"Look, Mammy! A house! And from the looks of the place, they must people of culture and taste. Have you eva' seen such a fine, ol' mansion? Why, it makes me feel so warm and home-like. Jus' lak' my daddys plantation back home, before th' War of Northern
Aggression.
Mammy glanced sidelong at Clara - who had become such a mincing, swishing, fluttering Southern Belle that Mammy feared she was forgetting who she really was. Mammy herself was feeling...confused. She knew this wasn't her. That she was a big, tall white man.
An important man with duties that didn't include fawning over the delicate Miss Barton. But...though she could envision such a man, she was having a harder and harder time connecting herself with this...Captain America. He'd been named...something else...but
she couldn'y remember. All she seemed to be able to do without question was say "Yas'm, Miss Barton", "No'm Miss Barton" and "Lawsy Mercy".
"Ah' don' be knowin' 'bout dis place, Miss Barton. Mebbe it jus' part ob whut'eba dat ol' Gypsy Witch dun..."
Clara Barton turned on Mammy and chuckled, her smooth, white hand patting Mammys blubbery jowls with good-natured indulgence. "Oh, Mammy...you're such a timid ol' thing. Frightened of your own shadow and worried that th' Boogie Man will get you. Well, don't
you worry your simple little ol' head off. Clara will protect you. Now, knock on the door and see who's home."
It was a direct order. Mammy couldn't refuse. She waddled forward - big belly, jiggling breasts and churning buttocks all wobbling and wibbling in time. She tried again to remember what it had been like to be athletic and tall, but all she could remember
clearly was gorging on the leftovers from Miss Bartons many parties and balls. She was quite hungry right now...and telling herself that she was under the effects of a curse or spell didn't quiet the voices in her head or the ache in her belly. She'd only
been this woman for a little while, but she was so hungry...so very hungry...
She knocked at the door, and heard the sounds of approaching feet. Again, Mammy wanted to run away or hide behind Mistress Clara Barton ("I'm not a coward!" she roared in her head), but she stood her ground...
The man who answered the door was tall, handsom and dressed in a fine black tuxedo. His face was red and he had a glowing yellow gebstone in his forhead...
"VISION!" cried Mammy in delight "Lawsy Mercy, ah so'nuff does be happy t' see's yo' again! Where be Wanda at...?"
Claras hand slapped her on the cheek, and she glared at Mammy, shouting "Why you jumped-up ol' house niggar! Bursting out like that...and in front of your Mistress as well! Why, if you hadn't been my Mammy when I was jus' a child on my daddys little ol'
plantation I'd sell your fat ass down the river! Or maybe house works too easy on you? Perhaps you'd rather labor in the fields pickin' cotton?"
She wasn't this person. Mammy kept trying to fight the terrible feelings of helplessness and subservience that seemed to dominate her, and for a momant she fought through and just babbled to the Vision...but the slap from Clara Barton had closed the door,
and her threats had filled her with such misery and fear that she started to cry and threw herself onto the ground in abject supplication, wailing "Oh, lawsy! Don' be sellin' dis ol' Mammy done de riva', Mistress Barton! Mammy mades a mistake, but Mammy knows
her place! O, please don' be mad at'cha po' ol' Mammy, Mistress. Mammy be's sorry!"
The back of her head was howling that this was a lie. That she was a man! An important man! But that voice crumbled in the face of Mammys shame. Blubbering and weaping, Mammy groveled before her Mistress...
(Captain America groveled before Hawkeye)
...and Clara felt...bad. Why should she feel any shame? After all, Mammy was her property. She smiled and waved the weeping woman off, saying "Just you remember this, Mammy. If you step out of line again, then that's the end. You're the servant. I'm the
Mistress. Do you understand?"
Mammy sniffed and lumbered to her feet, never more aware of her size and girth than right now. Did it really matter if she had been Captain America, when she wasn't right now...and perhaps would never be again?
"Ah am Miss Clara Barton. Of the 'Louisiana Bartons', don't you know. I an' may servant are awful tired from such a long walk, and would be eva' so grateful of'n we could stay the night."
The Vision bowed and said with a smile "You must be confused, Miss. For you see...you are both expected. For you see...your husband is here and waiting for you."
That gave her pause, and she asked "Mah husband? But sir..."
"Colonel Robert Morris is waiting for you, Mrs. Morris. You are Mrs. Clara Morris, are you not? And you have come to the house of Wanda Laveau, the Scarlet Mambo, to attend her party. Is that not correct?"
Mrs' Clara Morris smiled dreamily as she remembered. Yes, this was the truth. The dashing and handsome Colonel Robert Morris (called the 'Mockingbird' for his way of fitting into whatever social circle he needed to) was her husband. Her brave, strong husband.
CLint had always loved Bobbi, and their divorce was the worst thing in his life. But now...she and Robert were married, and that drove out any lingering traces of the old Hawkete. Mrs. Clara Morris smiled and said "Why yes, Mister Vision. You can escort me
to mah husband and introduce me to this facinatin' Wanda Laveau. Though I've heard she'd only half white - an' that a gypsy - I'm certain she an' ah will be th' very best of friends. Mah husband has such facinatin' friends."
Mammy started after then, trying to think of a way to get out of this mess, but Clara Morris gave her a withering stare. "And where do you thinks you're goin' with your clothes all covered with dust from rollin' around on the ground a minute ago?"
Mammy (what was her real name) shrank back and babbled "Ah wuz...gonna go wit'chu, Mistress."
Vision smiled and gestured towards the servants quarters, saying "You'll find a uniform of the right size in the maids room, Mammy. Put it on and freshen up before joining us."
She didn't want to do this, but it was an order. She bobbed her head, said a quick "Yes'm, mista Vision." before waddling off in the direction he'd pointed. She found a tiny room, yet the bed and single chair were obviously intended for a person her size.
The uniform was hanging uo ("Good grief, it's the size of a small tent!") and she removed the red, white and blue clothes she was wearing...regreting the loss of her colors, from which she'd been able to draw some strength. She shoveled her titanic breasts
into the huge cups of a solid, sturdy bra reinforced with laters of supports. Her breasts shoved forward like a pair of dark brown watermelons, she managed to fit her keg-thick thighs into the equally sturdy pantiesand draw them up bast her comicly broad hips.
A girdle joined them, as did some sort of belly corset that held her massive gut into a firm, round ball. Feeling ashamed and confused, she slipped into a huge black uniform that molded to her absurd form, highlighting her enormity and flaunting her girth.
It was trimmed with white lace at the collar, cuffs and hem, and a white apron with lace trim was tied over it. She noticed her hair for the first time - black, kinky and worn in short braids - and she pinned a lace cap into place. She looked...like a total
stranger, though everyone would know her name...as "Mammy" was embroidered into the cap and apron in black thread.
She checked herself over, knowing that if anything was out of place she might be punnished. This wasn't her, she tried to say...but it was starting to seem more and more normal. She looked for the uniform she'd thought she'd warn into the room...but it was
gone. What color had it been? She couldn't remember...and when she tried, all she could remember was black and white...the shades all her uniforms were. She tried again to remember her name, but as soon as she saw herself in the mirror she saw "Mammy" and...that
seemed right. It was all so confusing...
There was a tinkeling from the maids bell, and she waddled out of the room and into the kitchen. Seeing the tray she prefered to use sitting on the counter, she sat about making Mint Julips before waddled into the parlor, saying in her musical sing-song
voice "Ah is commin', Mistress."
She saw The Gypsy Queen herself...along with a dark-skinned woman dressed in red, her dreadlocks set with red beads. The Vision was also hear (obviously a favored servant) as was tall, handsom Colonel Robert Morris (such a fine man) and his coquettish, spoiled
little wife.
"Well, if it isn't the Belle of the Ball herself, come to rescue me from my thurst." said Robert Morris with a goodnatured smile. He was such a fine man. His easy charm his best feature. Laughter ribbled about the room, and Mammy (NOT MY NAME) couldn't help
but bubble with laughter as she handed his a tall, cool julep. He sipped and smacked his lips with relish, saying "Now that hits the spot, Mammy. You always did know just how to mix a perfect Mint Julep."
Mammy blushed and giggled like a girl with her first crush, saying "Lawsy, thank yuh so much, Massa Morris. Ah'm glad yo' likes dem."
Soon, everyone was praising her, and Mammy was so happy she almost cried. Instead, she rushed off into the kitchen again to mix up some tasty tidbits for them. She knew this wasn't who she was...but it was so pleasing to recieve praise for her service. Bolts
of nearly erotic pleasure shot through her body, and she felt so good...so happy...
("...not...this...person..." she thought with fading resolve)
Wanda Laveau smiled at the waddling, comical form of the former Captain America - amused at the way he was fighting (and losing) his last battle - then turned to Robert Morris. "He's a fighter...but he'll soon accept his position as we all have."
"Poor Steve..." sighed Clara Morris "...he doesn't have someone to turn to...like I do." and she slipped her tiny hand into Roberts strong one.
"Now, let's get down to business." said the Gypsy Queen with a smile. "Now that you are all on my side, we must finish with the other Avengers out in the swamp..."