Revenge of the maid by Junketh71

Revenge of the maid by Junketh71

Postby Junketh71 » Wed May 30, 2012 1:55 pm

Part 1

Basking in the sun was Carrie Austins, daughter of the big inventor Peter Austins. For her, and her friends life was good – Carrie’s father was usually absent, busy day and night in the Silicone Valley, developing various new pieces of software day and night, and Carrie, who was 24 years of age by now, had not had to work for herself for even one day.

Carrie was your rich young woman, resembling somewhat the actress Jessica Parker with her longish brownish wavy hair. Carrie too was of a slim, almost waspish, build, product of many spas and gyms, as well as too much free time on her hands. Carrie’s face, though, was more youthful than pretty – but with her current age she did not have to be that good-looking just yet – she had plenty of young men surrounding her, eager to win her hand and her father’s cash. They did not care about Carrie that much – and Carrie paid them back in kind. She was as shallow and callous as they were.

Charlotte Wallace sat on Carrie’s right. Charlotte, a scion of a wealthy building magnate from western Kansas, was just a little less spoilt than Carrie – and somewhat more “col-orful”. She had inherited her father’s robust stature and thick, black hair – but apparently, not his charismatic personality that made him the man he was. Rather, Charlotte had all the charm of a weasel – but since Carrie was pretty much a weasel herself, she and Charlotte got along fine.

Next to Charlotte sat Miranda Pucey-Jaya, daughter of an Irish businessman and his trophy wife from Indonesia. Now Miranda looked quite exotic with her ivory-like skin, slanted green eyes and dark red hair, and she knew it. Moreover, knowing this, she pretty much dedicated herself to snaring a rich husband who will support her financially, just as her parents did. The latter, being “old-fashioned” in a bad way, quite approved of Miranda’s lifestyle… though her father (for the sake of appearances) did give Miranda a job as a high-level secretary in an American office of his firm (he dealt in overseas goods). In return, Miranda began to “zero-in” on various high level executives, who certainly did not hesitate to suck-up to their boss by courting his daughter…

Finally, on Carrie’s left was Samantha Bjerg, your classical Nordic blonde beauty. On her mother’s side, Samantha could count generations practically down to the settlers of Mayflower – but that did not detain her from marrying Samantha’s father, the business partner of Miranda’s own dad. Needless to say, Miranda and Samantha knew each other quite well (better than Carrie, anyways), and just like Miranda, Samantha was dedicated to mostly securing herself a husband, figuring that with a gorgeous face and body of hers it will be easy…

Anyways, the story really begins when Samantha finished her ice tea and complained about that to Carrie. Carrie got out of her chair and yelled: “Paloma! Get Samantha new glass of ice tea!”

Now, Paloma Lopez was an unlucky woman, as opposed to the previous four. She was a Spaniard but had to leave her homeland because of politics and settle in the New England area of US, where poor Hispanic women with rather homely looks and stout figures were frowned upon, as a rule. Of course, Carrie’s father, who was a rather kind person in his own way, was by no means derogatory or condescending towards Paloma – but the thing was that he was absent from his house for most of the time, leaving it to his daughter and her friends – who were smug, snobbish brats, who treated Paloma about as nicely as an ugly piece of furniture, if not worse. For her part, Paloma kept quiet, knowing that at her age of late 60s she was unlikely to get another job, and that she was quite lucky, as compared to some… but still, her resentment grew and grew…

“Hey, maid!” Carrie suddenly snapped, as Paloma handed Samantha her new cold fruit punch. “We got good news for you!”

“Oh?” Paloma half turned around, suspecting that most likely this was a latest “joke” (in-sult, actually) of Carrie and her friends. “What is it?”

“You get the evening off! Congratulations!”

“Yay,” Paloma muttered, her heart sinking into her chest. She knew what that meant: Carrie and her friends were having a party tonight – a big, “fancy” party that would naturally turn into an all-nighter – and guess who would have to clean-up afterwards? What’s more, Mr. Austins was blissfully unaware of such events – and Paloma had learned that it was useless to explain it to him – between her still-accented English and his own lack of social understanding (Mr. Austins was somewhat of an old nerd, to tell the truth) – he would just not understand Paloma’s point. Therefore, instead Paloma said; “I’ll be off now?”

“Do go,” Carrie replied in her “gracious” voice, “you old dear.”

Paloma suppressed her lately increasing urges to do violence to the person of Carrie and her friends and walked out. As she did so, though, a breeze carried Samantha’s voice: “Why don’t you fire yet this old cow? She’s as fat as a pig and just as slow!” and Carrie’s reply: “When daddy’ll come back I’ll talk with him about this…”

Paloma’s heart sang. What Carrie wanted from her father, she usually got. Paloma had no reason to imagine that this will go any different… Was she doomed?
Junketh71
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Re: Revenge of the maid by Junketh71

Postby Junketh71 » Wed May 30, 2012 1:56 pm

Part 2

For all of Paloma’s alienation in the neighborhood she did have a good friend – a sweet old lady Henrietta Leon. Now, Ms. Leon looked like she was old enough to be her grandmother, or perhaps a grandaunt, and that was saying something, because Paloma herself was going “over the hill” by now, by pushing into her sixties…

Ms Leon and Paloma have met during one of Paloma’s earlier “evenings off”, and stayed together ever since – that is, Paloma would now usually spend her “evenings off” at Ms. Leon’s, who was quite happy to have somebody to spend time with during the evenings, which they did by usually playing cards… but tonight was different.

“Paloma, my dear, you seem to be a little under the weather today,” Ms. Leon commented to the younger woman. “Perhaps a glass of cold fruit punch would cheer you up?”

“No offense, but it’d take something stronger instead,” Paloma shook her head. “First I’ve served the damned tea to Ms. Austins and her friends all day, and second they’re planning they’re latest all-nighter as well, and guess who’ll clean that up? It’s not a toaster to hint just for you.”

“Another all-nighter? That’s the fourth this month,” Ms. Leon frowned.

“Yes, they’re really beginning to pick up the pace – must be getting really tired of looking for moneyed and handsome husbands,” Paloma frowned rather bitterly. “If I had my way, you know, that would never be…”

“My dear, you have to work on your grammar,” Ms. Leon shook her head, “but you re-minded me of something…”

“Oh? What?” Paloma perked up somewhat. As an old, old, widowed woman, Ms. Leon has accumulated a whole lot of exotic things from Europe and Asia – even from Japan! In addi-tion, Paloma, who never had neither time nor money nor chances to go anywhere exotic, just loved looking at Ms. Leon’s curiosities – they were some bizarre and unusual! However, tonight’s “curiosity” was going to be something special even for Ms. Leon.

“Did you know, my dear, that when I was younger, I was a witch?” the older woman spoke up. “Now, I know that it’s hard to believe, but a witch I was – bruja, I think they would call me in the old Spain, or was it puja? I was never good with languages… Anyways, I think I can help you turn your life around, because you’re a good girl, and life has dealt a crummy hand to you, as compared to those brats – Carrie and others, right?”

Paloma’s first impulse was to laugh and ask Ms. Leon if she was crazy. Then she remem-bered that Ms. Leon was her only and oldest friend, and secondly she most likely was crazy, so it was best not to insult or provoke her. So, instead Paloma said: “And how do we do that?”

“Oh, that’s easy, dear,” Ms. Leon pulled-out a slightly oval glass sphere, polished to a mirror-like smoothness. “Take a look at – the eye of the beholder!”

“How does it work?” Paloma asked, genuinely mystified.

“Oh, just concentrate and look into it, dear – and there you’ll be able to do what you want to do, and make a new life for yourself – and those girls.”

“I don’t know,” Paloma all of a sudden felt the need to shiver. Despite the fact that it was about 20th of June, and the sun was still shining, Paloma suddenly experienced a very cold draft.

“Try it!” Ms. Leon’s voice became insistent. “What do you have to lose?”

That did it. With the threat of her being fired looming behind her back, Paloma did feel like she had nothing to lose. Therefore, she reached-out and grasped the eye.

Then she began to work magic.
Junketh71
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Re: Revenge of the maid by Junketh71

Postby Junketh71 » Wed May 30, 2012 1:57 pm

Part 3

…Charlotte was driving her BMW through some streets, when for some reason she stopped at some bar – short, dark, dingy, and named “Hell’s Kitchen” to top it all. “Tacky much?!” Charlotte muttered to herself, trying to start the car – and failing for some reason.

“Problems, yes?” a semi-familiar voice started Charlotte from her reverie. Charlotte looked around – and there was Carrie’s Hispanic maid, but looked somewhat younger – at about 50 years of age, rather than her actual years, whatever they were…

“What is this?” she asked the woman indignantly, failing to notice that she was floating a few inches off the ground. “What is this place?” she paused and added, “Besides Hell’s kitchen that is.”

“It’s a bar – a karaoke one,” came the reply, “and you’re going to come inside with me!”

“What? No!” Charlotte protested, but to her surprise found herself inside the bar anyways. In addition, it was not much of an improvement with the outside. The insides of “Hell’s Kitchen” were quite dark, stuffy, and full of smells of tobacco, cheep booze, and even worse things. The clientele, needless to say, too came “from the wrong side of the tracks”, and if it were not for the bouncers, they would probably tear the place to bits… One bouncer in particular caught Charlotte’s eye, mostly because that was a woman – but what a woman! Taller than average and too brawny than a woman should be in Charlotte’s opinion, with a low-slung forehead and beetle-black brows, her head was shaven bald to show-off her tattoo of a bright blue dragon coiled around her right ear.

As a brawl started near her, the female bouncer effortless pushed the combatants apart. Her low-cut jeans slid down somewhat, revealing another tattoo – a silvery skull and bones one – under her navel. “Now boys,” she growled, as pushed one of her fists into the palm of her other hand, “no fighting in the house!”

“Come on, Charlotte, lighten up somewhat!” one of the “boys” growled back. “We were just having fun!”

“What? She has the same name as I?” Charlotte muttered, as she turned around to her com-panion. And froze, for they were no longer in a bar. Rather, they were in a low-key trailer house. It consisted of a tiny, practically empty kitchenette, a closed bedroom, a washroom, and a living room, which was packed with quite a few bits and pieces of sports equipment, including a pair of boxing gloves. A single book was also there as well – “Do it yourself tattoos”, Charlotte could see on the cover, as she walked around, and mechanically looked into the washroom. It was even dirtier than the living room, with an old electric razor lying on a counter top.

As Charlotte just stared at that razor, she heard Paloma speak from behind her. “Poor, poor Charlotte… A daughter of a farmer you came to the big city to seek your fortune, but could not make it – too few brains, too much attitude… You fell-in with a wrong crowd, and be-hold – you are a female bouncer! Sad, really!”

“What are you talking about? I am not a bouncer! I am rich and refined!” Charlotte shout-ed… and then the growth spurt hit. In waves of serious pain, Charlotte began to increase in size, even as her body increased and thickened with pure muscle. Her expansive clothes fell apart, leaving her in just a bra and panties. As her forehead began to actually change shape, her long black hair fell out, revealing a tattoo of a bright blue dragon coiling around her right ear, reaching-out for her eye – and a matching tattoo of a silvery skull and bones under the navel.

Charlotte the Charcoal just stood there for a few minutes, as her mental processes got re ar-ranged, and then looked at her wristwatch. “All right! Another shift is over! I will workout a little more and then it is to the bunk!.. Maybe next night I’ll get lucky and laid…”

Unseen and forgotten, Paloma faded from Charlotte’s new life.

…Miranda walked excitedly to a new restaurant that opened a short walk away from “her” office building. She was wearing her best suit and was intent on making a “good” impres-sion on the restaurant’s staff. When she was almost there, however…

“Excuse me, miss,” she was distracted by a foreign-looking woman of approximately 42-45 years of age. “I do not think that you should go in there looking like this.”

“What do you mean? I look fine…” Miranda nonetheless pulled-out a hand mirror and looked into it.

And froze. The mirror reflected a rather simian-looking face covered in yellowish skin the color of old bone, with eyes of such a shade of dark tea-green that they appeared almost pupil-less, and to top it all there was a mop of wild, bright red, hair. “Argh! This is not my face! This is not my hair! And my father is the CEO of-“

“But you never know who your real father is or was,” a familiar-sounding voice interrupted her. “You’re a mixed-race daughter who never knew her father, born to a third-world Asian immigrant. You were always picked-upon in the ghetto, and so you learned to defend your-self very well. You also grew very selfish as well, but that’s not the point, which is that you’re a security guard of a big business company.”

“What!” Miranda took a step back… and fell into a chair that was positioned before a table upon which were positioned several TVs, showing various parts of a building. Upon a further inspection of herself, Miranda discovered that she now possessed a thin, practically androgynous body, though which was wiry with muscles, and was dressed in a security uniform, a masculine security uniform; in fact, the main obvious differences between her and a man were her garish lipstick and several gold earrings in her left ear. Even her finger-nails were cut man-short and unpolished.

As Miranda opened her mouth to scream, her mental processes re-arranged to match her new lifestyle, and her mouth closed, as she looked at her wristwatch and wrinkled her nose in disgust: “This shift isn’t over for another six hours… I hate my life.”

Unseen, Paloma faded from the room.

…For some reason Samantha was having nightmares tonight. Her dreams were full of snakes, and sharks, and giant toads, so when she finally snapped awake even though it was actually dark, she in reality felt relieved that it was just a dream.

“Aw, did we have a bad dream?” a mocking feminine voice suddenly spoke up.

Samantha whirled around and a very attractive, youngish woman of approximately 35 years of age looking back at her with indolence.

“Who are you?” Samantha exhaled. “Get out or I’ll call the police!”

“Ha! That’s a good one!”

Feeling more indignant than scared, Samantha whirled around for the phone – and froze, noticing suddenly that she was wearing some sort of ugly and unfashionable blue flannel nightshirt and a pair of men’s underwear. “Hah? What am I wearing?” she cried, and then she noticed something else: her apartment became something else. Her table was covered with several police reports, her closet had several big police uniforms, a holstered gun was lying on her chair, and a pair of extra-large boxing gloves was lying in the corner. “What is going on?” Samantha’s fear has returned fully.

“Oh, Samantha,” she heard the woman’s voice behind her speak with fake sympathy. “You’re not called Sam the Sow for nothing!”

“What?” Samantha yelled before the transformation hit. Not unlike with Charlotte earlier, it manifested originally in a growth spurt, only Samantha grew almost a head taller that Char-lotte did, and her body thickened with muscle even more… As Samantha’s body grew, her nightclothes seemingly shrunk, revealing in the process two tattoos of black and orange boars, glaring at each other from the opposite sides of her navel. Samantha’s long blond hair fell-out almost completely, leaving behind only a short, bristly buzz cut of dirty grey… Samantha’s proud Norse nose suddenly broke and re-healed in an incorrect form, leaving behind a scar, and forming something not unlike a pig’s snout, even as Samantha’s age deepened, and she became about 38 or more years of age…

As the transformation was almost complete, and instead of an almost swimsuit model stood a giant, brutish-looking policewoman, Paloma asked slyly: “So, who are you?”

“I am Samantha, a police officer of this city!”

“Good, now get to bed. Your shift starts in about two hours; you have less than an hour left for sleep…”

Moreover, Samantha got back into her bed (a modified couch, really), and fell asleep.

As Paloma faded away, she smiled: it was “Mistress Carrie’s” turn.

…As Carrie relaxed at her outdoor pool, she suddenly fell chilly, as the weather began to turn for the worse. Deciding that tanning was over for today, she went inside.

And stopped. She was looking at Paloma in her maid’s uniform – but a Paloma who was about her age, and much, much more glamorous-looking. And this Paloma was not friendly.

“What is going on?” Carrie persisted all the same. “Who do you think you are?”

“Why, I am the new Mrs. Austins!” Paloma replied.

“What! Are you insane?! I am so out of here!” Carrie snapped, and went for the door.

“I haven’t dismissed you!” Paloma snapped, and Carrie stopped in her tracks. Belatedly, she realized that she was dressed in Paloma’s own uniform, which was rather loose on her, while her swimming suit was on Paloma, and fit her perfectly.

As those revelations sunk in, Paloma continued. “Now Carrie, I realize that as a member of the serving class you’re constantly busy, but I don’t feel that that’s a good reason to be late with my cold fruit punch, do you hear?”

“What are you talking about?” Carrie began but then the transformation hit. As Carrie began to rapidly age into early forties or so, her body began to expand with muscle and fat, while her much worked-on tan vanished, leaving her rather pale. Furthermore, as her wavy hair lost its body and re-shaped itself into several pigtails (more like rattails actually), Carrie became downright plain, if not utterly ugly.

As Carrie’s body expanded and aged, her mind and eyes clouded over as well, as her old memories changed into new memories of a life of servitude, and by the time Paloma fin-ished with the words: “…and I expect better from a member of the serving class!” it was over. Carrie Austins, a rich heiress was gone. Carrie Albine, a professional maid, was in her place.

And seeing this, Paloma smiled. Her revenge on “mistress” Carrie and her friends was com-plete.
Junketh71
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Re: Revenge of the maid by Junketh71

Postby Junketh71 » Wed May 30, 2012 2:01 pm

Part 4 (Conclusion)

It was about a month later after the abovementioned events. Paloma Austins, an exotic 40-something woman, who looked at least 10 years younger than she actually was, was reading a novel by an edge of the pool. The Austins’ maid, Carrie, approached her shyly. “More cold fruit punch, ma’am?” she finally spoke, rather quietly.

“There is no need,” Paloma gave the other woman a sharp glance. “What do you want?”

“Can I have the evening off, ma’am? I don’t ask for much, and it is the girls’ night out-“

“Pick up on your grammar, Albine!” Paloma shook her head in disgust. “I am Spanish and speak better English than you!.. However, yes, you can have your night off. Peter is coming home tonight, and I want to surprise him, you know?”

“Thank you, ma’am!” Carrie replied in genuine appreciation, as she turned to leave. Paloma’s next question – “What are your friends up to?” – stopped her cold, though.

“Um, Charlotte finally got laid with some out-of-state musician friend of hers-“

“Probably was drunk.”

“-Miranda’s mother had to move-in to Miranda’s apartment because of her pension prob-lem-“

“That woman’s lucky that she and her brat aren’t deported in the first place!”

“-and Samantha bought some cheap make-up that just cause some sort of an allergy attack.”

“That woman in make-up? Please! A clown would pull it better off. Well, Carrie, be back by tomorrow, do you hear?”

“Of course,” Carrie said, as she began to leave once again. “I know my place.”

Moreover, as Carrie left, she did not see Paloma’s face break into an honest smile, and even if she did, she would not know why. However, a small ancient woman who was once reputed as a powerful witch knew.

Paloma’s revenge over her former social superiors was complete.

End.
Junketh71
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Posts: 1268
Joined: Fri May 25, 2012 7:49 am


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