Gromet's PlazaTG/CD Stories

The Chaperone's Apprentice 3

by Charlotte Arabella Graham

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© Copyright 2016 - Charlotte Arabella Graham - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; F/m; F/f; cd; ts; latex; maid; heels; stockings; collar; basket; encase; hotel; doppelgänger; switch; cons; X

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Part 3

"Now that you have had your little practice adventure it is time for a proper one. As I am sure I have said before, the vulgar idea of the rȏle chaperone is incorrect. Original the chaperone was not so much intended to keep the young couple apart as to gently bring it together so that it did not bounce asunder again. We have such a task."

"Two rival company heads, both fiery individuals who have been throwing insults at each other for years, have been persuaded individually that, whatever it may have been in the past, the way forward is by way of a merger. A meeting between the two is the obvious next step but it must not be in public; the press would have a hay-day and the merger would certainly be off for the foreseeable future. So this is how I propose that we bring about such a meeting…"


A few weeks later Cecilia and Ms Westbury found themselves driving a white van in France on the A26, heading south towards Paris and Ms Westbury’s favourite hȏtel. In the last year it had seen some major changes, ones to Ms Westbury’s entire satisfaction as she had been instrumental in making them happen. Without much persuasion, the Contessa had bought the hȏtel so that she and the Prince could have a place in Paris where they can carry on as usual; the ever discrete Alfonso becoming its general manager.

The van turned into the last simple aire on the autoroute. "Time to get changed, Cecilia; your things are in the back of the van. Shout when you are ready and I will come and give you a polish. You have to look your best."

Cecilia scramble out of the passenger seat and went round to the back.

Soon there was a whispered, "Cooee", Cecilia had changed into a latex English Maid’s dress, predominantly in traditional black, the look enhanced with a black-trimmed white apron, fish net stockings, high-heeled shoes and hair scrunched up to go inside the regulation mop-cap.

Ms Westbury polished the dress until it shone brightly in the setting sunlight.

She stepped back and looked at her handiwork.

"Time to get into the linen basket, I fear", she said.

Cecilia climbed into the basket and settled down as best she could amongst the towels while Ms Westbury closed and locked the lid.

"Better use the mask for breathing" she said in a loud whisper. "There is no guarantee that enough air can get through the wicker-work. It would rather complicate matters if you did not come out alive".

‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’ wondered Cecilia.

Ms Westbury returned to the van’s driving seat and edged out into the traffic; not so easy in a right-hand drive vehicle now that there was no passenger to act as a look-out.

Despite all the padding, Cecilia ride was anything but pleasant. No longer being able to anticipate them, every turn came as a surprise, swinging her from side to side, while each bump seemed sharper than ever making her gasp; not a good thing when breathing with a mask that demanded it be steady and deep.


Ms Westbury was driving to her favourite hȏtel but this time not to its front door. Instead she threaded her way via narrow streets to the back of the building. There she stopped to call a number on her mobile. Almost immediately a door opened and she drove in to find a smiling Alfonso already on the loading bay with a small fork-lift truck, with which to unload the laundry baskets. Normally, this would have been a task for one of the staff but Alfonso had insisted on doing it himself this once saying that, as the new general manager, he wanted to know first-hand what all the jobs in the hȏtel were like.

Cecilia felt the van stop. All was quiet for a few minutes; then she was moving again, this time it was really jerky. She was swung around and, for a moment, thought she was going to be tipped right over. Then the jolting stopped and calm returned. She waited for what seemed like an eternity in the darkness. Then she heard a whisper from the side of the basket.

"Alfonso will let you out as soon as he is sure that the coast is clear. He says that he has called a staff meeting for later. I am leaving now. From here on it is up to you."

Cecilia’s heart sank. She was going to remain locked up with the laundry for hours yet, hardy able to move and getting hotter and more uncomfortable by the moment. ‘Oh why, oh why, did her aunt have to choose the latex maid’s dress?’

At long last there was a faint scuffling sound outside her prison. A sound of the locks being undone and the hasps released. The lid opened.

"All clear", said a voice with a distinct foreign accent. "Can’t stop now. Have to chair a meeting. Good of luck"

Cecilia heard footsteps receding into the distance as she pushed open the lid, took off the mask and gulped in air. It was good to breath normally again even if there was that faint smell that seemed to always pervade the less public parts of even the grandest of hȏtels.

Her legs had gone to sleep with being in one essentially immovable positon for so long. She rubbed them, making them tingle as the circulation returned.

‘Ok’, she said to herself five minutes later, ‘time to find the back door to the Presidential Suit’.

She made her way through the maze of back passages that shielded guests from seeing the hȏtel menials that did all their work un-noticed. Ones that she had become all too familiar on her first visit when she was just Ms Westbury’s maid before the events of that visit had propelled her to junior partner in the re-vamped, ‘Chaperones’. Nevertheless, Cecilia would have had to admit that hers was not the normal attire for the hȏtel's maids. She spotted a bucket, picked it up and filled it with water from the tap in a store room. Perhaps the latex dress might look a little less out of place if she pretended she was washing something - perhaps!

Cecilia found the door in the service corridor and taped on it.

"Who is it", a voice called from the other side.

Cecilia replied with the agreed identification.

There was a moment’s hesitation as the person in the room looked through the spy-hole. Then the door opened a little on its catch.

Cecilia gave the second password. The door opened fully to reveal the occupant of the suite wearing a hȏtel dressing gown. There was no mistaking it for anyone but Xara Imogen Stewart; her trade-mark mane of red hair immediately setting her apart.

Xara was taken aback. This was not at all as she had imagined. She had been warned to expect a maid with whom she should swap roles and outfits but not with one dressed in a latex uniform.

She was about to protest but excitement was welling up inside her. She couldn’t help thinking that the outfit was really sexy. She just had to feel what it was like to wear it and see what she would look like. She was, after all, about the same size as Cecilia, just a bit fatter, perhaps; that would make the dress even tighter. ‘And more sexy’, an inner voice seemed to be saying.

Introductions over, Cecilia found an armchair and sat down. It was too low for modesty, even if the dress didn’t have an ultra-short skirt.

"I want to go over the plan again, it’s very important that it is done properly and that nothing goes wrong or gives the game away".

Xara came out of her reveries.

"The idea", Cecilia went on, "is this; I will stay over-night in the second bed-room. You go down for breakfast as usual then after we exchange clothes. I will wear the ginger wig that’s in the box that was delivered to your suite today and check-out as you. In the meanwhile, you lock yourself in the second room, leaving the key in the lock. When the chamber maids comes to redo the suite, they won’t be able to get in so you will be safe. Don’t unlock the door until you get the agreed sign. That understood?"

Xara nodded meekly.

"Yes, Mistress", she added with a giggle.

Cecilia ignored the giggle. This was too serious; she went on.

"Your opposite number will by then have taken the Presidential Suite. Your negotiations are up to you, of course. The rȏle of Chaperones is merely to bring people together out of the public gaze". ‘Gosh’, thought Cecilia, ‘I’m beginning to sound like Ms Westbury’.

"When you have done, repair to the second bedroom and lock yourself in. Alfonso will come when it is clear to leave and lead you to the loading bay where you will be picked up"

Xara thought for a moment.

"Yes, ok", she said.

"One other thing. I’m starving. I’ve been stuck in that linen basket for hours. Could you ring room-service and ask them to bring something up?"

"Yes, and a half bottle of champagne too so we can drink to the success of tomorrow".


Next morning Xara went down early for breakfast. Returning to her suite she found Cecilia in a dressing-gown, the maid’s outfit freshly laundered and laid out for her on the bed.

Last night Cecilia had been not at all sure their plan was going to work. Now Xara seemed really eager to get into the latex dress and the accessories as quickly as possible. She put on the dress; Cecilia helping to zip it up at the back. The shoes had wide ankle straps that necessitated small locks passing though loop in order to keep them on. Fortunately the right size, Xara sat down and slipped them on while a kneeling Cecilia fixed the straps. Xara stood up, wobbled and immediately sat down again.

Cecilia tried, not entirely successfully, to supress a giggle.

"Gosh, these heels are high".

"Well, what did you expect? Flatties? A French maid is supposed to teeter anyway".

As well as the shoes, Cecilia had also worn a close-fitting, rubber lined, stainless steel collar to hide any hint of an Adam’s apple. The collar fastened at the back of her neck through a hole to the slider of the dress’s zip with a small brass pad-lock with a steel hasp fastening the two together.

"Where’s the collar?" asked Xara searching for it on the bed.

"In my bag. I didn’t expect that you would be wanting it so I put it away".

Xara was getting ever more excited.

"I think", she said hesitatingly, "I think I would like to be locked in. I would feel, well, sort of ‘safer’".

"Perhaps I should have brought a CD", laughed Cecilia, going over to her bag for the collar.

Xara cocked her head quizzically.

"Chastity belt", explained Cecilia. "You lock yourself in it so on-one can get access; even you. Of course you can have all sorts of attachment, too, so wearing one can be excruciatingly exciting; or just plain excruciating".

Cecilia fitted the collar then stood back while Xara preened herself in a mirror.

‘Oh why am I enjoying this so much’, she thought.

She came out of her trance with a start.

"Where do you want me to put the keys?" asked Cecilia.

"Why not let Alfonso look after them? He’ll like that and, anyway, I’d feel a bit safer".

"All right then, if you’re happy not to have them I’ll do that on my way out. Let’s give you a good polish, afterwards I’ll leave the can so you can do a last-minute touch-up job before making your grand entrance to the meeting".


At last Cecilia felt she had done all she could to get Xara ready. It was now time for her change. She dressed in Xara’s business suit then, with the long ginger wig on her head, bag from an exclusive Bond Street shop over her shoulder and double-breasted faun gabardine raincoat over her arm, went to check out of the hȏtel as Xara Stewart.

Alfonso was hovering in the background; a very big contribution to his pension fund was riding on the success of this venture. Surreptitiously she handed over the keys to him. Alfonso gave the almost imperceptible nod of a professional and proceeded to escort his important guest to the door. She left her suit-case with the concierge to be collected later.

A private hire car was waiting. Cecilia got in and was whisked to the shops in the rue Saint-Honoré where the car waited, oblivious to the traffic chaos it caused, then on to the Jules Verne restaurant on the first deck of the Eiffel Tower for lunch. If any of the paparazzi were on the lookout they would think Xara was out and about in Paris. Finally, the car took her back to the hȏtel to collect the case, then on to the Gare du Nord for the last Eurostar back to London.

‘So far, so good’, she thought, sitting back in the car, ‘too good, perhaps’.


Xara entered the second bedroom and locked the door leaving the key in the hole.

‘Now simmer down, gal, you’ve got some hard negotiating to do’.

Xara settled down in an easy chair. She knew that she would have to wait until mid-afternoon before the other party arrived; it was going to be a long wait – an uncharacteristic activity for her. She tried reading magazines to while away the time but soon got bored with them. She tried the television with the sound turned off but all that seemed to be on were cookery programmes interspersed with banal adverts.

Sometime later sounds from the main part of the suite indicated that a chamber maid had arrived to tidy up and prepare it for the next guest. The main part of the suite done she turned to the second bed-room. Naturally she couldn’t git in, door being locked from the inside.

Xara was petrified even though, having left the key in the lock there was no way the maid could get a master-key in to open it – she hoped!

The maid shook the handle several times then times to no avail then went off to report to the problem to the House Keeper.

All was quite again.

Xara breathed a sigh of relief.

This time she did not have to wait so long. In the early afternoon there was a hesitant tap on the door followed, in a whisper, the prearranged passwords.

Xara responded and, getting the appropriate response, gingerly open the door. Oh why was her heart pounding so?

In the outer room was the chief of her rival firm.

He gasped, he had been told to expect Xara dressed as a maid but not in sky-scraper heels and latex polished to a dazzling shine.


The meeting over, Xara returned to her room; locked the door and threw herself on the bed. It had been extraordinarily successful, the merger was going to go ahead and she would be in charge of it all. The dress had been a great hit – something she now realised had been planned all along by the omniscient Ms Westbury – but now she just had to relieve herself!

Sometime later Xara was awakened by an increasingly anxious tapping.

"Ms Stewart, Ms Stewart, hello, hello, it is Alfonso. We have not got much time. Hello".

Xara roused herself and glance at her watch.

"Gosh, is it that time already".

"Wait a mo. I have to go to the bathroom".

"Yes, of course, but please hurry".

In five minute Xara appeared to the obvious relief of Alfonso.

"Follow me", he said. Leading the way via back passages to the loading bay; his pace was so quick that Xara, in 15 cm heels, had the greatest of difficulty keeping pace causing Alfonso to stop several times to let her catch up; each time looking at his watch, getting more anxious than ever.

Ms Westbury didn’t like to be kept waiting, even by the most august of clients. Timing was usually of the essence so any delay could have unpleasant consequences. She motioned Xara to the passenger seat, nodded goodbye to Alfonso and was off.

"I have arranged for us to stay over-night at a hȏtel this side of the Channel Tunnel. We can then make a fairly early start back and be in London by mid-day. There are some of your things in the back of the van. I will stop at the first discreet aire so you can change.

It was then that a terrible realization struck Xara. In her haste she had forgotten to retrieve the keys from Alfonso. Hesitatingly she told Ms Westbury what had happened.

There was silence for a moment. Ms Westbury was not amused.

"Very well", she ultimately said, "it is of no use our going back. Alfonso will by now have left the hȏtel for the night and I have no idea where he resides".

Xara though that this might not be quite true but now was not at all the right time to mount a challenge.

Ms Westbury went on.

"I do not have spare set of key upon me, nor can we cut through the case hardened steel of the collar or the shoe-locks with any of the tools in the van. You will have to continue to wear them until they get back to England. We will then go to my house when they can be undone gracefully. As part of the subterfuge, Cecilia is going back to your place anyway, she can be relied upon to hold the fort for an extra day. I will telephone her as soon as I can".

A few kilometres on she was able to pull off the motorway. She stopped the van and tried. There was a good signal but Ms Westbury could not get through – Cecilia’s mobile seems strangely dead. Odd.

Xara had gone through the motions of being annoyed at her predicament. Secretly, however, she was excited by the idea of being, ‘forced’, to remain in her rubber maid kinky outfit, her exhibitionist self being really very pleased at, ‘having’, to be seen (show off?) in public, in the dress.

She checked in the handbag, yes the can of polish was still there. Great!

Ms Westbury, however, drove on in silence. Xara thought she was still annoyed about the keys. In fact it was Cecilia about whom she was concerned. It was completely out of keeping for her not to answer the telephone or at very least leave a coded message, especially when on a job. What can have happened to her?

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