#belgium

Henri didn’t awaken O during the night, nor did he pusher head towards his loins when the mid- morning light came through the window, light that illuminated O’s naked body lying on the bed., light that awakened O. She looked around and saw that Henri was not beside her. Then he came to her – he was already dressed for the day. Grasping both of O’s nipples, he pulled her to him and kissed her lightly on the lips. She said, “Why didn’t you wake me up? I thought we were going to…” Her voice trailed off.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I decided not to awaken you. No nightmares last night?”

O nodded and said, “No, none. I slept like a log.”

Henri said, “Good. Now, get up and put on your dressing gown. The workmen will be here soon. I want you to watch them again today while I conduct some business in town.”

O’s face darkened with a frown as she said, “Are you going to chain me to the sofa again by my ankle like you did yesterday. That was so humiliating. Those men must surely now know what I am.”

Henri smiled and said, “And what are you, O? Just what are you to me?”

O was silent. Henri, who was still holding O’s nipples in his hands, applied more pressure, pinching them hard enough to make O wince. He said, “Answer me!”

O looked at him and said, “I guess I am your slave and whore. A slave and whore that you rented from my Master.”

This seemed to satisfy Henri. He released his grip on O and said, “Yes. And don’t you forget it.” He paused and looked at O saying, “But today, I won’t attach the chain to the bracelet around your ankle.”

O’s face brightened.

But Henri continued, “Instead you’ll be chained using the ring that pierces your sex.”

O collapsed on Henri’s bed like a mechanical doll whose spring has broken, images of Henri or his maid, Mathilde, standing over her widespread thighs, whip in hand. O knew that was to be her Fate with Henri, and while she dreaded it, on some level she knew it was not only inevitable but was also something she secretly looked forward to. The idea of torture had always been front and center in O’s mind since she was a child. She used to love having her grandmother read stories of the martyrs to her, especially the story of Joan of Arc. At that time, she was too young to understand the feelings in her loins that hearing about torture and suffering caused. A she matured these thoughts became fantasies that O used when she masturbated. Her mind would be filled of images of her, not the Maid of Orleans, tied to a stake awaiting certain death.

And later still O came to realize that the idea of torture – of her being flogged and whipped – appealed to her. True enough, while she was under the whip, O would have betrayed the world if it would make the pain stop. But later after it was over, she was happy about undergoing the torture, especially if it were quite cruel and prolonged. As Anne Marie had told her on more than one occasion, “O, you are a VERY complicated young woman.”

“But no time for those thoughts now,” said O to herself. “Henri brought me to orgasm. I should do the same for him.” O then slid around so that her head was resting on Henri’s thigh near where he had pushed his laptop. She moved her face near Henri’s semi erect member, cooing softly.

But Henri pushed her away, saying, “Not now, child. Perhaps later I’ll awaken you. Or maybe in the morning. Now, curl up beside me and go to sleep. I still have work to do.” O did as he said and as she was closing her eyes, she noticed Henri’s laptop was opened to a spreadsheet with initials and prices.

Seeing this, O clutched the bottom of her thin dressing gown – the only clothing that Henri had allowed her to wear while she watched – and tried to pull it down so as to make her lower belly less visible to the men. She wished that she could pull her knees up to provide further coverage, but Henri had secured her left leg at the ankle to a chain connected to a hook along the baseboard. This effectively limited O’s movement. The men pretended not to stare at O, nearly naked, chained and sitting on the sofa, but she noticed that they cast stealthy looks at her ever so often. O wondered what they thought. “Did Henri tell them that a nearly naked woman would be watching them, or did he just let them be surprised?”

As they built the dais and inserted the two upright posts at the end that was raised, O thought about prisoners of old who watched the scaffolds where they would hang being built. She thought to herself, “Did they watch the construction with the same sense of dread, yet interest, that I have? It’s somewhat different, of course, they were watching the instruments of their execution being erected, and I am only watching the place where I’ll be whipped. Death versus torture.” She thought for a moment, then, “I wonder if any of them felt some sort of sexual excitement about their impending Fate. I know that once this is built Henri will likely have me bound spread open and whip me between my thighs. Whip me on my open sex. Oh God! I know I should hate the thought of it, and I do, but… While I dread it, on some level I look forward to it. Perhaps as penance for finding pleasure with Henri. Finding pleasure with a man who is not my Master.”

O’s thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Mathilde, Henri’s maid. She had a bucket – actually it looked like one of those brass spittoons one sees in old bars in American Western movies. She looked at O and smiled evilly. “I thought that by now you might want to go to the toilet.” O responded, “Yes. I really have to go. Can you unlock my ankle so I can go use the toilet?”

Mathilde responded, “Oh no. Monsieur Henri left strict instructions that you must remain in the room with the workers. To ‘supervise’ them. So, I brought you this.” And she showed O the spittoon.

O looked horrified and said, “Am I expected to go here? Use this with the men watching?”

Mathilde who weas tying the spittoon to the same hook where the chain around O’s ankle was anchored replied, “Yes, of course.” Then she left.

O waited as long as she could, but eventually gave in to Nature. She got off the sofa and went the two meters to where the spittoon was set up. When she squatted over it, her robe parted showing her belly and breasts. Then she emptied her bladder into the spittoon.

The men heard the sound of urine splashing against the brass and looked over.

O’s thoughts were interrupted by Henri who was lying naked on the large bed, his work laptop computer beside him. He patted the mattress and said, “Come, O. Lie down beside me.”

She did so and Henri raised himself on one elbow. He looked at O’s naked body, running his eyes and then his hand over her from her narrow shoulders, down her breasts whose nipples were quite erect in the cool night air of the bedroom, over her flat belly to her hairless sex and then down the inside of her thighs. He said, “Perfect. Your skin is as smooth as silk. I trust you enjoyed your bath?”

O responded, “Yes. Very much so. Thank you.”

Henri traced his finger around the areola of her left nipple. It stiffened further. Out of the blue, he said, “O, have you ever been to Amsterdam?”

She replied, “No.”

“I may be going there on business in there near future. I am thinking you might accompany me.” It was a statement, not a question. He continued, “It is a very interesting city. Much to do and see. While I am conducting my business, perhaps you might enjoy seeing the sights.” He moved his fingers to her right nipple. After ensuring it, too, was stiff, Henri said gently, “Please turn so that your rear is towards my head and get on your elbows and knees. Ass in the air and legs spread somewhat.

O did as Henri said, taking one of the pillows to rest her head on. In the mirror across from the bed, she saw her reflection – red hair falling around her face, her hips raised and visible above the red hair, a look of - what? – on her face that rested on the pillow on her arms. Was it resignation? Anticipation? Something else? By now Henri had his laptop computer resting on his belly – O assumed he was looking over spreadsheets or business orders. At first, she just knelt there on knees and elbows, but soon, O felt his hand on her rear. First, he traced the fading brand of Sir Stephens initials – the brand that indicated she was his property - that Anne Marie had placed on her almost three years ago. Then she felt the fingers go to her rectum and sex. O felt one finger, probably Henri’s thumb, rest lightly on her rear orifice, while two others gently massaged the lips that were the entrance to her vagina. She felt those fingers first pull gently on the ring that pierced her labia – the ring that held Sir Stephen’s medallion proclaiming also that O was his property. Then the fingers moved slightly so that they could lightly stroke her, occasionally touching her clitoris that had emerged from its protective sheath. Henri did this with no sense of urgency, as casually as he might drum his fingers on a table while listening on a phone call.

But his probing and stroking was beginning to have an effect on O. She knew that her body was having an involuntary reflex to Henri’s fingers. It was not in the least unpleasant. O relaxed and felt as if she were riding gentle waves of pleasure, as if the ocean waves were gently caressing her nether parts with that age-old tidal rhythm. She felt no pressure to quickly reach climax, nor did Henri seem to be in any hurry.

But eventually O’s body, if not Henri’s fingers, began to take on a sense of urgency. Her hips began an almost involuntary movement, rocking forward and backwards. She heard a loud sigh escape from her lips. Henri must have heard it, too, as he removed the laptop and placed it beside him on the bed. Now he was giving his full attention to O. “His full attention to my pleasure,” she thought. “Something Sir Stephen seldom, if ever, does. If Sir Stephen masturbates me, it is not for my pleasure. It is to show his control over my body.” Then O felt the thumb that had been gently pressing on her rear slide deep into her anus. She let out a small gasp and heard Henri say, “It’s okay. Just relax.” Then two other fingers push into her wet sex – probing. And another finger twirling around her clitoris. O moaned out loud.

She heard Henri say, “You know why I am having that dais built, don’t you, O?”

Fighting against what was coming, trying to prolong her pleasure, O breathed, “Yes.”

Henri replied, “I am going to bind you on that little stage, your legs raised and bound, your sex spread open.” His voice paused, but his fingers did not – constantly probing, stroking – harder now. He continued, “Then I am going to punish you, O. Whip you on the inside of your thighs. On your sex. You’ll cry and beg for mercy. Beg me to stop. But will I? Will I, O?”

O thought about how she had first been bound on the raised dais in the music room at Anne Marie’s home at Samois. How Colette had stood over her. How she had draped the thongs of the whip she held in her hand over O’s open sex. How Anne Marie had said, “Not too hard at first. It’s the most delicate part of the body.” How Colette had raised the whip and struck.

Henri’s probing and stroking continued. O knew she was close, but the images of her bound and spread open ready to be whipped wouldn’t go away. She saw herself in a similar position, but this time at Sir Stephen’s in that little alcove-like room at the top of the stairs, and rather than Colette wielding the whip, it was old Norah, Sir Stephen’s Haitian maid.

O heard Henri’s voice. This time with an edge in it. “O, I said, will I show you any mercy. Answer me please.”

O managed to say only, “No,” before her body gave way to a crushing orgasm.

When Henri returned to his apartment, the sun had already set. O was still sitting on the sofa – the sole piece of furniture - in the room where Alain, Oskar and Abfaro were building the raised dais that Henri intended to use to display O bound and spread. The room was dark; it had only one window, a casement type set high on the wall. The fading sunlight shone on O’s face but left the rest of her in semi-darkness.

Henri came into the room, stopped, and looked at O. He noticed that there were tear streaks on her face and her eyes were red from crying. He went to her, put his arms around O’s narrow shoulders and said, “O, are you okay? The workmen didn’t harm you, did they?”

O looked up at Henri with an expression that fell between anger and shame. “No! They didn’t harm me. They were very courteous in fact. They pretended they couldn’t hear me emptying my bladder into that spittoon your maid brought for me to pee in. But I’m sure they watched from the corner of their eyes! I was so embarrassed! Henri, why do you feel you must humiliate me?”

Henri shrugged and said, “Mainly because I can if I so desire. But why were you humiliated? When you were at Roissy, you didn’t have any privacy, did you? Didn’t the valet watch you as you relieved yourself?”

O said, “Yes. But…”

Henri cut her off. “But nothing. It’s a natural act. Now I will release you. Mathilde has made us a light supper. Then we’ll go to bed and I’ll make love to you.” Then he knelt down and undid the chain from O’s ankle that had secured her.

After supper Henri and O retired to his large bedroom with an attached bath. He said, “Why don’t you take a nice hot bath. It will relax you. I’ll get the large sponge and wash you.” O removed the thin silk dressing gown – the only clothing she had been allowed to wear all day and got into the hot bath. It did, indeed, relax her. She shut her eyes and soaked in the hot water. Then she felt the sponge being rubbed along the length of her body.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” said Henri.

“Yes,” replied O.

Then Henri ran the sponge up O’s thighs towards her sex. As he gently rubbed the sponge over O’s vulva, he asked, “Does this feel good, too?”

“Yes,” replied O again.

But Henri didn’t do anything further. Instead he said, “Okay. Now get out of the tub and dry off. I’ll be waiting on the bed.”

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Miss You - Jérémie Makiese, Belgium [x]