath her.

And as each stimulating bubble in my mind popped I broke into a brief and desperate tears: weeping that lasted only seconds before it shut off and I went back to staring.

I knew this was wrong. I knew it was a terrible and maybe even irrevocable mistake, but I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t break free of it. Because I wanted it still. I wanted to be fat. I wanted to be ugly. I wanted to have weak eyes and cheap clothes. I wanted to work in a subservient and pitiable vocation. I wanted Melissa to be superior to me; to take on every trait that I had lost. I wanted her to be as beautiful and slim as I was homely and obese. I even wanted her to treat me like I was scum. I wanted to be scum compared to her.

And I didn’t know why. I honestly didn’t know why I did any of this.

I hated myself but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to. And again I wondered what would happen now if Melissa came to me and mentioned, matter-of-factly that she had decided to keep my life.

Would I fight her for it? Did I even want it back?

And how in heaven could I ever hope to be Dahlia again, looking like this; my self-esteem and self-respect in ruins?

The bus came to a stop and I got out. I lumbered back toward my hotel, my knees creaking terribly because of my extra mass and the battering they got when I was scrubbing the floors. My weight was so huge now. It was giving me back pains too; making my breathing laboured. How obese was I now? How much fatter was I going to get? Did I know when this was going to end? And when it did, I did know that I wouldn’t suddenly spring back to my former shape.

When Melissa and I decided to stop doing this crazy scheme I wouldn’t be Dahlia in any way anymore, even if I wanted to be. I was far more like her now than she was. I was a grossly obese woman with thick glasses. And the lifestyle I had adopted was so set in now. I craved my meals and my snacks. With such a habitual lifestyle catapulting me into a progressively fatter woman, how could I hope to get back or even stop?

I might end up being fat forever, whether I was myself again or not.

As I walked up the drive to the hotel I realised that my gait was so different now. I remembered the grace that I used to use as I walked the catwalk modelling extravagant dresses. Now I was so gargantuan that I could do nothing but waddle: one lumbering footfall after another, the ample thighs grazing one another as my chubby arse shifted alternately up and down; as quivers ran round my folds of belly fat and up through my doughy thighs and swollen calves. My distended boobs flopped and juddered with each heavy stomp and the flab around my chin trembled too in time with the shivers in my bloated upper arms.

This was my fantasy come true. This was me as a corpulent cleaning lady, with nothing better to do than trudge to her unskilled and tedious job.

I thought about the other cleaners and the way they treated me and I started crying again.

What had I done to myself? Why had I done it? I knew I should call a stop to this now but where could I find the courage to do that? Where could I find the will?

And deep down I was afraid of what would happen if I did. It wasn’t just a case of becoming Dahlia gain but a grossly obese parody of the former model. The thing I was really afraid of was that I would go back to Melissa and demand a switch and she would say no, as she sort of had before. She would refuse to swap back and leave me stranded in her awful life forever.

But perhaps that didn’t make me fear. Surely that was the most titillating part of this; the darkest and most seedy fantasy. For surely, deep down, that was what I had wanted all along. Surely if she did that then part of me would be glad, would sizzle in raging, unfettered arousal, even as the conscious part of me that wasn’t mad screamed and screamed for the rest of my life.

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Fourteen

The maid, Nellie Barrow, found being a titled lady an extremely queer experience. She wasn’t entirely certain whether it was a pleasant one or not but one thing she did know was that it was very different from her normal life.

If she had remained in her own body then she would have been working solidly since daybreak doing backbreaking chores around Griply Hall. She would have been ordered about by all and sundry. Worse, she was the newest servant at the hall and as such she was still unsure of her duties and inevitably did things wrong. That meant she got shouted at.

But not today.

Today she had slept well, had a hearty breakfast, relaxed round the house then attended a lavish picnic beside a lake (that she normally would have been serving at). She had relaxed again all afternoon, exploring the house, and then attended a splendid banquet.

Wearing Lady Harriet’s clothes had initially made her feel uncomfortable and unwieldy but now that she was used to them the experience was growing on her. It made her feel grand and beautiful to move about the manor dressed like an elegant lady. The clothes were a constant reminder of the higher status she was enjoying, always there in her peripheral vision. As if she needed a reminder! She didn’t have to work! She was sitting on sofas designated only for family members and attending family meals.

So far she hadn’t interacted much with the other family members and she was still nervous to. She knew her accent would give her away. Mostly she had kept quiet and tried to look interested, absorbing as much detail as possible. She knew this was a short term deal but it was important to her to do it well. She didn’t want to let the Earl – Lady Harriet – down.

Nellie climbed the stairs to the first floor and made her way back to Lady Harriet’s bedroom – her bedroom for now. Once she got inside she felt safer. There she wouldn’t be disturbed. She didn’t have to feel under scrutiny.

She went to the mirror and gazed in wonder at her striking reflection. Her face; Lady Harriet’s face; was so beautiful. Her features were so fine and pretty. Her skin was flawless. Her hair was glossy. She looked at her slender neck, chest and round shoulders, shaking her head with incredulity.

It made her think again about the real Lady Harriet. It was hard to think of her by that name though. Lady Harriet had become the Earl and her affectation of her ways was amazingly complete. She looked and sounded just like him. What had been strange was that she kept that up when there was nobody else to listen in but Nellie had never understood the upper classes.

She didn’t really understand why Lady Harriet was doing this. It was obvious she wanted to get back at her parents but surely becoming an old man herself to achieve that wasn’t worth it.

“Why would anyone ever give up being this beautiful if they had a choice?” she asked her mirror image and was pleasantly surprised by the neutrality of her accent. It wasn’t pitch perfect quality but neither was there much trace of Yorkshire clodhopper.

Nevertheless, the change back was inevitable and Nellie quivered to think of how angry the Earl would be when he was restored to his original form. She had no idea how Lady Harriet planned to avoid that wrath. He might be powerless now that he was a maid but that wouldn’t last forever.

When he returned to his body he would want to know exactly who was responsible and surely the truth would come out about the complicated series of swaps that his daughter had perpetrated. It would become known that she was involved.

The thought of that chilled her terribly.

She looked at her beautiful face again in the mirror.

When his wrath descended, she would be a pitiful servant again. She had heard about his punishment in the cellar. Something like that might only come to her if she was lucky. Surely the reality was she would lose her job. She might be whipped or gaoled. Anything could happen to her.

Nellie wrung her hands, fretting. The inevitability of that seemed inescapable.

Suddenly the experience of being a magnificent lady paled. The horror of her imminent penalty was far too monstrous to find any pleasure in what she was doing.

Even looking on her new beauty didn’t make her happy. It was only a temporary boon. It was all going to go away and leave her in a far worse position.

“Oh dear Lord. Why did I agree to this?” she murmured.

It had all but been a command from Lady Harriet but the Earl wouldn’t care about that when he got his real body back.

Unless…

Unless he didn’t get his body back.

Nellie thought about that for a moment.

If the Earl didn’t get his body back then he wouldn’t be in a position to seek retribution. He would remain a humble maid with no power at all.

Her heart thudded and then the thudding quietened.

Would that really solve the matter?

Yes. Surely it would. All that was required was that he remain that way.

Was it possible that…?

Was it possible that she could somehow make that come to pass?

She stared into her reflection’s eyes, lost in trying to understand the implications of that.

Because for the Earl to remain a maid it would require Lady Harriet to remain the Earl. Of course the Countess would have to remain as little Reggie too or she might equally cause trouble.

And it would mean that she, Nellie, had to spend the rest of her days as Lady Harriet.

“Good Lord,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her fingertips.

She was terrified of the scope of what she was contemplating.

Could that really happen?

Could she somehow make it happen?

She had no idea. But she realised that her only choice now was to try to work it out. She had to find a way to protect herself because the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

She had to find a way to keep everybody in the bodies that they were.

New Book Out Now!

If you like body swaps and transformations then you may be pleased to learn that my latest anthology of transformation stories is available on Amazon and Smashwords! 

It has a new style cover but this is more of the juicy body swap goodness you are used to with some gender change, female to female transformation and both age regression and age progression.

What Does It Say On The Back Of The Book? 

“MORE GREATNESS FROM THE BEST WRITER IN THIS GENRE”

Are you tired of your life? Do you wish you could have a change; be someone else; leave your boring existence behind? If so, come to Nockton Vale and perhaps that dream can come true.

The latest volume of A New You contains another six dark tales of transformation:

a beautiful brunette who risks being trapped as an obese fast food worker;

two slutty girls who find out what it feels like to be a workman and a French maid;

a young man who wants to start a new life but never imagined it would be as a woman;

the ongoing travails of a little girl stuck in the body of a fifty three year old dinner lady;

and the arduous journey of a man and woman who find themselves trapped in the bodies of identical twin girls lost a long way from home.

Nockton Vale is a nice place to visit but you really wouldn’t want to live there.

“MS. FINN GETS INTO THE CHARACTERS’ HEADS AND MAKES US REALLY FEEL WHAT THEY ARE FEELING AS THEY ARE TRANSFORMED”

How Much Does It Cost? 

You can get the book for $2.99 or about £1.82.

Considering most body swap books available contain one short story and this contains six then you may agree that it's pretty good value.

Where Can You Get It? 

The book is available as a kindle book from Amazon. If you don't have a Kindle you can download the Kindle app to your phone, tablet or computer.

It's also available in virtually every electronic format from Smashwords.

Amazon.com 

Amazon.co.uk 

Smashwords

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Five

DAHLIA

Spying on Melissa as she sat at the pool bar with this handsome guy; listening to them; the first thing that struck me was her confidence.

When she started working for me back in England as a cleaner, Melissa had been timid and withdrawn, her self-image a mess. Her gargantuan weight, her uninspired dress sense, her near-poverty and her short-sightedness all crushed any chance she had of feeling good about herself. All of those things were in the past now – taking over my life and wealth, and doing all her training had achieved that – and now she seemed more self-possessed than I had been in years. Maybe more than I ever had.

The only reason I could think for that was that she had effectively undergone a fairytale transformation, from an ugly servant to a beautiful princess. She was like an actor on the stage. It was near-fantasy, the life she was living, and that meant she had nothing to lose.

I had to admire her. But that admiration was something more. I acknowledged that she was doing amazingly well but this was beyond that and the sense that she was doing it better than I would was out there now. I felt... envy; maybe even jealousy. I... resented how well she was playing my part. I felt like an understudy to it, as though she was the one who had been chosen; that I was only the back-up; and looking at myself; at the flabby folds of belly, the quivering fat on my arms and thighs, the features of my face that were drowned by fat on my face; I realised that I couldn’t play the role of Dahlia anymore, even if I was called to.

She looked uncannily like Dahlia with only a couple of facial features out of place. I didn’t. Nobody who saw me could ever have guessed that I was her. I wasn’t her in the least anymore in any way, physically or mentally.

I didn’t even recognise my psyche now; it had changed so much. I had been a confident and successful model. Now I was an obese, fetishistic obsessive who had destroyed her own beauty and health to chase after a self-destructive and preposterous goal.

But her confidence was only the first thing I noticed.

The second was her voice, because she didn’t sound like she used to at anymore. It was months since we had started recording our memories for one another. We had been meant to be practicing emulating the other’s voice and I had done as instructed. This was the first time I really sae her do it in a public arena.

Maybe it was the drop in weight or the increase in self-belief, but she spoke exactly like I used to. Her tone was exactly the same, but more, she used the same words and phrases. And as she chatted to this bloke I heard her make little references that identified her as the genuine article.

She chatted to him about her life as a model, giving various juicy anecdotes about her time on the catwalk and backstage. It was entirely convincing to him and intimidating to me.

Could she fool someone who knew me well?

Maybe not in person... yet... but over the phone? Yes. Definitely. If I closed my eyes then the woman I was listening in on was Dahlia Western, no doubt about it.

The more she talked, the more I realised that she had accomplished everything she set out to do here in Greece. She had become me in every way that mattered. And yes, she excelled at it. She did it better than I had for a long time.

The contrast was like a regular unceasing tapping against my forehead, pointing out the contrast between us; how far I had come myself.

She fit in here; she really did; and I didn’t. At this moment it felt like I never could again. How could I? I was gross. I was disgusting. She was beautiful.

She was flirting with the guy but it was more than that. She had already slept with him. She was planning to do so again. Part of me felt awful about that; violated; as though it were my reputation in question; almost that she was doing it with my body (which in a way she was). But the rest of me knew that she had more right to that persona and form now than I did. It wasn’t my life she was living; it was hers.

She really was Dahlia Western now and that meant that I wasn’t.

Was I fully Melissa Chapman?

Maybe I was. Though it didn’t yet feel complete.

Yet.

I had to get out of there. I couldn’t listen anymore. It wasn’t just that I was watching her. Witnessing this was having a weighty impact on my own self-image; casting me further away from my origin and into this new life I had borrowed. It made it feel like it wasn’t just a temporary loan; that it was a permanent trade.

That scared me. It scared me very much.

I turned to go; to creep away in the hopes that she didn’t see me; but as I started to leave I heard something that chilled me still further; that made tears break out and stream down my cheeks as I lumbered back to the front of the hotel and down to the bus stop. It made me hate myself and look down on myself too; made my self-image plummet still further.

The man. The man said, “I’ve seen you talking to a repulsive obese woman with thick specs occasionally. She comes to see you. Who is she?”

Melissa laughed, tilting her face to the sky. “Oh her? She’s nobody. She’s nothing,” she said. “She works for me. But you’re right; she is hideous. I’m embarrassed to be seen with her. To be perfectly honest, she disgusts me. I despise people like that with so little self-control; so flabby and crass. I wish I didn’t have to see her. She’s beneath me.”

LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Twelve - Part Thirteen

Elizabeth lay in the little children’s bed in the room at the top of the house that was decorated for young visitors, wondering if she had gone mad.

Her bottom still smarted from the terrible beating she had received from Patrick when he dragged her screaming upstairs. It was a towering pile of humiliations that had been meted upon her now and she honestly did not know what she done to deserve it.

She had always been a just and honourable lady. She had treated her family well. She had treated the servants no better and no worse than they deserved. She had kept a good house. There was no act she could think of in either her resent or distant past that could account for her being punished in this way now.

And there was little to no explanation as to how it had even happened!

Yes, she had told her husband that sometimes wished she could be a child again and Reggie had at that moment jumped on her and said the same thing – that he wished to be an adult – but that shouldn’t have made any difference. Magic didn’t really work. It couldn’t have happened!

But she could feel her little boy body. She knew it had. She had turned into Reggie and now nobody would believe her.

The worst part of it was that Howard wasn’t supporting her at all. He didn’t stand up for her. He didn’t stop her being punished over and over again. But why? He knew the truth! He should be helping her!

Tears came to her eyes and trickled down both cheeks toward her ears as she looked up at the ceiling.

“What are you crying about now Dredgie?

Elizabeth looked resentfully over to the other bed where Reggie’s sister Felicity sat up smirking at her.

“What did you call me?” sniffed Elizabeth.

“Dredgie. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. It’s what I always call you. Dredgie!” She giggled mischievously.

“Don’t,” whined Elizabeth. “That’s not my name.”

“What are you crying about anyway, you big baby?”

“Nothing,” said Elizabeth, rolling over so that her back was to the little girl.

 “About how father smacked you I suppose,” declared Felicity matter-of-factly. “Well you shouldn’t sniffle about that, you deserved it.”

“I did not.”

“You did so.”

“I did not!” snapped Elizabeth, sitting back up and glaring at Felicity. But immediately she recognised the exchange as a very childish one and shut her mouth.  

Felicity smirked again. “You’re stupid if you think anyone will believe you. You don’t really think you’re Aunt Elizabeth do you?”

Elizabeth scowled. “I am Aunt Elizabeth. I mean... No. I mean I am Elizabeth.”

“Prove it,” said Felicity.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.” Elizabeth rolled back over onto her side with her back to the girl.

“The real Reggie has a lisp. If you’re really Aunt Elizabeth then you won’t have one.”

Elizabeth hugged the covers tighter, the horror she’d felt at dinner when her speech failed her coming back to her.

“Come on,” said Felicity. “I’ll give you a tongue twister. If you can say it then I’ll believe you.”

Elizabeth ignored her.

“You should let me help you,” said Felicity. “If you can convince me that you’re really our aunt then I can help you convince Mother and Father.”

Elizabeth turned her head slightly. Felicity was hardly a credible witness but she was desperate for an ally; somebody who would help her. And surely that one lisp had been a mistake because she had felt so under pressure. Surely if she concentrated then she would be able to avoid it.

She sat up and turned round to face Felicity. “Alright,” she said. “Let me prove it to you.”

Felicity grinned. “Right then. Here’s the tongue twister.” She thought for a minute then said, “Six sick slick slim sycamore saplings.” She grinned expectantly.

Elizabeth swallowed and then cleared her throat. She swallowed again. She could do this. She only looked like a little boy. She wasn’t one really. She still knew everything she used to know. She could talk normally; surely she could.

“Alright then,” she said. She cleared her throat a second time and started slowly, but as each word came out it felt like a nail driven into the coffin of her chance to regain her rightful place as each word damned her further, proving beyond doubt to this girl who she really was. “Shix shick shlick shlim shycamore shaplings.”

Felicity laughed and clapped her hands. “I told you Dredgie! It told you! I knew you weren’t really Aunt Elizabeth!”

“I am so Aunt Elizabeth!” she wailed.

“You’re not. You’re just dreadful Dredgie! Dreadful dreary dirty Dredgie!”

“Shtop it!” cried Elizabeth. ”Shtop it! That ishn’t my name!”

“Yes it is! You’re Dredgie! You’re Dredgie!”

“No!” snapped Elizabeth, becoming increasingly childlike in her rantings. “My name ishn’t Dredgie! It’sh Reggie!”

There was a sudden silence in the room. Felicity grinned smugly. Elizabeth panted, feeling powerless and foolish.

“I told you so,” said Felicity, “and now you’ve admitted it so it must be true.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks coloured hotly.

“You’re just my little brother Reggie,” said Felicity, giggling. “Regular really, just repulsive little Reggie.”

She lay down and rolled over, turning her back on Elizabeth and Elizabeth sat there pouting, feeling hopeless and alone. No one would help her. No one would believe her. She had felt nothing but dread and horror all day.

Except just now.

Just now when she said that her name was Reggie.

For just a moment, as she said it, she felt a moment of perfect contentment, a warm glow at the back of her head.

She lay back, feeling how small she was, tiny even in such a small children’s bed.

When she’d said that she was Reggie. She’d felt better.

Her lips quivered, then very quietly, just to herself so that Felicity wouldn’t hear, she whispered, “I’m Reggie,” and immediately she felt better. She didn’t know why. Saying that reinforced everything bad about her predicament. But saying it also made her resent it less for some reason. “I’m Reggie,” she said again, and then she closed her eyes.

She just wanted this to be over so she could go back to being her proper self. That was all she wanted.

Recommended Reading: Christina's Shriking Story

If you're looking for something to read while you wait for the next Cleaner of Lady Ann episode... here's a story I recently read that I enjoyed.

Christina's Shrinking Story: The Freshman Fifteen Inches 

This is what it's about... It had a nice bit of shift statuses and domination if you like that kind of thing. It's part one of an ongoing series.

Christina Parker's terrific run at Oak Hill High only came to an end on graduation day. The 5'10, 18 year old blonde graduated with the 9th highest GPA in her class of 402, she was the captain of the cheerleading team, and she even won homecoming queen! However, she and her single mom didn't have much money. Hampton University was expensive, and she only received a partial scholarship. One day she sees a commercial for a new technology that allows people to sell off inches of their height for cash. She is tempted to use it to pay her tuition. 

Meanwhile, another Oak Hill graduate named Katie Quints prepared for University life too. She was an arrogant, stuck up, spoiled brat. Her family bought her whatever she wanted, and right now she wanted to be taller. She is determined to convince her parents to buy her body a few upgrades. 


If the girls follow through with their ideas, how will it affect their relationships, personalities, and sexualities as they start their new lives at college? Will Christina's pent up submissive side take over her mind? Will Katie's new perspective make her more or less of a stuck up, demanding snob? Find out the answers in The Freshman 15 Inches – Christina's Shrinking Story. Part 1 

CLEANER II: Chapter Five - Part Four

DAHLIA

I followed Melissa outside to the rear of the hotel. Again she didn’t look back at me or engage me in conversation and because we had transitioned from inside to outside I felt certain that she didn’t want me to go with her anymore. She had never taken me outside before.

I slowed down and eventually stopped and she didn’t react either way. It was like I didn’t matter. But I was also anxious that she might turn round and snap at me to catch up. Playing her part well, she could be mercurial and hostile. I didn’t want to get in trouble with her. But still, I was certain now she didn’t want me.

It was disappointing. I had… enjoyed our interaction… sort of; though it incited, as always, a range of conflicting emotions. I wanted to go with her.

Obviously I didn’t feel as though I could join her by the pool or anything – I felt deeply uncomfortable now in such surroundings. After that first day at my own hotel I had been cast solely as an employee in this kind of environment; certainly not a guest. But part of me felt wistful over the aspect of the fantasy in which I had waited on her every whim, scurrying around to fetch her things. Melissa didn’t seem interested in that aspect. She didn’t want me near her in public. She wanted me far away doing my cleaning job at my own run-down hotel.

But I was curious and I found myself following after her, hanging right back.

I wanted to watch what she got up to; to see how well she was playing the part when I wasn’t there. I some ways I felt threatened by the idea that she might be doing it well: pretending to be me. Part of me wanted to find out that she couldn’t be me as well as I could. But I’d already seen her in the hotel and up in her room. I’d seen her beauty, confidence and grace only increase. This was an exercise in likely humiliation. I wanted her to be doing badly but I believed she would be doing well. The seedy, self-destructive part of me wanted her to be performing magnificently; wanted her to be a better Dahlia than I ever was.

Melissa sauntered along the edge of the pool, her long legs glimmering in the reflected sunlight off the water’s surface, her golden curls wavering in the light breeze that came from the sea. She looked like a goddess. It was remarkable how much she had changed: how great an effect her training and studies had had on her. She moved like a dancer with careful poise and femininity. And as I’d noticed in the lift, I recognised that her body looked better now than mine had done; because of the extra shape and musculature she had.

I moved in behind a large potted plant so she wouldn’t see me, spying on her as she walked gracefully, nodding and smiling at various guests it seemed she had made a connection with.

Once upon a time I had been extremely gregarious. It was how I had been able to expand my career so quickly. But since my withdrawal from modelling and my… my parents’ deaths years earlier, I had… not felt the same level of self-confidence. I had chosen to withdraw. I had lost interest in forging those connections. That was why I had moved to Nockton Vale really; away from the big city. I had become reclusive.

That wasn’t the person I was watching here. Melissa was possessed of a generous confidence and warm affability. This place had stripped her of the inward-looking downtrodden persona she had had when I hired her as my cleaner and allowed her to replace it with something wonderful.

She was friendlier and more sociable than I had been in a long time and the people she interacted with were clearly taken with her; magnetised by her charisma. I was captivated myself, just watching her.

She was so similar to me in looks now – only those slight differences in the face. Her hair, her body, her manner: all these were as good as or better than my original state.

It made me see myself there: a homely, obese woman, huddled behind a plant, gazing enviously at her employer. Resenting her superiority? Perhaps. Wishing I could be as beautiful again; as confident and outgoing as that? Maybe.

Maybe. In a small way.

But a far more prominent part of me was afraid that I could never be that beautiful again; that I never had been in the first place. I was afraid I’d already allowed this transformation to go too far. I had already passed some point of no return.

The me I was now was anonymous. It was safe. There was no expectation on me to be glamorous. The only expectation was for me to work hard and follow orders. I clung to that.

And if I could press a button and long that way again; take on my old life and beauty? Would I do it?

Did I want to go back? Was I ready?

No. Not yet.

Not ever?

Not yet.

Melissa circled the pool and headed for the outside bar. Nervous she was going to see me, I shifted my position, moving to my right. I was afraid of being caught; of her exposing my seedy infiltration to everyone here; but I wanted to see more. I was desperate to.

And might it even be delightful if she did expose me? How might it feel if everyone around the pool was laughing at me as I scurried away in this massive, bloated form, my glasses misting up from the heat and exertion?

She got to the bar and sat down and I drew in as close as I dared as she started chatting to an attractive man seated beside her.

I was a voyeur on my own former life and I felt ashamed of that. I felt pathetic.

But that made it better. It made me want to do it more. It made me want to wallow in it.