There exists in our world an island nation, about the size of Ireland, called The Humanist Democracy of Nova Insula (Hodni). It was settled a century ago by people looking for a place where they could live out their sexualities in peace. What they built became something of a BDSM utopia. Masters and slaves are voluntary social classes. When people reach the age of eighteen, they enter an exploratory period where they try out different occupations and social roles. Most members of the society become either an Owner or a slave. It is a normal part of life and slave treat it like a career and a vocation.
Our main character, Alan Merrick, is a journalist from National Geographic who has been sent to this country to document, interview, and understand this fascinating but largely closed culture. We begin our story in the slave quarters of Le Maison de Liaisons, a high-class brothel, where Mr. Alan Merrick will soon arrive to begin his stay. The slaves of the brothel, an intriguing cast of characters themselves, are busy with preparations.
1.
BZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZ
Tambara's hand shot out from under a pillow to silence the alarm. It fumbled on the bedside table for a moment until it found its target. Her head remained buried under her pillow with the smallest amount of her blue sleep scarf sticking out.
Vanessa was standing at the vanity putting on makeup. Any rational person would sit down to do this, but Vanessa was so anxious she could barely make herself stand still long enough to do her eyes. She looked over at the sleeping Nigerian beauty in the bed. Even missing her head, Tambara's body was a sight to behold. The little bit of light that was coming in through the window illuminated her dark skin in ways that showed off the highs and lows of her muscular physique. Vanessa's eyes traveled down her lover's body. The covers that Tambara had stolen in the night were now halfway covering her tight, round rear leaving just the bottom crack and the hint of labia showing. She looked like a Jean-Léon Gérôme painting of a harem girl if he had had a sense of humor. Vanessa looked at her watch, which she was already wearing even though she was nude and sighed. Alarm number two would ring in three...two....
BZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZ
The muscles on the beautiful black arm contorted as Tambara's hand twisted into a raised middle finger directed right at the clock she had just punched.
"Whhhyyyy" came a muffled voice from beneath the pillow.
"I set the alarms two minutes apart." said Vanessa frankly. Without the head making an appearance the middle finger turned to her. Vanessa didn't look up from her makeup.
"Don't think earning a punishment will get you out of this....young lady." Vanessa smiled a little bit to herself. A pillow flew across the room and landed next to Vanessa. She stopped.
"I could hang you in the punishment room for a week if you mess up my makeup."
"I'd have to teach you how to work the locks," said Tambara groggily as she hauled herself out of bed. "And don't call me 'young lady.'
"Then stop being younger than me." Came the matter-of -fact response as Vanessa applied her mascara, open mouthed staring into her mirror. "Now get ready! Today is a big day."
"I know, I know," Tambara said as she walked out the door into the hallway bathroom." They were the only two slaves, aside from Marty and Norm, who were older and married, that had their own bathroom.
"Collar!" Vanessa called after her.
Tambara walked quickly back into the room and retrieved the small leather collar with an o-ring in the front from its velvet stand.
"Got it." She said, hurrying away.
"Hey come here." Said Vanessa. Tambara turned and came to her.
"What?"
"Kiss me!"
Tambara's attitude changed slightly. She smiled "Okay-ow! OOW!"
Vanessa had slapped Tambara hard on the ass and then twisted one of her nipples.
"Don't flip me off and don't ignore the alarms I set for you."
Tambara gave her a look.
"I swear to god if you roll your eyes at me, Tam I will figure out how those chains work."
"......yes Miss."
"Good girl. I love you." Vanessa smiled.
"I love you too," Tambara smiled "Old lady!" She kissed Vanessa on the cheek and ran out the door.
"You'll pay for that, slave girl! And you have to put the collar ON!" Vanessa yelled after her.
If the other slaves saw what Vanessa allowed Tambara to get away with she would never live it down. The truth was, she and Tambara were actually very close in age. Vanessa was thirty-two and Tambara was twenty-seven. "Young lady, Old lady" was one of their jokes that had started back at the very beginning of their relationship. It's too long of a story to tell here. Suffice it to say that Tambara's brattiness had actually cooled over the years and early on she was even feistier than she was now.
As Vanessa finished her face, she looked at herself in the mirror to admire and scrutinize her body. She was short, at least compared to Tambara. Her hair was jet black, reflective of her family's Mayan ancestry. Currently it was down and hung over her shoulders towards her ample breasts. She was going to pull it up into her trademark high ponytail held in place with one of her prized metal ponytail holders. Her face was ovular anchored with a strong jawline but elongated slightly by her long, high eyebrows that could very easily furrow into a questioning look that shot out from her face like a whipcrack. Vanessa's eyes were almond shaped and made thicker by the eyeliner she had just applied. She had a wide mouth that Tambara fell absolutely head over heels for when it was pulled back into a smile. Rarely did other slaves in the house see that, however. It some ways it was Tambara's special possession.
Vanessa ran her hands over her breasts and down her body. She had always been thankful for her full breasts and hips. Her thighs were full and thick and made a valley that sloped down to her partially covered vulva. Vanessa ran a gentle hand over it. Prickly. Dammit. In all her rushed preparations she had let her own grooming fall behind. Normally she would make Tambara shave her but Tam was running even further behind than she was. She would have to do it herself. Of course, she never saw clients so the likelihood that she would ever find herself in a situation where someone would closely inspect her there is slim. But part of Vanessa's role was to be an example to the other slaves of the house. If Vanessa could get away with a less than perfect appearance, then so could they and then the entire mystique and elegance of Le Maison de Liaisons would come crashing down. She would shave it quickly and carefully in the shower before she went to supervise the rest of the slaves.
Now she beheld her collar on the stand. It was made of deep hued brown leather with art nouveau scrollwork pressed into it. From the front hung a polished silver "o" ring and on the inside were engraved the motto of Le Maison de Liaisons "Purus vitae. Purus servitium" Which in Latin meant "Pure life, pure service".
Vanessa had three loves in this world; Tambara, bratty as she was, her Master, whom she respected deeply, and this brothel which contained all of her professional accomplishments. And now today she was going to begin the path of opening it to the world. In a few hours, Mr. Allan Merrick, a journalist, and photographer from National Geographic was going to arrive and spend an unknown amount of time living at their brothel while he studied every aspect of the notoriously closed culture of The Humanist Democracy of Nova Insula. What was once a high-class brothel had now become...an embassy.
2.
The slave showers were a large open room on the second floor of the slave house. The far wall was lined with showerheads similar to a high school locker room. There were partitions every three shower heads. The other side of the room held several toilets with attached bidets that offered minimal privacy. In the life of a brothel slave, nothing was truly private. Often conversations were had while sitting on the toilets. The atmosphere in the showers was busier and more chaotic than normal today. This was for a number of reasons. First and foremost, today was Tuesday which was typically an off day for everyone. Secondly the servants, that is, the cooking and cleaning slaves, typically had the showers first then the sex slaves had their turn. This meant that the eleven servants of the house could shower, get dressed, and then get to work cooking breakfast and preparing rooms for clients while the ten sex slaves were showering and doing their thorough cleaning of their bodies. Norm, the bookkeeper, typically woke up later and showered after everyone had left.
Today however, it was 6:30 in the morning on the off day and 22 groggy, nude, and in some cases grumpy slaves were clamoring for water in the shower.
