The Maid

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I giggled as I raised the spinning mower blade all the way up and put it into forward. In front of me the Gardener laid vainly trying to roll out of the way. He wouldn’t make it. Absolutely amazing the poisons found in ordinary household products.

Disclaimer: This is fiction. None of the characters presented here are meant to represent anyone living, dead or otherwise. I the author reserve all rights.

This story was inspired by a story that quite frankly pissed me off. The poor main character while trying to do the right thing was betrayed and treated worse than an animal. That caused me to write this while I was still angry. I debated posting this, but since you're reading this now, you know what I decided. I hope I got the right tags up because this is a rough story that DOES NOT have a happy ending.
Grover

The Maid
By
Grover
1/22/2012

I giggled as I raised the spinning mower blade all the way up and put it into forward. In front of me the Gardener laid vainly trying to roll out of the way. He wouldn’t make it. Absolutely amazing the poisons found in ordinary household products. At the very minimum it was nice to know that while my brains had been thoroughly scrambled some of my knowledge still remained.

The man mowing the grass was going to get mowed! That made me giggle even more madly. It was only simple justice since he’d mowed my grass often enough.

Shaking my head, I did my best to concentrate on my next task. Stepping off of the fume belching green machine, (nothing runs like a deer!) I quickly caught my balance on my 8 inch platform heels. After all the practice I’d had it wasn’t difficult. Besides, I had no choice since, along with the electro-brain scrambling the so kind ’Ladies’ at The Institute had also shortened my Achilles Tendons. I couldn’t walk without them.

As I left the shed I quickly shut the door to keep blood spatters off my maid’s uniform. Smiling blankly, I hurried back to the mansion that used to be mine. Flouncing like I’d been conditioned, my double Dees danced in the lacy top of my PVC uniform. Mistress had made certain I knew the size of the implants since she’d had the Ladies tattoo a DD just so every time I looked down, I would know.

Entering the kitchen, I passed the Butler. He didn’t look too happy but I guess impalement does that. He’d fallen victim to the same household cocktail as the Gardener. So strange the stuff you could slip into coffee without anyone noticing. This time wisely I turned away from the sight. I didn’t need the giggles again from the Butler getting it up the butt with a plunger. Maneuvering him and it into place hadn’t been as hard as I’d feared. A little lube made up for the lack of muscle mass that was stolen from me. Poetic justice was my watch word today although he did have it easy. He never lubed up for me after all.

A check of the stove and the hot water heater revealed that all was progressing as it should. Feeling a peace that’d been missing for so very long, I wheeled the breakfast cart into the dining room.

The Master and Mistress were waiting.

Mistress, as always, ignored me. I’m after all only the maid. However I knew all too well the punishments if everything wasn’t exactly the way she wanted it. Over the past year I’d experienced them all, but after all this time they thought me broken. I honestly couldn’t say they were wrong. However damaged I was, it didn’t mean I was helpless.

She lifted the teacup to her lips while the Master took a sip of his coffee as he read his morning paper.

I’d seriously considered ‘additives’ to her tea, but had decided against it. She might be able to pick out the taste since tea isn’t the same as coffee. For him it was no choice at all. He was much bigger than I now, and I wanted every advantage I could get.

Standing attentively by her, I judged the time as best as I could. How long for my additives to be absorbed into his stomach lining? Part of the reason for taking care of Butler and Gardener was to get my timing down.

However my senses of such things were off just as I could no longer tell my right from my left. The Ladies were fiendishly good with their infernal devices. Making my best guess I struck.

The kitchen knife I’d carefully sharpened to a razor’s keenness whispered out slicing the air itself.

Parted curls floated in the air as she threw herself away, the shock on her so perfect face a joy to my eyes.

I didn’t have to look to know the Master was lunging for me. Bracing for the impact, I played my last desperate card.

Ironically he screamed like a girl informing me, I’d guessed right.

Turning to face him, The Master was staring at the steak knife impaling his hand. My programming prohibited me from striking them, which was why I’d missed with my slash at her. However, I knew he would react. All I had to do was provide something for him to run into. With his reflexes and senses dulled by my ‘special’ blend of coffee it’d been good enough. The Ladies’ mistake was linking their conditioning to this visually. What I couldn’t see, didn’t kick in that crippling pain and anxiety.

Board shouldered and handsome, the Master had once been my business partner and I’d believed also my friend. He’d revealed his true colors in so many ways that the very thought of the way he’d deceived me caused me to get ill in a way that had nothing to do with what the Ladies did to me.

Whimpering at the long blade though his hand, he stared at me in astonishment. I giggled, unable to help myself. Golf and Polo do not have the same toughening effect as spending months in the Big Sandy behind enemy lines vainly looking for WMDs.

Judging the distance, I swirled swinging the ten inch Damascus Slicing Knife. I hardly felt any resistance at all, although the dull thump told me I hadn’t missed. A few wet droplets hit me, but I was careful not to look at them. The Ladies had insisted that their ‘girls’ always be immaculately attired. Blood stains were so hard to get out of fabrics, but usually it was my own.

Meanwhile Mistress was gaping in horror at the Master. Stunned she tried to get to her feet, but froze as I pulled the .45 ACP out of where I’d planted it earlier.

“Fifi,” She commanded, her voice wavering with the stress. “Put that away now.”

“Oops!” I replied, giggling yet again. “Fifi isn’t here right now, but if you would leave a name and number she’ll get back in touch with you.”

Pretending to think hard, I rhetorically asked her.

“Now, how do you do this?” I put conscious thought out of my mind, letting years of training take over.

I racked the slide, slamming a round home into the chamber and clicked off the safety in one smooth move.

She turned white realizing just how dire her situation was right now.

“Wow,” I exclaimed. “There really are things that’re just like riding a bicycle. You really don‘t forget!”

It was really easy to recover my pistol. The desk had been at one time mine, and I always kept excess spare keys to everything. That was an old military habit that had saved my skin more than once. I suppose it was just more ego polishing that made the Master keep my firearm. Which reminded me of something I’d been meaning to do.

Turning my head, I pointed the Colt Combat Elite at the Master. I made myself disregard the little voice that moaned at the mess he’d made bleeding out. Setting the sight picture on his genitals, I closed my eyes.

The thunder of the eight rounds of .45 set my ears to ringing. A glance showed that The Master had been blown after his morning coffee just like he liked, blown away that is! About half of my wild shots had missed but had been close enough to turn what had humiliated me so many times into nothing more than ground meat.

Fighting my mad giggles again, I hit the magazine release and slapped in another before the first hit the ground. Old reflexes do die hard.

Mistress’s attempt to flee stopped as she did the ‘Bambi Stare’ down the ACP’s bore.

I tried for a moment to say her name, but nothing came to me. Just like with the Master, I could only think of her as Mistress. Sighing, I tried another tack.

“When you accessed my military records you should’ve realized that they were sealed and what you saw was the sanitized version. I spent the best years of my life for my country and left only when I no longer trusted the leaders to whom I’d sworn my loyalty.”

She blinked at me. She’d only known me as the self made millionaire who, besides the shooting thing, was rather a pacifist. There was just too much blood on my hands and soul. I know now that she’d taken my non-aggression philosophy for weakness, and used me. What could I say besides I’d loved her? Too late, I found out that love blinded me to someone that did not deserve it.

She shouted out another command word that made me twitch, but I smiled at her surprise.

“You see,” I explained. “I’ve been trained to resist and overcome that sort of thing. I must admit that what was done to me far exceeds what anyone training me envisioned, but I was still able to save a part of myself.”

A scent caught my attention. Hmmm, the smell of gas, it smells like …. Victory!

“A small part maybe, but enough I think to do the job.” Giggling I sing-songed, “Oh dinner is almost done!”

She kept glancing at the kitchen door.

“If you’re waiting for the Butt-ler or the Gar-dener to come rescue you, you’re going to be disappointed. They’ve been delayed for the rest of their lives.” That damn giggle took over again however my aim didn’t waver.

She tensed up. I couldn’t have that. Sighing, I did my closed-eyes thing again risking only one round. I couldn’t risk my conditioning shutting me down by deliberately shooting her.

See no evil! Do no evil!

She screamed in pain which made me smile. My aim had been dead-on hitting her in the thigh just as I wanted.

I stood silent waiting patiently for the begging to begin. It didn’t take long.

“You can’t kill me. I’m pregnant with your child!” She cried clutching her shattered and bleeding leg.

“No dice!” I replied. “His maybe, but not mine. I can still count. It’s been far longer than a year since that last time. Try again.”

“No!” She protested. “It really is yours. To make sure none of your relatives tried to cut in for a share of your inheritance after we had you declared dead, I was artificially inseminated by what we had stored. It really is your baby. We were going to force you to wet nurse you own kid!”

That made me hesitate. It was the kind of thing they would do. On the other hand, Mistress she might be, but she was also a professional liar.

Giving the air another sniff, I tried to judge things. The soup was really far along and if I didn’t stir it something else would. However, even if it wasn’t my child, it still didn’t deserve to die for her crimes. That is if she was really pregnant.

Policing up the knives, I didn’t want Mistress to get ideas after all, I peeked out the window. Rather unsurprisingly I saw a SWAT van parked in the trees. Someone must have observed my earlier handiwork and the gunshots had confirmed their suspicions.

Making my decision, I took her purse and turned it upside down, emptying it on the floor. Picking up a pair of tampons, I ripped open the wrappings and shoved one each into the entry and exit holes in her leg.

Ah, yet more satisfying screams! However they were sterile dressings and would keep her from bleeding out. Elevating her other leg I did what I could for shock.

Due to more of the ‘Ladies’ handiwork, just touching a phone was very unpleasant, so I kicked her cell phone over to her. Dialing was one of those tortures I hadn’t found a way around.

“Call 911.” I ordered with my vacant smile pasted on my face.

As she began babbling about mad women with guns, I took it from her.

“This is the Maid. Please patch us to the Police at this location.”

I didn’t have time for their negotiation tricks. When dinner was done, it was done and nothing could stop it.

I cut off the officer as he began his spiel.

“I’m going to release one of the hostages. She has a bullet in her leg and claims she’s pregnant. I’m shoving her out the door, but if you try anything at all, she’ll get another bullet understand?” No need for them to know everyone else was fatally indisposed.

He babbled back about deals and the usual double-talk.

“I said do you understand!” I ignored his pleas.

“Mistress!” I said brightly. “You have five minutes to get out of this house or you’ll be dead, dead, dead. If I were you, I would get moving!”

Shoving the wheeled cart at her to help her walk, I had to pull her up anyways. It took far longer than I liked, and I knew that when I opened that door it was likely a sniper would put a bullet between my eyes. However I had to take an extra-minute to shove the fire-proof box onto the cart too. Plans had changed, but with any luck it would be found.

Grabbing an umbrella from the stand by the door I opened it to shield us from sight. All I needed was to blind the sniper for a few seconds. She hobbled to the door, but I pushed her out with all the power I had left in me.

The hammer slamming me back told me I’d been too late. Old habits came to my aid again using that same energy to guide me back inside and shut the door.

One arm wouldn’t work, but I could still reach up and flip the deadbolt shut. Looking down at the damage I had to laugh. Above my heart was a mass of bloody jelly. The sniper had blown my boob off! The massive blob of silicon had likely kept him from getting an instant kill. As the pain caught up to me, I probably had a few busted ribs and who knew what else.

Well, only one thing left to do. This was one action those who carried a firearm for a living knew how to do right. Considering all the other things I’d been made to shove in my mouth, this wasn’t all that bad.

A flicker of light made me glance at the window. There was a SWAT guy peering in checking things out.

With a wink, I waved bye, bye. I was a warrior and would have my pyre.

***

Lt. Dolman cursed as debris continued to rain down. He had people down all over the place because of that explosion. The fireball was still rising into the sky and he had at least one dead body and another wounded. Who ever had rigged the thing had known what they were doing. The whole house must’ve been full of propane.

As the fire trucks and EMTs arrived it didn’t get any better. A prominent citizen and big contributor to the Mayor looked to be dead. That just added to the controversy of the wife’s previous husband who had died leaving all his millions to her.

Then they found the firebox.

A week later he wasn’t sure how he felt.

“Fire!” Commanded the head of the honor guard.

None of his guys had died but one was going to be in the hospital a while. You just don’t stand that close to an explosion without paying the price.

“Fire!“ The military men in formal dress blues fired another salute

The stuff in that firebox made him ill just thinking about it. How could someone betray their marriage vows like that? He’d seen couples shoot, knife, and beat each other senseless, but never had he heard of this before. They’d shut down that damn Institute and if anything what they found there was worse. The deliberate crippling and mutilation was inhumanity at its worst. The poor people they had found within were beyond pitiful.

“Fire!”

He flinched thinking of how one special forces captain had somehow overcome all that was done to him. Dolman couldn’t condone revenge, but he had doubts Captain Blake was sane at the end. The humiliation, torture, and brain-washing was enough to destroy anyone.

It almost made him sick that the former Mrs. Blake had plea bargained her way out of hard time. She would still spend time behind bars, however, she held the information that not only broke the Institute down but led to others.

He did smile that one condition was that she would not be allowed to keep the baby regardless of who was proven the father. Blake’s parents would be given custody. As for the fortune, it remained to be seen. Most would be held in a trust fund for the child, but he was sure that would be appealed by someone.

Funerals were never easy and his eyes teared up as the first clods rained down upon the coffin. He didn’t miss the grim-eyed men in army dress uniforms and their green berets. There weren’t any tears among them. The clenched fists and iron jaws told of another emotion.

No, he didn’t believe in revenge, but he truly pitied anyone the DA missed putting behind bars.

Crisply, he snapped off a salute to the fallen, and executed an about face. It was time to get back to work.

The End
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Comments

Oh Dorothy, I thought you

Oh Dorothy, I thought you said it didn't have a happy ending! The Baddies getting their comeupance is a happy ending, and the Maid didn't have to go through the agony of attempts to correct what was done. That was good too!.

CaroL

CaroL

Have I fallen though the Looking Glass again or

wandered into another tornado again? :) As I told another commenter in a PM I guess the Happy Ending is in the eye of the beholder. However peace after being treated so horribly, that I can with. Thank you for your comment and kind words.
hugs
Grover

Grover

This was an awesome story. That's all I can say. Very dark, but with a very believable ending.

Thumbs up!

Peace!
Cindilee

Dark

Thank you Cindilee for your comment! The subject is dark and I think the ending makes sense.
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Grover

The Maid...

Ahhhh.... Grover, I do SO love a revenge story!! lol I've always had a soft spot for the underdog turning the tables on their oppressors. Good story!

Blossom

Revenge serves no one but itself. However in this case, I saw it more as a wounded soul taking the only way out they could see. Thank you for your comment.
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Grover

Honor

Thank you Draflow. With today's knowledge anyone can be broken, but the sad part of it all was these things were developed to heal not harm. However it is important to remember that inside of each of us is the potential for an infinity of possibilities, both good and bad. For The Maid it was that spark of himself that He would not let die.
Thanks for your so kind words!
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Grover

The Maid

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Thanks Stan

Yes it is. No one can beat the cold of the grave.
Grover

Going out with a Bang! Grover

Well this one did it real justice.

Grissly but good!

Age is an issue of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter!
(Mark Twain)

LoL
Rita

Grissly

I have to chuckle sometimes at the gun control people. With someone with the will and knowledge the common kitchen is an arsenal. Just like any other tool weapons need to be respected and used properly. As for justice, notice that one of the major players plea bargained out. Additionally you can bet she's going to appeal the adoption of the baby by his parents. Where the child goes so does the money. Humans... sigh.
Thanks for your comment
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Grover

gun control

Well, yeah - but for most people the kitchen's a means to cook da din din.
A gun, however, is a gun, even in the hands of a dumbfuck.

Dark and slightly funny story, like the Story of O meets the Joker.
I liked it mucho even though I find suicide, even as a trope, tragic and depressing.

XX
AD

Thank you

for your comment. It was meant to be tragic and depressing, but with perhaps just a hint of respect and justice.
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Grover

Open Gas Line and Candle

I've since learned that I just don't have the right stuff to do revenge. I had the candle lit and the connection on the gas stove loose, but could not seem to find the Chutzpah to open the valve.

Another time, I almost burned down a certain church. Then, the Mosque was the closest I came. I was gonna fill my truck with glass bottles of gasoline and then crash the front door.

Wow, all these dark thoughts. It's a good thing that I did not make them actionable. It is sometimes a very thin line that separates our dark thoughts from reality. It's chilling when I think of it.

And to think that I actually have the skills to make some very serious bombs. Growing up on the farm in the 50's, it was like pretty normal to have some stumping powder, diesel oil, and nitrate fertilizer around because we were on a homestead and were clearing the land. I can say that fertilizer is not as effective on stumps as just plain old stumping dynamite.

That was years ago, and somehow my life is so different now. Living in a religious community that is loving and kind to each other is something I never expected.

I can totally understand the maid's ire though.

Nice job Grover

Gwendolyn

Gwendolyn

I'm so glad you didn't do any of those things. That darkness is a part of all of us. What is important that you didn't act on them. I'd already mentioned the kitchen as an arsenal, that's not even close to that of a working farm or ranch. In the end however it is the person that is dangerous not the tools or materials.
Thanks for your kind words and comment.
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Grover

Bittersweet ending

yes it doesn't have a happy ending but not a bad one to

i called a great ending for a good story

Thanks!

I do try my best. Thank you for your comment.
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Grover

Evil

Evil must be faced wherever it is found and confronted. If that means the evil must be destroyed, so be it. Sometimes it even requires the ultimate sacrifice. In this case, therevwas perhaps no other way to do it. Captain Blake could not have survive life, if in fact he survived his imprisonment.

A sad story, but a good one.

Rami

RAMI

Evil

I thought about having him survive, but no matter how I turned it over in my mind, it would not had been a kindness. After what was done to him, how much he would've been functional afterwards would've been a big question. For the story, I think this works best.
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Grover

Thank you Grover.

It is always a breath of fresh air to read a story where the protagonist is able to make choices in their own best interests. It might not a good option, but in this case I think it was the best option available.

I've read stories on Fictionmania where there is a similar situation and where the protagonist gives up and submits or has their personality forciblely overwritten. What makes my stomach churn is the reviewers who are so happy with the stories. It is like they have no concept of what is really happening to the character in the story.

Your story was a joy for me to read (it could of used an eyeball spellcheck) as a balm to some of the stories I have read recently.

Thank you so very much.

Thank you Brian

I think we're read the same stories. I'd hoped to see redemption and victory and instead got something else. I can understand wanting to be 'pushed' into a path you might be afraid to take on your own, however what I read was plain evil. I write and so this story was my response.
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Grover

When I first started reading

When I first started reading TG-fiction I read stories on sapphires place and they weren't really tagged. I got unlucky and pretty much started with forced femme stories. After like three of them in a row I was so disgusted that I nearly stopped reading TG-fiction. It got better though :D
I agree with Brian, the really scary thing are not the authors - I think every mind contains such dark thoughts, but the rewievers who think it's awesome and exciting to read how someone's personality is destroyed and a person is reduced to be a sex toy.

I guess I'd loved to see the protagonist recovering, but I admit that would be quite unlikely. Thank you for showing the revenge of this poor soul on its tormentors.

thank you for writing,
Beyogi

Nice Vent

terrynaut's picture

I can relate, Grover. I've read some stories that upset me enough to want to rewrite them and salvage something of them. This was very satisfying.

Thanks and kudos.

- Terry

Places one should not go.

I had doubts about posting this because I didn't want to start any kind of flame war or step on peoples' toes. That would placing my morality on someone else's work. I probably made a mistake by reading that piece to start with but I had the impression the main character would resist and overcome the stark betrayal by those he trusted. I was wrong. I'm really not a good communicator. When I have to express strong feelings it usually comes out in a story. My angry muse (Not to be confused with Angry Birds) gave me The Maid.

Thanks Terry!
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Grover

Morbid perhaps, but now I'm

Morbid perhaps, but now I'm curious to read the story the pissed you off in the first place

Annachie

You die, the girl dies, everyone dies! Okay not everyone dies, but yes it is Morbid. As for the story that began all of this, I'm not going to say. There are any number of stories at FM that fits the bill. I'm usually able to avoid those, but every now and then I make a mistake.

In my story the hero knowing he's been mutilated, had parts of his brain fried, and conditioned to satisfy the desires of a pair sadists, manages to overcome enough of the program to fight back. After all he's been though he had no desire to continue, but he's determined to take those who did this to hell with him. Even still, he had enough compassion left to save the life of the unborn child even though he doubted the words of the woman speaking so. In the end, he decided to take the only way out he could see, even though others tried to take all of his choices from him. It was his choice and no one could take it from him.

In the original tale, although the hero resisted, he was repeatedly raped and his spirit broken left to be no more than a toy for the sadists.

So which story is the more Morbid?
Thanks for your comment.
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Grover

Morbid?

Andrea Lena's picture

Characterized by or appealing to an abnormal and unhealthy interest in disturbing and unpleasant subjects, esp. death and disease.

Your story does quite the contrary; his life was lifeless and moribid, but in the end we're left with a repulsion for what he had to endure and we care about him, which was your intent. I think you turned a horrible scenario into redemption. Thank you.

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Thanks Andrea

We're all human, the bad along with the good. The bad was the terrible things that was done to him, but the good was refusing to hurt an innocent even though our hero was more than half-crazed with past pains and hurt. So yes, he did find redemption.
Thanks for your comment and kind words. :)
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Grover

Death is never a happy ending.

No death is happy. Death is never a happy ending. Birth should be happy, death should be sad. Life betwixt and between is what you make of it.

Gruesome tale Grover but readable. Not sure if I enjoyed it or not. For most of us, revenge is a luxury we never get to enjoy.

Bev.

bev_1.jpg

No it's not Beverly

As long as there is life, there is hope. From the beginning in my prefaced I warned, no happy endings here. A man who served his country and tried to live peaceably was betrayed and was driven to take his own life. Like I said, I thought about saving him. Perhaps that SWAT officer managing at the last moment to do the impossible. However, it just didn't seem to work no matter how I tried. So no happy endings, but perhaps some measure of justice was done.
Thank you for your comment.
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Grover

I enjoyed it.

I suspect I wouldn't enjoy the story this was a take off much. I've slowly drifted away from enjoying forced fem stories. To yourself be true.

Thanks OddPOV

It was really my own fault for reading the story that 'inspired' this. I knew better but I saw the defiant tag and that the hero was fighting back and so gave in. Once I began I couldn't stop, again my own fault. I kept waiting for some measure of redemption but none was forthcoming. Sigh...

If there is anything I believe in, it is the strength of the human spirit. Anyone can be broken by drugs and the knowledge modern man has accumulated. However that does mean everyone will shatter under such misuse of what was meant to heal. Like the biblical Samson it takes only one person at the right place and a strong enough desire to find justice and perhaps even peace.
Thanks again for your comment!

Hugs

Grover

Righteous Indignation!

That's what this story is about. No, he wasn't quite sane, but he had just enough of his core self left to do what had to be done.

Was it necessarily right for him to kill the other two servants? Not having read the first story, and therefore having no idea just how bad their involvement was, I cannot say...

It was definitely right and just for the "Master" to be killed.

It would have been right and just for the "Mistress" except that she was pregnant, with an innocent life involved.

Our "Maid" had enough of his core self left to desire to protect that innocent life... Despite the terrible abuse he'd been made to endure by the "Mistress".

It's also hinted at the end that the "Mistress" won't get off as easily as she seems to think she will... I do hope she gets her comeuppance!

Thanks for posting this Grover, I too have a bad taste left in my mouth after reading a lot of forced fem, so I don't read it. Period. Maybe we need a new Anti-Femdom/Anti-Forced Fem category for stories like this one. And a lot more stories like this too!

Abigail Drew.