I was short of sleep that night, thinking of the possibilities that seemed to be open in my meetings with that woman. My glimpse of the girl on the stairs also made me curious to know more. The mediocre coffee and pastry at my pension seemed harsh and dry to me as I swallowed them without much interest.
The walk from the Metro to her building was too slow for my feelings. I had not said when I would return, just that I would be earlier. It was warmer outside, with the sun lighting the front of her apartment as I arrived there.
She did not answer the door when I knocked, so I knocked more loudly, then turned the handle and pushed. It swung inward and I walked into her rooms, closing it behind me. After she had accepted the kneeling position yesterday I had confidence in my position regarding her.
I was still amazed when I found her kneeling beside my chair from yesterday, dressed in the yellow and grey taffeta described in the book. Her hair was dressed and glossy, with clips and long pins holding it back from her face, yet flowing part-way down her back. Her face was made up, with crimson lipstick, dark eye shadow and dramatic highlights. If she had done this herself it was a work of brilliance, to emphasise the gorgeous woman that was within the plain one I had met previously.
The dress was in the style of an earlier generation, with wide skirts and underskirts that flowed in a circle across the floor around her. The bodice was very tight and pushed her breasts up beneath a lace shawl. She was breathing deeply and steadily, making her shawl move in a fetching way. Her eyes were downcast, and fixed their gaze near my knees.
It took me some minutes to take in this scene, so much was changed by her choice this morning. The question that was in my heart came to my dry lips. "Have you chosen to offer yourself to me in this way? Or is this some way to help you to recall the past? Please explain yourself."
Her voice was clear and calm as she replied. "I do not offer myself at all. My role is as it always was since my first time at Roissy. I exist to serve, to be accessible to any that may desire to use my body for their pleasure. I cannot be raped, my consent has been long since given to any use or punishment that others put me to. This was made clear to me by Sir Stephen, that I had no independent will, just the acceptance that I was his to use, to torture or to offer to his friends. I have lived by that consent to serve since that time. I felt that you might be interested in seeing me as he made me, with this dress that was part of that life for me in the early time."
"Please stand up and close your eyes" I spoke and went to stand closer to her. She did so, using only her legs, without needing her hands for the action. She clearly had learned much and had maintained suppleness, poise and strength. Her breath came more quickly and colour rose in her cheeks. My finger stroked down the side of her cheekbone and across her lips, which were moist and slightly parted. She held her breath for a moment, before taking a deep intake.
My hand reached for the long pin that held the ends of her lace shawl together. As I fumbled to unpin it, the sharp point scratched the skin beneath, making her gasp. The shawl fell away to reveal a superb chest, with firm breasts of modest size but classic shape. Her nipples were coloured a deep passionate red and hardened as I watched. She was trembling and breathing in short but deep intakes. The scratch was obvious, with a drop of blood forming on it. My hands stroked her, then gripped her breasts strongly as her breath came in gasps and strong colour rose in her skin and face.
I released her after squeezing her nipples that were now long and rigid. "Turn around please, and place your hands on the chair". The dress rustled as she obeyed. Her rear was toward me and I parted the slit in the folds of her skirt to reveal a beautiful rounded bottom. At first I did not see what I expected, then looked lower to find the brands- bracketing her anus rather than higher on her buttocks. A fitting site, I decided. My fingers stroked the deeply burnt 'S' on one side, 'H' on the other. She flinched as I did so, her legs parting a little more. There were many light silvery lines across her bottom, old scars, I guessed.
I ran my hand down between her legs, where I touched warm wetness. Her lower lips were engorged, with a very prominent clitoris erect at the far end. She sighed as she spread herself for my hand. A lush handful of pubic air showed droplets of moisture near her vagina. I could not resist sliding two fingers inside her. She moaned and flexed her hips and I felt her tighten around my fingers, with a powerful grip. Had she always been this sexually charged, or was it a product of her training and years of use?
"How long has it been since a man touched you like this?" She was not able to speak until I withdrew my fingers and then her voice was weak and breathy.