The Sculptor...
"A fortnight later, the weather had warmed further and much had been resolved. The book had been through its final edit and we were pleased with it. A few months would now pass before we received the proof copies. The negotiations with Claire and her husband had gone well. They were a delightful couple, he was an educated man with a bright future in the Civil Service of the Republic, and indeed rose to head the Ministry in which he served, some years later. We visited their home which was plain yet tasteful and set in a delightful rural village. Claire's youth had included a love of outdoor sports and ponies, as had my own, I had come to accept that this was an excellent choice for my daughter.
I walked away from the new home I had given her to, with mixed feelings in my heart. While they had accepted my requests for contact, name and disclosure, there were many possible difficulties in this situation.
We returned to the city in Anne-Marie's red Alfa Romeo. When I emerged from my reverie I saw we were not at my apartment. We had come to a place I did not expect. We drove into an industrial courtyard where there were cheap workshops and some apartments that were run down and grimy. A few workers were crossing the yard at the end of their work day, and looked tiredly at the alien luxury car in their zone of commercial camions. I was surprised, and looked to her for reassurance. She looked across at me while she came to a halt in front of a light industrial building that seemed to have an apartment above the workshop. She said 'get out of the car please, then remove the dress, gloves, hat and shoes then place them on the seat you were using'
"Far from reassuring, this frightened me intensely. This was an area of the city with many migrants and much crime. To be naked here was a direct threat to my survival. Of course I did as instructed. The light summer dress joined the other items in the car and I stood naked before the truck-sized door. Anne-Marie cheerfully told me that I would not need any other items as the man who would shortly meet me would have all that was required. 'Stand exactly where you are until told to move.' I wore only my iron ring. She then waved and drove away. I listened fearfully to the rasp of her exhaust echo out of the courtyard and into the distance.
"I stood for what seemed to be an age, with the workmen's voices rising, as they noticed me and came to investigate. I wished for release from this threat, though a part of me felt that these rough men could do no worse to me than I had already endured in my slavery. To be raped was no terror to me, even by all of them, to be sodomised likewise, nor to have them use my mouth. I had no pride or privacy to lose.
"The real fear was that they might cause me permanent harm that could affect my future. Whatever was to happen to me I must face it with calm and acceptance, as I had no real choice- I had given that up those years before when I offered myself before Sir Stephen and Rene. In essence I was facing discomfort and some dirty men's use of me, which was a common experience to me. The fear I had felt before was melting away, I was protected by the debasement of my state.
"The men gathered around me in a group, and drew closer. Many were foreigners- swarthy of skin and with guttural and broken French, in which they argued about me, calling me a whore and degenerate. One older man stepped closer to me, and I tensed for what was to come. He took his grimy overcoat and wrapped it around my body, turning to the others with contempt in his voice. After a sharp burst in Arabic, he spoke at more length in rough French, shaming them as being like dogs sniffing at a bitch's rear. He reminded them of their wives and daughters at home.
"The men began to shuffle and lose their bravado, though two younger ones argued back and looked ready to fight. My saviour was much older and alone in his defence of me, yet seemed to command respect. I became aware that a loud vehicle was approaching from the street outside the courtyard. The noise increased until a battered Citroen panel van appeared and swerved toward the small crowd, driving directly to the group which made way as it slowed to a stop in front of me. A small powerfully built man leapt from the sliding side door and came around to me. He greeted my rescuer and invited him to come in for a cup of tea.
"He thanked the man, Farouq for his help of the new model he had hired for his project. He unlocked the big door and ushered me inside. The group of men began to shuffle and disperse. Farouq declined the offer of tea, but came through the door to stand waiting politely. The short man found a rough blanket and gave it to me, so I removed the coat and took the blanket for my covering. I folded the old coat and handed it back to Farouq. As I did this I succumbed to a sudden urge and fell to my knees and kissed his boots in gratitude. He jerked back in horror, and scuttled away quickly.
"My new master, if that was to be his role, pulled me to my feet and shoved me towards the stairs at the side of the workshop. He then went back to the van outside, restarted the noisy engine and drove it inside. In the left seat was the pale face of a woman, clearly terrified by what she had seen. He reclosed the high door and locked it. The woman stepped out and gathered the shopping from around her feet. She looked at me with pity, which I was used to from other women.
"In the rear of the workshop space was a huge object, wrapped in canvas. Near it were ladders and a platform on wheels, also tables with a wide range of implements. None of them looked to be torture tools, but I was aware that an imaginative mind has always been the most fearsome source of suffering.
"They made their way up the stairs and I followed. Above was a rough apartment, with places for cooking and eating, a potbelly stove and an area with several couches and low tables. Through a sliding door at the rear I could see a tiled space I took to be a bathroom. The woman went to the kitchen and began to busy herself, the short man came to me, removed the blanket and asked me to raise my arms and turn around slowly.
"'You are everything I was expecting and more, cherie. Your pictures are exact and yet the reality exceeds their promise. You may call me Gorodish, or Maitre. You are to be my model for a work of art that is for a very select market, that which you know well'. At these words he took my hand and kissed the iron ring that was my sole possession, yet symbolised that I was in turn the possession of another.
"'You will stay here with me until the work is well advanced. You will be fed and kept, but you are to follow my instructions as you will those of my woman, Jeanne. I have spent time in the house at Roissy, where I learned of the proper treatment of slave women. I am told that you were there at the same time as I was, though I don't remember possessing your body. I will do so here from time to time. You understand those methods, so just accept that you are not free here, though the formality of that place will be relaxed here, much of the time.
"I will immortalise your body and the spirit of your slavery in stone. It will take some months to make it succeed and your obedience will be tested to the limit of your endurance. But now, sit at the table and Jeanne will serve the dinner she has made for us. We will start early in the morning tomorrow and work hard each day to meet the deadline. We will live and work together. When I do not need you to pose for me you will have assigned tasks to support the work or run this home.'"
O stopped her tale, the light was fading from the window. I asked, "is your daughter coming here soon? Do we need to break for the day?"
She shook her head, "Non, Monsieur, she is with her family, being Claire's daughter again. I think we should eat again, then I will take you to visit that which we produced. It will save ten thousand words and take only an hour or two." She summoned Clothilde once more and gave her instructions for a tasty meal with grilled lamb and potato, together with salad and a rich Burgundy. The meal was ready soon, and soon eaten. O drank just a half-glass during the meal, while serving me attentively. She ate well, though I noted that she waited for me to begin before starting herself.
I was still not used to her nudity at the table or in general, though she seemed to feel it normal, and Clothilde yielded no expression that I could detect. I asked how far we would travel to see the object and how we would go there.
"Monsieur, if it pleases you, I have ordered a car to take us there, which will arrive shortly. The trip is less than one hour, though the traffic can be difficult at this time."
She made no further comment, so I took charge. "Let me look at your clothing, to select what you may wear for the trip." She led me back to the bedroom, to the closet that stood near the door. She opened the double door and stood aside to let me see the contents. I pulled various items from the rack, looked them over then returned them. I was not sure what I wanted on her, until I saw it- a soft grey dress that was low in front and showed her back, with a high slit at the thigh. "Here, put this on to show me".
She quickly obeyed and stood straight in front of me. Her breasts were beautifully moulded by the soft wool, her nipples proudly apparent through the fabric. I nodded approval and she went to the dresser to find stockings that she rolled up her smooth thighs. The effect was electric- her nudity had been matter-of-fact, but this light clothing was sexually charged. The front was low to display the upper curves of her breasts and the thigh slit revealed the top of her stocking when she moved. The motion of her breasts and rear as I had her walk around was fascinating. Her arms and her back were bare, which looked fine, but would be cold out in the autumn evening.
"Fix your make-up and hair before we go. You will need a coat outside, do you still own a fur?" She sat to her mirror and began to repair the perfection that had suffered during our day together. She was deft and rapid with the brushes and colours, then did one of those magic shrugs that French girls learn early in life, to release her hair to flow around her face and shoulder. A tortoiseshell comb appeared and was slid in at one side of her hair- the result made her look like a film star of the fifties, ready to face the press. This rapid preparation, I knew, was a product of the many times she was required to be ready urgently for the men who she was to please, at Sir Stephen's request. I was rapt as I struggled with the thought of possessing her.
