CHAPTER ONE: CATHARSIS
Antonia LaCroix crossed her legs as she sat on the sofa. She did it out of modesty - she wasn't used to wearing pencil skirts this short - and also an attempt to stop the anxious bounce of her left knee.
She was nervous. She'd never done anything like this before, never gone out on a limb like this. The truth was, she was auditioning to be a house slave to one of Rust City's richest and most eligible bachelors.
Alexander Saint-Clair was the heir to the Saint-Clair fortune; a fortune made in the liquor and print business. They owned clothing retailers, real estate, breweries and distilleries, paper mills and printing presses - some of which were even used by the New York Times and the Boston Globe! The Saint-Clair name was a sign of respect and was held in high regard. It was an old name; they came from old money. At one time, they'd been the richest family in New England, now it was estimated they were number three or four.
Toni had read up on the family history after her house slave application had been accepted. How'd she'd found the ad had been a funny story. It wasn't the kind of thing that was advertised on Craigslist. No, her roommate Kelly had stumbled upon it after being given a business card by one of her sources.
Now, Toni called herself a feminist -- and a damned proud one at that -- but Kelly was militant. She was an investigative journalist who specialized in women's issues, in particular the sex industry. The source who passed her along the business card was one of Rust City's city councillors, who hinted it was relevant to former Mayor Caroline White's shock resignation. The card just stated:
The House of Saint-Clair
For the conscientious working woman
"Can you
believe
this Toni?" Kelly had said one night, after interviewing the councillor. "Women actually apply for this! To be a sex slave! It's not even poor women down on their luck, this sick fuck's slaves are
means tested
it makes me sick. Can you imagine hating your gender that much?"
"No... of course not." Toni had replied, ten minutes before finding the job ad itself through a hidden QR code on the business card. Toni was never usually impulsive, but she'd applied in less than ten minutes, and then spent the next three hours researching the Saint-Clair family to the nth degree. She'd known the name, but that was about it.
Now a week later she was sitting in the man's house, waiitng to interview for the position of sex slave. It was lunacy! She'd spent the entire drive over debating whether or not to go through with it, but she couldn't shake the feeling of joy she'd felt when she'd gotten the email to say her application had been accepted.
It was just nerves, that's all. Just nerves. The best she could do to relax was replaying the Saint-Clair family history over in her mind. Took her mind off the fact she was betraying everything she believed in.
August Saint-Clair had been a Scotsman, born August Sinclair. He and his French wife, Emilie, emigrated to the New World, settling in Apple Bay, Massachusetts. August became the landowner at Apple Bay's tavern; the Good Saint Mary. His first proper entry into the liquor business was selling rum shipped to him via old Navy contacts. The Good Saint Mary prospered, and August took to selling rum on the side. Soon he founded his own rum distillery, and bought another, as well as a share of a distillery on Barbados. New England Rum sold extremely well; going for about three shillings per gallon. Soon August Saint-Clair owned four distilleries; three in Massachusetts; one in Rhode Island.
In 1808; as the US prohibited the import of slaves from Africa the rum trade died down. Saint-Clair diversified, purchasing large tracks of land, as well as breweries and distilleries in Kentucky, Pennsylvania and Louisiana. However, August died in 1810, leaving the company to his son, Albert.
By 1840, Albert was a prominent figure in the liquor industry, and Saint-Clair Whiskey was a familiar name to most Americans. From their headquarters in New York, the Saint-Clair family consolidated their little empire. They played a minor role in the civil war, with the main branch of the family fighting on the side of the Union, while a smaller cadet-branch; the Ulfsons, fighting for the Confederacy -- and disowned for doing so.
And so it was for over a century, give or take. The family's fortunes stayed relatively on course, save a few exceptions -- two failed runs for governor in New York and Louisiana by overly-ambitious younger brothers, and the loss of the family heir -- Alexander's great uncle Sterling -- during the Second World War, fighting in the Pacific theater.
It was an open secret that the Saint-Clair's played a large role in underground liquor distribution during Prohibition, bootlegging, distilling their own liquor and importing the stuff from Canada. They were a major part of in New England and New York's liquor scene. Indeed, the Prohibition cemented their status in the liquor business, as it increased sales. They were richer than ever, but they kept their hands clean, laundering cash through the main legitimate businesses they ran. No case against them could stand up in court, but then again -- no case ever even reached a courtroom. The Saint-Clairs weren't secretive, so to speak, but they certainly kept themselves to themselves, they were an isolated lot; tucked away in the family mansion in upstate New York -- that is, save for Alexander Saint-Clair, who lived in Rust City of all places.
But anybody who was anybody knew who they were. They held quite a bit of sway over politics, and were family friends with the Roosevelts and Kennedys, and other great New England families. It was a little daunting, she hoped Alexander's slaves didn't have to meet the whole clan.
While most rich playboys surrounded themselves with Instagram models, Alexander Saint-Clair kept it low key. According to internet, he'd studied at Harvard, but that was all she knew about him. He had no public presence.
Toni sighed. Maybe this was a mistake. She'd been waiting in the parlor for an hour. It had taken her all of five minutes to be bored by the room's chic design and the Edward Hopper print that hung on the wall across from her. When one waits so long, doubt starts to creep in. She'd left home primed and ready for whatever awaited her in the audition, but now she felt less and less sure with each second that passed. She'd skipped work for this, she reminded herself. Told her boss she had a sore throat and a headache.
Her phone vibrated. She pulled it out and sighed - it was a text from Kelly.
Hey bitch! Where'd you say you'd be today?
Toni sighed again and began answering. A lie, obviously. She squeaked in surprise when a woman cleared her throat.
"Ahem," the woman said. Toni hadn't heard her approach.
"Hello, sorry, I..." she said looking up. Her eyes widened. The woman was completely naked! Toni's jaw dropped. Every inch of this woman's supple, curvaceous figure was on display. She was gorgeous, absolutely stunning. She had shiny dark hair in a neat bob, framing a face that Toni thought only existed in commercials and advertisements. Luminous blue eyes, long lashes, heart shaped lips painted a vivid red; she was the epitome of old fashioned beauty.
Toni felt a burst of insecurity bubble in her stomach. She didn't look like that. What made it worse, was this gorgeous, beautiful, incredible woman had almost ten years on her -- she must have been in her late thirties! As for Toni? Well, at thirty she was little more than a walking cliche; she sported a side cut and hair dyed a fluorescent red. A proper feminist cut. She had a smattering of tattoos and pale, alabaster skin.
She kept herself fit -- gym four times a week -- but still she never felt happy with her body. Her thighs were too thick, her calves too short. Her breasts were small and rather pointy, with prominent pink nipples that seemed to have a confidence that she herself lacked about her body.
It wasn't that she was fat or anything, it was little things she didn't like. Her boobs; the way her shoulders were a little boxy and masculine; her ankles; the way her nose was slightly crooked or how she had a tiny little torso that sat atop tree trunk legs.
She'd had boyfriends call her beautiful, and she got the usual catcalling and harassment that comes with being a woman, but there was always a niggling little voice at the back of her mind. What if she wasn't? It really shouldn't matter either way - woman are worth more than just their appearance - but it
did
matter to her. Even after all these years fighting back against the system, against the patriarchy, and she still just wanted to be told she was pretty. It was all bullshit.
She was more than confident in other areas, mind you. She knew her strengths; she was good at her job and she'd excelled at university. She did so well that they'd even stopped talking about her haircut in the office.
To add insult to injury, the woman had the most enormous breasts Toni had ever seen. A pair of humongous tits so damned big they made porn stars like Angela White look flat chested. But somehow, despite being so big and so heavy, they jutted out from her chest like the perky prows of two mighty ships. Her nipples, erect and hardened by the room's air conditioning, were like two little pointers proudly guiding the way forth.
The woman smiled, revealing pristine, pearly-white teeth. "I assume you're Miss LaCroix?"
"That's me," Toni said, smiling nervously. "You're naked!" she blurted out.
