The Pretend Wife Pt. 02

An hour after that dumbass handshake with Praveen, I was still on his couch, coffee gone cold in my hand, head buzzing from the beer last night and the deal I'd just choked down. What the fuck was I thinking? One shot, he'd said--$800 if I looked like shit in a dress, more if I didn't. I stared at the glass walls of his vacation home, leather and polish mocking me. This wasn't me--crossdressing, playing some chick for his mom. Fuck that. I'm no drag queen, no matter how broke I am. But $800... that's rent, a roof, something to grip onto. I rubbed my face, hard, still in his oversized sweats and shirt--nipples poking, ass stretching the seams, that laugh of his from earlier still burning my ears.

Praveen was pacing, phone in hand, all 6'3" of him too sharp for the mess I felt--blazer on, muscles flexing under the shirt. "Got a call to make," he said, thumbing the screen. "Maisie's coming over."

"Who?" I asked, voice flat, still slumped.

"Beautician friend," he said, smirking a little. "Top-tier--works with the rich crowd. She'll sort you out."

"Sort me out?" I sat up, gut twisting fast. "What, like, right now?"

"Yeah, right now," he said, tapping away. "Told you--hair, clothes, couple hours tops. She's good."

I groaned, the reality slamming me. "I didn't sign up for a fucking circus, Praveen."

He glanced over, eyes sharp. "Relax, Savan. One try--you hate it, you're out, cash in hand. That's the deal, right?"

I glared, jaw tight, but that $800 dangled like a lifeline over a pit. "Fine," I said, low. "But this better be quick."

He grinned, dialing. "Maisie? Hey, it's me. Need you here--got a... project. Yeah, ASAP. Thanks." He hung up, turning. "She's on her way."

"Project," I snorted, crossing my arms. "Great."

"Trust me," he said, heading for the kitchen. "She's the best. Coffee?"

"Already had it," I said, nodding at the mug. "Cold as hell."

"Suit yourself," he said, pouring his own. "You're gonna need the energy."

I slumped back, catching my reflection in the glass--smooth jaw, floppy hair, thick hips under his sweats. Fuck, maybe he was right--I could pass. Didn't mean I wanted to. This was nuts, a one-off, cash and done. That's it. Right?

Maisie rolled in an hour after that call--barely noon, me still raw from Praveen's bullshit, and damn, she was something--5'9" at least, pushing 40, maybe 45, oozing confidence like she owned every step. Zendaya vibes hit hard--sharp cheekbones, tight curls swept high in a messy bun, leather jacket slung over a flowy top, skinny jeans hugging long legs, heels clicking loud on the hardwood. A rolling case trailed her, stuffed full, and her smile landed warm but knowing, like she'd walked into crazier scenes than this.

Praveen met her at the door, pulling her into a quick hug. "Maisie," he said, stepping back, voice easy. "Good to see you."

"Always, babe," she said, smooth as silk, then turned those sharp eyes on me, still slouched on the couch. "And this must be Savan."

I shifted, drowning in Praveen's clothes, feeling like a grease stain next to her polish. "Uh, yeah," I mumbled, scratching my neck. "Hey."

"Hey, hon," she said, striding over, case clattering behind her. She stopped, hands on hips, eyeing me up and down like I was a lump of clay she could shape. "So you're the canvas, huh?"

"Canvas?" I said, voice catching, sitting up straighter. "Fuck me, that's one way to put it."

She laughed--low, easy, leaning in a bit, her perfume hitting sharp and floral. "Oh, honey, I've worked with less. You've got bones--good ones. We'll make something outta this, trust me."

Praveen waved us over to the couch, plopping down like this was all casual. "Alright, Maisie," he said, stretching an arm across the back. "Here's the deal--family gathering, New York, next month. Mom's on my ass, thinks I'm dating. I'm not."

I watched him, waiting for the kicker. He nodded at me, grin creeping. "Savan's my... stand-in."

Maisie's eyebrow shot up slow, then she turned to me, lips twitching into a smirk. "Wait a sec," she said, sitting beside me, crossing those long legs with a rustle of denim. "You're telling me this boy's your girl?"

"Yeah," Praveen said, grin widening. "One night--just gotta make him pass."

I scowled, sinking lower into the cushions. "I'm not thrilled about this, just so we're clear."

Maisie tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle, then reached over, patting my knee soft. "Aw, hon," she said, voice dropping warm but firm. "I get it--it's a weird gig, right? Totally out of nowhere."

"Fucking right it is," I said, crossing my arms tighter, the sweats bunching. "I don't do dresses, makeup, any of that shit."

She nodded slow, leaning closer, her jacket creaking. "I hear you, Savan. Sounds like a lot, huh? Dragged into this mess outta the blue--I'd be pissed too."

"Pissed is light," I muttered, glancing away. "This is fucked."

"Fair," she said, smiling easy, brushing my arm. "But listen--I've done crazier jobs than this. You're not the first guy I've prettied up, believe me."

"Prettied up?" I snorted, shifting back. "That's what you're calling this?"

"Call it what you want, hon," she said, shrugging, her curls bouncing. "Point is, I'll make it painless--promise you that. You're in good hands."

"She's pro," Praveen cut in, standing now, hands in his pockets. "Best in the game--trust me, she's worked with bigger messes."

"Gee, thanks," I shot back, glaring up at him.

Maisie chuckled, her hand lingering on my arm. "Oh, hon, he's just hyping me up. You're not a mess--you're... raw material. We'll polish you up, that's all."

"Polish," I echoed, voice flat, staring at her. "Fuck, this is insane."

"It's a little insane," she agreed, leaning back, crossing her arms loose. "But I've got you. Praveen's desperate, huh? Family's a nightmare?"

"Nightmare's putting it light," he said, pacing again, phone buzzing in his hand. "Years of this shit--'When you marrying, Praveen?' I'm done."

"See?" Maisie said, turning to me, smirking soft. "He's the one in deep--you're just the rescue boat."

"Rescue boat," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Fuck me."

"You'll live," she said, standing smooth, smoothing her jeans. "Praveen, you need anything?"

He stopped, pulling his notepad app up. "List," she said, scribbling on her own pad. "Wig, clothes--girl sizes--makeup, razor, the works."

"On it," he said, texting fast. "Dev'll handle it."

"Dev?" I asked, head snapping up.

"My assistant," he said, eyes on his phone. "He's fast--don't worry."

"Four people know now," I muttered, sinking even lower, the couch swallowing me. "Fucking great."

Maisie glanced over, smirking soft. "Four's not so bad, hon. Could be a whole damn crew."

"Still too many," I said, voice low, hands scrubbing my face.

"Relax," Praveen said, pocketing his phone. "I'm off--work stuff. Back tonight. Want you ready by then, Savan."

"Ready?" I snapped, sitting up sharp. "In a fucking dress?"

"Yep," he said, that smirk back, sharp as a blade. "Girl form. Knock my socks off."

"Fuck you," I shot back, but he was already halfway out, waving over his shoulder.

"See you later," he called, door clicking shut.

I stared after him, chest tight, then turned to Maisie. She was watching me, calm as hell, like this was just another day. "Four people," I said again, voice rough. "Me, him, you, this Dev guy. This secret's spreading like a goddamn rash."

"Honey," she said, standing, smoothing her jeans with a slow hand. "Secrets like this? They stay tight when the cash is good. Let's get started--bathroom's that way?"

"Yeah," I said, trudging after her, head screaming what the fuck am I doing? She clicked ahead, case rolling, all confidence, while I dragged my feet, stuck in Praveen's sweats, dreading every damn step.

Maisie set up in the bathroom--big, all marble and mirrors, Praveen's rich-ass taste mocking me hard. She unpacked her case--razors, creams, a towel--humming like this was no big deal. "Okay, hon," she said, turning to me with that easy smile. "Strip down. Everything--legs, arms, pits, all of it."

I froze, hands gripping the hoodie hem. "Everything?"

"Everything," she said, firm but kind, like she was coaxing a scared kid. "Can't have stubble screwing up the look."

I groaned, yanking the shirt off--my chest bare, manboobs soft but there, nipples sharp in the cold air. Sweats dropped next, then boxers--standing naked, 5'7" of thick, awkward me, dick dangling, thighs rubbing. Fuck, this was humiliating, every inch of me exposed.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the tub edge. I plopped down, legs spread, arms crossed tight over my chest. She grabbed a can of cream, shaking it--cool foam hit my calves, smelling like flowers, way too girly for my taste. "Relax, hon," she said, razor gliding smooth, scraping hair off in long, clean strokes. "You're not hairy--makes this a breeze."

"Not hairy," I muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Great."

She laughed, low and warm, moving up--knees, then thighs, the blade whispering over my skin, peeling away every rough bit. It felt... off. Not bad, just--smooth, too smooth, like I was losing something I didn't wanna give up. My thighs looked rounder, softer without the fuzz, the chub standing out more. I shifted, uneasy, and fuck--my dick twitched, stirring against my will. No, no--don't you dare.

"Arms," she said, grabbing one like it was nothing. I stretched it out, cream cold again, razor slicing clean--hair gone, skin bare. Pits next--she lifted my arm high, scraping quick, no mercy, the cool air hitting raw after. "Good," she said, wiping me down with a towel. "Now the fun part."

"Fun?" I asked, voice tight, arms dropping.

"Chest," she said, smirking a little. "And... below."

"Below?" My eyes widened, gut lurching. "No fucking way."

"Way," she said, already lathering my chest--soft strokes over my manboobs, razor nicking the sparse hair there. It tingled, sharp and strange, the skin too bare when she finished. Then she knelt, cream in hand, eyeing my crotch like it was a job site. "Spread 'em, hon."

"Fuck," I breathed, legs parting slow, heat creeping up my neck. She smeared cream around my dick, balls, pubes--cool, slick, my breath catching hard. The razor hit--slow drags, peeling hair off, my junk shrinking from the chill. Then it didn't--blood rushed, dick stiffening, hard as hell against her hand. I froze, mortified, face burning.

She glanced up, casual as hell. "Can't have that to tuck it, hon."

"Tuck?" I choked, but her hand was on me--firm, quick, stroking smooth like it was routine. "What the--"

"Shh," she said, working me--up, down, no pause, her grip slick from the cream. My head spun, heat coiling fast, too fast--fuck, I didn't want this, didn't ask for it, but my hips bucked anyway, breath ragged. She didn't flinch, just pumped--relentless, steady--till I gasped, cum spilling hot over her fingers, dick pulsing, shame flooding me like a tidal wave.

"There," she said, wiping her hand on the towel, cool as ice. "All set now."

I sat there, panting, dick limp, skin bare--smooth everywhere, too smooth. "That was fucked," I muttered, voice shaky, towel clutched tight.

"Just business, hon," she said, rinsing the razor under the tap. "You're good--clean slate."

I stared at my legs--shiny, curved, like they belonged to someone else. My chest, my junk--all naked, soft, wrong. I hated it--hated the bareness, the way it made me look so... not me. But the air on my skin... it was cool, light, brushing me like a whisper. Fuck, no--stop that thought dead. This was for cash, not some drag fantasy. I stood, shaky, wrapping the towel tighter. Maisie just smiled, like she'd seen it all a hundred times.

Dev showed up mid-afternoon--skinny guy, quiet, hauling bags from Praveen's list like a pack mule. Maisie took over, spreading clothes across the living room--skirts, tops, underwear, a corset, heels, wigs--all spilling over the couch and floor. I stood there, towel still knotted around me, gut churning worse than ever. "Alright, hon," she said, clapping her hands. "Let's dress you."

"Fuck," I muttered, dropping the towel slow, standing bare again. She didn't waste time, digging into one of Dev's bags like a kid at Christmas, pulling out a black bra--B-cup, padded, so light it barely registered in her hand. "Here," she said, tossing it my way with a flick of her wrist. "You've got enough to work with."

"Enough?" I caught it, fumbling the straps, glaring at her over the lace trim. My manboobs--soft, chubby little bastards--stared back at me as I wrestled the thing on. It squeezed, lifted, the satin cups cool against my chest, nipples disappearing into the padding. Fuck, I had cleavage--actual goddamn cleavage, sitting there like a taunt. "This is so stupid," I muttered, twisting to see the damage in the mirror, but the weight settled solid, not budging. I hated it--had to--but the way it hugged... it wasn't nothing. Cash, I snarled in my head. That's all this is.

"Gorgeous," Maisie said, stepping behind me, clipping it shut with a quick snap. She didn't linger, already reaching for the next torture device--a black corset, stiff as hell, boned up the sides, laces dangling like some medieval trap. "Arms up, hon," she ordered, and I groaned, lifting them slow, towel slipping lower on my hips.

She wrapped it around me, the satin finish brushing my skin--sleek, cold, too smooth for comfort. Then she yanked--hard, then harder, the laces pulling tight, ribs creaking like old wood. "Fuck," I gasped, hands slamming the wall for balance, "I can't breathe in this shit."

"You'll live," she said, voice dry, tying it off with a final tug that damn near cracked me. I sucked in what air I could, looking down--my waist pinched in sharp, hips flaring out wide, ass popping like some chick's wet dream. It hurt, digging into my sides, but that satin... it slid against me, cool and secret, like a grip I didn't sign up for. I shifted, pissed--fuck, no, this wasn't okay--but it didn't feel all bad either. Just cash, I thought, hard, shoving that shit down deep.

Maisie stepped back, hands on her hips, eyeing me like a sculptor. "Now we're moving," she said, grabbing a skirt--red, tight, knee-length, some stretchy cotton-spandex mix that looked like trouble. "Step in," she said, holding it low. I grumbled, kicking the towel off fully, stepping into the damn thing--tugging it up slow, the fabric clinging to my thighs, my ass, the corset making it worse--or better, fuck if I knew. "Too tight," I muttered, but it stretched with me, smooth as hell, hugging every curve like it owned me. I scowled--it was girly, wrong, everything I hated--but the way it brushed my legs, soft, light... it wasn't the worst. I turned away from that thought, fast.

She didn't stop, pulling a white blouse from the pile--silk, flowy, sheer sleeves, crisp little collar. "Arms," she said, and I shoved them through, the fabric sliding cool over my skin, buttons straining over the bra as she fastened it up. "Fuck, I look like a clown," I said, catching the corset peeking through the thin silk, but Maisie just grinned, tugging the shoulders straight.

"Nah, hon," she said, stepping back. "You're shaping up--trust me."

I didn't trust shit, but she was already kneeling, a pair of black stockings in her hands--silky, sheer, thigh-highs that gleamed in the light. She rolled them up my legs, slow, the fabric gripping my thighs, smooth as fuck, shining my chub into something slimmer, curved. I flexed, annoyed--these weren't me, no way--but the slide against my skin... it wasn't garbage, soft and slick in a way that stuck in my head. "Heels now," she said, sliding over a pair--black, two inches, simple leather. I stepped in, wobbling like a drunk, cursing under my breath--ankles shaky, but the leather wrapped snug, smooth on my feet, clicking sharp when I shifted. Fuck, I hated it... mostly.

She wasn't done, tossing options at me like a test. A blue pencil skirt came next--stiff as hell, digging into my waist, cutting off what little breath the corset left me. "Nope," I said, peeling it off fast, the red one still clinging better. Then a green flare skirt--too frilly, swishing loud when I moved, like some princess bullshit. "Fuck that," I muttered, kicking it aside, sticking with the red--tight, movable, blood-red, hugging the corset's curves like it was made for them. Tops followed--a black tank, too slutty, showing way too much bra; a gray sweater, thick and hot, itching my neck like sandpaper. I ditched them, the white blouse staying--silk cool on my arms, fluttering light when I turned. I wouldn't say it--never--but it felt... nice, like a breeze I didn't hate. Fuck that--I'm here for the money, nothing else.

Maisie dragged a stool over after, plopping me down in front of a mirror--her kit spilling out, brushes, tubes, jars all over the place. "Face time, hon," she said, spinning me to her, that Zendaya smirk back. "Close your eyes."

I did, grumbling low, the corset still squeezing. "This is too damn much."

"Shh," she said, her sponge tapping my face--foundation, cool and creamy, smoothing my skin out slow. "You're pale enough--just needs a little tone-up." It sank in, light, my face softening too much when I snuck a peek--freckles gone, jaw gentler, fuck, I hated it. But it wasn't heavy, just... there, sitting easy.

She grabbed a brush, swiping my lids--taupe shadow first, then gold, blending it smooth, her fingers steady. "Liner," she muttered, pen dragging tight along my lashes--cold, sharp, my eyes popping big when I blinked. "Mascara next," she said, wand brushing my lashes--black, thick, curling them up high. I scowled into the mirror--too pretty, framing my face like some doll... but the air hit different, light on my lids, not the worst.

"Brows," she said, pencil in hand, sketching them darker, arching them high--sharp, bold, girly as hell. "Perfect," she mumbled, brushing them out quick. I glared--too fake, too much--but they fit the rest, smooth somehow, fuck me.

She dusted my cheeks--pink blush, soft, high on the bones, warming me up. Fuck, I looked alive--not the dead-ass waiter I'd been yesterday. Hated it... but the glow wasn't nothing, maybe. Then lips--red lipstick, slick, painting slow, her brush steady. I pressed them--sticky, full, too bright, too loud--but the silk of it slid easy, not bad on my mouth.

"Wig," she said, pulling a black one from the pile--long, straight, bangs thicker than mine, glossier. She pinned it on--tight, heavy, the strands brushing my shoulders soft when she adjusted it. I shook my head--fuck, it swung, cool against my neck, smooth as hell. Didn't want it, didn't need it... but it felt kinda nice, sliding like that. Cash, I thought, gripping the word. Just cash.

"Look," she said, spinning me full to the mirror. Skin even, eyes big and framed, lips red, hair swinging--fuck, I looked like a girl, really looked it. Too much, too wrong... but not ugly, not by a mile. The makeup--light, slick--sat easy, the wig soft as silk on my skin. I didn't say it--couldn't, wouldn't--but it wasn't all hell. Cash, I told myself again, hard as nails. That's it.

When we settled on what I'd show Praveen, Maisie stepped back, eyeing me slow, like she was sculpting the final touch. The red skirt stayed--cotton-spandex, tight as sin, hugging my hips and ass in a slow, relentless grip, the fabric stretching smooth over the corset's work, brushing my thighs with every shift, a whisper of blood-red heat. The white blouse clung next--silk flowing soft, sleeves sheer and fluttering, draping over the bra's lift, buttons pulling just enough to hint at the curves beneath, cool and light against my skin, a tease of elegance I didn't ask for. Black stockings slid up my legs--silky, sheer, clinging to my thighs like a lover's touch, the shine catching the light, making every curve gleam, smooth and sleek in a way that pissed me off but felt... good, too good. The black heels locked it in--two inches of leather, simple but snug, wrapping my feet in a firm, slick hold, lifting me just enough to sway, the click slow and deliberate when I moved. I stood there--corset cinched, lace panties biting, fabrics kissing my skin--and fuck, it was wrong, all wrong... but the way they moved, the way they felt... I didn't hate it as much as I should've. Cash, I thought, hard. Just cash.

Praveen got back late afternoon, door clicking as I stood in the living room--red skirt gripping me, blouse fluttering, heels wobbling, Maisie beside me. He stopped dead, jaw dropping, eyes wide--shocked, then grinning like he'd hit the jackpot.

"Holy shit, Savan," he said, stepping closer, voice low and rough. "You're... fuck, you're gorgeous."

"Shut up," I muttered, arms crossed tight, corset pinching my ribs, heat creeping up my neck.

"No, serious," he said, circling me slow, eyes raking every inch like I was some prize. "Maisie, you're a damn wizard--this is perfect. The hips, the face--shit, you're a girl."

"Not a girl," I snapped, but my voice wobbled--fuck, I saw it too, the mirror screaming it back at me.

"You're stunning," he said, stopping in front, hands in his pockets, leaning in a bit. "New York's on--you're in. This is it, Savan."

I groaned, shifting--the stockings slid, smooth as hell, heels clicking soft. "Still don't like this, Praveen. This is fucked."

"I know," he said, softer now, eyes locked on mine, steady. "I get it--it's a lot. But look at you--this works. You're pulling it off."

"Pulling it off?" I snorted, stepping back, wobbling in the heels. "I look like a fucking clown."

"No," he said, quick, shaking his head. "You look... real. Better than real. My mom'll eat this up--whole family will."

"Great," I muttered, sarcastic, arms dropping. "Just what I wanted."

He stepped closer, voice dropping lower. "Stay here, Savan--no rent, practice the part. You won't need that shithole apartment."

I froze, staring at him, the words sinking in slow. "Stay here?" I said, voice tight. "I've got work, man--diner's my lifeline."

"I'll cover your wage," he said, firm, cutting through my bullshit. "Whatever you make there--done. You don't need that grease pit."

I blinked, head spinning--$800, now this? Stay here, play girl, ditch the diner? Fuck, it was too much--too deep, too fast. "You're serious?" I asked, shifting again, the silk blouse brushing my arms, light and cool.

"Dead serious," he said, nodding slow. "You're saving my ass--I'll save yours. Fair trade."

"Fair?" I laughed, sharp, running a hand through the wig--fuck, it swung soft. "This ain't fair--this is insane."

"It's a deal," he said, leaning back, smirking now. "You're broke, I'm desperate--perfect match."

"Perfect match," I echoed, bitter, looking away. The fabrics--the silk, the satin corset, the lace panties--whispered on my skin, not awful, not like I'd expected. I didn't like it--didn't want to--but it wasn't pure hell either. "I don't know, man," I said, low. "This is a lot to swallow."

"I know," he said, stepping closer again, voice steady. "But you're already here--look at you. One weekend in New York, then you're free--cash, no rent, no worries."

"Free," I muttered, glancing at the mirror--curves sharp, face painted, heels lifting me. "Doesn't feel free."

"It will," he said, clapping my shoulder light, his hand warm through the blouse. "Give it a shot--stay, practice, nail it. I've got you covered."

I pulled back, scowling, but my fight was slipping--$800, wages, no rent? Fuck, it was tempting, too tempting. "What if I suck at this?" I asked, voice rough. "Trip in these damn heels, fuck it all up?"

"You won't," he said, grinning wide. "Maisie's magic--you're golden. Trust me."

"Trust you," I snorted, but my shoulders slumped, the corset digging in. "Fuck, Praveen--I'm not happy about this."

"You don't have to be," he said, softer, eyes serious now. "Just do it--save us both."

I stared at him, then the mirror again--red skirt hugging, blouse flowing, stockings gleaming. Fuck, I looked good--hated it, hated even thinking it. This deal, this feminization--was it worth it? Cash said yes, loud as hell, but the rest... it gnawed at me, quiet, deep. "Fine," I said, voice low and rough, dragging it out. "But I'm doing this for the money--nothing else."

"You're a saint," he said, grin breaking wide again, clapping both my shoulders now. "This'll work--swear it."

I turned away, heels clicking soft, catching that damn mirror one more time--curves, face, all of it screaming girl. Fuck, it was too real--too good--and I didn't know what to do with that. Not yet.