SpiralledEye
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Chav Incorporated [Man to Chav Businesswoman]
🕑 Added 2025-11-01 08:44:23 +0000 UTCCommissioned Anonymously
Arthur is an old-money financial advisor who prides himself on his decorum and fine breeding, but when a misunderstanding has him and his staff turned into trashy chavs, he has to learn to get off his high horse and get down and dirty with the “lower class”. And maybe take a lover while he’s there.
~
The Rolls-Royce pulled up outside the towering skyscraper, and Arthur waited patiently for the driver to open the door before sliding off the leather seats. He adjusted his lapels and gave the driver a nod and smile before stepping inside and crossing the lobby. The line for the elevator dispersed as he approached, and he gave the suited men a grateful smile as he stepped inside and hit the button for his floor. At nearly fifty, his patience for waiting in line was thin, he was glad the respect he carried made it so that rarely happened.
The elevator opened, and he stepped out into his small, but immaculate office. The accounting firm may have been small, but it made more than most firms twice its size. By the time he was an adult, he’d decided he wanted more than to sit on his great-grandfather’s laurels as his father had. He wanted to work to maintain what his family had, but he wasn’t a fool. Arthur had been born into money, which came with all sorts of perks, namely connections. His client list was small, but their assets were more than enough to pay his bills and then some. In his thirty years in business, he’d nearly doubled his worth.
He strode through the desks with his usual, measured gait, nodding a quiet greeting to his two employees, both of whom were dressed for the part in three piece suits and ties. With their clientele, appearances were almost everything; they expected professionalism, poise and perfection. He reached his office at the back and held back a chuckle. His secretary, Ellie, was hunched over her tiny compact, trying to remove the garish shade of lipstick she still had on, probably left over from a wild night.
She wasn't the usual type he employed; no power to her name, no old money connections, but Arthur had potential in her the moment she’d walked into the office, an unpolished gem of ambition. But there was still a certain rawness to her, something that clung to her like the cheap, ill-fitting pencil skirt suit she wore every day.
He had never been one for charity, but a small part of him wondered if he should buy her something more appropriate. Perhaps a tailored jacket or a pair of proper heels. He’d seen the way the Lady Kensington had smirked last week when she saw Ellie’s chipping nail polish. It was the kind of subtle disapproval he didn’t care for, but he also couldn’t say anything. His clients barely saw ‘the help’ anyway.
“Good morning, Ellie. I trust everything is in order?”
“Of course, Mr. Westfield,” she replied quickly, rubbing at her smudged lipstick.
Arthur nodded, not letting the conversation linger. As he passed into his office, he spared her a momentary glance. He could see the way she was silently cursing herself for getting caught. On the one hand, he admired her dedication and effort, but on the other, he really couldn’t have his secretary greeting clients looking like that.
He stepped into his office and sat down behind the rich mahogany desk and turned the small mirror to look at himself. Crisp suit still perfectly pressed, Face clean shaven, chestnut brown hair, greying slightly at the temples but neatly combed over and slicked back. He looked every part the old money businessman, right down to the neat little pin on his collar in the shape of a maple leaf. He turned on his computer, ready to look through his schedule, but before Arthur could even look up, a loud voice punctuated with the click of heels, shattered the quiet atmosphere of the office.
“Arthur Westfield!” the woman barked, storming right into his office, “You’ve got some nerve!”
Arthur didn’t flinch. He remained seated behind his desk, hands folded neatly before him, his expression stoic. He’d known this moment was coming. He’d refused Mrs Underwood’s business only a week ago, and ever since, she’d been calling and emailing relentlessly.
She was a woman in her forties who used make-up to desperately hide that fact. Her high heels clicked relentlessly on the polished floors, and her strong perfume announced her arrival a good few seconds before she appeared. She stepped into his office, wearing a tacky pink suit and large fake pearls in her ears, with a look so sour on her face it could curdle milk. But Arthur was a professional. He wasn’t about to let some new money cow wrankle him.
“Mrs Underwood,” Arthur said, his voice as cool and even as ever. “I was under the impression that our meeting last week had clarified my position. I don’t believe there’s anything more to discuss.”
She threw her purse down onto the chair with a flick of her wrist, making sure the (fake) designer label was clearly visible. If her intention was to intimidate him, it didn’t work.
“No, no, no,” she spat, pacing now, her voice escalating in pitch. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re a classist snob, that’s what you are! You’re too good to work with someone like me because I’m not old money, right? Well, you can forget it. I don’t need your services anyway. I have plenty of connections.”
He wanted to ask why she was here then, but he didn’t. Instead, he folded his hands, like a gentleman and spoke calmly.
“Ms Underwood, you misunderstand. I have no issue with your financial status.” He gave her a polite, measured smile. “It’s your attitude toward my staff that gives me pause.”
She scoffed, and Arthur continued.
“I’ve had complaints from my secretary and from my employees. Your manner toward them has been... less than professional. Disrespectful, even. I pride myself on the decorum we maintain here. We work with those who understand that mutual respect is the foundation of any business relationship.”
Mrs Underwood sneered and continued to shriek in her harpy tone.
“You’re a damn elitist, Westfield. I’m a successful woman! I don’t need you or your stuffy little office to prove anything to anyone.”
She was new money, trying to climb a ladder she didn’t understand, all the while making noise about it like a crow strutting through a field of peacocks. The kind of person who mistook a loud mouth for a sharp mind. Arthur had worked with enough successful people over the years to know when someone was truly worth his time, and she was not one of them.
“And I don’t need your business. The doors of this office are not open to just anyone, regardless of how much money they might have. Respect is something you earn.”
She flushed, colour rising in her cheeks, but like so many people, that embarrassment only made her double down.
“You’re just a pompous, old man who can’t stand to see someone like me come up in the world, huh? You hate the poor, don’t you? That’s it, isn’t it? You can’t stand anyone who doesn’t walk around in suits from last century!”
“Enough,” Arthur said, his temper was starting to flare, and frankly, he had more important things he could be doing. “You’ve had your say. Now, if you’ll kindly leave.”
She didn’t even wait for him to finish before she swung around in a flurry, nose high in the air.
“You’ll regret this,” she sneered, her face twisted with a mixture of rage and embarrassment. “You’ll see. I’ll make you understand what it's like to judge you just because you don’t have breeding.”
“I keep telling you that’s not the case-”
“Um, sir?” Ellie stuck her head in the office, “Your first client is here…”
“I am his client!” Mrs Underwood screeched; she really needed to make up her mind.
Arthur was about to correct her once more and ask her to leave when she started stamping her foot like an angry child.
“I’ll show you, all of you snobs! Then you’ll see!”
She slammed her heel on the ground one final time, but something strange happened. Sparks flew, washing out in a wave from her foot and then rose into the air. Arthur watched, mouth hanging open in shock, as they swirled around Mrs Underwood and then shot out toward him. One slammed right into his chest, another into Ellie, and judging by the sounds of shock outside in his office, his employees were hit as well.
Magic was a rare thing these days. Ever since the witch trials in the medieval period, it was something most people only encountered once or twice in their lives. Arthur never had, until now. Mrs Underwood huffed, raising her nose in the air.
“Let’s see how ya like it.” Her voice took on a coarser edge as she dropped the fake, posh accent she’d been putting on and stormed out of his office.
“What was all that about?” Ellie asked, still standing in the doorway. “My chest feels all tingling.”
She rubbed a hand over her front, and Arthur quickly averted his gaze and cleared his throat.
“Not sure, some theatrics I’m sure, send in my first Cli-oooof!”
There was a sudden force that knocked the wind from his lungs, and Arthur braced himself on the desk to keep from falling over. A pressure mounted, and his eyes went wide as he felt the skin beneath his perfectly tailored suit begin to shift. The fabric there started to feel tight, almost like his chest was expanding, but that wasn’t possible, right? Weight was added to his chest, and he looked down to see his buttons straining. He barely had time to whisper a “what?” when the first button flew off his jacket.
“What the devil!?”
A second one followed, and he had no choice but to shrug the jacket off to save it from more damage. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do the same for his shirt. He watched as the top three buttons all burst off at once, and a pair of heavy tits, so round and bouncy they almost looked fake, fell out of his shirt. He was so shocked, all he could do was stare. It wasn't until Ellie squealed that he realised his nipples were on full display, and he desperately tried to stuff them back inside his ruined shirt.
“Mr Westfield, what’s happening!?”
Ellie was changing too, her dark hair fell from her bun and turned spikey, tipped with pink. And her own chest, which had been a respectable D cup before, was rapidly ballooning just like his.
“Oh ma gawd!”
The words escaped his lips before he could stop them and he slammed a hand over his mouth in shock. He’d always had a proper, high-class, British accent. But that had sounded so much like the gutter trash he saw on TV, what did they call themselves? Chavs?
His diction had never been so crude! The hand over his mouth stank of chemicals, and he pulled back and watched in wonder and horror as his hand shifted before his eyes. At first becoming younger, then his nails painted over with bright, pale blue nail polish. A tiny rhinestone embedded itself at the tip of each one, the glue clearly visible around the plastic.
His lips tingled and he looked over to Ellie, holding her face in shock as her own lips filled with botox. That cheap lipstick she had been wearing was still smeared at the side of her mouth, but now it was painting itself back on, and Arthur could taste the same thing happening to him.
There was another burst of pressure, and he felt his pants suddenly become tight, riding right up into his crack to keep from ripping entirely. His ass was growing just as much as his breasts, and his thighs thickened to match.
“This ain’t happen’.” He said in disbelief as the smell of hairspray invaded his nostrils.
The smell made him gaga, and his hair grew, getting stuck in the corner of his mouth as he coughed and spluttered. It was brittle and blonde, and tasted like chemicals. His pants were far too tight now, stretched at the back to house his new ass, and that put pressure on his front. It felt like his cock was being pushed back into his body. He looked down to watch as he felt it disappearing, but his new breasts blocked the view.
There was one final pop between his legs, and the magic seemed to settle, leaving both him and Ellie reeling. He looked at his secretary and gaped. Ellie had always looked a little cheap but presentable and neat. Now her hair was dyed and spikey, there were piercings all through her ears and even one through her nose and eyebrow. And her nails were lacquered black with little pink hearts on top. If it weren’t for the skirt suit, she would have looked like one of those punks from TV.
“Oh wow, ya look real different Mr Wakefield. Uh, Mrs Wakefield?” Ellie said, shuffling nervously.
Arthur blinked for a moment, still in shock at what had happened, and then he reached for his desk mirror. Gone was his clean face and neat hair; instead, there was a panicked looking woman. She was even trashier looking than Mrs Underwood, with big fake lips, even bigger hair, thick fake lashes and a bust that was threatening to fall out of his open shirt. His clothing hung off him awkwardly; too tight in some places, too loose in others. He looked like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
“What tha fook!?”
“Why do Ah look like this!?”
Voices echoed out from the main floor, and Arthur stumbled. His shoes didn;t fit anymore, and they fell to the wayside as he came to the doorway. His toes were painted and bedazzled just like his fingernails were. His entire office staff, once neat, proper and male, were now all in a similar state to himself. That…witch had cursed his entire office staff! Among them stood one clearly embarrassed older man in a pinstripe suit. His first client for the day. He cleared his throat and looked around awkwardly.
“Should I come back later?”
~
Arthur sat in his office, wiggling back and forth in his chair, trying to get comfortable. It was a leather-coated seat with just enough cushioning to be comfortable without making him sleepy on a hot day. Now, it felt entirely too plush. His new ass had a lot more cushioning. He’d sent his staff home and watched as they all awkwardly shuffled out; he didn't envy them having to cross the lobby in their ill-fitting clothes. God knows what their wives and girlfriends would say when they got home, at least he didn't have that problem.
He’d spent the afternoon looking online for information about magic in modern London. He wasn't the best when it came to new technology, but he knew how to Google at least. As bad as it was, having his voice and body changed, he quickly learned he was lucky. His mind was still his own. Mostly.
“I’m ain’t-” He cleared his throat and tried to force his old accent in. “I’m not upset.”
It felt so wrong to say, not only because it was a lie but because he had to concentrate on each word. Lest the chav slip in again, it felt so much better to speak freely, but how was he supposed to work like that? From what he could find online, the only thing that could undo a witch curse was the witch herself, and even if he could bring himself to grovel at Mrs Underwood’s feet, he doubted she would undo her work.
“Mr Wakefield?”
Ellie was in the doorway; she’d tried to untangle her teased, dyed rats' nest of hair unsuccessfully.
“Ellie, I told you to go home.”
“I know, but I thought I might stay and recognise the schedule so the next few days are free?” She said quietly, “That’s done now, um, would it be okay if I still got paid for today? Since I did that?”
Arthur blinked; he hadn’t considered docking time at all.
“Of course, you get paid for today.”
The tension slipped out of her shoulders. “Oh, thank Christ. Ah was so worried, y’know. I mean, you know.”
It seemed he wasn’t the only one struggling with speech.
“I know it’s been a hard day, I wouldn’t dream of skimping out on your pay.”
“Thanks, I really need it. Rent isn’t cheap, you know, and my Ma’s landlord just upped hers again.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Ya pay for ya ma’s rent?”
“Yeah,” Ellie nodded, then blushed. “But you don’t wanna hear about that right now, you have so much going on.”
“I welcome the distraction.” “Every time I think I’ve got myself speaking correctly Ah get all chavvy and I can be doin’ that, wait, fuck!”
He slammed his hands over his mouth in shock. He’d never use such a profanity! Ellie burst into laughter.
“I’m so sorry.” Arthur said, “I would never swear in front of a lady under usual circumstances.”
“A lady? Me? Aw, shucks.” She giggled, “Sorry, it’s just, you’re normally so proper. It’s weird seeing you like this.”
“How do you think it feels?” Arthur snapped sharply before clearing his throat. “Apologies, that came out…harsher than expected.”
“There ya are.” Ellie snickered. “I mean, there you are, dammit! Ugh, I spent forever learnin’ how to talk proper and now this damn spell went and undid all my work!”
Arthur only just managed to hold back a chuckle; Ellie had never had the most proper manner of speech. The fact that it was apparently worse and that she’d been practising was a little…sad really. Sad, but useful.
“So ya talked like this all the time? Outside work?”
“Kinda, not as strong, but I definitely ain’t a posh poke like you lot.”
“Perfect! So you can teach me how’ta stop!”
Ellie pursed her lips. “I dunno, I don’t think that magic’ll let ya drop it. I know it’s hard for me. Why don’tcha just ask the witch nicely to undo it?”
“Something tells me that isn’t an option, now, let’s at least try.”
“Well, honestly? I just watched a whole heap’a Downton Abbey and tried to copy ‘em.”
Arthur let out a bark of laughter that took him so by surprise he snorted. His hands covered his mouth and nose in horror, and it was Ellie’s turn to giggle.
“That was sorta cute.”
“Snorting when laughing is not ‘cute’ it’s piggish and I ain’t, ahem, I’m not a pig!”
Ellie forced herself to stop giggling, but Arthur could see her shoulders shaking with the effort. She really did get off easy compared to the rest of them. She’d just had a goth make out, nothing a quick trip to the hairdresser and an hour in front of a mirror couldn’t fix. Arthur thought of his immaculate wardrobe back home, perfectly organised with Armani suits; none of them would fit now. Getting them all retailored was going to be a nightmare. He added it to the ever-growing mental list of things he needed to do.
“I’d better get going,” Ellie smiled, “But thanks, for the pay I mean and…the chat. I’ve always been a silver lining girlie and this is one!”
Arthur blinked in surprise. “What is?”
“You feel a lot more approachable now!”
Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
~
Old money meant Arthur had an old fashioned way of doing things. When he went home and looked over his townhouse, for once finding it oddly stuffing and dull, he decided he simply had to keep a stiff upper lip. He wasn’t about to let Mrs Underwood beat him. He would show her; if Ellie could teach herself to be posh, so could he. He awkwardly measured himself, taking down his new hips and bust size, and sent off his suits to the tailors, several with express payments to be altered by tomorrow.
He put on Downton Abbey and sat in front of it all night, practising the lines, trying to find his old way of talking again. Only to notice at the halfway point of the first episode he was slouching back on the couch, legs spread like a trashy housewife. So he forced himself to sit, knees and ankles together. Only to lose himself copying lines and end up slouching again. It was a nightmare.
All night he tried to rein in his “chavness” and no matter what he did, it kept slipping out. When morning finally came and his retailored outfit arrived, he was exhausted, but determined.
“I ain’t lettin’ you beat me, Underwood.” He cursed, unwrapping the package.
Out came a perfectly tailored grey skirt suit with matching black stockings. They’d even included a mother-of-pearl broach. It was exactly the sort of thing he’d been imagining buying to Ellie yesterday morning before all this started. And now when he looked at it…it was so boring.
He felt a sudden urge to institute casual Fridays so he could show up in a comfy pair of sweatpants and a matching jacket. Something bright, maybe hot pink or neon green. Anything would be better than grey. But he forced himself into it. The only thing that felt right were the stockings. He slipped them on and over his taut, round ass and admired it for a moment.
The sheer fabric hid just enough to be enticing, and he felt an illicit thrill at the idea of wearing nothing between them and his bare pussy. It wasn't like he had time to go and buy new underwear, and none of his old briefs had a chance of fitting over his new curves. So commando it was. Still, the idea of being so trashy was oddly…arousing. The heels only added to the sinful feel, but then came time for the blouse, skirt and jacket, and the fun was over.
Arthur had never felt so uncomfortable in formal attire. It felt like he had too many layers on all of a sudden, and it took all his self-control not to rip the clothes straight back off. At least the broach added some much needed dazzle. Even if the pearls were tacky as hell; rhinestones, now those would really sparkle.
“You are not letting this witch beat you, Arthur,” he repeated to himself. “You are going to work, you are gonna be professional and ya gonna be fookin’ awesome, ya hear!”
Maybe he would try the stoic, silent approach as much as possible.
When he got to the office, he could see most of his employees were in a similar boat. None of them had the benefit of an overnight tailor; some were in their old clothes, desperately trying to make them work. Others wore new outfits in bright colours, one even had a rhinestone trim on his skirt that was making his first client of the day turn up her nose in disgust. Arthur did his best to school his features into a look of disapproval rather than jealousy.
Ellie was at her desk, wearing a black dress that would probably be appropriate officewear if it wasn't paired with all her piercings and dyed hair. She blushed as Arthur looked her up and down a bit more obviously than he intended; that neckline didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.
“I couldn’t find any hair dye…” She muttered, pulling at the pink tips. “Tomorrow fo’ sure.”
Arthur just nodded. He would get this place running normally again if it killed him.
“Who’s the first client of the day?”
“Lord and Lady Wynthrope, Ma’am. I mean, sir, I mean ma’am I mean…ummmm.”
“Arthur is fine.”
“Okay…Arthur.” Ellie blushed, then muttered something about how weird that felt as Arthur hurried into his office. He crossed his legs automatically, then realised the motion felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. His long acrylic nails clicked against the leather folio as he opened it, and he winced at the sound. Across from him, Lord and Lady Wynthorpe looked politely bewildered as they were led in and sat down, like they were trying to identify a foreign species that had wandered in from the hedgerow.
“So,” he began, attempting his usual crisp tone. “I’ve reviewed your…”
His new voice betrayed him, lilting into a high, nasal accent that made estate tax review sound like ‘state tax, innit?’
He cleared his throat, tried again.
“I’ve reviewed your…your fiscal arrangements, yeah, and…”
His tongue was getting tied, trying to speak properly was making him pause every other word to stop another ‘aint’ or ‘innit’ from slipping out. It made him sound like a broken Speak-and-Spell.
Lady Wynthorpe blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothin’, babes,” he said automatically, flashing a smile. “Just sayin’ your accounts are lush, like, proper tidy.”
Lord Wynthorpe’s monocle, which Arthur now realised looked utterly ridiculous (who wore a monocle these days), nearly fell out.
“Babes?” He said incredulously.
Arthur’s brain screamed at him to stop. Stop talking! But all of a sudden, his mouth wasn't so great at listening to his brain.
“Yeah, you’ve got bare investments, innit? Could prob’ly move some bits ‘round, make ‘em work harder for ya.”
He laughed nervously, a bubbling giggle that ended in yet another snort that made his cheeks burn. Lady Wynthorpe cleared her throat.
“You assured us this little…change wouldn’t impede your work, Mr Wakefield. Are you sure you’re quite well?”
“Oh, babe, I’m sound,” he said, flipping open the folio. “Right, so, your capital gains, oof, don’t even get me started, proper nightmare if you don’t sort ‘em. I mean uh, you really need to diversify your…your um…”
“We had rather hoped for… a touch of your usual professionalism.” Said Lord Wynthorpe.
“I am quite professional,” Arthur said, “But, like, numbers are numbers, yeah? Don’t matter what you look like…”
There was a pause that felt like it lasted an age. It took all of Arthur’s self-control not to fill it with more babble, just to escape the awkwardness. Finally, Lady Wynthorpe rose, lifting her husband with her.
“I think we shall… reconsider our arrangements.”
Arthur stood too quickly in a panic, nearly knocking over the tea tray. He tried to think of the right thing to say, and the right way to say it to smooth things over. Instead, he said:
“Right, yeah, sound. I’ll, uh, invoice ya, yeah?”
They didn’t answer. An hour later, he received a tactfully worded email explaining that they were moving their business elsewhere, and Arthur curled his badly manicured fingers into a fist and punched the wall. He’d never lost his temper before, but he was at the end of his rope.
“This ain’t fair!” He growled, “Ah’m just as smart, Ah know just as much about money as Ah ever did! Ah’m smart Ah Just look like a chavvy lady!”
“Um…?”
“For gawd’s sake, Ellie, ya gotta just gotta knock and say ‘Mr. Wakefield’. It ain’t hard! This ‘um’ and ‘ahhh’ stuff is unprofessional!”
So was his outburst but he didn;t say anything about that. Ellie blushed and mentioned his next client would be here in thirty and Arthur straightened his coat. Even though it was tailored perfectly to him, it still didn’t feel quite right.
He just had to try harder. That’s all. His next appointment went just as disastrous. He managed to keep his language formal and polite, but it felt hollow. Clients he’d known for years looked at him like a stranger ,and he couldn’t blame them. He watched his reflection in the computer screen and cringed. Even with his hands folded politely on the desk, he looked and sounded like a phony. Like a mongrel trying to pass itself off as a prized show dog.
He shifted in his seat. The office felt so stuffy right now; he’d spent years getting the atmosphere just right, and now it felt…boring. So much dark wood and silver, the room was crying out for a splash of colour. Maybe what he needed was a change of scenery.
“Ellie, when’s my next meeting?”
“Just after lunch.”
“Do you think you could call and reschedule the location? I need to get out of this office.”
~
Arthur sat in the corner booth of the café, legs crossed awkwardly under a too-tight pencil skirt. Across from him, Darren slid into the booth, oblivious. The man looked exactly how Arthur remembered: slightly smug, expensive suit, and the distinct aura of someone playing fast and loose with company funds.
"Wow, your secretary wasn’t kidding. So, are you still Arthur?" Darren said, glancing at him with hesitant curiosity.
Arthur forced a smile and tried to force his posh voice back in. “Yeh. Got a problem wiv it?”
He failed.
Darren raised an eyebrow. “No, so long as you can still do your job.”
Arthur felt his hackles rise as his temper flared. What was it about this body and voice that made people doubt his intellect? He wasn't sure if it was the magic or the stress of having his life upended. Either way, he didn’t have the patience to be judged by somebody like Darren.
“You look the same. Still got that guilty look, like you’ve been funnelin’ cash outta the bloody accounts.”
The words spilled from his lips before Arthur could stop them. His eyes widened, but he kept the rest of his face composed. The thick Estuary accent grated against his inner monologue, but there was no stopping it.
“Look,” Darren stammered, “I’m just reallocating some funds, you know, it’s all above board.”
Arthur leaned forward, nails clacking against the table as he pointed them straight at him. Normally, he would use clever words to deal with Darren. He was a friend, from the same old money crew as him, but he’d never had a good sense for business. Always joining new start-ups and getting caught up with snake oil. Arthur had promised his father, when he passed, to make sure Darren didn’t bankrupt the family. And he had, but right now he didn’t have the patience.
“Don’t chat bollocks, Darren. You’ve been dippin’ into the operational budget for that stupid ‘networking yacht’ trip, and unless that yacht’s got a conference room and a bloody tax return printer, I ain’t havin’ it.”
Darren blinked. “It was for client relations, you know how important appearances are. How am I supposed to convince investors-”
“Client relations, my arse. You spent more on champagne than the annual tech budget. Do I look stupid to you?”
Arthur’s blood boiled, but he realised, shockingly, that part of him was enjoying this. No soft words, no beating around the bush. The chav in him had no filter, and frankly, Darren deserved every bit of it.
“You’re gonna put that money back,” Arthur said, “And you’re gonna send me every invoice from the last three months. If there’s one more dodgy dinner on the company card, I swear on me fake lashes I’ll have your ass handed to the board faster than you can say ‘misappropriation.’”
Darren stared, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “...Okay,” he muttered. “Okay, Arthur. You’ve made your point.”
He smirked and leaned back, one heel kicked up on the booth bench.
“Good boy. Now off you pop. I’ve got nails to get done and spreadsheets to balance, yeah?”
As Darren slunk away, Arthur sipped his iced coffee through a bright pink straw, exhaling slowly. That felt good. Rather than fight the flood, he’d flowed with it, and things had worked out surprisingly well, if a little embarrassing. Maybe he could do this after all.
~
That night he went home and tried to watch more Downton Abbey to practice his posh voice and got bored almost immediately. He’d grown up around all this old money shit, and frankly, it was boring. There was nobody here; he could be as trashy as he liked and not need to worry about being seen. Maybe that was the trick; if he indulged when he was alone, maybe he could rein the chav in during the day.
With a wide grin, he stood up and kicked off his clothes, leaving nothing but the stockings and heels. His bare chest stayed firm and round against his chest. They were firm and tight, almost fake-looking. He’d never liked that much before, but now he could see the appeal; somebody could get a little rough with these and not worry about hurting them…
He flopped back on the couch, legs spread, and switched the channel until he found a god-awful-looking reality show called Love Island, and was instantly hooked. A bunch of hot people, forced to wear bikinis and shorts, doing activities and flirting together? It was saucy and dramatic!
Arthur was glued. He ordered pizza for the first time in his life and a six-pack of beer that he slowly drank over the course of the marathon. Suddenly, the fact that he had bottles of wine worth three grand in his cellar seemed like such a waste. This six-pack got the job done just as well and only cost a tiny fraction of the price. He slouched, grinning drunkenly at the women on screen as they all swam around in the ocean trying to make the guys look at them. One grabbed the strings of her bikini briefs and pulled them so high up that her fat ass practically swallowed the fabric. Arthur felt his pussy moisten in response.
There was one woman who kept catching his eye. She wasn’t like the other contestants who looked like they’d consulted a focus group to become as appealing as possible. She felt unique, with her spiky black hair and big silver hoops. She didn’t pretend to laugh at a guy's jokes, and she could take them all drink for drink. She felt real, authentic. And she was so goddamn hot it made Arthur want to moan.
He’d never…touched himself before. That sort of thinking had been quite literally beaten out of him by his tutors when he was a boy. Masturbation was for naughty, trashy, lower class people. Not him. Then again…he was a trashy lower class person now, so…
Arthur watched the woman on screen as she tried on new bikinis to impress her chosen man and let his hand slip down into the stockings. He had no idea what to expect; he’d never touched himself as a man. His fingers found the bush between his legs and pushed the hair aside, parting his folds.
“Oh…”
It felt nice. More than nice, actually. He swirled his finger around his new clit and moaned, letting his head fall back against the couch.
“Fuck, aw fuck this is so fuckn’ good, wrong but gooooood.”
His fingers stroked up and down, experimenting with the different feelings strokes could make. Then he found his hole and pressed a finger into it. A sound, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, escaped him; it was the least lady-like sound a woman could possibly make, and yet, as he drew his finger out then in again, it repeated. Arthur felt his eyes glaze over, TV show forgotten as he began to furiously finger fuck himself. His passage got tighter and tighter until finally.
“Fook yeah!”
Pleasure shuddered through his entire body, and juices gushed over his fingers as he came hard and fast. It felt better than anything he’d ever experienced, and he groaned in disappointment when it was over. Lazily, he dragged a finger over his folds once more and shivered at how oversensitive they were. It felt good, almost painfully so.
“Gawd, I can’ believe I just did that.”
He removed his fingers and wiped them on the couch, wincing slightly when he stood up and saw the wet patch he’d left behind.
“Eh, it’ll dry.”
~
Arthur walked into work the next day in yet another tight-fitting skirt suit, but this time he’d added a little extra flair: large gold hoops and a splash of bright pink lipstick to match his bedazzled eyelash extensions. A little pop of colour never hurt anybody, and this time it was his employees' turn to look jealous when he strutted in.
“Lookn’ good!” Ellie greeted, and Arthur grinned back.
“Still no hair dye?” He reached out and flicked one of her pink tips.
She giggled, and it made a flutter dance inside Arthur’s chest.
“Wouldn’t ya know it, the store was all out again.” Ellie said, “Darren called, he wanted to say, and I quote, ‘thanks for the kick up the butt, it was just what I needed.’”
“Well, at least somethin’ good is coming out of this.”
Arthur sighed; his indulging all night hadn't had the desired effect, if anything, he was more chavvy today than yesterday.
“You know, I’ve been thinkin’” Clair said.
“Dangerous pastime.”
“I know, anyway, I was thinkin’ maybe this whole fighting the spell thing isn’t worth it. Maybe instead of trying to fit that tight ass body back into your old mould, you should make a whole new one. Change the business’ image rather than tryin’ to fit the old one.”
Arthur hesitated, not because he didn’t like the idea but because he liked it a bit too much. He couldn’t go giving in to the spell, he had to fight it, prove to that Underwood lady that class could be taught.
“I’ll think about it.” He said, before picking up a pile of files from her desk and heading into his office.
Arthur did nothing but think about it for almost two weeks. Two weeks of fighting tooth and nail to be proper during the day while indulging himself at night. He spent his evenings online shopping and modelling the clothes he bought around the house; colourful tracksuits, hair ties, tight-fitting dresses, and every colour of nail polish and lipstick under the sun.
The one thing he never bought was underwear. He still spent every day commando and braless, and it sent an illicit thrill through him. Sometimes he got so hot under the skin he could feel his nipples threatening to pierce his sensible blouses, especially when Ellie came to visit. She’d always been a beautiful young woman, but now he couldn’t stop staring.
She’d perch herself on the edge of his desk, unprofessional, but he couldn’t tell her to stop. Not when it gave him such a beautiful view of her cheeks, not when it meant he could run his hands over the warm spot on the wood she left behind. Thanks to the spell, they were much closer in age now, but still, it felt wrong to say anything. He couldn’t pursue one of his employees; it wouldn’t be right.
The week came to a close, and Arthur rested his head on his desk. Another week of pulling teeth, trying to act proper and only half succeeding. If this kept up, he’d be out of clients soon, and it wasn’t like he had a long list of potential new ones to replace them. Maybe he should track Mrs Underwood down, not so he could beg her forgiveness but so he could throttle her!
“Arthur?” He looked up to see Ellie standing in front of his desk. “Everybody else has gone home…I was wondering if maybe you need to hit a TGIFridays?”
“A what?”
“Do ya wanna come drink, dance and embrace being lower class gals for a bit to blow off steam?”
“Oh…”
Yes! He wanted to scream, more than anything, but part of him held back. Was it appropriate to spend social time with his secretary? Even if it was, wouldn’t indulging just make next week all the harder?
“Come oooooon.” Ellie grinned, “I saved up my pennies for four weeks so I could have a big night out. I don’t wanna do it alone. I can even lend you some clothes if you want.”
Arthur thought about all the outfits he’d bought and how they had only seen the inside of his townhouse. He found himself smiling.
“Why the fuck not, eh?”
~
Arthur hadn’t been to a nightclub since 2003, and even then, it had been for an audit. Now, standing under the flickering neon sign of Club Mirage, with its ‘e’ flickering, he felt oddly at home. The place was probably past its prime ten years ago. The posters on the walls were faded, and there wasn't even a bouncer. It was the kind of cheap club that had continued to exist by word of mouth and locals who didn’t have the money to travel into the city proper.
Standing on the street outfit in a sequined gold dress, should have made him stick out like a sore thumb. Instead, he looked right at home with all the other scantily clad women with more hair and boobs than brains shuffling toward the door.
“You look fit, babes. Like, proper influencer vibes. All you need’s a vodka Red Bull and you’ll look like the poster child for this place.”
Arthur turned to see Ellie dressed head to toe in black, silver and red. A black body con dress with black hoops, with a hemline so short she might as well not have bothered. She looked goth, trashy and hot in a way that made Arthur moist between his legs. Ellie looked so natural in a way that couldn’t be attributed to the magic spell. The way she held herself, the way she spoke, maybe this is who she had been before he took a chance and hired her.
They stepped inside; the club was a riot of colour and noise: purple strobes, pounding bass, and the smell of cheap alcohol. Arthur's heels skidded on the sticky floor and the bass pounded in his bones. This place should have disgusted him, but instead it made his heart race with excitement. Nobody in this cheap club would judge him for saying ‘ain’t’.
Ellie dragged him to the bar and yelled at the bartender over the riot, who bought them two shot glasses filled with blue liquid. Ellie threw back one handed him the other.
“Down it!”
He hesitated; he’d never done a shot in his life, then shrugged. “Well, when in Rome…”
It tasted like sugar, regret, and window cleaner. Yet he knocked it back easily; he expected to cough and splutter as the alcohol burned his throat. That’s what happened in all the movies. But it didn’t. Instead, he downed the drink effortlessly and was instantly rewarded with a pleasant buzz and a rush of endorphins.
Three minutes and three more shots later, he was on the dance floor. The music was loud; he had no idea what the lyrics were, but Ellie squealed in delight and swayed her hips from side to side. Arthur felt his own body start to do the same. The lights, the heat, the freedom; it all hit him at once. Next thing he knew he was in full swing, twerking, thrusting, doing whatever felt most natural.
His whole body undulated, rolling and dancing against other people on the dance floor, and he laughed when he watched one man quietly excuse himself, holding an empty bottle in front of his crotch to hide his erection. Arthur had helped people double their life savings in a month; he’d had people practically beg for his financial help on their hands and knees, and yet the power he’d felt then paled in comparison to now.
He twirled, and his handbag flew open, spilling the spare tubes of lipstick he’d packed all across the floor. Ellie shrieked with laughter and tried to scoop them up, only to fall over in hysterics.
“Classy birds, us,” she said between giggles.
“Speak for yourself,” Arthur said, hiccupping. “I’m an accountant, a financial advisor, I’ll have you know.”
They both snorted with laughter and continued crawling across the floor, trying to pick up the stray tubes.
A group of chavs nearby overheard them joking.
“What, for real?” They laughed, “You look like you do nails in Croydon, not tax returns.”
All week, he’d been trying to sound professional, but tonight, he threw caution to the wind and grinned
“Yeah? Well, I’ll sort your tax return and your acrylics, babes! two-for-one deal.”
The whole group howled. Someone bought him another drink. Then another. The night blurred. Ellie pressed her body to his in the throng. He could feel her breasts pressing against his. It made his nipples tent the front of his sequined dress; he just had to hope the fabric hid them.
That moist feeling between his legs got stronger, and it took all of Arthur’s self-control not to plant a sloppy, drunken kiss on her right there in the club. They danced for hours, drinking and swearing. Arthur never realised just how much fun it could be to embrace his trashy chav self. Later, they stumbled outside, hand in hand, and Ellie giggled.
“Come on, after a night on the town, you need to get your hangover cure.”
She took him to a greasy fish and chip place, and they walked out with a bag that was more grease than chips. They were the best thing he’d ever tasted, and he’d eaten at Michelin-starred restaurants.
“See?” Ellie said, poking him with a chip. “You had fun.”
Arthur wiped at his smudged eyeliner. “I did, didn’t I? God help me, I did.”
He looked down at his sparkly dress, now slightly stained with ketchup, and chuckled.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to look respectable. Turns out I’m a natural disaster instead.”
Ellie raised her chip like a toast. “To disasters!”
He clinked his chip against hers. “To disasters.”
A car drove past, someone wolf-whistled, and Arthur shouted back, “Oi! Buy me dinner first!”, then dissolved into laughter. When he turned back to Ellie, she had a strange look on her face. Her eyes darted down to the bag of chips, then Arthur’s lips, and she whispered.
“I bought you dinner.”
Arthur felt a nervous lump form in his throat.
“That ya did…”
Ellie leaned forward and gently pressed their lips together. It was chaste, almost sweet, and all Arthur could think was ‘fuck that’. He grabbed Ellie’s shoulders, pushed her up against the window of the chip shop and kissed her hard. He could hear her skin squeaking against the glass; no doubt, everybody on the other side could see her cheeks pressed against the window with only her thin dress to hide her crack.
Ellie moaned into his mouth, and the sound sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine. He wanted to hear it again. He opened his mouth and drove his tongue against the other woman’s moaning in delight, before suddenly there was a sharp pain in his shoulder. He jumped back to see the fish and chip shop owner holding a rolled-up magazine.
“Get out of here ya sluts!” He yelled, “I’m trying to run a business!”
Ellie stuck out her tongue, and Arthur threw him the bird before they both ran, laughing manically, hand in hand. It was a miracle he didn't trip and fall in his heels. Ellie led the way, ducking through the thin back streets into a poor, shabby looking housing district.
“I know a place.” She snickered, reaching into her purse and grabbing a key.
She unlocked one of the small council houses and ushered him inside. The place was tiny, just a central room with three doors, one of which was open to reveal a tiny bathroom. Ellie kicked open the second, revealing a messy bedroom and, most importantly, a large bed for them to fall on.
“Welcome to my little abode.” She grinned. Arthur kissed her again.
“Shut up, less yap, more sex.” He ordered, and Ellie shuddered in compliance and hiked up his dress to reveal his bare bush.
Arthur ran his hands over her body, tugging at her dress until it fell down to the floor, and she did the same. Now they were both naked, save their heels and jewellery, and Ellie’s underwear.
Arthur pushed her backwards, and she fell onto the bed, and he mounted her without hesitation. Thai was not about lovemaking; this was about fucking. He pressed their bodies together so they were breast to breast, with only her bra between them. Before she could say anything, he yanked the cup down and started to suck on the nipple. The sound Ellie made in response made his pussy clench and his own nipples go hard. She wrapped her hands around his hair and buried her fingers in his bleached hair.
“Oh! Oh yeah, aaaaahhhhh!”
She was moaning and writhing beneath him, hips bucking up so that her wet pants pressed against his bare folds. Arthur didn't care anymore whether or not this relationship was classy; they both wanted it. Bad. He rose up to kiss her again and then felt her hands slowly slip between their bodies. One braced against his shoulder, the other found its way between his legs.
Then slowly, she started to stroke. Oh fuck, it felt so much better than his own fingers. Arthur rocked against her, feeling the slight tingle of her fake nails scratching gently against the folds. Then, her other hand smoothed down his bare back until it reached his ass and gently pressed down. Arthur impaled himself on three of Ellie’s fingers and moaned.
“Don’t be quiet.”
Arthur didn’t have to be told twice. He moaned and gasped as much as his body wanted to, which was a lot. He didn't bite his lips; he left them wide open and panting as he climbed higher and higher. His hips rose and fell, slamming Ellie’s fingers deep into him until finally orgasm came crashing down so hard he squirted. Ellie withdrew her fingers, but Arthur wasn't done. He pressed his messy pussy against hers, rubbing their clits together and moaned as he kissed her again, swallowing the sound of her own orgasm and cumming a second time.
With a soft moan, he rolled off her and curled into the sheets. Ellie rolled over and curled her body around his, tangling their sticky legs under the blankets. He stank of booze, his body was a mess, and these sheets were cheap and scratchy. Arthur had never felt more alive.
~
Arthur woke to sunlight stabbing through the blinds of Ellie’s room. His skull felt three sizes too small for his brain, and his mouth tasted like ash and cheap chips. He groaned, sat up slowly and took in the surroundings. Ellie’s room, that was right. Next to him, she was still sleeping soundly, chewing on a stray strand of hair that had fallen into her mouth. It was cute. Kinda gross, but cute.
He was about to give her another kiss and suggest they start round two when he heard the sound of clinking glasses in the kitchen and froze. Shuffling footsteps joined them and a shadow passed by the door. Arthur grabbed Ellie’s shoulder and shook it.
“Somebody is is ya damn house!”
“Hm? What? Nah, that’s just my ma.”
“Wait, when you said you pay for your ma’s rent…?”
“She’s old and lonely, girl. Plus, rent in London is…too much. If I had ma own place, I wouldn’t be able to eat!”
Arthur blinked in shock; he paid her a fare wage. Surely rents weren’t that high? He awkwardly squeezed himself back into his gold dress and let Ellie open the door. Ellie’s ma was a woman in her forties, desperately trying to look thirty. She reminded Arthur of Mrs. Underwood, at least until her face broke into a wide, warm smile that Mrs Underwood’s sour face could never make.
“Oh! You brought a lady home, how lovely! Call me Ma.” She squealed. “We’ll break out the good coffee!”
She pulled out a can of discounted brand coffee and shoved the store brand one behind their ancient kettle. Arthur couldn’t help but feel a little endeared.
“You’re a bit young to be Ellie’s mother.” He said without thinking and Ma just laughed.
“Got myself good and knocked up young, ‘tis the way round here. But my Ellie, she’s somethin’ special she is. Got herself a fancy office job helping the hoity toities manage all that money that gives ‘em so much grief.”
“Ma…” Ellie blushed, “This is…my boss…”
Ma blinked, then threw back her head and laughed before slapping Ellie on the shoulder.
“See! I knew I raised me a smart girl, get in there. Climb the ladder, the only way us ladies can.”
Ellie blushed profusely, but Arthur smiled. Ma was…refreshingly open. There was something effortless about her, yeah, she wasn’t classy, but she seemed honest. At least about who she was.
He thought about the Wynthorpes, their perfect house, their perfect disdain. About how easy it had been to play the role of the quiet, well-pressed professional. About how freeing it had felt, just for one night, to stop pretending. The hangover hummed behind his eyes, but something else buzzed beneath it: defiance, maybe. Perhaps Ellie was right; it was time to stop fighting this spell.
So the old money crowd turned up their noses at him. There were other clients who preferred a firm, slightly classless touch. Like Darren, not to mention people like Ma, who would prefer somebody who could talk to them on their level. They wouldn’t pay as much, but over the past week, Arthur had learned that sometimes the cheap option was better than the expensive one.
His phone beeped. He pulled his phone closer and opened his calendar. The next client meeting was on Monday. Tomorrow. He could hear his old self whispering in his ear: You can’t go to work looking like this!
Arthur grinned, and reapplied some of the lipstick from his handbag, and said aloud, “Watch me.”
“Watch what?” Ellie asked.
“Think ya boss still has some booze to drink off.”
“If that was the case, I wouldn’t have such a big headache.” Arthur grinned, putting the lipstick down. Ellie groaned in sympathy, and Ma passed out a handful of Aspirin and poured the coffee. Yes, Arthur definitely liked her.
“To hangovers,” Arthur said. “And to bad decisions that make bloody good stories.”
~
Arthur's wedge heels clicked across the marble floor. People stared; in a room filled with suits and designer dresses, he stuck out like a sore thumb in the leopard print pants and purple shirt. The crowd parted at the elevator; strangers who didn't know better looked confused. Why were people letting a chavvy woman who looked like a discount store threw up on her take the elevator first? It was because they didn't know that, despite all appearances, Arthur was still very good at what he, or rather, she, did.
Inside the office, the air hummed with energy. Gone was the hush of posh professionalism. In its place: music low but thumping, the smell of coffee and fake tan, laughter bouncing off the walls as his employees all worked. Having embraced their new selves, just like their boss.
Jackson was perched on a desk, explaining capital gains tax to a client in plain English.
“Right, mate, if you sell the property too quick, the taxman’s gonna come for ya like a seagull on chips. So don’t be daft, yeah?”
The client, a builder in a tracksuit, nodded, wide-eyed. Eyes darting between the file on screen and the pair of legs bouncing next to it.
Across the room, two young accountants in gold hoops were rebranding a spreadsheet as a “Money Glow-Up Plan.” Another was on the phone, speaking loud enough that the whole office could hear:
“Listen, luv, your business is bleeding cash. Imma lay down the harsh truth, ya gonna listen and then we gonna make bank, got it?"
Arthur stood in the doorway, taking it all in. The chaos, the colour, the honesty. He should have been horrified. He wasn’t.
Ellie spotted him and grinned. “Morning, boss! You look mint.”
“Thank you, darling,” he said, voice smooth and confident. “Is it all set up?"
"Got the conference room all ready. I'll round the crew up."
Half an hour later, they were all gathered in the conference room as Ellie fired up the projector. Arthur stood at the front of the room beside it and smiled.
“Alright y’all. Ya know, we’ve gone through a bit of a…rebranding. So it’s time to see that put into action. Presenting, Wakefield Financial’s newest commercial!”
The screen lit up, and Arthur was greeted with a replica of his old office. A stuffy-looking businessman was explaining to a confused client why his investments weren’t working. His language was posh, florid and dull, but then, in walked Arthur in his heels and green plastic hoops to drop kick him off the desk. His TV self addressed the camera:
“Are ya sick of that shit? Puffed up people in suits usin’ big words to make ya feel dumb? Then spending half the time confusing ya before they get to helpn’?”
Arthur sat on the desk, crossed his legs and grinned at the camera.
“At Wakefield Finance, we don’t do that shit. We tell it like it is. Tough love, babe, tough love, and cash money in your pocket.”
A little jingle played, and the name and number of the business flashed across the screen, and the crowd went wild.
“Boss, that was like, the best.”
“You looked proper cool, ma’am.”
“Fook yeah, I did.” Arthur grinned.
They all went back to work, leaving he and Ellie alone in the conference room. She swaggered over and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You looked hot as hell in that commercial.”
“You’re just remembering what we did after…”
She giggled and pulled him in for a kiss. “Maybe…should we do it again.”
“Sex, in the workplace? With the others right there?” Arthur raised his eyebrow. “Ya know me too well, sweet cheeks.”
Ellie laughed and Arthur pressed a kiss to her neck as he pushed her up onto the conference table. Long gone were the days of stuffy offices and suits. These days, his life was wild and trashy now, and he couldn’t be happier.
