Acting as a Cleaning Lady Chapter 10 Our New Careers
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Acting As A Cleaning Lady - Chapter 6 - Sally's New Girlfriend free porn video
Acting as a Cleaning Lady
An Unfinished Story by Susannah Donim
What will Sally make of the plump little Spanish cleaning lady who
used to be her husband?
Chapter 6 - Sally's New Girlfriend
Sally came back into Ingrid's office and whooped with delight when she
saw me.
"It's fantastic!" she said. "You don't look like... him at all. You
look just like a grown-up version of... the other Maria!"
"But I'm so fat!" I moaned.
"You're not fat. You're exactly the same size as my mother, and she's
not fat. She's in great shape..." She stopped abruptly.
"...for her age, you were going to say," I finished. "But I'm
supposed to be in my twenties, not my fifties."
"Well the clothes don't help," Sally admitted. "We need to get you
some more suitable things."
"That's what I said," put in Ingrid.
"Do I need to remind you that we don't have any spare money to spend
on clothes?" I said to Sally. "Especially ones we'll never need again
after the Tribunal?"
Ingrid raised an eyebrow at that word but said nothing.
"Oh, nonsense. We can probably get all we need for thirty quid from
one of the charity shops."
Ingrid cleared her throat.
"Can I assume that we've done all we can for today?" she asked. "Only
it's after five o'clock..."
"Oh yes, sorry," Sally said, "and thanks for doing such a great job
with... Maria. We'll get out of your way now."
"There's just this," Ingrid said, handing Sally an envelope. "Our
final invoice....?"
Why didn't she give it to me? I was the client, after all. She
clearly recognised Sally as the boss.
"Oh yes, thank you. I'll pass it on to Maria's sister. She's paying,
as you know."
"That's fine, thank you," Ingrid said. "Our account details are in
there, if she wishes to pay by bank transfer again."
"Come along now, Maria," said Sally, "and remember: Spanish only from
now on."
"Si, Se?ora," I said.
Sally led the way to where she had parked the car. I was a little
apprehensive about going outside but the grounds of the
Transformations manor house were deserted.
"Fat, fat, fat," I grumbled as I waddled and wiggled my way to the
car. "I've never been fat."
"Spanish, Maria," said Sally, shortly. "And you're not fat. You're
plump and sexy and voluptuous and... just wait till I get you home!"
= = =
But the first thing I did when we got home was press a pack of frozen
peas on my lips. That helped. The throbbing seemed to abate a
little. I flopped down on the sofa in the lounge and watched the six
o'clock news. While the peas were melting and my lips were
recovering, Sally started making phone calls. After about half an
hour she came bouncing back in triumph.
"You're booked up for the next three weeks," she announced proudly.
I looked at her aghast.
"Well as soon as I saw you at Transformations I knew you were going to
get away with it, so we'll just repeat what you did for Dorothy. I'll
drop you off and go round the house with the client, translating what
she says, and you can make notes. Then you spend the day cleaning,
and I'll pick you up at about five-thirty. It'll be four or five days
each week." She laughed excitedly. "We should just make the mortgage
payments, especially if you go back to each client for a couple of
hours each week..."
I still hadn't said anything. I think I was in shock. A new unwanted
career as a cleaning lady was opening up before me.
"Well, aren't you pleased?"
"Er, yes, dear," I said. "Gracias."
"De nada," she said. "Stand up!"
I complied, still a little wobbly with my sore lips and skin, and my
new jiggly figure and long hair. I stood still as Sally walked around
me, examining every detail of my transformation.
"It's positively uncanny!" she marvelled. "I can't see any giveaways
at all. Even your Adam's apple is concealed by that double chin! How
on earth do they do it?"
The ice was helping a little, so it didn't hurt as much to speak, and
I gave her a short version of my day. She started fingering my hair.
"These extensions are brilliant," she said. "They look completely
natural. I can't tell which is your own hair and which is fake."
"It's all real. It's just that I grew some of it, and someone else
grew the rest. Also, it's attached, so please stop pulling."
"Well it's a great dye job," she said. "No one could tell. Now I
want to see what's underneath it all!"
She started undressing me. She had pulled my cardigan off and
unzipped my dress before I could protest. I was soon standing there
in just my pink bra, panties and tights, feeling thoroughly mortified
at my wife seeing me in that state.
"Wow!" she squealed. "What a body!"
"Don't... please... this is really embarrassing..."
"Why? It's just a costume for a part; you've worn sillier outfits
than that; and you look fantastic! Come on, get 'em off, gorgeous!"
She twirled me round and unhooked my bra. I immediately felt the
weight of my massive boobs descending.
"Wow! They really realistic, aren't they? And those lovely rolls of
fat round your tummy!"
She slapped the top of the prosthetic and the said 'rolls of fat'
wobbled embarrassingly, but - as she said - realistically.
"Knickers down, sweetie!" she said, grabbing the sides of my panties
and pulling them down to my ankles. I had to step out of them or risk
falling over.
"What does it all feel like?"
"It doesn't feel like anything," I wailed. "It's not me!"
"I'm an actor playing a part," I told myself. "There's no need to be
embarrassed. I'm an actor playing a part."
But it wasn't working. I had never been more humiliated in my life,
standing there, a naked fat girl, in front of my wife. I found myself
crossing my legs to conceal my faux vagina and folding my arms to
cover my breasts, even though it wasn't really me I was trying to
hide.
"Come on, let's get upstairs, sexy!"
She grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the bedroom. Then
she stopped suddenly.
"Hey, where's your thingie? Below your spare tyre, you're totally
flat... down there."
"It's the prosthetic. It gives me a completely female shape and
conceals my genitals."
"It's not glued on, is it?" she asked, clearly concerned. "It's not
permanent, like your boobs and hair?
"No, but it's a bit of a bugger to get on and off."
"Oh, I'm sure we'll manage. Come on, Maria, your mistress needs you."
She resumed dragging me upstairs. My breasts swung painfully from
side to side.
"I'm not your maid," I said firmly.
"Whatever," she said. "Just go with the flow, sweetie. I promise
it'll be worth your while."
And it was. We just had to avoid any kissing, as my lips were still
too sore.
I couldn't see how she could find Maria in the nude sexy. But it was
like that time when I was Fifi. Even she didn't know what was getting
her so worked up. She said it was something to do with the knowledge
of who - and what - was under the disguise.
She had me wear one of Carol's nighties and we went to bed for a
protracted period of foreplay. She seemed to love kneading the
artificial flab of my generous boobs and buttocks. I couldn't see how
this could lead anywhere, given the constraints my equipment was
currently under, but I went along for the ride. By a combination of
boob-sucking, fingering and licking, I was able to help Sally to a
satisfactory orgasm. As she lay there panting she declared it was now
time for my treat.
As expected, it was a struggle getting my 'abdominal prosthesis' off.
It took both of us working together. In the end we managed by
unrolling it like a sock (or a condom) with the result that it ended
up inside out. Extracting my penis from its tube, and allowing my
testicles to descend once again after their confinement in their body
cavity, were unique experiences too.
Still, one can get used to anything if the reward is sufficient.
Sally took full charge, managing our lovemaking from above, impaling
herself on my freed and engorged member, her exquisite breasts
massaging my face, then pressing down on my plump fake ones. I
couldn't remember a more exciting climax.
"How was it for you?" she asked breathlessly afterwards.
"Great!" I said.
"All great?" she insisted.
"Well... it was a game of two halves," I admitted, not wanting to say
more.
"Come on; out with it."
"This may all look sexy," I said, "but I can't actually feel anything
through these prosthetics. Obviously I was very happy to... um... do
what you wanted, but..."
"What?"
"It was hard work and I didn't get anything out of it till we took my
artificial bum off. If you were hoping for a mutually satisfactory
lesbian experience, it wasn't like that for me. I can't actually feel
you kneading my tits or false buttocks."
"No, I understand," she sighed. "I was just curious. I'm not really
that keen on lesbian lovemaking and if you're not getting anything out
of it, it's no good for me either. We'll just have to keep taking
that thing off every night. I did enjoy being on top though. How was
that?"
"Oh that was great," I said. "You're quite the little athlete in the
upper position, aren't you?"
She laughed. "Hey, I just had a great idea!" she said.
"Do tell," I said, sceptically.
"Implants! You could have D cup breast implants. You'd definitely
feel it then."
"Let's call that Plan B, shall we?"
Afterwards I put on a neglig?e and we went downstairs for a late
dinner and a bottle of wine. I felt a little strange, being a plump
woman with 42D breasts above the waist and a slim man below. Sally
also seemed to find the combination disconcerting and insisted I keep
my nightie and neglig?e properly wrapped around me to conceal any
evidence of the male half of my anatomy.
"Mum said you can have all her old underwear. She's bought herself
lots of new stuff in Oz, but we'll have to get you some panties in
Dave's size to match your nighties," she said.
"We're supposed to be saving our money," I protested, though the idea
of wearing sexy knickers as Dave gave me a little thrill.
It was still early evening and I dreaded anyone dropping round and
seeing me in this state, but the only likely visitors were Anna and
Phil and they were away for the weekend. They had promised to drop by
on Sunday night to see Maria, the finished product.
= = =
I woke up the next morning to find Sally playing with my boobs. I
only realised what she was doing when she started massaging them with
such vigour that they began pulling on my chest underneath.
"Morning, sunshine," she said, flicking a bogus nipple. "Your boobs
are amazing! They feel just like the real thing."
"Not from my side, they don't," I sighed. "I still can't feel a
thing."
= = =
Since it now seemed that Carol had taken up semi-permanent in
Australia, Maria took over her room. I didn't sleep there, of course.
Nothing had changed between man and wife (except that, if anything,
Sally was even more sexually voracious), but we needed somewhere to
keep my clothes and cosmetics. It was also easier for me to wash in
Carol's en suite, and do my make-up and hair at her dressing-table,
rather than compete with my wife for hers.
Sally insisted I spent Sunday 'practising being Maria'. So first we
had to put my feminine lower half back. The prosthesis was lying in a
corner of our bedroom where it had been carelessly discarded the night
before. It looked like a flesh-coloured flotation device, or maybe a
rubber girdle for a fat woman.
I took it into Maria's bathroom to wash it while it was still inside
out. Then I hung it up to dry while I took a shower - my first with
boobs. Ingrid had said that I could wash all my prosthetics as though
they were real flesh. Hot water and soap wouldn't affect them, she
claimed, and I put that to the test.
I borrowed Sally's shower cap as I really didn't want to get all my
new hair wet, as Sharon had advised.
After my shower, with a towel wrapped round me in the women's manner
covering my breasts, I studied my face in the bathroom mirror. My
lips had stopped hurting, though they were still swollen, and of
course they were much thicker now with the filler. I hardly
recognised myself. My face was that of a stranger, a female stranger.
The chin and neck prosthesis made my face rounder, more feminine.
While waiting for my bottom half to dry I went out to the bedroom to
put my contact lenses in and try to do something with my hair. I'd
showed Sally the book of 'simple hairstyles' that Sharon had given me.
I called her and she was keen to help.
First she wanted me to learn how to braid my hair. She liked the
French Twist but also showed me how to put my hair in plaits and
persuaded me to keep them for the rest of the day. She said they made
me look younger. I thought they would clash with Carol's rather
middle-aged clothes, but Sally just took that as an excuse for us to
go out and look for some younger styles. Eventually she grudgingly
accepted that we shouldn't be wasting money on new clothes for Maria,
but she insisted on dragging me out to the local shopping centre
anyway.
"You need to learn how to window-shop," she said, "and try things on
even when you have no intention of buying anything - like I've had to
do a lot recently," she added bitterly. "Also you need your ears
pierced."
"What? I don't want my ears pierced."
"Oh hush. Most women your age have pierced ears and I've got lots of
earrings I can lend you."
So followed another extended session with the two of us getting me
into my fake bum, hips and thighs. I found a pair of Carol's granny
knickers which were stiff and held my rolls of fat in tightly. They
were much more comfortable than the fancy pink panties Sally had
picked out for me to wear the day before.
Then we had to choose my outfit for the day. Sally insisted on
another dress so that she could continue my education in feminine
mannerisms, gestures and gait.
I put on a slip and looked through Carol's wardrobe for something that
wasn't too middle-aged. I eventually found a multi-coloured shirt
dress that I quite liked. It was predominantly yellow and black and
more importantly it covered my upper arms and came down to below my
knees. Sally also insisted I spend the day in the heels that Ingrid
had given me.
Finally, we set off for the shops, Sally driving. I sat rigid in the
passenger seat trying to arrange the seat belt comfortably around or
between my boobs. I was feeling apprehensive, to say the least. This
wasn't like playing a part on stage. I would be performing in front
of hundreds of people with no script. This would be improvisation,
but with none of the other actors aware they were in the production.
I was worried I would attract unwelcome attention. This wasn't like
the previous time I had been out in public as Fifi, or Sally's mother
as I later became. Then we had been in a dimly lit restaurant ten
miles away from home territory. At our local shopping centre, on a
Sunday morning, we could easily bump into people we knew.
"Remember you don't speak English," Sally reminded me, unnecessarily.
"Just smile shyly whenever we meet someone and let me do all the
talking."
As we made our way from the car park onto the first-floor shopping
level, I was aware people - especially men - were looking at us. I
hoped it was because Sally was so attractive, but inside I knew that
Maria was sufficiently exotic as to attract attention herself. I was
plump but shapely; I had dark skin, like a particularly rich sun tan,
and long black hair. There weren't many women like me in Pinner on a
Sunday morning.
"I really wish you hadn't given me plaits," I muttered to my wife. "I
look silly."
"In Spanish," she hissed.
"Let's go to the Ladies'," I said in Spanish, "and let my hair down."
"No! Hair as long as yours flying loose would attract even more
attention. This is a good lesson for you. You need to learn to
ignore all the admiring glances. Be haughty. Think Kate Moss on the
catwalk."
Our first port of call was a mid-range jeweller's.
"They charge ?5 for ear piercing," Sally said, reading a notice over
by the earring display. "Or it's free if you buy a pair for more than
that."
Sally chose a pair of gold hoop earrings for ?2.99. The saleslady
confirmed she would pierce my ears and put the hoops in, all for ?5.
She seemed bored and clearly didn't want to spend her Sunday morning
fitting naff earrings to a fat immigrant girl.
"You should leave the earrings in until your ears are completely
healed," she said loudly, in the mistaken belief that talking louder
would penetrate the language barrier.
I looked at Sally for enlightenment, and she translated the girls'
instructions into Spanish for me.
"For several days after the piercing," the girl continued, "you need
to clean your ears and put ear cleaning solution, rubbing alcohol, or
antiseptic ointment on them."
Sally continued to translate, and confirmed we had both alcohol and
Savlon at home.
So now Maria had to face the world in big hoop earrings, plaits, and a
middle-aged woman's summer dress. I fervently hoped that no one we
met would know the real me, and on Monday I would be back in slacks
and a cleaner's smock.
We spent the rest of the morning looking round the shops and admiring
clothes that we might have bought for Maria if we'd had any spare
money. In a Marks and Spencer fitting room I even found myself
stripped to my underwear and trying on more age-appropriate dresses.
It wasn't altogether horrible. In fact, it was quite fun.
"That looks lovely on you, Maria," Sally said with a grin as I posed
in a pink minidress. She was joking of course. I looked terrible.
"Do you have to keep calling me Maria when we're alone together?" I
said in Spanish.
"Well... yes. You may be an actor, but I'm not, remember. What if I
were to call you Dave when I'm going round a house with a client?
Then where would we be?"
We eventually stopped for a coffee and to rest our feet - well, my
feet, which were starting to ache from the unfamiliar heels - and that
was where we finally met someone we knew. It was a neighbour from two
doors down, Mrs Willoughby - I didn't know her first name - who was
leading her sullen teenage daughter out of the coffee shop as we were
going in. She had clearly seen us and came over to say hello. And
because she was wondering who I was, of course.
Sally made the introductions.
"And this is Maria," she said.
I smiled and muttered, "Hola," in my Maria voice.
"Her family were our neighbours when we lived in Madrid," Sally
continued. "She's staying with us for a while..."
"Oh, to improve her English?" the Willoughby woman suggested.
"Er, yes that's right," said Sally. "She hardly speaks a word yet,
and she's very shy."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, while the daughter looked
bored, and I tried to act friendly and polite while pretending not to
understand a word of the conversation. Eventually we parted and Sally
and I were able to join the queue for coffee. I had only met the
Willoughbys a couple of times as Dave, but clearly neither of them
recognised me. Success!
"We hadn't thought of that," Sally said in Spanish, as we waited to be
served. "Everyone will assume you're over here to learn English, so
you'll need to improve gradually. Eventually you'll have to be able
to talk to the clients you clean for. We'd better work on your
voice."
I agreed. "But it takes time to learn a new language, doesn't it?" I
said. "And this whole farce is only going on for a few months - till
the Tribunal. Then Maria can disappear forever. It'll be OK."
I got more looks from the other customers while we drank our coffee,
but when they heard us speaking Spanish, people seemed to lose
interest. I was able to convince myself that the attention I was
attracting was because of my exotic appearance, rather than because I
was being recognised as a cross-dresser.
On the way back to the car I get my first wolf-whistle from a couple
of workmen. I blushed with... embarrassment? Pleasure? Whatever.
They were whistling at Sally, of course.
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