Maid to Measure

by Sarah Forth

  I was still about five feet from the ground when the knots I had used to secure it to the bed slipped and I fell into the flower bed. The knotted sheets fell on top of me but I didn’t suffer any injury in the fall. I had a feeling that the accident was fortuitous, that the sheets might be useful later so I bundled them up and took them with me as I stole across the lawns to the outer fence. And they were. The fence was about fifteen feet high with a jagged, spiked top. By throwing the rope of sheets over the fence so that it snagged on the spikes, I was easily able to get over it. And outside the grounds of the house, I set about making my escape. I would have to get completely off his land before I could feel even slightly secure but so far, everything was going well.

  Something told me to go to my right and without any other plan, I foolishly followed my instincts. At the time, I thought it was my survival training coming to my aid just when I most needed it. I jogged away along a narrow track which curved away from the fence and found myself travelling through woodland. I thought that I could see the occasional flash of car headlights ahead and reckoned that I must be heading towards a road. I reached it after about twenty minutes, by which time my weakened muscles were crying out for rest. I wondered about trying to hitch a lift but thought that I was still too close to the house. I would strike across country in the hope of finding somewhere to hide up during the day. He was bound to discover that I had escaped, bound to be able to track down any motorist who stopped to give a stranger a lift in the middle of the night. Anyway, what sort of driver would be prepared to stop on a dark country road and give a lift to a stranger?

  I waited and waited beside the road until I could cross it without any danger of being seen. Several cars swept by but I kept well out of their headlights. No-one would see me. And when I was convinced that everything was clear I sprinted across the road. I continued with my plan, cutting across country, making my way beside the hedges from field to field, keeping as much as possible to what might be animal tracks, trying to make it as difficult as possible for anyone to track my movements. I kept going despite my weariness for almost another hour before I reached another road. This one was much wider, more like a town by-pass, a dual carriageway. I couldn’t understand what happened next. I felt that I was being so cautious. How could I make such a stupid blunder? Getting to the central reservation was simple enough but as I crossed the next road, disaster struck. The car headlights caught me. I seemed to be caught like a rabbit, seemed to be wading through treacle. Everything seemed to happen so slowly but I just couldn’t move quickly enough. I don’t remember the impact but they told me that I was thrown in the air like a tailor’s dummy and bounced right into the ditch. I must have lost consciousness at the first impact because I remember nothing about it.

  The next time I was aware, I was in a hospital ward. It was quiet and secluded but I was obviously badly injured. My legs were held immobile and apart, and my arms were similarly held down by my sides. Almost every part of my body seemed to be screaming with pain. My hands seemed quite useless, my fingers would not move in response to my brain’s instructions. I wanted to get some relief from the pain, wanted it to stop. It was far worse than being beaten by his goons, being kicked in the crutch or having my stomach beaten with a truncheon - all of which they had tried. Within minutes of my regaining consciousness a nurse appeared, told me to keep calm and adjusted the drip attached to my arm. Gradually I regained control, the worst of the pain subsided. I tried to examine myself from the inside, testing where I hurt and trying to guess the extent of my injuries. Then a doctor came to look at me.

  During the next few days, I was told another pack of lies. At the time I believed them, swallowed their stories hook, line and sinker. It would have done me no good at all to have known the truth then anyway. I don’t suppose I would have believed it. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to. They told me about the accident; how the driver had seen me suddenly run across in front of him; how he had been totally unable to stop before hitting me. How fortunate it was that he had a portable telephone with him so that the ambulance had been able to pick me up within minutes. And now I was in the best hospital for miles, getting the very best treatment available. In the accident, I had suffered a fracture of the pelvis and both my legs were broken - that was why I had to be held totally immobile for the present. My arms had also been broken and my hands had been terribly mangled by the impact as I had tried to protect myself. My nose had been broken and I had severe abrasions of my face and upper body which would be sore and painful for some time yet. I had broken several teeth at the front of my mouth and I had suffered internal injuries which had been treated temporarily but which might need a series of additional operations over the next few weeks. But I was in very good hands, should have no other worries than those of getting myself fit again. And I really was likely to make a complete recovery.

  They asked me if there was anyone they should contact, any arrangements to explain my absence. But I was convinced that as soon as I revealed myself, B would find some way of regaining control of me. Somehow, I had to stay out of his clutches until I recovered, then I might just be able to get even with him. And anyway, with my mouth apparently filled with jagged shards of teeth, talking was uncomfortable and difficult. I wanted to be left alone while they mended my shattered body, didn’t want anyone to see me like this, couldn’t cope with sympathy or company. So I lied, didn’t tell the policeman who came to talk to me about the accident why I had been running across the road at two o’clock in the morning, where I had been for the past few weeks nor even truthfully who I was. I had the suspicion that the whole story would be reported in the local papers, that B would track me down through it and then I would be back in his clutches. How little I knew! I didn’t know that they were lying about everything, that I wasn’t even in England!

  But my state of ignorance persisted. So I did co-operate, did take their tablets, submit to their treatments, try the exercises. Every morning one of the doctors would come and examine the way my pelvis was healing. I could never see what he was doing and although I did ask, he never gave me a complete explanation. But during each visit I felt him make some small adjustment and felt a slight stretching sensation. And then, when he was finished, the doctor who was dealing with my internal injuries would arrive. He seemed to be of Arab extraction and never spoke directly to me, only to the nurse who assisted him who did translate some of his comments for me. But his visits were among the most painful parts of my treatment. Again, I could never see what he was doing, although I knew that his examination and treatment concerned the area between my legs. From what the nurse told me, I imagined that between them they had opened me up somehow so that they could treat me on a regular basis without the need for new surgery and that eventually I would be sewn back up with no after effects. But whatever it was that he did each day, I can say that it was painful. I came to dread his arrival. The pain was deep inside me so whatever they had done allowed him to probe without hindrance. It felt sometimes as if all my internal organs were being moved, twisted round as he worked. And the pain persisted for an hour or more after each visit.

  Weeks passed. I was getting stronger, to recover from the injuries. I knew that I was going to survive and was making plans about my future. During the afternoons, as my pelvis began to respond and heal, I was moved while they treated my skin, mostly on my back but also on my chest and arms. I was aware that every part of me seemed to be inflamed and sore, that their treatment seemed to make things worse rather than better but believed them when they told me it would all come right eventually. I would have to suffer a little now but then everything would clear up. I had no opportunity to examine their handiwork since they worked entirely out of my sight - indeed apart from being able to see my feet and my bandaged hands, I could see practically nothing of my body. Even when they were treating me, my body was obscured by the sheets or my head was fixed so that I could look only at the ceiling. They did make my mouth m
ore comfortable, at least more comfortable than it had been when I arrived. The broken teeth were treated, crowns being fitted over the stumps. I told them that they were too large but I was assured that these were just temporary, that the final job would be done in a few weeks time after they had repaired my jaw. Just as they had told me, my internal injuries seemed to need several operations, which were carried out expertly as far as I could tell. But I couldn’t tell what they were doing to me - my body was completely shielded from me, I passed water and other wastes through tubes and into bags, and I had no chance to see myself or the changes they were making. It was more than three months before I had any suspicions. That was after they had taken me for yet another operation, this time to reset my nose and chin. And they promised me that while they were doing that, they would fit the final crowns for my teeth.

  I should tell you that throughout this time I had been lying in that bed, unconscious for long periods, attached to drips and monitoring machines, moving only when I was moved from one side to another, turned for my treatments. My hands had been covered in bandages when they were not being dressed or treated and I had no opportunity to see myself in a mirror. But I did expect to have to shave or at least to be shaved and thought at first that they were leaving it because of the facial injuries, which required such special care. They always gave me an anaesthetic when they were treating my face, because they needed me to be completely still, they explained. But when they took the bandages off my face after that operation, I did expect to see what they had done. So they let me see. I hardly recognised myself. My nose seemed enormous and my jaw felt uncomfortably swollen. And my whole face seemed so puffy that my ears almost disappeared. I looked as if I had been in a fist fight with an expert, an expert who had pummelled my face with care. My eyebrows seemed cut and scarred, my nose swollen, my lips seemed to have been spread out and squashed against my teeth and my jaw might even have been broken. And the inside of my mouth felt even worse. It seemed to be full of cuts and stitches, treatment which had caused swelling even there since the teeth if anything felt larger than before. But the doctor assured me that during the next week the swelling would go down, the scars would heal rapidly and anyway would be invisible since he had worked almost entirely from inside. There might just be a small hairline scar across my forehead but that would probably disappear beneath my eyebrows. I should be glad to have had such expert treatment - cosmetic surgery like his was not available everywhere. I had not had a haircut for nearly three months and it looked like it - long and dishevelled but seeming more luxuriant than before. But even that seemed wrong. I wondered why it should look so pale, blonde even but again accepted their explanation that it was the effect of the ultra-violet light treatment they had been using to help heal my skin. They told me not to worry, the swelling would go down in a few days and then I would look and feel better. And my hair would naturally look thicker and healthier just because I was so inactive - I had not been combing and brushing it as much as usual and I was bound to be getting a healthier diet than usual. But the lack of any hair or stubble on my face and chin worried me. A nurse explained that they always shaved every part of anyone’s body in preparation for any operation - they even shaved you down there she told me jokingly. And only days later, they took me off for a throat operation. I had not been able to detect any injury to my throat in the preceding weeks while they had concentrated on my other injuries but yes, when I tried to speak or clear my throat there was some small difficulty. Perhaps the other pains and injuries had masked the smaller discomforts, as the doctor who was to perform the operation explained. Being taken off for yet another piece of surgery seemed hardly worth making a fuss about when I already suffered so much. So I made less fuss than I would have done if I had known the real purpose.

  B - Vengeance

  I formed the plan while I was breaking him, and determined to put it into action as soon as he had told me everything I wanted to know. Alternatively, if he had been really obstinate, I reckoned that we could go ahead anyway on the grounds that ‘she’ had been so much easier to deal with than him. So I had set everything in place in advance, apart from the Emir.

  It had not been difficult to get him into this condition. Mostly it has been money which has achieved my purposes but for this part I did take advantage of my tame expert in hypnosis. He had told me earlier that A would need to lose much of his self-confidence before he would make a submissive subject and after that last session, when we had finally broken him, he was in no state to resist. Cavendish had put him under with no problem and initially just planted the idea of escape, programming him to use the sheets and to make his way to a point about five miles away where we would be waiting to collect him. Then, when he arrived, Cavendish planted the memory of the accident to explain what was going to happen next. He was then put into a deep trance so that he could be transported and given the code message which would start to bring him round when we were ready. And it has worked perfectly.

  The hospital was entirely my own, the nurses and surgeons worked directly for me and were paid enough to ensure that they would do exactly what I wanted. They were experts in their fields but all worked entirely for the money - no questions asked and no need to explain to ethics committees since they were just ‘on holiday’ at my expense. And most of the nursing staff did not understand enough English to know quite what they were doing; as far as they were concerned this was just a perfectly willing subject getting the sort of treatment that only the wealth of a patron like me could provide.

  They have done a wonderful job. I have only seen her sleeping up to now but tomorrow she will know the whole truth. She already has some suspicions, I would guess since she still has his brain. Tomorrow I shall let her see exactly what we have achieved. And what I have in store for her. Perhaps I shall have to leave some of that to her, and my own, imagination since technically I mean what the Emir has in store for her. He saw her that last day when ‘she’ finally broke down and was so insistent on knowing more about her that I eventually told him the whole story, including what I intended to do. That was when he offered to pay for the whole treatment himself, subject to certain conditions. What he has always wanted is a ‘made to measure’ woman. One who looks exactly as he wants, is exactly the right size and shape particularly in one respect. And since he is also very ‘catholic’ in his tastes, the prospect of having a woman made from a man, of being able to cause mental as well as physical pain whenever he uses her really appeals to him. And I shall get just as much pleasure from knowing that he has her, is using her in his devious and twisted ways. She will be well away from anywhere where she could cause me difficulty or embarrassment, totally secure since the Emir will never let her get away, whatever else he does with her. And her treatment will be, has been, extremely painful - all the surgeons who are dealing with her are agreed at least on that. So I have been able to enjoy the sweetest revenge of all, and will continue to enjoy it long into the future.

  A - Realisation

  It was only a suspicion at first but it grew. And I could not suspect the true nature of what was happening, would not have even guessed. So I was very slow to make sense of his vengeful plot. Now I know what all those operations were, know that the accident never happened, that the whole escape plan was planted in my head by hypnotic suggestion. Yes, I did have a fractured pelvis. But that was deliberately done by the surgeon. The break was carefully done, it had a purpose. The break was held open by a special device designed to encourage healing bone growth on the broken surfaces but which could be eased open regularly to encourage more and more growth. The intention was to expand my hips from their narrow, male shape to something more suitable for a woman! That early morning treatment each day was just another small expansion which would maintain the small gap. And my nose was broken and reset - and made much smaller like my jaw through their cosmetic surgery. My lips, which seemed so swollen after that operation remain ‘swollen’, giving me a completely d
ifferent expression. My teeth are now much larger at the front, contributing to the alteration in my facial expression. The scars above my eyes have disappeared but the superciliary ridges have been smoothed away, leaving me with eyes which seem so much less deeply set, wider and larger. My brows are now delicate, seeming to be permanently raised in a lightly mocking arch, thin and well-shaped rather than bushy and low. That throat operation has reduced the size of my larynx so that when I at last recovered the ability to speak, my voice was not recognisable as my own. It is higher in pitch and so much lighter now. My hands, which had been bandaged and painful for so long, are smaller, the fingers narrower giving them a light, delicate look and feel. And, just as they promised, my skin has recovered, is no longer sore - now that the electrolysis which has removed almost every hair from my body is finished. Only a small triangle remains and that is much less bushy than before. The hormones which have been dripping into me from the first moment have also reshaped my body so that what used to be muscle is now soft and rounded flesh. Worse, I now have no need of artificial breasts glued to my chest - I have acquired a pair which are quite definitely my own, permanently attached. But it was the discovery that the part of me which had previously been so precious, which had always fixed me as a male of the species, has been completely removed that sent me wild with anguish. Yes, the surgery was carried out by one of the most expert in the world, a pupil of the world famous Dr B*** and yes he has fashioned a replacement organ which will function perfectly. Perfectly to him means that I shall never really be in control of its use again. And that Arab who seemed so indifferent to the pain he caused during and after his morning visits was working entirely for himself. I have discovered that his task was to move the specially shaped plug which the surgeon had inserted to ensure that the newly created space inside me did not heal, did not re-seal itself but remained exactly the size and shape which was required. From now on it will be used by others, to give them pleasure rather than me. And one other in particular.