Maid to Measure

by Sarah Forth

  A - Defeat

  I had to spend the whole day pretending to be a girl called Sarah. Between them they have created this woman with a history of illness which has kept her from company and now keeps her silent. I have had to walk around all day, nodding and smiling as if I am enjoying it. It was especially hard when the men were looking at me as I was introduced to them. Some of them seemed to be peering down the front of my blouse from a great height and I was always conscious that one of them was watching me. The skirt was too short to keep my legs covered and I know that petticoat showed every time I moved - B kept telling me how much he enjoyed seeing it and my legs. The shoes were quite difficult to manage and I sometimes stumbled or tripped as I walked in them. I was terrified of falling over, knowing that I might show off all my underwear as I fell - and even more as I tried to get up. But if walking around was a problem, making my feet and calves ache so that I wanted to sit down and rest, sitting was just as bad. As I sat down, unless I was very careful, I could feel the petticoat bouncing the skirt up, holding it above my knees. I realised after a time that the men watched me every time I moved, as if I was showing my knickers or something, particularly when I had to go up or down the stairs. The worst of the men was Armstrong, from B’s Sunday gutter rag. He knows me quite well - we worked together on another paper before he went down market - and he kept trying to get me alone, creeping up on me again whenever I managed to get away from him, ogling at me, winking and trying to get me to speak. I didn’t dare make a sound since he knows my voice so well and I know how much he would have enjoyed finding out about me - and writing about it in the rag. Every now and again I would find his hand round my waist or climbing up higher - or slipping lower. And I couldn’t even tell him to get off, which he seemed to interpret as licence to go further. If I got away from him, one of those women was with me, reminding me about Pedro and how disappointed he would be if I didn’t make a mistake, disobey them and get sent to my room before he had left! I did wonder whether any of the women would be more prepared to help me but whenever it might have been possible to speak to one of them, I was too frightened. Either because of what they would say if they knew or because one of my minders was too close, reminding me about Pedro. I was terrified that at any moment my knickers might fall down, as they had on that balcony, my blouse buttons pop off, my skirt ride up or be blown up by the breeze or I might fall down and reveal my secret. And although I wanted the day to be over, there was always just the chance that something might happen to let me get away. At one point I did consider flirting with one of the men who did not know me and persuading him to slip me away. But he would have found out about me in the end and then I should never be able to hold my head up again. If I had known what would happen later, I would have been prepared to face even that humiliation. Anything would be better than this.

  B - Victory is so sweet

  ‘Sarah’ was remarkably well behaved that day. Not a word did ‘she’ speak, except to the girls I had put in charge of ‘her’. True, one or other of them stayed sufficiently close to ‘her’ all day to have prevented any problem if ‘she’ had disobeyed ‘her’ instructions and I really enjoyed watching ‘her’ as ‘she’ struggled to cope, especially with Armstrong. But I couldn’t really be sure which threat was the stronger, whether it was the prospect of spending the rest of the day with Pedro or of being revealed as make-believe. Perhaps it didn’t matter then and it certainly doesn’t matter now. Because by the evening ‘she’ told us enough to make sure that we could keep ‘her’ quiet for ever.

  The girls separated ‘her’ from the guests at about five o’clock, telling ‘her’ that ‘she’ needed adjustments to ‘her’ make-up if ‘she’ wasn’t to be obvious. So ‘she’ followed them upstairs and they took ‘her’ into the room beneath the one where Pedro was waiting and told ‘her’ that ‘she’ would have to change for dinner. They showed ‘her’ the dress ‘she’ would be wearing. It was specially chosen to be revealing; low cut to show the artificial breasts if ‘she’ leaned too far forward and a split skirt which had only a very slight overlap at the front. The girls demonstrated how it would open as ‘she’ walked revealing ‘her’ legs at least to ‘her’ thighs with each step, with every chance that ‘her’ knickers would show if ‘she’ took too long a stride or allowed it to fall open as ‘she’ sat down. But more importantly, of course, someone might suspect that there was something extra inside those knickers! Then they took ‘her’ up to ‘her’ room to be changed. ‘She’ was struggling and protesting, of course, just at the prospect of being made to parade in public dressed in that dress but ‘she’ was almost in hysterics when they pushed ‘her’ into the room and she realised that Pedro was still waiting for her. I was watching on the CCTV of course so I saw him leap up from the TV programme he was watching as soon as he heard the door. He was wonderful, playing his part just as he had been briefed. He was on ‘her’ before ‘she’ had recovered ‘her’ balance. ‘She’ did struggle but Pedro is at least twice ‘her’ weight with enormous hands and he subdued ‘her’ quite easily. He grabbed one wrist, twisted it behind ‘her’ and held it against ‘her’ waist, pressing ‘her’ to him. Then his other hand reached down and underneath ‘her’ skirt at the back. He pushed it right up above ‘her’ waist behind ‘her’ then simply changed his grip, now holding ‘her’ right wrist behind ‘her’ with his right hand so that the knickers were exposed and the skirt and slip held up out of the way. Then his left hand roamed over ‘her’ chest, squeezing those artificial tits with obvious pleasure. Soon he reached down again and pulled the skirt and slip up at the front as well and then despite ‘her’ frantic struggles, he lifted ‘her’ easily and began to carry ‘her’ over to the bed. He was very expert. He had grabbed both ‘her’ arms behind ‘her’ so that as ‘she’ fell on ‘her’ back on the bed they were trapped uselessly behind ‘her’. And he could hold ‘her’ down with his left hand while he concentrated on removing ‘her’ skirt and undoing ‘her’ blouse with the other before unzipping his flies and stepping out of his trousers. ‘She’ was shouting and screaming at him but he was totally ignoring ‘her’, except to molest ‘her’ body. I gave the girls the signal as soon as he got ‘her’ down on the bed so he hadn’t got properly into his stride before they interrupted him. Smerelda scolded him as if she had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to and he went a bit sheepish, although he was reluctant to let ‘her’ out of his clutches. But in the end, with promises of other favours and the chance to have ‘her’ later if ‘she’ wasn’t good, this part in English so that he took a long time to understand, he did let go of ‘her’ and obeyed their instruction to wait outside again. I wanted ‘her’ to be afraid of the possibility of both the indignity of wearing that revealing costume and/or the prospect of being ‘raped’ by Pedro. Whichever was the stronger was unimportant. And it may have been necessary to use both. Either way, we broke him with that performance.

  He was absolutely babbling with fear, or perhaps it was shame and embarrassment by the time Pedro left. He lay screwed up where Pedro had left him on the bed, recoiling every time I reinforced his weakness by touching his legs or threatening to stroke his chest. And he answered all my questions almost immediately. To encourage him and persuade him that he had made the right decision, I had the girls help him out of the clothes, each garment removed as a reward for a proper answer and then let them use the special solvent to remove the artificial tits. He had become quite calm and co-operative by then so I sent them away after they had told him how to release his thing from the enfolding wrappings. He seemed so relieved to be a complete man again that he gave me the final bits in a bit of a rush while I promised that once I knew everything, he would be free to dress appropriately to his sex. And he was so shattered after the three hour interrogation, so apparently relieved that at last it was all over that he didn’t notice the changes we had already made. He didn’t realise that his weakened state, his atrophied muscles were
not just the effect of several weeks of inactivity. And he didn’t realise how sincere I was being when I promised him the freedom to dress appropriately.

  Because I wanted revenge now. He had cost me a great deal of time, energy, inconvenience and worry. He had been so arrogantly male, so cock-sure. He had even taken advantage of Sandra’s good nature and spoiled our relationship. All right, there were plenty of other Sandras around but I was going to make him pay for everything. And I had decided that I was going to have the most exquisite revenge possible, whatever the cost. As it has turned out, through the success of his own performance that day, I have even been able to recoup that.

  A - A victim

  He has won. I made it so easy for him although he did terrify me beyond my ability to resist. I did keep it up until well into the evening and he did make a series of concessions and promises which he seemed willing and able to keep in return for my co-operation. And he let me get out of those awful clothes.

  Not before he had subjected me to just about the most humiliating and frightening experience of my life until then. It began when my female minders told me that my make-up needed repair if I was not to become pretty obvious. So I went upstairs with them. When they had got me alone in one of the bedrooms, they told me that I would have to change for dinner and they showed me what they had in mind for me. And made it pretty clear that unless I did it willingly, they would get help to subdue me. They had a disgustingly revealing dress for me to wear. The neckline was so low that anyone might be able to see the artificial breasts but even worse was the fact that the skirt might fall open at any moment to show my knickers or worse. If I had to wear that garment for a whole evening, it was pretty obvious that at least one of the men who had been studying me earlier in the day would spot me for what I was. And I couldn’t imagine any of them keeping it to himself. But when I seemed reluctant, they pushed and pulled me back to the room where Pedro was waiting. They did trick me into believing that he would be sent away while they helped me change if I co-operated but otherwise, he would just be allowed to do what he wanted. And while they forced me along the corridors and up flights of stairs, they elaborated. They told me how many women Pedro had already raped, as if I was just another one. They told me how long he could take, what he liked to make his victims do. That he had already been told in his own language that he could have me however he wanted if I didn’t do as I was told and that I would only be pretending to struggle because that was how I liked it. So I was almost frozen with fear when they shoved me into that room with him. He grabbed me before I could even turn round, pressing me against him and holding my arms uselessly behind me while he pulled my skirt up to my waist. He had me helpless and almost completely exposed, his enormous hands squeezing the artificial breasts and my buttocks before he carried me over to the bed and threw me down on it. And despite my struggles, shouts and abuse, he held me down as helpless as a baby while he ripped open that blouse and pulled off the skirt. He overpowered me so easily. None of the tricks of self-defence and aggression which I had learned so painfully before seemed the slightest use. My muscles just would not respond. I thought that the inevitable was coming when he held me feebly struggling on the bed with one hand while taking off his trousers with the other. His enormous thing was bulging out of his pants and I wondered where he would put it first, what he would do when he discovered how artificial everything about me was.

  I was pleading with him, begging him to leave me alone, shouting out that I would tell them everything they wanted to know if only they would get him off. And they did save me from the worst. The two women came in and somehow calmed him down with a combination of nagging criticism and promises. I didn’t understand all of it but towards the end, once they had made him leave me alone, I heard them painfully explaining in shouted English that he could have me however he wanted later unless I was a ‘good girl’. ‘Good girl’ he kept repeating, as if I already was and it seemed to take forever before he was persuaded that he would have to leave me alone then. ‘Later, not good girl. All night, for Pedro.’ he kept saying as he was ushered out of the door.

  Being ‘good’ meant either letting them dress me in that frighteningly revealing dress and exposing myself to that crowd downstairs or telling B everything I had refused to tell them before. I felt so disoriented, so shattered by the feelings which they had swamped me with during the day, was so mentally weakened that I gave in. I know I have no excuse, that I should have been strong enough to cope with such treatment but I was just overwhelmed. I didn’t understand, still don’t really understand why I felt so completely beaten but I did.

  B came in with them and did the cross examining himself, letting me remove the female things one at a time as small rewards for being helpful at last. He even instructed them to take the artificial breasts off my chest and tell me how to get myself undone down there. He kept making promises about it all being over if I would just tell him the last few little bits, that having to wear such degrading clothes would be a thing of the past, that I could look forward to regaining the freedom to dress as I liked, in something more suitable. And he suggested that I would be free, free to leave that place, to be out of his control once he could be sure that I could no longer hurt him.

  I couldn’t resist him any longer. By the time I had recovered enough self-control to regret what I had already told him, it was too late. In the end, there were only little snippets left, suspicions rather than facts, ideas which I would be unable to prove anyway. So I told him everything in a rush, my security codes, everything and allowed myself to believe his promises. I should have listened to the words much more carefully. Not that it would have done me any good - I was already doomed.

  B - Total Control

  Now that I knew everything I needed, I could do exactly what I pleased with him. I had made my plans carefully and expense was not a problem - I had resources of my own quite sufficient to cope with him and anyway, the Emir was prepared to pay handsomely. It was just a question of shipping him out for treatment.

  A - Escape

  I remember that he left me alone for a time after I had told him everything. There was nothing more to tell. I was drained, incapable of further resistance. I wanted to sleep, to hide myself from the rest of the world, to find some way of blotting out all memory of the degradation which he had forced on me and the shame of having given in to him so easily. I wanted to sleep, to escape even from myself. The only consolation I had was that at least it was all over. Now that he knew everything, I was no longer a threat to him. Soon, no doubt, he would make me some offer to ensure that I would forget what had happened to me - as if I had any intention of ever telling anyone about it. I would never have been able to live with myself if I had thought that other people might hear about it. He had probably worked that out already for himself, would know from my complete capitulation that I would do anything rather than tell another soul the truth.

  I remember that as I lay in the bed, long after he had left, a man came into the room. He seemed somehow familiar and I felt that perhaps he had been one of the guests who had witnessed my shaming performance earlier in the day. But I seemed to have known him far longer although I could not remember how, where or when. And after he had left, I think there was another man. He seemed to be some sort of doctor and I let him look into my eyes with his instruments, check my pulse while he talked in some completely incomprehensible language. And I think he spoke to me in English as well, although quite what he said I cannot remember. But eventually he went as well and one of the women came back with a pair of pyjamas - blue and white stripes and very masculine. So I put them on, relieved to have this confirmation that it really was all over at last and got back into bed. I felt tired, exhausted and drained but somehow I couldn’t sleep, at least not deeply. I think I remember seeing the woman come back into the room and leaving a pile of clothes on the chair beside the bed.

  I awoke with a start when I heard a ch
urch bell strike somewhere. I reassured myself that this time I was still in the same bed, that I was still wearing the pyjamas. I felt very awake and alert, my mind working clearly and speedily. The rest of the house was completely silent. The room was not completely dark and I could make out that heap of clothes. I dearly wanted to know whether they were male or female, whether he was going to keep his word. And somehow, I thought that I might still save something from the wreck if I could get right away immediately. I could remember enough details to still hurt him for what he had done to me if only I could get away. I would need to act quickly, before he had time to get at my evidence, before he could completely cover his tracks. When I found that the clothes were in fact my own, I felt sure that I could still win. I had to get away, had to find some way out of the house.

  It seemed ridiculously easy. I checked the door and windows. The door was still securely locked but one of the window catches seemed loose. I worked it backwards and forwards, gradually getting more and more movement against the lock until suddenly it gave way. I was on the third floor but the climb down did not seem impossible. Even so, this would probably be my only chance so I would have to take it. I dressed as quietly as possible and prepared for the climb. I remembered how weak my muscles had felt when Pedro had manhandled me and how even the women had been able to overcome my resistance. I had been weakened by the treatment they had been giving me over the last few weeks so I should take care and reduce the risks if I could. So I used the school boy trick of looping the bedclothes together to make a makeshift rope before using it to clamber down to the ground.