(TG)Under Housekeeping (3/3) (Patreon)

Entry 15: The Pavlovian Flush

Jason’s Journal

The noon alarm went off while I was dusting the coffee table. Ding.

Usually, I dread it. But today… as soon as I heard that chime, my heart hammered against my ribs. A hot, dizzy feeling shot straight down my spine. I walked to the spot in the living room, feather duster still in my hand, and my body just… reacted.

The surgery tape is gone. My face feels tight and smooth. I looked at the screen, and I didn't see Jason. I saw this… girl. She has big, glossy lips and wide eyes. She looks breathless.

I stood on the mark, and my mouth just fell open. I felt feverish, my skin prickling under the silk of the dress. I wanted to take the picture. I wanted her to see me looking like this. Why does holding this duster make me feel so… right? I hit send, and I swear I was trembling. Not from fear. From something else.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Conditioned.

The bandages are off, and the results are exquisite. The rhinoplasty has softened his profile completely, erasing the last hard angle of his father’s face. He looks like a porcelain doll now.

But the most interesting development is the physiological response. I monitored his vitals during the noon "Clock-In." At 12:00 PM, his heart rate spiked. His pupils dilated. Look at the photo—his lips are parted, his cheeks are flushed, and his expression is vacant, almost dazed.

He isn't just obeying the command anymore; he is getting a chemical rush from the submission. The "Jason" side of his brain is quiet. The "Jasmine" side is waking up, and she loves being a good girl.

Entry 16: The Plastic Smile

Jason’s Journal

I practiced for an hour in front of the mirror this morning. "Corners up, eyes soft," she told me. "No one wants a sullen girl."

So I practiced. It felt weird at first, stretching my face into this shape when I feel so empty inside. But when the noon alarm went off, I didn't hesitate. I picked up the feather duster, tilted my head, and just... let it happen.

I looked at the photo before I sent it. The girl in the screen isn't crying anymore. She’s smiling. It’s a quiet, soft smile. It looks… nice.

The scary part is, I don't feel like I’m faking it. The dress feels so comfortable now. The duster feels natural in my hand, like it belongs there. I caught myself smiling at the empty room even after the camera was off. It’s just easier to be happy, isn't it? It’s so much easier to just be her.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Adjusted.

Finally. The grimace is gone. The terror is gone. In their place is a perfectly pleasant, if slightly vacant, smile.

This is a critical breakthrough. The subject has stopped fighting the uniform and has started performing the role. He realizes now that his internal defiance is exhausting and pointless. Submission, on the other hand, brings praise.

Look at the way he holds the duster—delicately, not gripping it like a weapon. He poses with it effortlessly. The "Jason" personality is receding into the background, leaving this smiling, obedient shell in the foreground. She is becoming very decorative.

Entry 17: The Trophy

Jason’s Journal

She gave me a new outfit today. It’s not the uniform, and it’s not the soft sweater. It’s this… metallic pink set. It’s shiny and tight, like a second skin made of candy wrappers.

"We need to see the muscle definition, Jason," she said. "Stand straight. Shoulders back. Chest out."

I did what she said. I stood in front of the camera, and I felt… exposed, but also weirdly powerful. My skin is so tan and shiny now—she makes me use this shimmering body oil that smells like vanilla. I looked at the screen, and I look like a statue. A plastic, pink statue.

I tried to look tough, but with the high ponytail and the glossy lips, I just look like a gym bunny. I stood there for five minutes after the photo was taken, just checking my reflection in the dark TV screen, turning side to side. I’m starting to obsess over my waistline. Is it small enough? Does the pink make me look good? I hate that I care.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Polishing.

The sculpting phase is nearly complete. I put him in the high-gloss metallic activewear to assess the body composition. The waist training has paid off—the silhouette is undeniably hourglass now.

In the photo, he has this vacant, doll-like stare. He isn't fighting the lens anymore; he’s presenting himself to it. He looks less like a person and more like a high-end action figure. The bronzer and the highlighter catch the light perfectly. He’s becoming exactly what Richard wants: a beautiful, shiny object that looks good on a shelf. We are moving from "training" to "maintenance."

Entry 18: The Golden Cage

Jason’s Journal

My scalp is still on fire. I spent six hours in the kitchen chair today while a stylist Vivienne hired worked on me. I thought he was just going to trim it, but then the chemical smell hit me. Bleach. Layers and layers of bleach until my dark hair was completely stripped white.

But he wasn't done. He put my head in these tiny, tight curlers and poured more chemicals on me. "A permanent for a permanent position," Vivienne said.

When he finally took the cape off and spun me toward the mirror, I gasped. It’s huge. It’s massive, bouncing, platinum blonde curls that frame my face like a cloud. It’s not a wig. I can’t take it off at night. This is my hair now.

She finished the look with this tight lace choker around my neck. I stood there holding the duster, afraid to even move my head because the curls bounce with every step. I look like a poodle. I look like a showgirl. And the scariest part is, I think I like how soft it feels against my neck.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Finalized.

No more half-measures. Wigs can be removed; they allow him to pretend he is still "Jason" underneath. Today, we made the commitment permanent.

The stylist did incredible work. The platinum lift and the tight perm have completely altered his silhouette. He looks absolutely cherubic now. The blonde softens his features in a way nature never intended.

I watched him touching the curls in the reflection, pulling at them gently. He realizes the gravity of this. He can't wash this away. He can't hide this under a hoodie. He is now, undeniably and permanently, a blonde bombshell. The lace choker was the final touch—a little collar for my prize poodle. He is ready for the finish line.

Entry 19: The Unveiling

(Image Reference: Maid (20).jpg)

Jason’s Journal

I thought the "girls' night" was bad. I was wrong. Tonight, the driveway filled up with black sedans. Men in expensive suits—business partners, investors, friends of the family.

Vivienne handed me the silver tray loaded with champagne and appetizers and gave me one order: "Smile. If you stop smiling, you fail."

I walked into the room, and the conversation just… stopped. All those eyes turned to me. Not looking at Jason Vane, the heir. Looking at her. looking at the blonde curls, the lace choker, the short skirt.

I felt naked. My hands were shaking so hard I thought the champagne glasses would tip over, but I forced my face into this huge, frozen grin. A man in a blue suit took a glass, looked me up and down, and said, "New staff, Vivienne? She's stunning."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch him. But my body just dipped into a curtsy. "Thank you, sir," I chirped. The voice wasn't even mine. It was high and breathy. I’m serving them drinks while they talk about business I used to study in college. I’m not a person in this room. I’m just the entertainment.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Market Ready.

The "Soft Launch" is a resounding success. I invited the board members and key investors for a private cocktail hour to debut the manor's new… aesthetic.

Jason is performing magnificently. Look at that smile. It’s wide, bright, and completely plastic. It hides the panic perfectly.

He is navigating the room with the grace of a trained show-pony, offering hors d'oeuvres and champagne to men he might have once considered peers. He realizes now that he doesn't belong in the conversation; he belongs in the background, looking pretty. The way he holds the tray, the way he tilts his head—he is absorbing the male gaze and converting it into submission. The product is ready for the final buyer.

Entry 20: The Final Curves

Jason’s Journal

The bandages are finally off. I’ve been hiding in baggy hoodies for weeks while the swelling went down, but today Vivienne told me it was time to "unwrap the merchandise."

She handed me the metallic pink workout set again—the one I wore months ago. But when I put it on, it didn't fit the same. I had to struggle to get the top over my chest.

I stood in the living room and looked down. They are huge. They feel heavy and strange, pulling on my shoulders, but when I run my hands over the shiny fabric, it feels… electric. I caught my reflection in the phone screen, and I didn't see a trace of the boy left. I saw a woman with big blonde hair and a body that curves in all the right places.

I put my hand on my stomach—it feels so flat compared to my chest now. I couldn't help it; I smiled. A big, wide, dizzy smile. I look like one of those plastic dolls I used to make fun of. But standing here, feeling the weight of my new body, I don't want to make fun of her. I just want to be her.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Structurally Complete.

The augmentation is fully healed, and the results are spectacular. I had him put on the metallic activewear to check the silhouette, and the proportions are now mathematically perfect.

The chest fills out the top, creating that hyper-feminine hourglass shape that nature denied him but money provided. I watched him admiring himself in the camera. He isn't hunching his shoulders to hide them. He is thrusting his chest out. He is touching his midriff, accentuating the waist-to-hip ratio.

The dysphoria has been replaced by a narcissist’s joy. He loves the way he looks. He has forgotten that he was ever anything else. The construction of the vessel is finished. Now, it is time to deliver it to its owner.

Entry 21: The Masterpiece

Jason’s Journal

Tonight is the big night. The house is full of flowers, the music is playing, and Vivienne told me I am the main event.

She gave me the final uniform. It’s... it’s tiny. The skirt is barely there, just layers of lace and pink satin that bounce when I move. But the top... god, the top is cut so low. I can feel the cool air on my new chest, and the pearl choker she clasped around my neck feels like a promise.

I’m standing here with my feather duster, waiting for the guests to arrive, and I caught myself posing in the mirror again. I didn't even mean to. I just tilted my head, popped my hip, and smiled. A real smile.

I feel so light. The heavy, angry boy who used to live here feels like a bad dream I woke up from. Jasmine is real. She’s blonde, she’s curvy, and she’s ready to serve. I just want to be a good girl tonight. I hope I make Vivienne proud.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Perfected.

It is done. Look at her.

There is no trace of the sullen prisoner left. Standing there in the parlor, clutching that duster like a scepter, is the perfect domestic goddess. The platinum curls are immaculate, the makeup is flawless, and the surgical enhancements are displayed exactly as intended by the neckline of the dress.

She is beaming. She isn't smiling because I told her to; she is smiling because she enjoys being this beautiful object. She has completely accepted her station. The training wheels are off. The guests are arriving, and the VIP is five minutes away. It is time to sign the contract.

Entry 22: The Special Guest

Jason’s Journal

The party is actually… really beautiful. I was nervous about the "Engagement Celebration" when Vivienne first told me, but everyone has been so polite. The house is full of pink balloons and soft music, and for the first time, I don't feel like I’m hiding.

I’ve been circulating with the silver tray for an hour, offering champagne and these little toast appetizers. I thought I’d be embarrassed, but… I’m not. When people smile and say "thank you," it makes me feel warm inside. I just want to be a good hostess. I want Vivienne to be happy.

Then, she introduced me to him.

"Jasmine, come here," she called out, waving me over.

I walked up, holding my tray steady, and saw a tall man with silver hair standing next to her. I’ve never seen him before. He looked very serious, very important, but when he saw me, his face softened.

"This is Richard," Vivienne said, resting her hand on my arm. "He’s going to be spending a lot of time here."

I didn't know what to say, so I just dipped into a little curtsy, like I practiced. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir."

He didn't laugh. He didn't mock the maid dress. He just looked at me with these intense, kind eyes. He reached out and took a glass from my tray, his fingers brushing against my glove.

"The pleasure is mine," he said, his voice deep and calm. "Vivienne told me you were helpful, but she didn't mention you were so… charming."

I felt my face go completely red. My heart did this weird little flutter in my chest. I should be weirded out by a stranger complimenting me, but he made me feel… safe? I found myself smiling back at him, a real, shy smile. I hope he likes the appetizers. I really want him to like me.

Vivienne’s Log

Subject: Jason Vane. Status: Domesticated.

The introduction was flawless. I was worried Jason might be skittish around Richard—he can be quite imposing—but the training has truly reshaped his personality. He wasn't defensive at all. He was sweet.

Look at them in the photo. Jason is standing there, presenting the tray with such genuine care, smiling like a perfect angel. He has no idea who Richard is yet. He thinks he’s just a guest.

But I saw the way Jason blushed when Richard complimented him. I saw the way he lowered his lashes submissively. He is naturally drawn to Richard’s authority. It’s not fear anymore; it’s a desire to please.

Richard is delighted. He whispered to me that he appreciates a "kind spirit" in the house. I think they are going to get along very well. I’ll let Jason finish serving the room, and then I’ll break the news that his new favorite guest is actually his new Master.

END.