Chapter 21

Living the Life of Clara Diane Bent hadn’t been easy and even with the extra shifts he had been picking up the paychecks was beyond small compared to what he was used to. Today was another day off for Clara but for Calvin it was just another work day undercover. Laying propped up against a pillows on his small bed, the thin sheet and blanket kicked off to the side. Cal was wearing nothing but a pair of black cheeky panties with a delicate white frill lining the edges. Staring blankly at the ceiling, he repeatedly curled his toes, scrunching the bedsheet up into a ball beneath his foot before releasing it and starting over with his other foot scrunching up his painted toes. It was an exercise he’d read about on some vapid fashion blog a week ago, something about strengthening the arches and calves to make wearing heels more bearable. The worst part wasn't that he was doing it; the worst part was that it was actually working.

Two weeks. It had been two full weeks of this waking nightmare. His body was disturbingly adapting to the daily torture. His feet no longer screamed in agony after an eight-hour shift in three-inch work pumps. The daily tucking routine had gone from a terrifying ordeal to just another mundane step in his morning prep, right between brushing his teeth. Even the heavy D-cups strapped to his chest had just become a normal part of his center of gravity.

He switched feet once more, scrunching the fabric with his left toes. Despite the misery, he had to it he’d managed to carve out a few unexpected if kind of sad perks in his new, lowly existence. For one, his fridge was currently stocked with leftovers. By playing the sweet, demure maid, he had completely charmed the kitchen staff into slipping him free meals. It was a direct, blatant violation of the strict zero-tolerance anti-theft policy he himself had drafted for the employee handbook. Sitting there in his frilly panties, chewing on a piece of high-end prosciutto he'd smuggled out in his purse, he mentally decided he’d let that particular rule slide when he was back in charge.

The hotel staff, the people he usually viewed as mindless drones, had actually become his lifeline. Lauren Brooks was a goldmine. Because she worked the night shift to juggle her two jobs, their paths only crossed during shift changes, but the woman possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of hotel gossip. She was a true resource for his goal, but beyond that she had a level of empathy he was not used to encountering. Sure he had to listen to her go on about her son Emanuel, or Manny as she often referred to him, but when he vented about his day she didn’t just nod her head and tune him out and offered comfort not just advice. It showed him just how emotionally isolating being a man could be compared to the fairer sex.

Most of the other maids…, him leaving them mentally unnamed. He was still grappling with seeing them as full people… he was sadly working on it. But they were often too loud, too annoying, or too wrapped up in petty drama for him to bother with. Then there was Svetlanna. The six-foot-tall Ice Queen. Calvin used to think the Russian woman was just mean, but over the past two weeks, he’d actually come to look forward to sitting next to her in the breakroom. Svetlanna didn’t talk his ear off. She didn’t pry. She just ate her lunch with a stoic, rigid posture that Calvin deeply respected. He’d still gladly bed her if he had his real body back, but as Clara, he found a genuine, peaceful solidarity in her silent companionship.

Between Svetlanna’s quiet presence, Lauren’s gossip, and Ana’s boundless energy, his "fake friends" had actually made this utter bullshit almost tolerable.

Ana, of course, was a completely different story. Ever since Calvin claimed to be a "Dreamer" who was out of touch with his heritage, the spicy Latina had taken it upon herself to educate him. Lately, she had started speaking almost exclusively in Spanish around him to force his immersion. Half the time, Calvin had absolutely no idea what the hell she was saying, resorting to just fluttering his long lashes, smiling, and nodding.

She was even throwing a party at her place this coming weekend, and he had foolishly agreed to go. He told himself it was just to "maintain his cover," but the truth was, he actually liked being around her. Ana was fun. Even if the thought of navigating a crowded apartment full of Spanish speakers as Clara terrified him.

The real irony was that he was spending more time with his maids than he was with the woman he actually loved.

In the last two weeks, the most time he had spent alone with Moriah was, humiliatingly enough, in the women's public restroom off the main lobby. He had been wiping down the mirrors when she walked in. She had locked the door behind her, washed her hands slowly, and just stared at him through the glass.

Calvin’s heart had pounded, hoping she was going to call the whole thing off. Instead, Moriah had dried her hands, stepped right up behind him, and looked at their shared reflection. She had complimented him on how incredibly pretty he looked. Then, with a wicked gleam in her eye, she had reached down, given his skirt-clad ass a firm, stinging slap, and whispered that with an ass like theirs, if they worked it just right, she was sure they'd earn a raise.

The memory still made Calvin's face burn. It was degrading. It was emasculating. And God help him, it had left him painfully aroused for the rest of his shift.

He let out a sharp breath, releasing the bedsheet and stretching his legs out flat. Rolling his head to work out a kink from sleeping on the cheap mattress with the mostly flat pillow he looked up at the ceiling, thinking more about things that had transpired.

He had met with Sidney regularly in the evenings, but he had nothing substantial to report. Two weeks of deep-cleaning, snooping, and eavesdropping had only served to prove one thing: the thief wasn't at the bottom of the ladder. He could one hundred percent rule out Bethany, the front desk, facilities, and the kitchen staff. No one down here was sophisticated enough to be cooking the books, not that they really had the access for such a thing but he could only investigate so much with his current access.

The embezzler was in the executive wing. A slow, predatory smile, a purely Calvin Bennent smile, not one he ever really had in his new life as Clara, spread across his dyed lips. All the suffering, all the tongue-biting, all the meticulous scrubbing to meet Mrs. Long's… Beth’s impossible standards had finally paid off. He had played the submissive, hardworking girl to perfection. Just before he clocked out yesterday, Bethany had pulled him aside, telling him that his improvement and dedication had been noted, and that she… he had earned a degree of trust. Starting the next shift, Clara Bent was being reassigned to clean the istrative and executive offices.

If he played his cards right it would mean… well.. It would mean a lot but it specifically meant the appointments he has attended at Rim Beauty like this last week to keep his stupidly sexy breasts looking perfect. His dark hair and nails just right would come to an end and perhaps without finishing the laser appointments his hair wouldn't actually be gone forever. It was a step… a high heeled step closer to his goal and that was progress to getting out of the nightmare and gaining true wealth.

Wiggling his body he tried to get a bit more comfortable thinking about his future. His imagination showed himself his light brown hair now hanging down to his shoulders in loose waves but no longer dyed dark or as long as it was now with the weave, though his face was still smooth as a baby’s bottom like it was now. His honey, caramel skin smooth and glistening but devoid of a feminine chest, let alone the more hourglass shape the corset was shaping him into. Him in boardshorts and boatshoes. Dark thousand dollar Chopard sunglasses on his face and one of their designer hundred thousand dollar watches on his left wrist and a margarita in his right hand as he stood on a multimillion dollar yacht while Moriah relaxed on an in-pool, sun shelf chair, floating along in a pool that he once thought would be a stupid addition for a ship beyond a cruise line. Around the pool some of his more attractive employees, Svetlanna, Ana and Lauren played volleyball with a comically large inflatable pool ball. All of the women wore string bikinis and high heels or at the very least wedges none of them lower than five inches high and every one of them had their hair and makeup done in a way they looked like they could star in a commercial, though his love had part of her face hidden behind just as expensive sunglasses as his but with a retro feel and a floppy sun hat.

“Yeah… that will be the life…” He started to say but hearing his voice sounding more like a woman, specifically Clara speaking with a sexual purr had him sit up, grimacing. The brief day dream had him feeling a bit turned on and while his voice pulled him out of the mental image it hadn’t dissolved his arousal. He blinked, fluttering his lashes before drifting to a part of the room that contained the costume. ‘Should I?’ He asked himself. It was not the first time he had jerked off looking at the dress, but that was done between his conquests thinking about them, not while appearing like it was a costume for him. Closing one eye he scrunched up his face before pouting an expression he had picked up from mimicking the females he spent so much time with, before shrugging. “Fuck it.” He said getting to his feet and spending the time to achieve the look he was thinking of.

That meant putting on the corset himself, it not nearly as tight as it had been when he first had to wear it or so he thought, wondering if it was just more that he had grown accustomed to it, either way it was part of the costume to look the way he envisioned. With it on he put on the French maid costume, stepping into his patent white heel. Flicking on the bathroom light he stepped back out of the doorway to catch as much of himself as he could in the mirror. Doing a small twirl, a distinctly feminine act, that had him questioning himself. ‘What am I doing!?’ Or at least till he focused in on himself in the mirror where he saw Clara cocking her head slightly to the side. Not conscious of the action at first he reached up to touch his ears where he felt his earlobes devoid of earrings. The movement normally reminded him of the weights stabbed into his ears but not feeling them he felt less complete, not naked but… less dressed like one might feel wearing no pants but still wearing socks.

Holding up one hand with his index finger up almost like he was telling someone to wait, only the only person there was him, seeing Clara… himself in the shitty apartment's mirror. Going over to the dresser he took out the cheap plated gold large hoop earrings. Now fully dressed and ready he presented himself again in the mirror. “All right looking… fuck I look. I look….” He turned taking a few mincing steps to plop down on the bed. Originally he was going to do this and jerk off, maybe play with his breasts, but this was so far off from himself and his dream and the feeling of not being dressed fully till earrings were in made it so much worse.

Letting himself fall backwards he raised both his arms letting them fall outstretched, and like the rest of him, they bounced lightly on the bed. “What the fuck is wrong with me!” He yelled before a bang came to the wall to let him know he was being too loud with the thin walls. Staying in place his eyes glazed to the wall as they started to fill with tears. “How… Fuck how is this me?” He said. Even his voice complaining was wrong.

It wasn't Calvin David Bennent complaining to vent or bitch, it sounded like Clara Diane Bent on the verge of crying like some overly emotional girl and it was just far too much for him to handle, making his attempt to relieve his arousal a failure. It turned into him breaking down and spending his first day off for the week wasted as he felt more like a pathetic puddle not able to contain his tears. He wasn't sure why, but the longer this went on the more his emotions… rather than his usual rage, controlled him