AN: My first Downton Abbey fanfic. This is set during Season 2. I wanted to explore what would have happened if it had been Mary, not Mrs Hughes, who found out about Ethel's relationship with Major Bryant. Have fun reading! Also, disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, or anything at all for that manner!
Mary's mind was in disarray. With Matthew having gone missing behind enemy lines and Sir Richard's proposal still waiting to be answered by her, one of the maids sleeping with a hospital patient really was the last thing she had needed right now. Just then, the Dowager Countess walked by. Mary waved to her, signaling for her to join her in a secluded alcove, away from prying eyes.
"Granny, I'm sorry for disturbing you, but there's an... issue that requires our attention."
The Dowager Countess smiled at her knowingly. "Let me guess... it doesn't happen to be about Sir Richard, now does it?"
"No, as a matter of fact it is not. Granny, on of our servant girls, Ethel, has been having an intimate affair with one Major Bryant. Molesley gave me a hint, and when I walked into her room, I found her and that man... connected. It was sight of monstrous impertinence!"
The Dowager Countess gasped and gripped her cane tighter: "Oh my God, that is scandalous. You are right, my dear child, we must rectify this situation at once, without mercy or respite."
"What should we do, then?"
"We should deal with her the same way we dealt with Cybill that one time when she had converted to stalinism because of that bloody mongrel your father has posing as a driver," the Dowager Countess decided.
"What of the man, Major Bryant," Mary asked. "He's equally as guilty of improper conduct, but not under our jurisdiction, and we can't risk this erupting into a big scandal."
The Dowager Countess smiled at her granddaughter: "Oh, I will deal with him. You know that I'm very good at making people feel uncomfortable without breaching protocol. For now, let us focus our attention on that maid, Ethel."
Mary nodded her head in agreement, her face a mask of grim determination. After sending Anny down to Mrs Patmore with a message, she led her grandmother upstairs into the room wherein she had bidden the wayward maid to wait for her return. When she opened the door, she found that Ethel seemed to have barely moved from the spot in which Mary had left her standing. The maid's fingers were nervously playing with the strings of her apron, and her face changed from concerned to outright horrified when she became aware of the Dowager Countess entering the chamber behind Mary.
"My lady, I wasn't expecting... I mean..." stuttered the young woman.
"Silence!"
Mary closed the door behind her. The room they were in possessed now windows and was located in a remote wing of the house. It was unlikely they would be interrupted in here during her talk with Ethel.
Mary looked at Ethel sternly: "Ethel Parks, by having a sexual relationship with one of our patients, you have brought dishonour over Downton Abbey. We do not wish for this story to become known to the mass public. However, at the same time, we cannot allow your transgression to go unpunished. Therefore, I command you to take off all your clothes."
Ethel burst into tars, but she had no choice but to comply with her mistress's wish. It took her little time to remove her maid's uniform and her underwear. "Please don't rape me," she moaned.
Violet Crawley laughed cruelly: "No, Ethel, you dumb little trull, we will not rape you. You will be punished for your transgressions in a manner that has been passed down from generation to generation of the house Crawley. We will wash away your guilt with a shower."
Ethel's panicked breathing calmed a little. Taking a shower didn't sound like such a bad punishment to her.
The Dowager Countess' face broke into a benign sneer as she added: "A *golden* shower."
Ethel Parks burst into tears: "No, anything but that!"
Mary pulled a lever on the wall that caused a horizontal Saint Andrew's Cross to slide up from the floor. It took little time for Mary and her grandmother to secure the crying Ethel to the device. The wench was laying all spread-eagled on the contraption, with her wrists and ankles being restrained by leather straps.
Now, the punishment by golden shower shall begin. You may go first, Mary, my child," decided the Dowager Countess.
Mary lifted up her skirt and pulled down her knickers, before walking up to Ethel's head and squatting down over her horrified face. "I'm doing this in the name of our family's honour," she declared coldly, and then she opened the floodgates and her pee hole released a veritable flood of urine over the crying and screaming maid. Ethel tried in vain to break free from the restraints holding her in place, but to no avail! The smelly urine washed over her face, burned in her eyes and entered her mouth and nostrils. It was the worst fucking thing she had ever tasted on her tounge. Lady Mary's piss tasted like French cheese that had been left to rot for a decade or so.
When Mary's bladder was finally fully empty, she pulled her knickers up all lady-like and rearranged her hat. "Saa, watakusiwa zeñtaini owarimasitawa. Anatano taañ desuwa, obaasañ." (That's Japanese for "Well, I'm all done. It's your turn, Grandma.")
The Dowager Countess laughed cruelly, while she undid her complicated skirt and exposed her old, withered lower section: "Oh, Ethel, thou foolish little trull, thou art about to experience with thine very own eyes that this old cannon here (at this, she lovingly patted her pee hole) is still packing quite a punch!"
As the Dowager Countess squatted down over Ethel's horrified face, all the young maid could see was the old lady's hairy, smelly cooch hovering a few inches over her face. Again, she struggled in vain against the lether straps that kept her tied in a lying position against the polished wood of the St. Andrew's cross. If Lady Mary's urine had been so vile tasting, what would the piss from a woman that was like a hundred years old taste like!?
Then, the Dowager Countess opened the Floodgates. Since her peehole was a lot less tight and youthful than Mary's, her piss didn't come out in a concentrated stream. Rather, it spluttered all over the place. Where Mary's piss had been of a healthy golden yellow, the old lady emitted a liquid that was so darkly orange that it bordered on brown. And it tasted like hell incarnate. There are no words in the noble English tongue, and probably not even in the black speech of hell that can adequatly describe what Ethel tasted on her tounge as the urine entered her oral cavity.
"Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison!" screamed Ethel in her desperation, while the thought of everything she had ever loved was washed away by the dark coloured flood of piss that came spraying forth from the Dowager Countess' hole for a good three minutes before the stream of death liquid finally subsided.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God, that was the worst fucking thing I've ever experienced in my life! I promise you, Lady Mary, I will never sleep around again! Plox release me," cried the slut Ethel.
"No, your punishment isn't over yet, Ethel," Mary said. "Mrs Patmore should be here momentarily." Just then, the door opened, and the cook came in.
"No need to rush, here Oi come, here Oi come," whinnied Mrs Pattmore in her thick Irish accent as she wobbily meandered into the punishment room, carrying a big cooking pot in front of her.
"You see, Ethel," the Dowager Countess gloated, "in this pot Mrs Pattmore is carrying, there is a splendid blend of cooked oil and ink and a bit of a cow pie, all mixed with sour milk."
"Yes, it's been cooked to perfection, if may Oi say so moiself. Oi had that fool Branson give me the recipe," gurgled Mrs Pattymore.
"As the final act of thy redemption, we shalt pour this stinking filth over thy ugly head. Diese heilige Wunde wird bluten und die Engel trauern nur um Dich schlafen zu sehen."
"Nooooo, plox, you cannot do this!" Ethel cried while she slurped in a pool of stinking old lady piss.
"Oh, but I can... And. I. Do." said Maggie Smith, and she gave Mrs Patmore a nod, who began pouring the pot's contents over the bound maid. Ethel screamed a high-pitched screech of panic as she saw the hot, brown, stinky goo come over the rim of the pot and drop towards her horrified face. When the mixture of oil and excrement washed over her body, it was as if she had stuck her ugly head into a latrine. Since she could not control her screaming reflex, her mouth was wide open when the shit brew that Mrs Patmore had prepared came upon her. She could taste the shit on her tounge and cried and swore to herself, that she would never allow a good-looking army major to fuck her again if this was the price.
Then the disgrace and disgust got the better of vile Ethel. She began to gurp and vomit. Alas, the gigantic pot Mrs Patmore was emptying over her head wasn't even half empty at this point, and he disgusting mixture of oil, ink and shit that came pouring down onto her face prevented the vomit from getting out. Ethel gasped and choked, while her own vomit, mixed with oil and shit, re-entered her skull by way of her nostrils. All-consuming burning agony filled the bound whore's head, and her restrained limbs convulsed in agony. Finally, she choked to death on her own vomit. (AN: In this version of the story, she's not pregnant, okay? If she were, this would've been pretty sick and twisted.)
Mary looked at the stinking body of Ethel with a look of cold disinterest. "Granny, I think the whore has perished."
"Oh my," exclaimed the Dowager Cuntess, "these servants these days, they really never learned to take righteous punishment well. Back in my day, you could whip a slave to the blood, and he would still serve you your evening tea with a smile. Ah, I guess I'm living in the past. Mrs Pottmare, please dispose of this filthy carcass."
"Yes, m'lady. Ethel shall make for a fine side helping of meat for tonight's dinner, Oi'd say."
After that, everything was fine again at Downton Abbey. Matthew returned from the war to marry Mary Marry and together, they fathered many children, which were the joy of Lord Grantham's life. The Dowager Countess went on to live a long and happy life, watching her great-grandchildren grow and even saw them father great-great-grnadchildren for her, much to her deligt.
The End
AN So, my first Downton Abbey story. What do y'all think? Plox review, but no flames, okay? Flames will be put in the fireplace where they belong (by Carson himself, yeeessss).