#antwerp

O knew it was a statement, not a request. She responded, “Of course,” as she got out of the car, carefully smoothing her skirt. As they entered the restaurant, O felt the eyes of most of the male diners on her. She cut a striking figure. Her slender figure and height were obvious. O was already tall, about 1.76 meters, plus over the knee boots she was wearing added another ten centimeters and was a head taller than Henri. Her curly red hair set above a pretty face and tight-fitting bolero jacket over a red blouse and short black skirt only added to the effect. It was a not uncommon feeling for O. While she would never consider herself beautiful, she knew she was pretty enough to draw stares. Her slender figure, red hair and taste in clothes ensured it.

But for some reason, this time the stares of the men in the restaurant made O feel uneasy. She thought to herself, “Are they looking at me because they sense that I may not be who I present myself as? Not just a young woman going out to eat at a fancy restaurant, but rather some slave or whore whose Master is placing on display. What would these men think of me if they knew that beneath these clothes, I am naked – no bra, no panties. If they could see that my sex is pierced and that I bear the initials of my true Master branded into the flesh of my rear, what would they think then?”

When she and Henri were guided to the booth, he took O’s elbow, ostensibly to assist her in seating. As he did so, he whispered in O’s ear, “Be sure and lift your skirt. I want you to feel the leather of the seat on your ass.”

O answered, “Yes. Of course.”

Once seated, Henri ordered drinks for them – a whiskey for him, a martini for O. Then he perused the wine list and menu. When the waiter returned with the drinks Henri ordered again – A pork dish for him, duck for O and a bottle of Chateau Pape. The waiter smiled and retreated as Henri proposed a toast, “To your upcoming enjoyment on the dais I had built for you!”

O didn’t smile.

O looked at him and said bitterly, “You humiliated me today. In front of that workman.”

Henri replied, “Yes, I did. What of it?”

“Why did you do that?” “Because I can. You are mine now to do with as I please. And it pleased me to humiliate you today. Doesn’t Sir Stephen do that also.”

O was silent for a bit before responding, “Yes.”

“And he does it because he knows that on some level, whether you realize it or not, you need humiliation. Many women do. It is like an aphrodisiac for them. And you’d best get used to it as they will be here working all week.” Then he rolled over and wet to sleep.

O stared at the ceiling and wept bitter tears. But in her heart of hearts, she feared Henri was right.

The question seemed to catch Henri completely off guard. He paused in dead silence for a full minute before he said anything. During this time, O regretted a thousand times asking the question. She only remembered asking that question of three men: Rene, Sir Stephen and Paul. She wanted to take her question back, but it was too late.

Finally, Henri broke the silence, “Love you, O? Not in the way you are asking, I’m sure. What I do love is fucking you. No man could ask for a woman more sexually adept. Willing to do whatever pleases a man, offering any and all of her orifices to him in any way he might wish to use.” He paused before continuing, “And I love the power I command over you. The power to punish you with a whip or the crop. To beat you until you cry and beg for mercy. To see the sweat pore from your body, to watch you struggle and writhe in vain. To see the welts and bruises color your skin. I truly love that; it arouses me so. But to love you enough to take you away from Sir Stephen, to marry you, to save you, to save you from yourself? No.”

O was sure tears were forming in her eyes. She took a drink of the last of her martini. She thought to herself, “It’s true. He doesn’t love me. He is only interested in the pleasure I give him and the power he has over me.” Then the waiter appeared with the bottle of Chateau Pape. As he poured it into Henri’s glass, O recalled other lovers. “There have been dozens, perhaps a hundred, of men who possessed me either at Roissy or at Sir Stephen’s behest, but there have been only a few that seemed to care about me. No, wait! That’s not right! Only a few that I really cared about. There was Robert; Ted, the American Naval officer; Rene, of course; Sir Stephen; Paul; Rick, the American I met through The Girl Friend Experience; and Sir George. But other than Sir Stephen, whom I worship as if he were a god, did I really love any of them? I was young, fickle and flighty when I was with Rene, but I will always be grateful to him for ‘giving’ me to Sir Stephen. Sir Stephen told me that he loved me once. I remember it clearly. He had just taken me; I was lying in bed next to him. We were sweaty and exhausted, and I said, ‘Do you love me/” He had laughed; he didn’t actually say he loved me, but instead said, ‘Of course.’ I know Paul loved me; he said it many times. And I loved him. I would have said yes that New Year’s night when I was sure he was going to ask me. But instead, he was kidnapped, and I never saw him again. I’m sure he is dead now. No doubt killed by those Syrians who kidnapped him.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by Henri, who was pouring the wine into her glass. He said to O, “Turn about is fair play, do you love me?”

There was a time when O would have been greatly annoyed if a man with whom she was having dinner would rather take a phone call than get lost in her blue green eyes. But that was long ago. Before she met Rene and eventually became Sir Stephen’s slave. Now O seemed to take it all in stride. “Would a pet dog or horse be upset if its Master took a phone call rather than paying attention to it. Why should a slave be any different?” A bit later, the waiter came by and stood as if asking if they were ready to order. Henri, still on the phone, waved him away, but O held up the now empty martini glass and said, “Another, please.” The waiter nodded and went away.

By now O was feeling the effects of the two martinis. After all, she had not eaten since breakfast. At first, she tried to discretely eavesdrop and discern what it was that held Henri’s interest. But he was speaking in what sounded like some sort of Slavic language, so O had no clue. Instead, her thoughts drifted back. “I loved Rene. I agreed to go to Roissy originally to please him, to show him that I loved him. And I loved him when he first took me to Sir Stephen’s, that first night when he told me that I was now to belong to not only him, but also to Sir Stephen. I remember when he, no, not he. It was when ‘they’ asked if I agreed to belong to both of them, and I asked if I would be whipped. I remember Sir Stephen saying, ‘from time to time.’ I shuddered thinking about it. Thinking about feeling the sting of the whip or crop against my flesh. But truth be told, I also remember being excited and aroused by the thought. The thought that a man who Rene thought so much of would be interested in me. And I eventually became Sir Stephen’s whore and slave.”

The waiter appeared with another martini in hand. This time Henri put down the phone and ordered– a pork dish for Henri, duck for O and a bottle of Chateau Pape. Then as he picked the phone back up, O took the martini from the waiter and took a long sip.

By now O knew she was at least half drunk. She was afraid if she spoke her words might be slurred. She thought, “And he has ordered a bottle of wine with dinner.”

O focused her eyes on Henri. She heard him say in French, “Good. I’ll see you at my apartment at 10 p.n. tonight. Yes, possibly there will be some entertainment.”

And then, looking closer, O saw the fine lines around her eyes and lips. Not lines from any beating she had endured, but from the one thing that none of us can escape – age. And O thought to herself, “Well, I will be thirty my next birthday.” Then bitterly, “If I live that long.”

O then looked around the bathroom. There in a cabinet under the sink, she found what she was looking for – a pack of cigarettes. O took one from the pack, lit it and exhaled. She sat on the toilet and thought, “Can I go on like this?”

O heard sounds from the street outside. She realized it must be after eight o’clock and people were milling about – shopping, going to work, or perhaps just seeing the sights. She opened the widow and looked down on the street below. An older man in a suit was walking his dog. He must have heard O open the window because he looked up at the third story window where O was leaning out. The man tipped his hat and loudly said, “Good morning, young miss.”

O smiled back and thought to herself, “I wonder if he can see that I am naked? I wonder if he knows that I am a whore and slave?” Then O watched as the man walked away.

Then O heard Henri’s voice from the bedroom, “Hurry up and finish your business, O. We have someone coming to the house today that I want you to meet.”

As Henri snored quietly beside her, O drifted off to sleep. For most people sleep is a respite from the stress of the day, but O was not so lucky. All of her life – well, since puberty anyway – O had vivid, often horrifying dreams. Usually about her, the dreams often focused on O being punished for her wanton ways. Once, when she was a teenager, she had mentioned it to her friend Yasmin. Yasmin replied, “It is probably because you feel guilty about enjoying sex. You Christians seem to revel in guilt over enjoying any pleasure. Catholics and Protestants both.” Although O, nor anyone in her family was overly religious, she did attend Catholic Schools where the nuns taught that sex was something to be endured by a married woman, certainly not to be enjoyed. So, O replied to her friend, “I guess you are right. Maybe I do feel guilty when I dream.” But most of the times after such dreams, O awoke wet and aroused.

The dream (or was it more properly a nightmare) that O had in bed with Henri played out as follows: O was brought forward to a panel of judges composed of priests. There was a gathered crowd, also. She was escorted by two nuns. Once in front of the priests, one of the nuns said, “This is O. A sinner. She is accused of enjoying fornication and being a whore. We ask the ultimate penalty for her.”

O was wearing only a thin shift, no other clothing. One of the priests said, “Strip her so that we may see if there are signs of a whore.” Hearing that, one of the nuns tore the shift from O, leaving her completely naked. Then she pointed to the rings that pierced O’s labia and said, “See the marks that proclaim her whoredom. She also bears further proof on her rear where she is branded with her lover’s initials.” The priests looked at O and conferred. Then one of them said, “She is found guilty and must bear the ultimate punishment. Burning here to give her a taste of what will come after the final judgement when she will burn in Hell eternally!”

O cried, “Please! No!” But it was to no avail. Two more nuns came from the crowd. One attached a chain to the rings in her sex and another chained O’s hands. That nun then pulled O along, the chain in the nun’s hands tugging at O’s pierced sex. With the priests following and the crowd cheering, “Burn her! Burn the whore!” O was led to a pyre in the middle of the town square. Only after her hands were bound above her head to a ring in a wooden stake, was the chain attached to the rigs removed.

Holding a burning torch in his hand, one of the priests looked at the crowd and said, “She may escape the fire if someone will vouch for her. Will someone do so?” O, chained to the stake looked in the crowd. She saw familiar faces – Rene, Sir Stephen, Henri. She cried out, “Please! One of you, will you not ask that I be spared? I don’t want to burn! Please!” But all were silent. They just looked on. The priest touched the torch to the wood surrounding O’s feet. She felt the heat and smelled the smoke. Then as flames rose…

O awoke with a start. Her face was flushed and her body sweaty. She felt her nipples – erect and hard as stones. She knew her sex was wet. She must have cried out in her sleep and awoken Henri as she felt his hand slide down from her breasts across her flat belly to her sex. He probed it with his fingers only briefly before rolling over, spreading O’s thighs and pushing his member deeply into her. O moaned all the time he was taking her.

Then with dawn’s faint light showing in the window above her bed, Henri rolled off of O and began snoring again.

And O stared at the ceiling.

A man and his wife were waiting to board a train in the Gare d'Anvers-Centrale in Antwerp. The man noticed several others in the area. There were a couple of seedy looking characters – “Probably criminals of some sort,” he thought to himself. But the ones that truly caught his eye was a well-dressed couple. The man was probably in his late 30’s, possibly early 40’s. He was, as the saying goes, almost brutally handsome in his three-piece suit. But it was the woman who was truly striking. Late 20’s, tall, slender, red hair carefully done up, framing a pretty face and blue-green eyes. She had on an off-white dress that came down to just past her knees revealing black, lace-up boots that went to knees when she walked. He also noticed that she walked gingerly, as if she was quite sore. He noticed the look on her face – one of anticipation mixed with pain or soreness.

“I wonder if she had had a recent fall or strain,” he thought.

His wife noticed him watching and said, “Don’t stare. It’s impolite. Besides, it’s obvious that she attracts you.”

“Why on earth would you say that?”

“Because when the sun hits her dress, it’s noticeable that she doesn’t have a stitch on under that dress.”

Margiela in the new gallery at the MoMu Antwerp

Pics by me

Details from Antwerp Master Alise Anna Dzirniece’s master collection

Antwerp Master’s collection by Alise Anna Dzirniece