Acting as a Cleaning Lady Chapter 11 The Tribunal
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Acting As A Cleaning Lady - Chapter 8 - A Maid By Any Other Name free porn video
Acting as a Cleaning Lady
An Unfinished Story by Susannah Donim
There is a difference between a cleaning lady and a maid, isn't there?
Not according to Dave's mean big sister.
Chapter 8 - A Maid by Any Other Name
So I had worked through the weekend, which was exhausting, but we had
made much more than we'd expected. If we could carry on like this,
our home would be safe, at least until the Tribunal. I had now been
Maria continuously for eight days, except for removing my abdominal
prosthesis about every other day. At bedtime on those nights I washed
the grotesque object and myself carefully in Carol's - now Maria's -
en suite, and Sally inspected me closely to make sure no extraneous
hairs were popping up. She insisted the inspection needed to be
tactile as well as visual, which inevitably led to enjoyable nocturnal
shenanigans.
But when that Monday morning came around, and I woke up groaning,
there seemed to have been no gap between finishing at the Woodfords
and starting with the Hunting-Smythes for my second week as a full-
time cleaning lady. I was usually up before Sally, who was not a
morning person, and making breakfast before she surfaced, but today
she had to rouse me.
She had spoken to Mrs H-S on the telephone and explained that she
would be delivering me at eight-thirty, and would 'conduct a survey',
as she put it, so that she could brief me in Spanish on my duties.
Our new client, a married doctor with no children, was very different
from Joyce Woodford. She was happy enough to converse with Sally,
whom she recognised as managerial class like herself, but had no
interest in talking to me. She called Sally 'Mrs Jackson' and made it
clear she was to be 'Mrs Hunting-Smythe' to her, and 'Se?ora' to me.
The relationship would be strictly employer-employee. Sally played up
to this outrageously, presenting herself as the Managing Director of
our prestigious household services agency. She had always seen
herself as my boss, of course, and was glad to have it recognised by a
client. We began the usual tour of the house, Sally barking orders in
Spanish and me taking notes.
When we'd finished and were back in the kitchen, Mrs H-S turned to
Sally and said, "I suppose I can trust her? She'll be on her own here
all day once I've gone in to work, and after what happened with Pinner
Maids..."
"Rest assured, Mrs Hunting-Smythe," Sally said. "Maria is an honest
girl. Also she knows that if she puts a foot wrong, her work permit
will be revoked and she'll be packed off back to her village outside
Madrid. She'll behave herself; she knows how lucky she is to be in
Pinner."
Good grief! It's lucky I had no dignity left anyway. My wife would
have killed the last of it this morning.
"Very well, but perhaps you could warn her that I will be popping back
at some point during the day. Hopefully that will keep her on her
toes."
Sally complied. I nodded vigorously, muttering, "Si, si, Se?ora.
Entiendo."
And I did understand. This week wouldn't be like being part of the
family, as at the Woodfords. It would be strictly business and I
would be strictly servant class.
The upside of working at the Hunting-Smythes was that it was a smaller
house and Mrs H-S was far too fastidious to have allowed it to
degenerate into squalor just because she had no cleaning lady. I
never learned what her husband did for a living but I suspected he had
to share the household duties, or else!
Anyway, the work was much lighter, and I wasn't required to do laundry
or ironing, so I completed a diligent spring-clean of the whole house
by the end of Wednesday. Mrs H-S professed herself content when Sally
came to collect me on Wednesday at half-past five and gave her a
cheque. No tip and just a wintry smile as thanks. She did however
say that she would like to retain our services for two hours a week
for the foreseeable future at the same rate. So she must have been
satisfied. Sally made a note in her diary.
When we got home, she called Dorothy and asked if there was anything
we could do for her this week as I was unexpectedly free. She offered
my services for grocery shopping as well as cleaning. Dorothy was
delighted and confirmed that she would be happy to pay for a morning's
work that Friday. She dictated a shopping list which Sally duly
recorded.
"Hang on," I said. "What about transport? I can't drive, remember?"
"No problem," she said smugly. "You can do an internet shop and get
it delivered here tomorrow. Then we can take it round on Friday
morning in the car."
I had to admit that she was getting quite good at running a domestic
services agency.
"I think there's an old bike of my mother's in the garage, by the
way," she said. "It would be better if you didn't have to depend on
me to ferry you backwards and forwards."
= = =
Since I was now free on the Thursday I decided to go round to my
sister's for morning coffee. It was thanks to her that we could now
see a light at the end of the tunnel. Maria was her idea, and she had
facilitated and paid for my transformation. I hated to admit it but I
owed her a huge debt; I just didn't realise how huge. Sally had
passed Mrs McLaughlin's envelope to her unopened.
"?3,750," Anna said, when I insisted on knowing how much she had
spent.
"How much?" I gasped.
"I told you not to worry for the moment," she said. "That's nothing
to us; well, next to nothing. It can wait till after the Tribunal.
You'll easily be able to afford to pay us back then..."
"Assuming we win!"
"...assuming you win."
"I can't be in your debt for all that time," I wailed. "I just
can't!"
Her face went dark.
"This is about us, isn't it?" she said. "You and me. Our sibling
rivalry?"
"I would never borrow that amount of money from a friend, and you and
I..."
"...aren't friends," she finished. "I know."
"That's not what I was going to say..."
Although it was, of course. I had just stopped myself because I was
aware of how it would have sounded.
"We were never close growing up..." she went on.
"To put it mildly," I snorted. "You'd get up and walk out of the room
when I came in!"
"And you kept sneaking into my bedroom and throwing my clothes all
over the place, particularly my first bras, and you laddered my first
grown-up tights."
I'd forgotten that. We fell silent.
"No, we were never friends," she said, "but we're family. You're my
little brother, despite what you currently look like." She chuckled.
"I may not always like you, but I love you. I only want the best for
you and Sally - who you absolutely don't deserve, by the way."
"Finally we agree on something," I said. She smiled. "But I still
can't stand owing you so much money," I insisted.
She sighed. "Well, how about you work it off, a little at a time, and
pay off the rest when you can afford it? I still need cleaning,
someone to do the laundry, and so on. I hate doing housework and you
seem to be really good at it. How about ?100 for three hours a week?"
"That's much more than I'm getting from anybody else!"
"Well I suppose I could add a condition that would make it a little
harder for you; make you feel you're earning a higher rate..."
Her eyes gleamed. I knew that look and I knew I wasn't going to like
it...
= = =
It was good to see Dorothy again on Friday morning. We brought her
shopping in and I put it away while she and Sally went through what
she wanted me to do that morning.
"By the way," said Dorothy to Sally when we'd finished making the
day's 'To Do' list, "how is Maria off for clothes? It's just that she
looks like she's wearing her mother's cast-offs. Her outfit looks too
old for a girl in her twenties."
"She probably can't afford to buy new stuff," said Sally. "Hence her
need to work as a cleaning lady."
"No, I understand that," she said, "but I have wardrobes full of old
stuff I've never got round to throwing out - things I haven't worn
since the eighties. Oh, I don't mean business suits with huge
shoulder pads, or gold lam?, sequinned party dresses. Just ordinary
tops and skirts. They don't really go out of fashion and they're much
more suitable for someone of Maria's age."
She lowered her voice a little, as if afraid I might overhear and be
offended by what she was about to say, even though she 'knew' I
couldn't understand.
"I was a plump little thing back then too. I'm sure my clothes would
fit her, even though she's quite a bit taller. She can think of it as
a tip, if you like. Have you got time to come up and help her pick
out some nice things?"
"Oh, I think so," said Sally. "They won't mind if I'm ten minutes
late for once. I'm usually first in."
She explained Dorothy's offer to me in Spanish. Dorothy led the way
upstairs to her spare bedroom.
"?Vamos!" said Sally, grabbing my hand and hurrying after Dorothy.
"?Ropa nueva! Esto ser? divertido!"
Looking at new clothes might be fun for her... Sometimes Sally seemed
to forget that I was not really a woman. I tried to look happy for
Dorothy's sake, then I remembered she could barely make out my
expression. We entered the back bedroom.
"I offered all this lot to my nieces years ago," Dorothy said, opening
the first of two large wardrobes. "They weren't keen to take their
Auntie's old clothes, and in any case they're both tiny little things.
They take 'petite'. Maria can have anything she'd like here."
Sally reached for a couple of hangers, pulled them out, and looked at
them thoughtfully. Everything looked... quite nice... but of course I
had no idea whether the clothes were decent quality, in fashion, or
what.
The wardrobe was overflowing with dresses, skirts and women's slacks.
There were some long, elegant Laura Ashley-type dresses, obviously
from the seventies rather than the eighties, or even earlier. Dorothy
was probably old enough to have been a flower child. They were
beautiful and I liked them a lot, but even I knew there was no way
they were fashionable now.
"Ra-ra skirts!" exclaimed Sally in English. "She'd look great in
these!"
Dorothy went over to a big, old-fashioned chest of drawers.
"These are full of tops, smart blouses, cardigans, shell suits -
remember those? There's not much underwear of course, but she
wouldn't want my old worn-out bras and knickers! There might be some
nice slips though..."
Sally had to go to work, but we arranged to come back on Saturday for
a proper look. I spent the rest of the morning dusting, vacuuming and
doing laundry. It passed quickly and happily.
Sally came back during her lunch hour. I made tomato soup and toasted
cheese sandwiches for the three of us. The conversation was lively,
despite me needing simultaneous translation.
"So how was your morning?" Sally asked in the car on our way home.
"It was fine," I said. "Dorothy is a lovely old lady. She's so
cheerful despite her handicap. I'm happy to help her."
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Maria," she said. "You've another
busy week coming up, and then you'll be going back to the Woodfords
and the Hunting-Smythes for a couple of hours each - maybe more. A
cleaning lady's work is never done - fortunately!"
= = =
It was Saturday morning. I was standing in our kitchen submitting to
a critical inspection.
"So now not only do I have to clean her house for her every two weeks,
I have to do it wearing a maid's uniform! And it has to be Friday
mornings so that I can serve coffee and biscuits to her damn Bridge
Club ladies. She said that having a uniformed maid will shoot her
straight to the top of the social pecking order."
"I don't see what difference it makes to you," Sally said. "You're
already disguised as a woman and wearing women's clothes all the time.
Why is a maid's dress any worse?"
"I'm not a maid, I'm a cleaning lady," I insisted.
My wife laughed. "What the hell's the difference?"
"A maid is a servant. She has to do everything her mistress says.
She's servile, submissive, at her employer's beck and call. A
cleaning lady is a freelance contractor. She's a professional,
engaged to provide specific services for a predetermined number of
billable hours - just like a lawyer! She doesn't have to do anything
she doesn't want to."
It struck me that this was a ridiculous conversation for a man to be
having with his wife. And it didn't help that I was dressed from head
to toe as a maid. After our talk on Thursday morning, Anna had called
Transformations and ordered three maid's uniforms in my size, one
black, one grey, one navy blue.
"Your sister is a bit much sometimes, isn't she?" said Sally,
sympathetically.
"You're just realising that now?" I asked gloomily.
"No, I've always known she's a mad bitch. I just tried to keep the
peace between you, but now she's going too far. This is too
humiliating. I'll have a word with her and get you out of it."
"No, I'll have to do it. We took her money. I promised, and anyway,
there's no reason to connect Maria the maid with your absent husband,
Dave."
"Really?" She looked confused for a moment. Then the light appeared
to dawn. "I think you're actually looking forward to it!"
"No, no. I just have a thing about keeping my promises..."
"You've got some sissy fantasy about being a maid!"
"No! No, I..."
"It's OK, actually," she smiled. "I'm more than happy to share that
fantasy." She checked her watch. "Come on then, maid Maria, let's
go."
We trooped over to Anna and Phil's place. I was under instructions to
go round the back - the Servants' Entrance, as my beloved sister put
it. She was waiting for us in the kitchen. She hooted with laughter
when she saw me.
"Oh Dave - sorry, Maria - you look marvellous! A perfect picture of a
housemaid!"
I gritted my teeth and didn't reply.
"To be honest, I don't see how this is going to work," Sally said,
well aware of my rising anger. "How are you going to give your maid
orders, when she doesn't speak English - your idea, I seem to remember
- and you don't speak Spanish?"
Anna's face fell. I hadn't thought of that either. My clever wife
might have found an escape clause for me.
"Well, you'll just have to jot down some phrases in Spanish for me,"
she blustered. "You know - 'Coffee and biscuits, please, Maria'.
'You can clear the cups and plates away now, please, Maria'. That
sort of thing. Write them out phonetically. I'm sure we'll manage.
My maid won't want to embarrass me in front of my friends..." She
looked at me meaningfully. "...because she knows that I could
embarrass her much more!"
I sighed. That was indisputable. Anna was going to win again.
"Now I want you to practise serving us," she said, "so that there are
no mistakes next Friday."
"What - now?" I said, looking at my tiny ladies' watch. "But we have
to be at Dorothy's in less than an hour."
"It won't take long. Now Sally and I will go and sit in the lounge.
You know where everything is, Maria. Bring us coffee and biscuits on
a nice tray."
She turned to my wife and led her out to the sitting room.
"By the way, Sally," she was saying, 'you don't have to use the
Servants' Entrance, you know..."
= = =
Anna made me go through the motions twice, asking Sally to write the
appropriate instructions in Spanish and explaining how to pronounce
them. My sister has a tin ear for accents and sounded like a
caricature of an English person attempting to speak Foreign, but I
couldn't pretend I didn't understand.
This stupid rehearsal made us late and we had to rush round to
Dorothy's place as she was going out later. Obviously I didn't have
time to change out of my uniform. Despite her poor eyesight Dorothy
could see what I was wearing. She was most impressed at how her
scruffy cleaning lady had metamorphosed into a smart maid.
"You look wonderful, dear," she said, obviously assuming I had come
straight from working for another client. "Why don't you wear that
nice dress for all your cleaning jobs?"
I nearly answered her, then remembered at the last minute that I
wasn't supposed to understand. Sally quickly translated. I shrugged
and muttered something about how the uniform wasn't as comfortable or
convenient, and not suitable for dirty jobs. Dorothy smiled and led
us upstairs, Sally and I each carrying two suitcases.
We spent an hour going through her old clothes. There was some really
nice stuff. I took off my uniform and tried a few things on. The few
minis she had would have been totally obscene on me, but there were
plenty of normal dresses I could wear. Like with Carol's stuff,
skirts which would have been two inches below the knee on Dorothy were
two inches above on me. I could live with that.
Sally insisted I try a ra-ra skirt, but I couldn't believe how big it
made my bum look. No way would I ever wear that.
I took a couple of really beautiful Laura Ashley dresses though. We
filled all four suitcases. I left wearing a very nice blue minidress,
not that it would have been mini on Dorothy. I still looked fat, I
thought, but at least the dress was attractive.
= = =
After dropping the suitcases containing my new wardrobe at home, we
had to head out to Transformations for my fortnightly maintenance
appointment. Sally dropped me at the front door and went off to do
our weekend grocery shopping.
I had taken my false bottom off at least every other day to clean it,
and check my nether regions for damage, and for... other reasons, but
I had been wearing the false boobs, cheeks, nose and chin for two
weeks now.
Vera applied a strong-smelling solvent to the affected areas and
prised all my prosthetics off, checking for signs of rash or other
skin damage. She asked me whether I was following her instructions
for looking after myself and keeping the prosthetics in good
condition. I was able to claim full compliance with a clear
conscience.
"Your skin seems to be keeping its lovely olive tone," she said. "So
how are you enjoying being Maria?"
"It's not a question of enjoying it," I said. "I'm doing this because
I have no alternative."
"Of course, you are, dear," she said, implying, but not saying,
'That's what they all say'.
She started washing all my prosthetics, being especially thorough with
the abdominal piece.
"No, really," I insisted, "I'm suspended without pay from my real job,
and me working as Maria is the only way we can keep our heads above
water."
I wasn't sure why I was sharing so much personal detail with her, but
I suppose I couldn't consider someone who had twice manhandled my
private parts a total stranger, could I? Besides, I suppose I felt a
need to show that I was a real man, and not a cross-dresser,
transgender, or a pervert, even if I was beginning to suspect that I
might be all three.
Vera was hanging the wobbly, fleshy prosthetics up to dry. She turned
her head to look at me.
"So you're in financial difficulties?" I nodded. "Yet you can afford
our fees?" she said, sceptically.
"Well, my sister is lending us the money..."
"Really?" she said. "She must love you very much."
"Well that's not actually how I would describe our relationship, no."
"Okay, off with the rest of your clothes, and up on the bed, please,"
she said, changing the subject abruptly. "Let's see if you need any
waxing."
Shit! I did, of course. It wasn't as bad as the first time though.
She examined my face and neck carefully.
"The anti-androgen cream seems to be doing its job," she said. "I'll
just give you an extra close shave where the prosthetics have been.
You might not need to shave for much longer."
Half an hour later, thoroughly cleaned, waxed and shaven, smothered in
soothing lotion, and with all my prosthetics carefully replaced, I
made my way to Sharon's salon. We greeted each other with girly air
kisses and she helped me into a smock. I soon felt the sensual
pleasure of her soft hands and lukewarm water on my scalp.
"Your hair and the extensions seem to be in good shape," she said,
approvingly.
"Well I didn't wash it till the third day after I was here," I said.
Sally had actually washed it for me when we showered together. "And I
used conditioner. Also my wife dabbed tint on my roots last weekend."
"Good girl," she said. I didn't know whether she meant me or Sally.
"What style have you kept it in?"
"Mostly just a ponytail or a bun," I said. "I've been too busy
working to do anything elaborate."
"I know just how you feel," she laughed. "Even though I know how to
do virtually any hairstyle, we working girls just don't have the time,
do we?"
I smiled and agreed. It's hard for 'us working girls' to make the
best of ourselves.
After Sharon had finished with me, I made my way back to Reception to
wait for Sally. While I was waiting I asked Angela the receptionist
whether I owed them anything for the afternoon's work.
"Oh no," she said. "Your maintenance appointments are all included in
your up-front fees."
I supposed that was good news, and maybe went some way toward
explaining why Transformations' fees were as high as they were.
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