Your third day waking up as Claudia is more pleasant than the first two, because it’s her off-day. Which means she’s free to pursue her artistic life ambitions. Or – in your case – your debased desires.
Once again, you wore the garment to experience sleeping with it. To your distress, it is quite uncomfortable; a hard rubber mound numbing the feel on your derriere, with the softer parts squeezing your waist and hips. You figure it’s best for special occasions, when you want to show some leg for example.
That didn’t stop you from playing with her and her things, though. Owning her house means you're free to dp wherever you want (provided you keep it clean – the furniture is invaluable!), the way you want to.
Which meant wearing sheer black silk panties over the girdle, and black stockings held in place by a genuine garterbelt; to adorn your hair with ringlet extensions and a false top knot, draped in her late grand-aunt's jewelry, while rubbing your bare chest and your hungry cunt while indulging in wine and screaming indecencies the real Claudia Nicholls would never dare to.
It was so fun and exhilarating that you waste no time repeating the exercise. And as you do, you ponder on your lingering excitement for this turn of events.
This house is mine. Everything in this house is mine now. This body’s mine. These breasts... You squeeze your breasts and moan. “Mmm!” These thoughts... I love having these thoughts. I love loving her job. I love loving her interests. I love this wine – thank you, aunt Deirdre!
You gasp and yipe, feeling your body hot and bothered. And this voice... “I love this voice,” you say, savoring the hum of her words as you do the wine. “I love that this voice is mine now. I love having this delightful body. I...”
You feel the rush of excitement overwhelming you, and you slam the glass of wine to keep it straight. You lift your legs, shoving both hands inside your underwear as you scream. “Claudia! I want you! I need you! I need to be you! I won’t let you go! You are mine! You... You... You are me!”
And as you feel that excitement peaking, you declare in a primal scream. “I am Claudia! I am Claudia!”
Once the sensation diminishes, you hear panting in your mind. It resonates with your own, because it is your own. Just as yesterday, your thoughts are her own – reminders, not answers from an interrogation. Memories are still beyond your reach, but you deduct connecting to them is only a matter of time.
Connect? You correct yourself in her – your – voice. Connect would mean we’re separate. I’m reclaiming my memories.
You stand up, your legs weak and wobbly, only to notice the glass of wine shattered on the rug, staining it with the last vestiges of your late great-aunt's favorite wine. You sigh, for removing that stain before the next reunion with the Society will be a headache.
My life, you begrudingly admit. My problems. You grab a towel and a spray full of baking soda and lemon, but you figure something else might work. My solutions.
--
Your little stint delayed you, causing you to choose – for the first time in years – breakfast at the nearest McDonald’s. You cooed the kid on the register as he stared at your choice of attire with cringe curiosity. “What? Never seen a woman dressed like me before?”
Your old self would quiver at the idea of eating overprocessed food, but time is of the essence. You arranged to speak with Henry about your proposal, and you’re not one to be late. (You don't have to abandon your responsibilities to satisfy your rebellious urges, after all.)
You park near the sidewalk and drop a few coins in the parking meter from your small purse. You embrace your bohemian spirit with a green caraco under a shawl and matching petticoat, ankle-length boots and a small hat over your ringlet extensions, choosing your trusty panties for padding and layers of stockings to hide them. As always, your attire stands out, catching everyone’s attention.
You step firmly into Henry Ackerman’s office, shared by his partner Edmund Stills. Their secretary immediately identifies you from a glance, quickly grabbing her phone. “Here to visit Mr. Ackerman?”
“Yes,” you say as you clench your purse with both hands. “Tell him it’s about the consultation.”
“Sure thing.” After a while, and as you sit and wait, you see her talking to one of her bosses. “Mr. Ackerman? Ms. Nicholls arrived. She says she wants to speak about... Oh, is that so? I’ll tell her.” She hangs and stands. “Mr. Ackerman awaits you.”
“Thank you.”
Before you leave, however, she draws close and questions your choice of attire. “Aren’t you hot in that thing?”
“I’d ask if you’re too cold on that thing, but you’d probably say you’re not. Neither am I.”
You claim the last word, leaving her in the dust, as you meet Henry. Contrary to Herman, Henry is easily ten years older than you, and nowhere near as attractive – balding, with a paunch slowly devouring his waist – but he has a charm that makes you dream of him.
It’s the way he bows and grabs your hand, leading you to the seat, that immediately catches your attention. If Herman’s a gentleman, Henry’s a noble, or a diplomat – at least, he makes you feel like a noblewoman. And his smile... You don’t recall ever seeing him mad, but you can’t trust your memories.
“Claudia!” he greets you as he moves towards his seat. “What a delight to see you again.”
“Thank you, Henry.” Like with Herman, you’ve allowed to speak to yourselves in a first-name basis, though in his case it’s because referring to someone so friendly and jovial as “Mr. Ackerman” feels wrong. “I’m sorry if I didn’t come here to exchange pleasantries.”
“Well...” He straightens up, clasping his hands together. “There’s always a good time for that. Let’s get to business. What was your proposal?”
You take a folded paper from your purse, opening it for him. “It’s about the proposal for the Municipal Library. Have you worked with the Department of Defense before?”
That catches his attention. “No. You know me, Claudia – strictly corporate business. Why?”
“Perhaps you could help me connect with a defense contractor interested in my idea. I was hoping you’d help me redact it.”
“Sure, sure... What’s it about?”
You point at the paper, which you filled with details such as the computer models stored in the library and an abstract of your plan. “I was hoping to open a library with the help of the MTSU School of Computer Arts to teach students about coding.”
“Embracing modernity, eh?” He chuckles, and the way his whole torso jiggles tells you he enjoys it. “What made an old soul like you think about that?”
“No one’s going to buy those models, other than vintage enthusiasts. I know for a fact some of them are still working. I was hoping to use them, and maybe procure a couple more, to teach students from MTSU and even Tyneside High and Edgefield High about old computer code.”
“Should I know why? Before you continue – you know you’re dealing with obsolete equipment, right?”
“That’s why I asked if you knew a defense contractor, Henry. I know for a fact that some of their equipment is equally obsolete, but still necessary for our nation’s security. Perhaps Fort Tyne or their contractors would appreciate the effort.”
“Hmm...” Henry reads your proposal, nodding. “You’re talking about teaching legacy code to outsiders, though.”
“That’s part of my proposal. If we contact the officers at Fort Tyne, we could make it as a recruitment program – let them choose from the best prospects to work for the Armed Forces.”
Herny stares at you in disbelief. “Those words aren’t yours, my dear Claudia. The one I know would never think so highly of war.”
His observation spooks you, but you quickly maneuver your way out of the corner. “True, but sacrifices must be made sometimes., I figured the effort to preserve this legacy code would merit the Faustian deal.”
He stares deep into you, and you give your slightest pout to lure him into complacence. “You must be desperate to save the library, aren’t you?”
“I’m afraid so,” you exhale. “City Hall will cut funding, and if I don’t do something out of the box, we may be forced to downsize. If we secure outside funding, however--”
“City Hall wouldn’t have to worry about funding you, and could redirect the funds elsewhere.” He reads the proposal again, digging deeper. “What’s the catch, Claudia? This plan is very ambitious.”
Though you know the words, you feel being sincere will work better. “I don’t want Smithers to be the next head librarian. If I can secure that funding, Mrs. Drexler will choose me as her successor.”
He snorts and grunts, deeply shocked. “My, my, my! I thought it’d be for a more noble endeavor.”
“It is a noble endeavor, Henry. Smithers would immediately downsize personnel and cannibalize the place to please City Hall! We can’t afford to lose the treasures inside because--!”
He cackles, waving his hand. “Don’t worry, Claudia. I figured it’d ultimately involve the library, after all. It’s almost like you want to marry it, don’t you?”
Though it doesn’t feel like it, his words hurt. They hurt you because they’re thinly-veiled spite, caused because you hurt him. He doesn’t believe he’s good enough for you, but he couldn’t find himself telling you.
But what if you gave him a different kind of hope? Tell him you are attracted to his charming personality? It would mean having issues with your other suitors, but it could secure the job of your dreams.
And maybe much more.
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