Henri left O with her hands attached to the chain that was hanging from the chain that was attached to where a chandelier had previously been. She slumped as she watched him leave the room. She hung there suspended for what seemed like an hour, but was, in fact, only ten minutes. She moved her leg and felt the other chain, the one attached to the baseboard of the wall, constrict her movement. Then the door opened. It was Mathilde, Henri’s maid. She had O’s thin silk dressing gown – the one Sir Stephen had given her- in her hand. She also had a key. She came to O, gave her a look of complete disdain and said, “I’m going to unchain your hands, but not your ankle. You will only be able to move about in this room while the workmen are here. They’ll see you beaten and nearly naked and know you for the whore you are.”
Then she unlocked the leather bracelets on O’s wrists from the chain hanging from the chandelier hook. O nearly fell down but caught her balance. Then Mathilde thrust O’s gown in her hands and turned to go.
O called out, “Wait! I have to use the toilet. Undo the chain on my ankle, please.”
Mathilde turned back to O. She laughed and said, “There’s a bucket in the corner, whore. Squat over it if you must.” Then both women heard a doorbell. Mathilde said, “You’d better hurry. That will be the workmen.” Then she left the room, leaving O there chained.
O sat tat the small table in an alcove of the second floor of Henri’s apartment in Antwerp that clearly served as a breakfast nook. After coming out of the bathroom, Henri had looked at the marks on O’s body and said, “I did well with the dog whip last night, didn’t I? And O, you were exquisite afterwards. You’re so much more moving with your body covered in welts and bruises.”
O sighed noncommittally. As she had feared, sitting down for any length of time was uncomfortable, and the places where Henri’s whip had broken the skin on O’s breasts and belly were quite tender. Henri continued, “That’s one of the reasons I only allow you to wear that short dressing gown around the house. It brings me immense pleasure to be able to see the marks I laid on you whenever the robe rides up your thighs.”
O was indeed clad only in the short, silk robe with the almost transparent floral design that old Norah, Sir Stephen’s Haitian maid had packed for O when Henri took her away. O had mixed feelings about the robe. There were no buttons or clasps to keep it closed, only a strip silk serving as a belt. Thus, after several movements, it revealed more of O than it covered. She felt as if she were naked and exposed when she wore it. But it originally had been a gift from Sir Stephen, so O treasured it.
Henri’s maid, Mathilde, an old wrinkled up woman, came into the room with a small tray containing croissants and a single grapefruit half. She placed the grapefruit half in front of O and poured her a cup of black coffee – no cream or sugar. O noticed she stealthily gave a quick glance down the front of O’s thin gown. O also noticed a distinct frown.
O picked at the grapefruit on her plate. Other than a single croissant, it was all she was given to go with the morning coffee that Mathilde who clearly disapproved of O had brought to the table where she and Henri sat.
Henri said, “Do you not like your breakfast?”
O replied, “No, it’s fine. It’s just…” her voice trailed off.
“What? Speak freely. Tell me,” demanded Henri.
O sighed and replied, “Well, it’s just he way your maid looks at me. So much disapproval in her eyes. It frightens me.”
Henri replied, “As well she should. I intend to eventually have Mathilde flog you while I watch. I think it would be quite a spectacle and I’m sure Mathilde would enjoy it. You know she used to be a guard at a women’s prison?”
O continued to pick at her grapefruit. Henri read the paper and sipped his coffee. The doorbell rang. Henri called out, “Mathilde, please get the door and bring our visitors up here.”
O started to get up and go to the shelter of her bedroom, but Henri stopped her saying, “Oh no. Please stay. And perhaps loosen up the tie on your gown.”
Anne Marie said to little Yvette, “Please finish reading the letter.” Yvette continued:
“Todd then told me that he now kept Dani at home except on those rare occasions when he took her out, either to a cocktail party of other industry functions. Only a few close friends knew of her status as his slave. When at home, he usually used the chain to restrict her movements and remind her of her status. ‘The chain attached to her cervix isn’t overly heavy, but she is constantly aware of it. Aware of her sex and status as a female and as my slave. Isn’t that right, Dani?’
“But Dani was occupied with my member. I knew I was close, and so did she. Just as I was beginning to come, she pulled back so that I spilled myself on her face. Anne Marie, I swear she looked at me with a big grin!
“Seeing that and her complete submissiveness I have decided that I would like for my Julienne to be the same way. If you could arrange it, I would be so very grateful and willing to forego my share of Julienne’s earnings during her stay at Roissy. Yours, Etienne”
As Yvette completed reading the letter, Verona said with a note of sarcasm, “It’s always about the money, isn’t it?”
To which Anne Marie said, “Everything is about money or Love. Now to bed. We all have a busy time in the morning.”
Anne Marie got up from her chair and poured herself another brandy while Verona and Mathilde listened with rapt attention to little Yvette reading the letter from Etienne. Yvette paused when she saw her Mistress get up, but Mathilde protested, “Oh, don’t stop. Please go on reading.” Anne Marie nodded to Yvette who continued:
“The next evening, I went to the address Todd had given me. It was a large home behind a walled gate. I stopped at the gate and rang, A voice said, ‘Please come in.’ I entered the house and saw Dani standing naked in the middle of the living room with the small chain again hanging from her vagina. It hung about a quarter of the way down her thigh where it was connected to a larger chain by a small padlock. The larger chain was, in turn, secured on the other end to an eye screw in the wooden floor. All in all, her radius of somewhat free movement was about ten meters. I also noticed that her thighs, lower belly and rear were covered in welts from where she had been recently beaten with something – most likely a riding crop. Todd was sitting on a sofa not far from the middle of the room. He looked at me, smiled and said, ‘Welcome. Please have a seat. Dani will bring you a drink. You do drink gin martinis, don’t you?’
“I sat in a chair not far from him and watched as Dani moved to the counter of the nearby kitchen. The chain barely allowed her to get there. She poured me a drink from a pitcher and brought it to me. I looked at her face, but her eyes were downcast. I heard Todd say, ‘Now Dani, kneel in front of our guest.’ Then to me he said, “Would you like her to caress you with her mouth first or would you like to see how the chain is attached?’
“I looked at Todd and said, ‘Frankly, I would like to see how the chain is attached first, but I certainly would be interested in the caress afterwards.’
“He laughed and said, ‘Spoken like a true Frenchman.’ Then to Dani, ‘Stand up and walk towards your room as far as you can.’
“Dani stood and then walked into an adjacent bedroom. She got about three meters into it with Todd and I following, before the chain stopped her. I looked at the room. The walls were lined with a cork like material that muffled all sounds. A display of whips and crops was the only decoration on the wall. In the middle of the room was a four-poster bed with eye hooks and straps attached to each hook. But what was most surprising was a gynecological exam table. It too had straps for the legs and hands at the top of the table. At this point, Todd bent down and undid the lock connecting the small chain hanging from Dani’s vagina to the larger one connected to the eye screw on the floor of the living room. Then he said to Dani, ‘Up on the table and spread your legs.’
“As Dani spread her legs, Todd withdrew a speculum from a drawer in the bedside table. Then he inserted it into Dani and truly opened her up, saying, ’Look closely.’ As I did, I noticed that her cervix had been pierced and a ring inserted so that the small chain could be attached to it. ‘What do you think?’ said Todd.
“I was dumbfounded, having never seen anything like that. Then he had Dani get down and follow us back into the living room. ‘Go ahead, sit down. Now Dani will pleasure you while I tell you more.’
“I did and Dani unzipped me, took my member first in her hand and then mouth working it greedily with her tongue and lips. All the while, Todd was telling me about how Dani came to be this way. It seems that she had come to Hollywood with dreams of becoming an actress. But as often happens, she didn’t get the requisite breaks. Then Todd, who produces pornographic movies ‘discovered’ her. For a bit, she was the next ‘it’ girl, but as the public lost interest in her, Todd came up with a way to make Dani unique among porn stars. He contacted a doctor who was already overprescribing pain meds and he agreed to perform the procedure. It made Dani a star again in the porn industry, but as happens, interest in her waned once again. By then she was quite dependent on Todd for drugs, so it was an easy – at least for him – to transition Dani from porn star to sex slave.”
At this point, Mathilde interrupted the reading of the letter by saying, “A sex slave with a pierced cervix! I find this almost unbelievable.”
To which Anne Marie responded, “And yet, this is exactly what you will witness with Julienne tomorrow morning.”
After dinner Anne Marie, little Yvette, Verona and Mathilde repaired to a private study for brandy and coffee. Verona’s photographer, Jacques, excused himself saying there was too much estrogen in the air for him to be comfortable. As he left the dining room, Mathilde remarked, “Estrogen, Hell! Jacques is seeking some more testosterone. He has a thing for that tall valet.” Verona giggled as did Yvette.
Once in the study Yvette poured the other women some brandy and then curled up at Anne Marie’s feet. Taking a sip of the brandy Verona said, “Anne Marie, why aren’t you performing the procedure on Julienne? I thought you had pierced many of the girls here and even branded a few.”
Anne Marie responded, “It’s true I have pierced many a girl. In some cases, they ask for it for decoration, the same as a tattoo. These are usually the girls who come here voluntarily; they feel it makes them stand out more and thus more desirable to a customer. But as for a girl whose lover brings her here to Roissy, it is to show her devotion to her lover or Master. For both types I have done many piercings – nipples, labia, clitoral hood, really almost anything. But to answer your question, what is being done to Julienne is beyond my expertise. It will take someone with real medical training, so I called Doctor Serrano. He has helped on other occasions.”
Verona nodded and Mathilde said, “Did I hear you say you had actually branded some of the girls here. Branded like a cow, with a hot iron?” Again, Anne Marie answered, “Yes. I think I have branded half a dozen or so. A girl called Yvonne and there is Julienne, of course. And there was O. Then Uta. And the two girls who were also models – Doutzen and Anna who is still here. Really though, a tattoo is more effective. Brands fade and sometimes the scar tissue disfigures over time. But there is something about branding that works on a deeper psychological level than a tattoo. Men requesting their women to be branded always seem to want some special significance associated with it.”
“How so?” asked Verona.
“It may be a special date; Ari, Doutzen’s Master chose Valentine’s day for her branding. Uta’s Master requested she be branded at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve as did Tristan for Anna, poor Tristan shot dead in Malaga in the terrorist attack.” Anne Marie laughed a little and said, “I remember Rolfe, Uta’s Master holding her while he had Doutzen take his member in her mouth. He came in Doutzen’s mouth just as I applied the iron to Uta’s buttocks. Poor Tristan wanted Anna branded in front just above her sex with a ‘T’ in a circle. But usually it is on the rear for some reason. O, Julienne and the others were branded there. I believe Sir Stephen had me brand O on his dead mother’s birthday. It was in August, I remember.”
Anne Marie took a large sip from her brandy and continued, “And, of course, some like drama associated with the branding. I remember Yvonne’s Master had her head shaved. Then she was strung up with her hands and feet bound between two stakes, and a noose of rough rope around her neck. She was naked except for a corset tightened so that breathing was difficult. He had the noose tightened to further restrict her breathing. Sometimes a Master will request music to be played.”
“Music?” remarked Verona. “Yes. It was Heavy Metal for Yvonne. I believe it was Samuel Barber’s ‘Adagio for Strings’ for Doutzen. It varied. But all wanted the girls to see the branding iron as it was being heated, either in a bed of coals or with a propane torch. It adds to the anticipation and makes them aware that they are about to enter a new phase of slavery.”
Julienne stood there, naked, tears streaming down her face. Anne Marie rang for a valet who appeared shortly. She said to him, “Please escort Julienne back to her room.” Then after a brief pause she added, “And tonight after she is whipped, you and the other valets may use her until the sun comes up. I am afraid that after the procedure, she will be ‘unavailable’ for a while.”
The valet grinned and said, “Yes ma’am, as you wish.” Then he fastened Julienne’s hands behind her back, took up the leash, attached it to the ring that pierced her labia and led her from the room.
As they exited the room, Doctor Serrano looked at Anne Marie and said, “Such willingness to submit. Why, I can scarcely believe it.” Then, “Now, if you will excuse me. I need a good night’s sleep in order to perform the procedure correctly.” Then he left, leaving only Anne Marie, her girl Yvette, Verona, her producer, Mathilde, and the cameraman Jacques in the room. Anne Marie said, “Well, now that it’s settled, shall we adjourn to the dining room. I believe Cook has a roasted duck with cherries for us tonight.”
Henri came to O and caressed her inner thigh softly. As he did so, he said, “You think you know what will happen to you, but you may be surprised.” He continued to softly stroke O, moving from her inner thigh to the lips of her sex. “You know you are to be punished, don’t you O? Punished like you were at Samois and later at Sir Stephen’s.”
O was silent. She felt Henri’s finger enter her, then retract and move to her clitoris, already emerging from its protective sheath. He massaged it gently, then moved again to the entrance of her vagina and probed there. “Oh good,” he said, “You are getting wet. Is it from being displayed all open and spread or from the anticipation of being punished?” Does thinking about being whipped on your inner thighs and sex arouse you, O?”
Again, O didn’t answer. Instead, she concentrated on not moaning from the pleasure of Henri’s insistent fingers. Henri stopped for a moment and said, “I do not want you to come yet. Look instead at the wall where the whips are hanging. Which one should be used on you?” Then he began anew, stroking O’s open sex.
O looked at the display of whips hanging on the wall but did not speak. Henri went to the rack and chose a whip. The dog whip. “This should work,” he said. Then, “But I said you would be surprised.” O looked up. Henri continued, “Oh, don’t worry, O. You will be whipped, but I won’t be wielding the whip. Instead, Mathilda will punish you. I may not have told you, but before she became my maid, Mathilda was a corrections officer at the women’s prison in Ghent. She told me that she administered many corporal punishments there.”
Then Henri stroked O’s sex and kissed her. Kissed her on the mouth so deeply that she that she gasped for air, before moving to her nipples, already erect. Then as he plunged fingers into her wet sex, he said, “How does that make you feel O? Knowing that you are about to be whipped by my maid? Whipped by a servant? Is it humiliating to you to be whipped by my maid?”
O didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She could barely breathe, her waist constricted by the corset and strap. O was trying not to give in to Henri’s insistent fingers. “I don’t want to come! Not like this! Not in front of Mathilda! Not now!” But her hips began undulating involuntarily. Henri must have noticed. He stopped and said, “You are close. I can tell. But I do not want you to come yet. I’ll ease off a bit but continue to keep you on edge. I want you to think about how open you are and what is about to happen to you.“
Instead of probing O’s sex, Henri moved his forefinger to O’s anus. Pressing there lightly, his finger invaded that opening, also. He said, “Perhaps afterwards, I’ll take you here, O.”
Suddenly, there was the loud sound of the doorbell. Without, removing his finger from O, Henri said, “Oh. That must be the men I spoke to at dinner. I said we would meet at my place tonight. They are right on time. Removing his finger, Henri turned to Mathilda and said, “I will get the door. My cohorts and I will be in the study. I leave O in your capable hands.”
Looking up, O saw a cruel smile on Mathilda’s face.
O finished the cigarette Henri had offered her. Then with him watching, she went over to the sofa and arm table beside it. She stubbed out the cigarette and looked at Henri. He said, “In a moment Mathilda will be here with something for you.” As O looked at the dais and raised posts, she could feel the cold sweat of fear and anticipation forming under her arms.
Momentarily, Mathilda, Henri’s maid appeared. She was holding something made of black leather in her hands. She gave a contemptuous glance at O and said to Henri, “Here is the corset for your whore.” O heard the words ‘your whore’ and winced. But she thought to herself, “What other words should be used to describe a woman, naked save for thigh high boots, standing in front of a dais where she will soon be on display? No. Whore is the right word. And after all, isn’t that what I am to Henri?”
Henri showed the corset to O. In a way it was similar to the one she had worn during her visit to Anne Marie’s home at Samois over four years ago. There was one notable difference though; there were metal rings embedded in the sides of the corset just above the waist. Henri must have noticed O looking at them because he said, “We can run straps through the rings and under the dais, thus securing you even tighter when you are laid upon it. Now, please put it on.”
The corset had laces in the back and was high enough so that her buttocks were completely free. In front it went to just above O’s pubic bone, and the top had mini cups that pushed her breasts up and out. Before Mathilda began pulling the laces tight, she ran a finger over O’s rear, tracing the brand Sir Stephen had marked her with. She remarked to Henri, “So your whore has been branded?”
Henri replied, “Yes. Her Master knew that someone seeing her from the front would immediately notice the ring and medallion hanging from her sex and recognize her for what she is, but also wanted to mark her rear. The brand has faded some over the years but is still visible.”
Mathilda only grunted. She pulled the laces tight, so tight that it constricted O’s breathing and she could only take shallow breaths.
O thought to herself, “Why should I care wat that old woman thinks. I am Sir Stephen’s property, and I am proud of it. Proud of the brand and rings he has placed upon my body. They serve as proof that he cares enough about me to mark me as his. Perhaps even proof that he does love me.”
Henri guided O to the dais. She lay down on it. Henri first tied O’s hands to the ring set in the head of the dais. Then moving to the other end, he pulled O’s right leg up and placed it on a stirrup nailed to the upright post. Then he used a strap to tighten her ankles in the stirrup. Then he moved to the other leg and did the same, while Mathilda wound another strap through the rigs set in the leather corset. Finally Henri, using a mechanism tat Alain had devised, cranked the head of the dais so that it was lower than the other end. O felt her legs being pulled further apart. Standing in front of the dais, all that was visible of O was her widespread legs, her sex and rear cleft open and visible.
O stood up and removed the thin, silk dressing gown. Then she lay it on the bed and turned to face Mathilde as naked as the day she was born. Mathilde looked her up and down. Then she touched O’s breasts and lifted one up, saying, “Your breasts are swollen and somewhat feverish, and you seem to have developed a small pot belly. Is there any possibility that you are pregnant?”
O’s face colored slightly. She had an anomaly that prevented her from becoming pregnant, but had not told Henri about it, and certainly not his maid. She replied to Mathilde, “No. It is the middle of my cycle. I always experience some swelling then.”
By then Mathilde had thrust two fingers into O’s sex and said, “Hmm. Your vagina is also quite swollen and tight. No doubt a good thing for a whore like you. But whatever. Now get dressed.” O looked at he outfit Mathilde had laid on the bed for her to wear to dinner with Henri and later to his ‘meeting.’ There was a pair of thigh high, opaque black hose, black leather boots that went just above her knee, and a black wool mini skirt that would show a bit of hose above the boots. Mathilde had also chosen an off-white silk blouse with a bow at the collar. “Very prim, proper and almost little girl like,” thought O. There was also a black short woolen jacket with red brocade trim.
“You won’t need a purse. The jacket has an inside pocket where you can put your lipstick,” said Mathilde.
“And I assume I am not going to get to wear any panties or bra?” asked O.
Mathilde laughed and said, “Of course not. Henri, like your other Master, likes you naked beneath your clothing.” Then after a pause. “As befits a whore and slave like you.”
As Mathilde jerked the wax strips from O, she looked towards the wall of her bedroom, looking away in an effort to take her mind off the pain of having any semblance of pubic hair removed. As she did, she saw on the wall of her room the neat array of whips and crops that Henri had purchased from the exclusive leather shop that he had made O accompany him on his shopping spree there. O thought to herself, “Those are the instruments of my punishment. They will hurt me much more than what Mathilde is doing.” Once Mathilde was finished, she said, “There. You’re a little red and swollen, but it’ll soon subside. And you’re as smooth as the day you were born. Now, fix your hair and make-up; I’ll get the clothes Henri wants you to wear and lay them on your bed.” With that Mathilde left O alone in her room.
O got up and put on the thin, silk dressing gown – the only article of clothing Henri allowed her to wear when in the apartment. O thought to herself, “Without a belt to tie it closed, I may as well be naked.” Yet she wore it primarily because Sir Stephen had given it to her before he turned her over to Henri. O then sat at the dressing table and looked at the reflection of her face in the mirror attached to the top of the table. With the towel still wrapped around her red, curly locks, she began applying her make-up. First a little foundation to lightly cover the freckles on her cheeks. Then O took a pencil and did her eyebrows; applying eye shadow was next. O stopped and considered the image staring back at her. “Not bad, but I need some color.” She chose a dark red lipstick, almost a peony. “All done,” she said.
But then O remembered that Henri had said that he wanted O to be like she was at Roissy. That meant that she must apply some color to both her nipples and nether lips. For this she chose a type pf lipstick that is applied with a brush and allowed to dry to a darker, richer color. Soon her nipples were only a slightly lighter shade of peony from the lips on her mouth and her lower lips almost the same color. It brought back memories of her first time at Roissy when two other slaves – who were they? Andree? Jeanne? O couldn’t recall, it seemed so long ago – had made her up after bathing her. O did remember that it had been Jeanne who had slipped a finger into her as she soaped her in the bath. “But who was the other girl? Andree? Therese?” No matter, I guess.”
O did not rush doing any of this. It was a habit she learned. “Take your time. Do it right. Your beauty is your only asset. Your only defense,” someone had told her once. But at Roissy, O had learned she had other assets. Assets more related to sex than to beauty. But even at Roissy, she had been allowed time to apply make-up and fix hair.
That was next. O removed the towel from her hair and shook her head. As if by magic curls appeared. O began to work with it. As she did, she recalled something Paul- poor, dear, dead Paul- had once said, “I believe all women ‘fight’ their hair. You do yours, but for no reason. It has a mind of its own and is always quite beautiful, no matter how hard you fight it.” Then he had laughed and kissed her. And O thought to herself, “What if…”
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mathilde’s entrance. She laid the clothes Henri wanted O to wear on the bed and said, “Time to get dressed, but first stand up and remove that flimsy dressing gown. I will inspect you.”
It was nearing Christmas. As a child O had always looked forward to the holiday. True, the household O grew up in – O, her mother, grandmother, and great aunt – was desperately poor, and presents were few, if any, but she always liked the lights, Seeing the markets, and the occasional sweet treat or present. Bit this year was different. Sir Stephen had “leased” O to Henri, whom O considered a psychopath and would not retrieve her until mid-February. In short, O was somewhat depressed.
O was in her room at Henri’s Antwerp apartment. She was naked as Henri had lately demanded of her when she was in the apartment. She looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall across from her bed. O considered what she saw in the reflection, “a girl in her late twenties, slender figure, red headed, blue-green eyes, nice smile. Pretty enough,” she thought. Then turning and looking over her shoulder, she could barely make out the faded scar of an “S” and “H” on her buttocks where Sir Stephen’s initials had been branded onto her. brand. “Pretty enough for a whore and branded slave,” she said aloud with a tinge of sadness in her voice.
O’s reverie was broken by Henri’s unannounced entry into the room. He said, “This evening we will go to a fine restaurant for dinner, and then you will accompany me to a couple of business meetings that I have. Prepare yourself and dress accordingly. Mathilde will help you.” Then without another word, Henri left.
O was somewhat surprised to hear Mathilde would help. “I am a grown woman. I am quite capable of getting ready to go out,” she thought to herself. But in short order, Mathilde, Henri’s maid came in. She was a dour woman of indeterminate age. She reminded O of Norah, Sir Stephen’s Haitian maid who had at Sir Stephen’s direction whipped O on occasion. And like Norah, Mathilde frightened O. Mathilde stared at O for a bit then said, “Shower, wash your hair and shave. Then I’ll wax your sex.”
O took a hot shower, soaping her body and shampooing her hair. As O ran a sponge over her full breasts, she felt her nipples stiffen. O knew she was at that time in her monthly cycle when she was ovulating. Her breasts were full and sore, her nipples painfully erect and as hard as stones. Her belly was slightly distended, and her sex was swollen and felt as if it were turned inside out. As she ran the sponge over her belly and towards her sex, O had to fight off the urge to masturbate.
Instead, she put the sponge down and rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Then while the conditioner set in her hair, O took a razor and shaved – first under her arms, then her legs, and finally above her mons. As she did so, she heard Mathilde say, “Hurry up! I don’t have all day.”
O got out of the shower and toweled off. Then wrapping a towel around her red, curly locks O went out of the bathroom. She saw Mathilde sitting on the bed with waxing strips lying on a bedside table. She said, “Get on the bed and spread your legs. Henri wants you smooth all over.”
Reluctantly O lay on the bed and spread her legs. Mathilde looked at O’s open, swollen sex and said, “Ah, the thing that men love.” Then after a short pause, “And hate. The thing that marks you as a woman and enslaved you.”
It was about eight in the morning. Anne Marie was waiting in a brightly lit room that had been specially arranged. She was sipping the cup of coffee that little Yvette had brought her. Jacques, the Arte photographer and his boss, Mathilde, were fiddling with cameras. Verona was doing a sound check with a microphone. Dr. Seranno, already gowned and masked was puting on latex gloves and standing by tray and a gynecological examining table. A door opened and James, the valet, led poor Julienne into the room, tugging on the leash attached to the ring that pierced her labia.
Dr Seranno said, “Up on the table and put your legs in the stirrups, please.” Julienne did as she was told. James undid the leash and he and Yvette fastened straps that secured Julienne’s legs to the stirrups. Then he secured Julienne’s hands to a ring set at the top of the table while Yvette set a large strap across Julienne’s belly and waist. She was quickly and totally immobilized. She looked as if she was in a daze, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.
Anne Marie, looking at the bruises and welts on Julienne’s skin, said to James, “She looks quite a state. You and your valets must have had a lot of fun.” Then to Verona, “Are you ready?”
Verona answered, “Yes. Cameras are rolling.”
Then Anne Marie turned to Dr. Seranno and said, “You may proceed.”
Well after midnight Blaise had finally fallen asleep. Hearing about what was to be done to Julienne had upset her so much that sleep was slow to come, but finally exhaustion had taken hold. Julienne, on the other side of the room, was not so fortunate. Thinking about her Fate and what she had agreed to – agreed to for the sake of her love of Etienne – precluded any rest for her. She heard the steady rise and fall of Blaise’s snores and tried to roll over. The chain attached to the ring in her sex pinched the tender flesh and Julienne decided to remain on her back, staring at the ceiling. She thought, “I was a fairly successful professional. How did I come to this – chained like an animal, awaiting an even more intimate chain to be attached. No that’s not right. Inserted, not attached in the morning. Will I survive? If not, will Etienne even care?”
Then the door was opened. Four valets came into the room. In the semi darkness Julienne couldn’t make out their features, but she recognized James’ voice. “Whip the young bitch first! Six strokes of the crop. Three on her ass and three on the front of her thighs. I want to hear her scream!”
And an unknown valet pulled on the chain attached to her collar pulling Blaise onto her feet. The valet placed his foot on the bed to steady himself and struck. Julienne heard the whistle of the crop in the darkness, then a sharp thud, followed by a scream from Blaise, “Please no! It hurts so!” The quickly two more followed. Then a valet’s voice – Michael this time? “Please turn around. Your thighs must also be marked.” Again, the sound of three blows followed by screams.
Blaise was left sobbing and the valets moved to Julienne. She heard James say as he undid the chain connected to the ring in her sex and hauled her to her feet, “After we whip you, each of us will take you. We will take you repeatedly until the sun rises. Take all of your holes. And if we tire, we will call in the other valets.”
There was a ring set in the wall almost two meters above the bed. The chain connected to the bracelets on Julienne’ hands was looped around that ring, so that Julienne had to stretch and stand on her toes. James said, “Now, bitch, suffer.” With her belly glued against the cool wall made of stone, Julienne heard the whistle of the whip before feeling the hot sting against her backside. She screamed to no avail.
From her bed across the room Blaise, feeling the welts on her rear and thighs beginning to rise, watched Julienne being flogged, as did Verona and Mathilde on the video monitor from their room across the chateau. All three watched Julienne being flogged and then taken repeatedly.
The voice in Verona’s ear belonged, of course, to Mathilde. As the water ran down Verona’s face, Mathilde turned her around and kissed her hard on the lips. Then her tongue entered into Verona’s welcoming mouth. “Dry off and come to bed,” she said to Verona. Then, “Right now.”
Verona answered, “Yes, ma’am. I always obey my producer.” Once on the large bed, Mathilde lay on top of Verona, kissed her again on the mouth while running her hands down to Verona’s breasts where she cupped them before kissing them – first on the sides, then moving to the nipples where she gave little sucking bites. Verona moaned slightly. Then Mathilde moved her mouth down Verona’s belly to her pubis. Mathilde roughly pushed Verona’s thighs apart, exposing and opening her sex. Soon her tongue was inflaming Verona. Verona moaned again and opening her eyes noticed figures on the video screen – figures in the room Blaise and Julienne shared.
At Roissy Verona and Mathilde shared a room in the hotel area of the chateau. It was well appointed with a large bed and private bath. And a video monitor that could be used to watch any of the hidden cameras placed in certain areas of the estate. One of these cameras was placed in the room Julienne and Blaise shared – neither woman was aware of it. Verona switched on the monitor and made sure it was tuned so that she and Mathilde could observe Julienne and Blaise. Then Verona retired to the bathroom. Soon she was in the shower. Standing naked under the warm water, her mind drifted back to the last time she had been at Roissy- to do a documentary about sexual slavery (without any attribution or real names of course). As the warm water relaxed her, Verona recalled the final conversation she had with Anne Marie before returning to the studio for final editing of the film. Anne Marie had said, “I think you have taken more than just a professional interest in what is involved in sexual slavery. Rest assured that you would be welcomed back here at Roissy.” Then she added, “In any capacity.”
Verona applied shampoo to her long dark hair and used a perfumed body wash that quickly foamed into soap bubbles. She closed her eyes so as to not let the shampoo run into them and rubbed the body wash on herself. Thinking about the night’s events and what was to come tomorrow, Verona ran her hand down her flat belly to her pubic area. Feeling the stubble above her slit, Verona thought, “I will need to shave again soon.” Then she let her fingers slide into her sex.
Suddenly, Verona’s head was pulled back and she felt a hand grabbing at her right breast. As she felt the same hand roll her erect nipple, a voice whispered in her ear, “Bitch, don’t touch yourself. That belongs to me.”
Henri looked around the table at his visitors. Even Henri, who was no angel by any stretch of the imagination, considered them to be an unsavory lot: mercenaries, gunrunners, human traffickers, and at least one confirmed terrorist. Henri thought to himself, “I may dabble in illegal arms dealing and trafficking, but at least I am no terrorist.” A man who went by Abdul al Iraqi, but was really a Jordanian, spoke. “So, it is settled. My men will bring the women to Amsterdam. There you will make payment. One half in Euro’s or U.S. currency and the other half in AK 47’s. Correct?”
Henri answered, “Yes. I will bring the money and accompany the representatives of the ‘establishments’ that will receive the women. Said here to my left will have a truckload of weapons at the ready.”
Hearing this, the swarthy man who name was evidently Said said, “And my dear fellow Henri, what if I may ask is your role in this exchange?” Henri replied, “Every deal needs a middleman. A man who will vouch for all parties involved, ensuring none of the parties are really INTERPOL or other law enforcement in disguise. I know all the individuals who will be thee and will vouch for them.”
“No doubt for a hefty cut,” said Abdul.
“Knowing every criminal element – no offense intended – in Europe is not without its advantages,” replied Henri. “Plus, tonight, I am providing some entertainment for you two.”
“What might that be?” asked Said.
“I presume you may have heard some soft moans and crying during our meeting.”
“Yes, from down the hallway. No doubt from that door we went by on the way to this room.”
Henri replied, “Yes. That is correct. My maid Matilde was, how shall I say it, ‘preparing’ a little surprise for you.”
And down the hall in the room that Henri had built for O, on the raised dais where she was bound and spread eagle, Mathilde came to O’s tear-streaked face, the dog whip still in her hand. Mathilda grabbed a fistful of O’s tangled red hair and pulled her head back. She leaned close to O and said, “There I have whipped you. Whipped you on your open sex. Whipped you like the whore you are. And now you will be taken by your Master’s guests. They will push into your bruised sex, hurting you even more.” Then Mathilde kissed O on the mouth, so deeply that O thought she might pass out.
But somewhere within herself O found the courage to respond to Mathilda when she finally withdrew her tongue and mouth, “Henri is not my Master. I belong to Sir Stephen.”
And then O saw the shadows of three men approaching the dais. Said, Abdul, and Henri all took her in turn.
Julienne was spread wide open on the gynecological table in the converted dungeon room at Roissy. Dr Serrano stepped between her thighs and inserted a speculum. A moment later he peered into Julienne’s vagina. Then, moving to her face, he showed her a long needled about 3 mm in diameter. He said, “This is what I will use to pierce your cervix. It is hollow to allow the ring to be abutted against it when I pierce you. Afterwards, I will work the ring through the hole and finally thread a small chain around the ring before closing the ring with a keeper bead. It will be quite secure. I expect the chain to hang down from your vulva several centimeters. You will most likely be constantly aware of it being there which is what I believe Anne Marie and your Master want.”
Julienne appeared to be in a state of shock, but looked into Dr Serrano’s face and murmured, “Will it be painful?”
He answered, “Oh, most assuredly.”
Tears ran down Julienne’s face and she whimpered, “Oh God, what have I agreed to.”
Verona turned to Jacques, her photographer for Arte Television and asked, “Are you getting this on film. It will be great television!”
Dr Serrano turned to Anne Marie and said, “I am still afraid the pain and shock may be too much for her.”
As these conversations went on, Mathilde, Verona’s producer, looked around the room. It was now well lit and there were white curtains around the ‘operating’ area, but Mathilde knew that just beyond the curtains were the instruments of torture – whips, crops, chains, leather straps used to tie down slaves who were being flogged, even a brazier where branding irons had been heated. She thought to herself, “How many women have been brought to this place? This Hell on earth? Beaten and tortured? And for what? Love? Verona thinks they all came willingly. For love. To prove their love for their men. What kind of woman feels the need to be tortured to prove her love for her man?”
Dr Serrano looked at Anne Marie and said, “Well?”
She answered, “It’s what her Master wants. Proceed.”
James, the valet, led Julienne into the brightly lit room; a room that had earlier been a punishment room for recalcitrant slaves at Roissy but was now outfitted as a sort of operating room. Julienne seemed dazed and oblivious to the tugging of the leash on the ring that pierced the inner lips of her sex. Dr. Serrano had her get up on the gynecological table and place her feet in the stirrups. Then little Yvette and James secured straps that held Julienne’s legs down. Then her hands were secured to an iron ring set at the head of the table, and finally a large leather strap was placed across her lower belly and hips. Once that strap was tightened, Julienne was unable to move. Dr Serrano peered between her wide-spread thighs and conducted a brief examination.
As he was doing so, Verona was speaking into the microphone while Jacques, her Arte Television photographer was filming. Verona said, “We are here at an unnamed brothel not far from Paris in a segment of our series, ‘Sex and deviant sexual practices in France.’ Today we are witnessing a most unusual event – a man has asked his lover, whom he considers his slave, to agree to having her cervix pierced with a large ring. This type of procedure is so unusual that an unnamed physician has been contracted to perform the procedure. And we are here to witness and document it for our viewers.” As Verona said this, her producer (and occasional lover) Mathilde nodded and said, “Good take.”
Little Yvette, Anne Marie’s current ‘girl’ said to her mistress, “Why are they filming? Surely, it cannot be shone on T.V., not even on cable.” Anne Marie answered, “Don’t worry, little one. They will be able to blur the images of Juliette using a digitizer. But actual footage will be available for sale to certain clients. Roissy will make a lot of money this way, both from the television rights that Arte will pay us and sales of actual videos.”
Yvette cooed, “No wonder you are the manager here, Mistress. You are so smart!”
The Dr Serrano approached Anne Marie with a look of concern on his face.
He said, “I am afraid your valets took you at your word last night. That poor girl looks as if she was abused terribly – obviously raped several times – vaginally and anally, as well as whipped and flogged.” Anne Marie nodded, “Yes, I told James and the other valets to enjoy themselves with Julienne. And it seems they did so all night long. Why do you mention this? Is there a problem?”
Dr Serrano answered, “Possibly. She is dazed and probably in shock. I am afraid the procedure without anesthesia might be too much of a shock to her system. It could kill her.”
With Verona and Mathilde looking on, Anne Marie went over to Julienne and asked her, “Julienne, do you still consent to the procedure?” Julienne did not speak but nodded in the affirmative. Then Anne Marie turned to Dr Serrano and said, “It is her Master’s desire. And she agrees to it. Go ahead with the procedure.”
Hearing this Verona said, “Imagine! Willing to risk death for Love. How romantic!”
Later as Mathilde lay by Verona in the bed they were sharing in the west wing of the hotel area of Chateau Roissy, Verona leaned over to the bedside table and took a cigarette from the pack on the top of the table. She looked at Mathilde and said, “I suppose it’s OK to smoke here. I didn’t see a sign that it wasn’t allowed.”
Mathilde laughed and said, “It’s a good thing. You were certainly smoking a minute ago. And nearly screaming. I bet Anne Marie heard you.”
Verona took a pillow and hit her producer saying, “You are such a bitch!” Then as she lit the cigarette and took a draw she went on, “But don’t you think this will be a great program. I mean once you and Jacques finish editing and all.”
“Yes, I think it will be a very good piece. But I also think this visit and interview has deeply affected you.”
Verona answered, “You are correct. It has. I understand about the regular prostitutes like that black girl. And Anne Marie was right in that I have on occasion fantasized about being a prostitute, well at least a high-class call girl or escort. But I just cannot get my head around the ones like Julienne and Blaise. Why on earth would someone willingly become a slave to their lover?”
Mathilde took the cigarette from Verona’s hand, took a long drag and exhaled before answering, “Perhaps someday you’ll understand.”
Verona looked puzzled, “What do you mean?”
“It’s a long, somewhat sad story.”
“So, tell me,” said Verona.
“Several years ago, I fell in love. I wasn’t working in the industry yet; I was in school – a starving student. I met an older woman who was some sort of executive. She was everything I wanted to be – beautiful, professional, self-assured. I flirted with her shamelessly. She must have found me somewhat appealing because she suggested dinner at a fancy restaurant. I thought it was a disaster; she was dressed to the nines, all I had to wear were jeans and a sweater. But after dessert, she said, ‘Why don’t we go back to my apartment?’ Of course I agreed. She must have sensed what I had in mind because we had no sooner gotten inside than she began to kiss me quite hard on the mouth. Her tongue slid into my open mouth. I felt myself melting as she pulled my sweater off and began fondling my breasts. Then she kissed my nipples and slid my jeans and panties down. Soon I was completely naked. She looked at me and said, ‘At least you have shaved.’ Then she undressed and led me to bed. It was wonderful.”
Verona said, “But what does this love story have to do with slavery?”
“I’m coming to that,” said Mathilde and continued, “In short we became lovers. For all intents and purposes, I became a housewife to this woman. She was really quite domineering, but I was so in love, I didn’t care. She began to impose rules that I had to follow. I dropped out of school. I didn’t work, I had no job. She showered me with gifts – jewelry, perfume, fancy lingerie. So, I really didn’t mind her rules. I couldn’t date others or really even see anyone else. I had a sort of boyfriend at school, but she forbade me to have any contact with him. I began to feel isolated. One day she came home from work, I had made dinner and opened a bottle of wine, but she wanted to immediately make love. I was somewhat surprised when she said she wanted to tie me to the bed, but I agreed. That night the sex was
wonderful. But the next day, she said she wanted me to stay naked at all times in the apartment. She even took all my clothes from the closet. She said I was much sexier when I was naked.”
“Then what happened?” asked Verona.
“A sad ending,” said Mathilde. “Eventually she grew tired of me and cast me out for another girl. But I still love her and would gladly go back if she were to ask.“
