The Apartment

"Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît pas." "The heart has its reasons which reason does not know." -- Blaise Pascal,

Pensees

Lydia's apartment was located on the third and top storey of an old inner-city mansion. It was accessed by an elevator which, with the insertion of a keypad code, bypassed the intervening levels and opened directly into the residence. This was spacious, with bay windows and balconies that overlooked the business district on one side and the river on the other. It was elegantly if rather eclectically furnished, in a somewhat masculine style. In the living room, before a baroque fireplace were two plush leather armchairs, an opulent chesterfield sofa and a Deco-design walnut-wood coffee table, along with an amply stocked liquor cabinet. The polished wooden floor was strewn with sumptuous rugs, into the purple silk of which elaborate geometrical patterns were hand-woven with gold thread. (Among the motifs was the by now familiar

§

monogram.) The walls were covered with fine tapestries depicting natural landscapes and pastoral scenes. The dining area contained a large, solid mahogany table. The kitchen was compact but well-appointed and well-provisioned. There was a drawing room with an enormous, velvet-sheathed chaise longue, plus large tasselled floor cushions, Lydia's private study and a library where the bookshelves were stacked with leather-bound volumes, including antique texts and rare editions.

As soon as we had entered and the doors shut behind us, Lydia commanded me to stop and take off my clothes. She also stripped, and we gave each garment we discarded in turn to Lucinda, who lovingly folded them in two neat piles and carried them after us. She was petite and pretty, olive-skinned with big brown eyes. Her hair was cropped like Lydia's and appeared to be naturally jet-black but bleached and tinted with caramel streaks. She was, of course, already naked. Her pubic area was smooth, and I could see that each of her labia had been pierced with a small silver ring. I glanced at Lydia's pubes and saw the same glint of metal.

"Here you will not wear clothing," Lydia said. "Your body must be completely free at all times."

"Free" was an odd word to use. Did she mean it as in freedom or as in... free admission?

"You will not wear anything, not make-up nor jewellery." (The rings in her vulva and Lucy's presumably did not count.) "You will have no possessions. All you have is what you are."

Waiting in the living room were my other fellow trainees. Evandra was very tall and athletic, with an all-over tan and shoulder-length, honey-blonde hair. She looked to be at least couple of years, perhaps more, older than Lucy and me, in her late twenties. Master Jonathan, half a head shorter, was dressed in neat slacks, a silk Jacquard shirt and cashmere-suede slippers. He was the only one in the apartment who wasn't nude. As she introduced us, Lydia ordered me to kneel. She did as well, followed by Lucy and Evandra.

Master Jonathan smiled indulgently as Lydia and I bent forward to kiss and lick his shoes. They had a pungent, powdery taste.

I felt Lydia's elbow nudging my side. "Stand up and let the Master see you," she whispered, keeping her eyes focused on the floor.

I held my body erect and immobile, arms folded behind my back and head bowed, repressing a gasp and suppressing a wince as Master Jonathan inspected his property thoroughly, front and back, inside and out. When he was finished, he permitted the other women to rise before abruptly going off the study. Evandra handed me my discarded garments; then she and Lucy excused themselves to head for the kitchen. Lydia showed me around the apartment, pointing out her bedroom and the Master's. I would be sharing mine with the other two girls. In our quarters was just the one bed, albeit double-sized, with satin sheets and quilt. Above the headboard was fixed to the wall a steel circle approximately the width of a hand, and attached to it were three slim silver chains that were looped through the ring to keep them out of the way. There was no other furniture in the room except for a small cabinet into which Lydia instructed me to put my clothes and shoes.

"Your sleeping arrangements," she informed me, "will vary from night to night, depending on which of us the Master desires."

When we were back in the living room, Lydia took hold of my shoulders to make sure she had my complete attention. "You know why you're here. Do you wish to stay?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I wish to stay."

"Say it again."

"I wish to stay."

Her expression brightened. "Good girl. From now on, while you are here you belong to the Master. You will serve, honour and obey him at all times."

"You too?" I asked.

She gave me a quizzical look before shaking her head.

"I mean, do you as well?"

She nodded, regarding me with a good-humored forbearance. "Of course."

It took me a second to read her expression and I blushed at my own naiveté. The fading marks on her knees from the floorboards and the faint pink welts on various parts of her nude body had answered my question before it was asked.

Evening was now upon us, so I had just enough time to freshen up before dinner. We took our places at the table, the women holding back until Master Jonathan was in his seat at its head. His was like a throne, a heavy, ornately carved, high-backed armchair with a leather-covered cushion. The rest of the seats were of plain wood without adornment or padding, emphasizing the humble status of the females. Evandra joined us after she'd served each course. The meal was simple but delicious -- crab cakes with

rémoulade

sauce, green salad and grilled avocado, with raspberry mousse for dessert. The Master drank wine while the rest of us sipped jasmine tea.

We engaged in almost conventional dinner conversation, though four of us tried to keep our eyes downcast. Mealtime, I learned, was the only occasion when we females were able to speak freely in the Master's presence. This served a useful purpose. So long as we observed the proper, respectful etiquette, it gave us and especially Lydia the chance, if necessary, to bring up and address issues of importance with the head of the household while not having to worry about the usual master-slave protocols. Mostly, however, the table talk wandered over other subjects, from literature to science to philosophy. Evandra and Lucinda were erudite and astute, and Lydia allowed them to do most of the talking. Yet she was the most perceptive of us, saying the least, listening the most, missing nothing. She was also the most disciplined. Of us four women she was only one who never raised her head or lifted her gaze from the tabletop in front of her.

Our owner did not dominate the discussion. In fact, as I'd discerned in our first interview with Lydia, when not playing his lordly role he was rather shy. Since I kept my eyes lowered except for the occasional glance, I could not see his face, but there was a slight tremor in his voice, and the hint of a stammer. He was the youngest of us, a student at the university where Lydia recruited her acolytes. This confirmed to me what I suspected, that Lydia inducted strong women who wanted -- needed -- to be tamed and trained, and her agents were the young men whom she tutored in the arts of mastery. I never learned what criteria she used for selecting them, or how she initially approached them. It was not my place to know such details. But Jonathan had entered the apartment five days before my arrival, and so had even less time than I to prepare for our experience.

With dinner done, I was sent to the kitchen to help Evandra with the washing up. When we returned to the living room, Lucy and Lydia were squatting on the living room floor, both wearing blindfolds, their hands tied behind their backs. Our formidable hostess, now sweating and trembling, looked tiny, meek and fragile. The pair were connected to each other by a harness of rope secured about their necks. I had been warned that every night in the apartment featured fun and games. Master Jonathan was sitting in one of the armchairs, contemplating his captives.

Without instruction, Evandra bound and blindfolded me. The ropes were tight, pulling back my shoulders which had the effect of pushing out my chest. She yoked me to the others. We thereafter waited in silence, as Master Jonathan added the fourth member to our little trussed ensemble. We were linked snugly enough that I could sniff the lemony scent of the detergent residue on Evandra in front of me and the strawberry fragrance of Lucy's shampoo to my rear.

Our Master led us, by our collective tether, to the suite directly below the apartment. We went via the stairs instead of the elevator, and without the use of our eyes we had to tread cautiously and huddle even closer so as to not lose our balance on the steps or trip over each other. The terrazzo floor was ice-cold under my bare feet. I felt the tickle of Lucy's breath on the back of my neck. Her bosom snuggled between my upper arms, soft and warm and soothing against my skin. Her nipples were hard. My own naked breasts pressed into Evandra's back, and she was pinching her shoulder blades as if to gently squeeze them. As we shuffled slowly down the corridor that led from the stairwell, I felt her bound hands nudging into my crotch. Her fingers began working their sensual magic, and I did the same for Lucy. I felt her twitch, and to the rear of our queue I heard Lydia's deep sighs. I wondered if Master Jonathan cared that we were pleasuring each other when our bodies and their delights should belong to him alone. He did not seem to mind.

When my sight was restored (while the others remained blindfolded), I discovered that we were in a cavernous room that appeared to occupy most of the building level. There were bright lights in the ceiling and on free-standing lamps; but heavy drapes on the windows had the effect of making the space gloomy even when fully illuminated. A number of black-lacquered screens were positioned seemingly at random, and in their shiny surfaces I could see reflections of the four of us, still bound and leashed together. There were three ottoman-style footstools covered in burgundy-coloured fleece and a bed with scarlet satin sheets. This furniture was arranged on one side of the room on a large square of carpet, like a photographer's set-piece. But there were no cameras or other such apparatus.

In the middle of the room stood a structure which thoroughly unnerved me. Constructed of metal pipes and bars, it consisted of dual parts, on the left two vertical poles separated by the span of outstretched arms, and on the right a triple pillory made up of hinged segments with grooves in the upright posts to adjust the height. Welded onto the frame at various places were hooks, from which were hanging various implements of torment -- whips, chains, iron shackles, bridles and halters, chastity belts with double "inserts", plus what that looked horribly like a branding iron and the "pear of anguish" used (allegedly) on women by mediæval torturers.

The Master untied our hands and ordered Lucy and Evandra to kneel directly behind the scaffold, while Lydia (still blindfolded) felt for the adjusting screws to lower the beam so the girls' heads and hands could be clamped in place. None of them required further commands or guidance. This was not their first time. Lydia dropped the boards even more until the two girls were forced to bend forward, with their chins just off the floor and their rumps raised high. She thereupon placed herself in the third pillory, and Master Jonathan locked her in it. He muzzled all three with bulbous ball-gags.

The cross-board was at the wrong height for poor Evandra. The tallest of us by a good measure, she had to splay her knees awkwardly to contort her body into a kneeling position.

"Come here, please." Master Jonathan's mild speech impediment had suddenly disappeared. I was told to crouch behind Lydia. On his directive, I pushed both of my hands between her thighs. She gasped and gulped, panted and puffed, her skin quivered and her butt cheeks twitched as I caressed her until my fingers became clammy in the warm, moist folds. I did the same to Lucy and Evandra. By the time I'd done my duty, they were slumped on their haunches, whimpering quietly; but the Master rudely interrupted their rapture by hauling on a rope which elevated the pillory until Lydia and Lucy this time suffered on account of their size, being forced onto their tiptoes. Moans of ecstasy turned into groans of despair.

Jonathan now ordered me to stand between the two poles, with arms and legs extended. Straps connected to the four corners of the frame were secured to my wrists and ankles, and tightened until I was lifted onto my toes and it felt as if my poor limbs would be detached from their sockets. But the straps on my wrists ran across my palms so I could grip them for support; and it was curiously invigorating to have my muscles and tendons stretched. It was also intoxicating, in a way that I could hardly have imagined not so very long ago, to be rendered so helpless and exposed.

This being the first night of my tutelage, I had thought that I might be spared the more rigorous parts of the curriculum. But Master Jonathan took full advantage of my immobilized and spread-eagled condition, penetrating me front and back. With my body tensed and stiffened by my hoisting on the frame, the passage had to be forced, but the effect was to make more sensitive the points of entry. His thrusts and my squirms amplified the strain from my bonds. My legs were cramping, my arms ached, and every breath seared my lungs. But the young man knew how to wrest shrieks of ecstasy from my lips and make my sweat run in streams.

When he had finished, he returned to the others. First he whipped them unmercifully, until they howled through their gags. He then uncoupled each in turn from the pillory, bound her and toyed with her for at least half an hour before putting her back in place and starting on the next. The humiliation was cruel, the torments ingenious. The Master had his playthings writhing in ecstatic pain, sobbing in shame, their bodies twisting and jerking in feverish rhapsodies of perfervid pleasure. For such a new apprentice, Master Jonathan had learnt a lot... under Lydia's expert coaching.

By the time he released me from hanging on the scaffold, the experience had gone from exhilarating to excruciating. I almost wept with relief, but my elation did not last. He pushed me to the floor and lay me on my stomach, shoved a ball-gag in my mouth and bound me in a hog-tie. This was so severe that my torso was bent backwards at a right angle (or so it felt). After being stressed for so long on the frame, my arms and especially my shoulders burned as if beneath a red-hot grille; but the terrazzo tiles bit frigidly into my bare flesh. As I endured, the Master went back to the other three women; and after more tortures he took them from the pillory to the bedroom set where he hog-tied them as well, in a row on the mattress.

It was two hours or more since the games had begun, but Jonathan was nowhere near finished with us. He untied me except for my hands behind my back, and blindfolded me, took me to the set and had me bend over one of the stools. There was a minute of suspenseful silence, and then I heard the bedframe squeak and groan and each of the women moan in turn. By the time he'd returned to me, however, even his commendable stamina had failed him, so he used a vibrating phallus.

Jonathan knew well how to use the tool to massage my throbbing parts. After all I'd experienced already, I wasn't prepared for this renewed onslaught on my senses. He adjusted the power, teasing and tickling me at first and then applying it at full intensity, stroking my clitoris and thrusting deep inside my vagina. I thrashed about in my bonds and squealed through my gag. I felt a foaming of saliva on my chin and a squirting along my thighs.

And after that delirium, I don't remember much until we were in the apartment once more and it was after midnight. I have a blurry mental image of the four of us crawling on our bellies, still bound so inching our way like palpitating caterpillars, to and from the elevator and into the living room, the Master hurrying us along with his whip. He then retired to his bedroom, leaving the four of us to recuperate from our ordeal.

Lucy, Evandra and I remained in the living room, still somewhat dazed, while Lydia went to the kitchen. Her body and mind seemed to have already recovered.

"Don't sit on the sofa or the chairs," she told me.

That made sense because our bodies were drenched with our secretions.

While we waited, I was shown the proper way to kneel on the rug, resting on my heels but with my thighs apart. When not being used or bound, my arms should be at my side or behind my back either folded or with wrists crossed.

"How do I know which to do?" I asked.

Lucy giggled. "You will know when you've done it wrong."

Lydia brought in four mugs of steaming cocoa on a tray. She carried on as if she had not been absent.

"Yes, the leather costs a lot to keep clean. But that's not the reason we sit on the floor. Except with the Master's permission, we do not use the furniture."

"It would be disrespectful," Lucy added.

"We are not worthy," Evandra whispered, lowering her eyes as she said it.

I saw Lydia subtly shake her head as the others spoke. I guess we had our different reasons for being in the apartment. But it amused me to hear our hostess talk of her home and its furnishings and her possessions as if they belonged to the young man. Yet they did, of course, along with the four of us, who shared the joy of womanhood and not the gift of manhood.

"For the same reason we do not cover our bodies," Lydia continued, "even if the Master is not here, even when you're alone. Your condition does not change in the absence of your owner. In fact, it's more imperative when there is no man present that you keep this in mind. Our nudity is one of the ways we express the two aspects of our womanhood -- what we are and what we are not. Each is equally important in how you define yourself; and regardless of your circumstances, whomever you are with, whatever else changes, these are the constants in your life."

"Only a man..." Evandra hesitated. "Only the Master has the honour of wearing clothes."

"It is his privilege to see us naked, to see all of what belongs to him," Lucy added.

"And to enjoy it."

"So being naked, seeing each other naked, even when the Master is away, is our reminder of that."

Lydia looked straight into my eyes. "But it takes a while before this becomes second nature. So we have certain other -- pardon my French --

aides-mémoires

." She smiled. "You have experienced some of these tonight. There will be many more. They can come at any time."

"You must always be ready and willing to serve..." Evandra continued.

"...and prepared to suffer," Lucy added.

"As it is with our nudity," Lydia went on, "you must understand that the pain and degradation you endure are not just for the Master's pleasure, although that is what we serve. They are, as well, for your instruction."

She paused, to let that sink in. My brain was a swirl of thoughts and feelings -- of fear and doubt, of hope and excitement and, of all things, pride -- pride in myself because I had endured and passed my first test, in my fellow slaves for their strength and fortitude, in our Master who had shown himself worthy of our submission and servitude. Every part of me still hurt. Some parts, however, tingled deliciously... not just from Master Jonathan's attentions, but in anticipation and apprehension of what lay ahead.