The new maid

Idea : cabr24
Text/Dialogues: reljohn8802
Images : Sora (ChatGPT)

PART 1 

    My name is Martha Grim, and this is the story of how I went from being a fat, forgotten maid to becoming the absolute owner of a fortune, a mansion, and a body I always envied. It all started a few months ago when I responded to an online ad. "Maid wanted for mansion in the hills. Good salary, lodging included." I didn't think twice; my life was a mess: divorced, buried in debt, and with a body that shamed me every time I looked in the mirror. I weighed over 120 kilos, with curves in all the wrong places, and my round, sweaty face didn't help. But I was strong, efficient, and desperate for a change

    I arrived at the interview in a taxi I couldn't afford. The mansion was a palace: endless gardens, sparkling pools, and a facade that screamed old money. The owner, Isabella Voss, opened the door herself. She was a vision: platinum blonde with perfect waves cascading over her shoulders, ocean-blue eyes, plump lips, and a 25-year-old model's body that seemed sculpted by the gods. She was 5'9", with flawless curves—firm breasts, tiny waist, and hips that swayed with feline grace. She wore a tight top and shorts that left little to the imagination. "Hi! Are you Martha? Come in, come in. I'm Isabella. Let's chat in the living room."From the first moment, she treated me like an equal.

    She offered me tea, asked about my life, and didn't make a single comment about my weight or my cheap clothes. "I need someone I can trust," she said with a genuine smile. "The house is big, but I don't want someone robotic. I want a friend to help keep everything in order."
    She hired me on the spot, with a salary that tripled what I'd earned before. 

She gave me my own room in the service wing, free meals, and even days off to "relax."

 

 

     Isabella was kind: she let me use the pool when there were no guests, bought me new clothes if she saw mine were worn out, and always asked how I was. "Martha, have you tried this new smoothie? It's great for energy," she'd say, without hinting at anything about my figure. But every act of kindness stirred something dark in me: pure, raw envy.Why did she have it all? Born into a golden cradle, heiress to a real estate fortune, with a body that drove men crazy. 

    I'd see her parading around the house in tiny bikinis, flirting on the phone with her lovers, while I cleaned her bathrooms and ironed her sexy lingerie

    Every night in my room, I'd look in the mirror and hate her a little more. It wasn't hate out of malice; it was envy for what I'd never have. 

 

    I started planning. Small things at first: stealing minor jewels she wouldn't notice, forging receipts to divert money from the house accounts. But I wanted more.

 

    I wanted everything.I researched in secret. I used her WiFi to browse dark forums, ancient books on occultism that I ordered by mail. I discovered a body possession ritual, a soul-swapping spell from an African voodoo tradition mixed with European witchcraft. It required rare ingredients: blood from both, a silver-forged amulet, and a full moon. It took me weeks to prepare. 

 

     Meanwhile, I feigned absolute loyalty. "Martha, you're an angel," Isabella told me one day as I served her breakfast in bed. She was half-naked, with just a silk robe open, her perfect breasts exposed without shame. "I don't know what I'd do without you." I smiled, but inside I was boiling.
    "Thank you, Miss Voss. It's a pleasure to serve you."The plan progressed.

 

     I began drugging her tea with mild sleeping pills so she'd sleep deeply, allowing me access to her documents.

    I copied her passwords, transferred funds to hidden accounts in my name. But the ritual was the masterstroke. 

    On the full moon night, I invited her to a "special dinner" in the garden. "To thank you for everything, miss," I told her. She accepted delightedly. "How sweet, Martha! Come on, tell me more about yourself while we eat."I set the table under the stars. In her wine, I mixed a stronger sedative and a few drops of my blood. She drank without suspicion. "This is delicious," she murmured, her blue eyes shining. "You're the best maid I've ever had." 

    When she fell asleep in the hammock, I dragged her perfect body to the basement, where I'd drawn the ritual circle with chalk and salt.

    I cut my palm, mixed my blood with hers (taken from a prick while she slept days earlier), and recited the ancient words: "Souls exchange, bodies yield. What is mine, now yours; what is yours, eternally mine."The air chilled, a spectral wind whipped the candles.

    I felt a pull on my soul, as if it were being torn from my body. I woke up... in her. I looked down: firm breasts, smooth skin, blonde mane. My old fat body lay on the floor, but instead of incinerating it, I watched as the eyes of that shell opened, confused and terrified. It was Isabella, trapped in my former body. I tied her up with ropes I'd prepared, and when she fully awoke, I explained everything with a cold smile. "Now I'm the owner, Isabella. Or should I say... ex-Isabella.

    You'll be the new maid. You'll clean, cook, and watch how I live your perfect life. How I enjoy this body I envied so much."At first, she cried and begged. "Please, Martha! Why? I always treated you well... Give me back my body." I laughed, touching my new breasts in front of her. "Exactly, you treated me well, but that doesn't erase the envy. Now, put on the uniform. There's dust in the living room." 

    I forced her to work, watching her sweat in that fat body while I strolled through the mansion in tiny bikinis, inviting lovers who used to be hers. "Look at this," I told her one day, posing in front of the mirror in red lingerie. "These breasts... so firm. And these hips... men can't resist them. Remember how it felt? Now, clean the bathroom while I go on a date."Everything changed: I redecorated the mansion to my taste, spent her fortune on trips and unnecessary cosmetic surgeries just to show off. I made her watch as I flirted on the phone, as I moaned in pleasure in bed with her ex-boyfriends.

 "This is mine now!" I screamed in ecstasy, knowing she was listening from the kitchen, washing dishes with clumsy, sweaty hands. 

    Legally, I changed my name—the one of this body—to Martha Grim. "To honor the 'old' me," I told the lawyers, with her tied up in the basement during the meeting. Now, I am Martha Grim in body and law.

 

    She, poor Isabella in my old shell, serves in silence, with eyes full of hate and resignation. Every day, I remind her: "Watch how I enjoy what was yours. Clean well, maid. The true owner is here."Envy is a poison that doesn't forgive, and now she tastes it every second. And I... I have it all.

 PART 2

    My name is Isabella Voss...or at least, it used to be, before that treacherous bitch Martha stole everything from me. Trapped in her disgusting, bloated body, I spent weeks scrubbing floors, cooking meals, and watching her parade around in my perfect form. Every day was torture: the sweat pooling under my arms as I hauled laundry, the ache in my knees from kneeling to clean, and the constant humiliation of seeing her—me—lounging by the pool in tiny bikinis, moaning loudly during her trysts just to rub it in. "Clean faster, maid," she'd sneer, her blue eyes—my eyes—gleaming with malice. "Don't you love seeing how I enjoy this body? These curves were wasted on you."But I wasn't broken. 

    While she slept off her indulgences, I'd sneak into the study, rifling through the drawers where she'd hidden her secrets. One night, I found it: a tattered notebook tucked behind some books, filled with scribbled notes on the ritual. "Soul swap: blood mix, full moon, incantation," it read, detailing the voodoo spell step by step. Ingredients, chants, even warnings about reversals. My heart raced—reversals? It could be undone. I memorized every word, biding my time. Martha—now calling herself Martha Grim in my body—had grown cocky, leaving me unsupervised more often. "You're nothing now," she'd laugh, slapping my fat thigh as she passed. "Just serve and watch."The next full moon approached. I gathered what I needed in secret: a sliver of silver from an old necklace, drops of blood from both of us (hers easy to get while she slept, mine from a quick prick). I drugged her wine that night, just as she'd done to me. "Dinner's ready, Miss Grim," I said meekly, forcing a smile through gritted teeth. 

 

    She lounged in the garden, her—my—blonde hair shimmering under the stars. "Good girl," she purred, sipping the tainted drink. "You've learned your place." 

 

     As she dozed off, I dragged her lithe body to the basement, the same circle still faintly visible on the floor.I recited the words with venom: "Almas intercambien de nuevo, cuerpos regresen. Lo robado, devuelto; la traidora, expuesta." The air turned icy, winds howled, and I felt the pull again.

    When I awoke, I was me—firm breasts, smooth skin, endless energy. I looked over: Martha was back in her old, heaving form, groggy and bound with the ropes I'd prepared. Her eyes widened in horror. "No... Isabella? How?" she stammered, struggling against the ties. I stood over her, naked and triumphant, running my hands over my reclaimed curves. "You left your recipe lying around, you fool. Now it's my turn for fun."But reversal wasn't enough. She needed to suffer, to know true degradation. I remembered Agnes, the elderly gardener who'd worked here for decades.

     She was in her 70s, wrinkled and frail, with liver spots, arthritic hands, and a hunch from years of bending over flowerbeds. Sweet old Agnes, always humming while she pruned roses, oblivious to the drama inside. I lured her in the next day with a fake request for "extra help." "Agnes, dear, come to the basement. I need your opinion on some storage," I said sweetly, in my own voice again. She shuffled down, her gray hair in a bun, her body frail under baggy overalls. "Yes, Miss Voss? What's—"I had the ritual ready, blood from all three mixed in a vial. Martha, still tied and gagged, watched in mute terror as I chanted the spell once more, directing it at them.

 

 

    "Almas cambien, cuerpos cedan. La envidiosa a la vejez; la leal permanece." The spectral wind returned, and in a flash, it was done. Agnes blinked in confusion from Martha's fat body, while Martha—now in Agnes's withered form—gasped, her voice cracking like dry leaves. 

     "What... what have you done? This body... it's ancient! I can barely move!" She tried to stand, but her knees buckled, her wrinkled hands trembling.I laughed, circling them. "Revenge, Martha. You took my youth and beauty; now you get decay. Agnes, sweetie—don't worry, you'll adjust to that... ample figure. It's stronger than yours was." Agnes, in the fat body, touched her new rolls with wide eyes. "Miss Voss? I... I feel so heavy, but... energetic?" I nodded, helping her up. "Exactly. You'll be the new maid now—better pay, easier life. As for you," I turned to Martha in the old body, "you can tend the gardens. Prune those roses with your arthritic fingers. And watch me live forever young."Martha wept, her sagging face contorted. "Please, Isabella... mercy. I was wrong." But I just smiled, slipping into a skimpy dress. "No mercy for thieves. Now get to work, gardener. The weeds won't pull themselves." As she hobbled out, I lounged by the pool, sipping champagne, my perfect body glowing in the sun. Justice tasted sweeter than any fortune.