The Heir to the Throne.  (A White Glove Society Story)

By ninja5

Chapter 1.  The Next Generation.

Hugo lay on the bed above the sheets next to Hera.  Hera wore a black satin singlet and lace black panties.  Her figure was perfect and her face had her mother’s Asian beauty mixed with her father’s pure Italian genes.  She had her mother’s hair and her father’s dark brown eyes.   Hugo was naked above the sheets scanning over the projected windows on his phone.  The smart phone had come a long way since ceramics had been developed to absorb the heat of the quantum processors.  The screens projected out and allowed for projection to most scales with contrast more defined than the human eye could distinguish.  The smart phone had replaced the television, and the computer.  The remotest corners of the earth had satellite internet access.  Hugo was watching the inauguration of the President in Washington though America was twenty-two hour behind them.  It had been a landslide victory.  A Kennedy was once again an American President, but it was the adopted daughter of the President and his First Lady, Athena Kennedy, that interested him.

“You don’t like Randy, why are you watching that?”  Hera said and snuggled into Hugo despite the heat.  They sought shelter in the bedroom to escape the forty degree Celsius heat outside.  Hugo’s parents had insisted he volunteer for the now First Ladies charity.  They were stuck in an Aboriginal community in the Northern Territory of Australia.  The Australian Aboriginal’s had the highest infant mortality rate in the world despite being a first world country.  The Aboriginal community was plagued with alcoholism, drug use and child abuse.  The native Australians tribal heritage had never adjusted to the colonization of Australia.

Hera was casually indentured to Hugo and her friend treasured her, but familiarity had turned them into a pseudo married couple.  Hera was the daughter of Lilianna and Tomas the couple that ran the Autumn Estate.  They had inherited it as the former owner was drawn into the public domain as wife of a newly appointed Senator; then Presidential candidate.  Hera had been born into the role of Hugo’s companion along with her childhood friend Athena.  Athena had been raised by Cassandra, bread specifically by Hugo parents, to enter the Society as her adopted mother’s protégée.  Cassandra was also Hugo’s Godmother, but she had always taken a step back from trying to influence Hugo, least she cross Hugo’s mother.  The now First Ladies influence on Hugo’s life came via Athena and her talent for psychology.  Hugo called Athena the Slave Whisperer.  Given time she could lure even the most wary person into a trap and had make women scream in terror just by whispering secrets and intents in their ear.

When Hugo, Heir to the Societies compound in Saudi Arabia had been born, both girls were introduced to him with tales of their future.  They were both about a year older but had been held back at school so the trio would be educated together.  They were close; very close.  The girls and Hugo had grown up together; they were his closet confidents, they knew things about him even his near omnipotent mother Gia Eros didn’t know; one thing in particular.  Athena would have been with them, but Randolph Kennedy’s campaign for President saw the need for their adopted mixed race, African American daughter to be with her parents.  It was gold with the voters.

“I just want to see Athena come out on the podium after his speech.”  Hugo sat watching.  The volume was low.  He was not interested in the manufactured words of the new President.

“Is she your favorite?”  Hera teased.  Favorites didn’t count.  The dynamics of a threesome meant that at any time two of the three would be closer and one would be on the out.  Sometimes it was even Hugo who got pushed aside as Athena and Hera went on some adventure; ate someone.  Hera reached over and placed her fingers around Hugo flaccid penis.  She teased it.

Hugo did not respond and Hera knew why.

Half a minute more teasing his member and it still remained soft.  “You’re going to have to tell them.”  Hera said seriously.  It was council.  The same council had come from Athena as well.  Both girls wanted Hugo to tell his parents his secret.  Keeping it from them was dangerous for the girls.  Hugo was protected, but despite the connections the girls had made and the status of their parents; if his mother Gia Eros wanted to really to direct her son she would threaten the things he held most dear - Hera and Athena.

“They’ll freak.”  Hugo said and his voice was tinged with annoyance.  He didn’t like thinking about it.  He was the most escapist of the three though he could have any luxury he wanted…... Except the luxury he wanted most.

Hera stopped playing with Hugo’s cock and leant in and kissed him on the cheek.  “Hugo, you need to tell your parents you’re gay.”

Distraction came and Hugo shifted to see better.  President Randolph Kennedy, “Randy”, had finished his speech.  The vice president and the first lady entered the stage waving.  By Cassandra Kennedy’s side was the picturesque beauty of his companion, Athena.  She waved to the supporters and gave her mother’s Politian’s smile.

“She’s going to have to live away from us.” Hugo said.  He watched the screen a little longer.  Though tiny on the stage Athena navigated the cheering audience with the grace of a ballet dancer.

“She got into Stanford.” Hera told Hugo.

“I know.”

“She won’t go if you don’t want her too.”  Hera rolled away.  She understood that really wasn’t an option.  Athena would have Secret Service with her wherever she went now.  They knew about the Society that the President, First Lady and Athena belonged to; they knew the connections and conversations in that Society had made Randy President.

“There’s a genetics course I could take.”  The telecast moved away from the Presidents victory back to the news room for commentary on his speech and his agenda now that he had office.  It bored Hugo.

“Is that with the guy who can trigger lactation?”  Hera spoke of the author of a paper Hugo had gone on about for days.  A Professor at Stanford had designed a viral treatment that could cause the female body to trigger lactation permanently regardless of age and fertility.  The application as Hugo was concerned was that any of the thousands of Servants in training at his parent’s compound could become a wet nurse or cow.  Pregnancy or a hormone treatment which affected their meat was no longer required.

“Yeah.”  Hugo didn’t need marks to get a place at Stanford, though he had them, a donation from his parents would secure any position in the world he required.  He didn’t have to keep a low profile, he just had to avoid being famous.  Unfortunately that meant he couldn’t live as a threesome with a third of the group being the Presidents adopted daughter.

“What do you see me doing at Stanford?”  Hera would follow Hugo.  She wasn’t more devoted to him than Athena, but she had no defined place other than back in Spain with her mother and father.

“You could study anatomy.  Perfect those pressure points you love to find.”  Hera had a talent for torture she’d inherited from her mother.  “Stanford has an advanced Jujitsu team.” Another skill from her mother.  Hera had been taught to fight, whilst Athena had been taught to dance.  Both girls were graceful and their bodies had been sculpted.  It was obvious Hugo had already made plans for the trio to remain close a little longer.  “Will you come to Stanford with us Hera?”  Hugo asked, but to Hera it was a welcome command.

Hera rolled back over and kissed Hugo pectoral.  “Only if you tell your parents you’re gay.”

“I’m not going to do….”

“No, you are!”  Hera looked at him intently.  His mother would have approved him disciplining Hera for making an order out of the request.  Instead he followed the way of his Godmother, received through Athena, and without sexual motivation kissed Hera on the cheek.  He sighed.  His father was old fashioned and would be uncomfortable with the news.  His reaction would determine the consequences executed through his mother.  Gia Eros could be an extraordinarily vicious woman.

“They love you.  They’ll come to terms with it.” Hera rested her head on Hugo’s chest and relaxed.  “Promise me you’ll tell them next time you see them.”

Chapter 2.  Visiting Home.

Hera stripped naked in the plane as it taxied the run way of the Compound in Saudi Arabia.  Hugo was comforting the flight attendant, counseling her not to show her nerves when she flew with his Mother.

“If she see’s your scared of being eaten it’s just as bad as if my father takes an attraction to you.”  Hugo put his arms on the Attendants shoulders in comfort.  It was her first flight.  Since Dalton had taken over the compound the role of flight attendant had become a death sentence when flying Gia to her destination.  Hugo was more like his father; he appreciated women as more than meat and was kind to them, but had no hesitation in consuming them.  “Make eye contact with her, but be submissive.”

The flight attendant smiled, a glimmer of hope coming to her duty.

Hera strutted to Hugo and the attendant.  Her toned body was young and had no imperfections to speak of.  Nudity was a tradition for all women at the Compound.  No imperfection could be hidden.  Hera smiled at the flight attendant as she started work on the door to allow them to disembark.  She knew Hugo was just offering her hope so she didn’t fret her end.  The attendant was prettier than most and wouldn’t last one flight with Gia.  Hugo had a soft spot for the doomed.

As they disembarked down the stairs from the Lear Jet the U.S. Air force Helicopter was clearly visible on the nearby Helipad.  Hugo smiled.  Athena had come straight from the inauguration and its string of parties.  On the tarmac they headed for the large metal gates that Hugo had been told could withstand a charge from a tank.  Two figures stood to receive them as they pasted the serious gaze of the air force, and secret service agents at the copper.  Athena stood naked beside Gia Eros, Hugo’s mother, in greeting.  Athena was completely naked, but Hugo’s mother wore a pair of riding pants and sleeveless white shirt.  Most likely for show, she held a riding crop in her hand.  Perhaps she had just been working with the horses or perhaps she just like the way the clothes polished her ageing beauty.

“Mother.” Hugo said and opened his arms.  His mother embarrassed him, and as she was shorter by an inch and a half, easily kissed him on the cheek.

“You look healthy.  Have you been eating?”  She flurried his hair, playing with the messy surfer look he went for.

“We’re there to help the people, not eat them mother.”  Hugo gave his mother the attention required then turned, like all children more interested in their friends to Athena.  “First daughter.” He teased.

“Hey, I can have you killed now, so watch it.” She smiled at Hugo and after a moments paused walked around to take his side.

Gia appreciated her taking her position, but didn’t approve her attitude.  She would have the pair more submissive to her son.  She didn’t know sex was missing from the trio’s relationship, but she knew Hugo hadn’t claimed the girls fully.  It was obvious she feared them having more influence over Hugo than herself one day; and her mistake to think that had not already happened.  Playing along with the trios dynamic she spoke up.  “We’ll eat as a family tonight, but since you’ve been bound up with the underprivileged you have my permission to visit the Conservatory.”  The Conservatory housed the most beautiful women the Society produced.  The women where sort as expensive luxuries for various hedonistic uses and could be Taylor breed; members of the Society designing an indulgence for the future.  “Please help yourself to any you desire.  You can relax with your friends and when your father has finished his duties we can all have dinner together.”

“Thank you Mother.” Hugo spoke.  “I’m sure Athena wants to cut loose after all the scrutiny she’s been under.”

Athena stepped closer to Hugo side and rested her head on his shoulder.  The act of affection was for Hugo’s mothers benefit.  She would like to see the submission given at his presents of mind for her.

Gia smiled and turned without saying more.

The sun was hot, but the trio gave Gia a head start before following and escaping it.

“Hera?”  Athena asked out of ear shot of Gia.

“He’s going to tell them.” Hera confirmed ignoring Hugo’s proximity. 

Athena had made the trip to support her friend.  “Good.”  She was happy the business would be brought to a head, but knew Hera and herself would have to be on guard.  Gia Eros would not appreciate such a secret being kept from her.  “I’ll have my mother call today.”  Athena’s plan was to have Cassandra Kennedy call and remind Gia of their close friendship, it might weaken any retaliation on the girls.

They passed through the heavy gates of the Compound and Gia veered off to continue with her day.  She’d taken over the role of running the day to day business of the compound, unable to not meddle in its functioning.  Hugo remembered a multitude of different House Keepers and Servants being served as dinner once they had inherited the compound from his Grandfather.  Gia ate her way to establishing her norm whilst his Father bred raised the servants for their roles in the Society.

Chapter 3. Hex

Steph didn’t know who she was….

Ok, to clarify, she didn’t know she was Hugo’s half sister.  Neither did Hugo.  She knew she was treated better than all the other servants at Saudi Arabia Compound, but those who are born into privilege don’t question why they have been chosen to be elevated.  As an exemplar to most of the rules regarding behavior Steph had evolved into a charismatic and open young woman with a free spirit.  She was permitted to wear clothing as a sign of her protection and elevated status, but the clothing was of an explicit nature; lingerie and alike.  This mark meant she could not be disciplined without Dalton Monroe’s consent.  She was, naturally beautiful, and had a big smile that lit up as Hugo walked, Athena and Hera by his side into the Conservatory; the comfortable bordello that housed the Societies finest creations.

“Hale sire.  How might this lonely wench serve thee?”  Steph's face beamed happily up and she cropped head to the side.  Even her smile was sarcastic for the trio.  She knew Hugo liked her and had often been his friend when Athena and Hera were off doing girlie things.  Steph was a Tomboy at heart.  The round counter that was the reception of the conservatory served as a leaning block for the approaching trio.

“How are you Hex?”  Hugo said and leaned over the counter.  Hex was her gamer tag.  Steph had the privilege of internet access and spent her leisure time crawling around dungeons in MMO games.  She favored spell caster characters; hence the gamer tag: Hex.

“I am totally addicted to X-Com Retaliation.  It’s been out for a while, but the multiplayer just hit apex and they bought out a tone of new maps.”  The most prominent person in the room addressed, Steph turned her attention to Hera and Athena; making eye contact with each and smiling.  Athena had mild disinterest in Steph’s hobby, but her attitude and charisma was a grain of liberty in the cold machine of the Compound.  Hera took more interest, but hers was of a cannibalistic nature.  She wanted to conquer Steph.  Steph was naive to the intensity of Hera’s intent.

“Mom said we could check out someone to play with.”  Hugo pushed himself off the counter.

“You imply you’re only borrowing them, but they never come back in a condition to sell.”  Steph waved her fingers over the holographic projection of her catalogue screen.  She knew the inventory, but it was a healthy habit to double check.  “Be honest.  Am I going to get her back at all?”  It was coming up on lunch time.

Hugo looked at Hera.  Hera shrugged her shoulder indicating she wasn’t too invested in eating someone.  Then Hugo looked at Athena.  Athena had been in the media circus for the past six months; every second of her life monitored and reported to a nation.  She wanted to cut loose.  She raised her eyebrows and stared intently at Hugo.

“Aargh, we might need to push whomever we take a little.”

“A little!” Athena said annoyed.  It was usually Hera who had the blood lust.

“Hah!  I knew it.”  Steph half closed her eyes as if she had discovered a sinister plot.

“My Mother said it was ok.”

Steph chuckled.  “We can actually help each other out O’ Future King.”

“What do you want?”  Technically Steph had no right to ask for anything - technically.

“Are you implying that I am asking for a bribe?”  Steph pretend to be outraged.  It bought a smile to Hugo’s face.  Athena smiled as well, but Hera was wishing she was a vampire who could sink her teeth into Steph luxurious naked neck that sat above her two large perfect breasts.

“Ok.”  Hugo relinquished.  “What boon might I grant my loyal subject?”  He mocked Steph’s playful geek talk.

“I’ve got five damsels’ I haven’t moved and your mothers doing an audit.”  An audit meant scrutiny.  Though protected, Steph did not want Gia Eros scrutinizing her.  No one did.

“What’s wrong with them?”  Hugo said.

“Nothing.  Second global financial crisis.  People aren’t buying luxuries this expensive.  You take them and I can write it off as administrative use.”

“Five!” Hera entered the conversation.  How on earth were they going to eat five women?

“We’ll take them.”  Athena said.  They didn’t have to eat all of them, they could cook one and just play with the others; send them off to the kitchen when they had finished...  She really did just want to cut loose and murder someone.

Steph looked at Hugo for the final word.  “Ok, I guess we’ll take them.”

“You’re a champ Hugo.” Steph waved her hand over the speaker and sent and was connected to the Conservatory house out back.  “Stack ‘em and pack ‘em.  We’ve got a buyer.”  Steph leaned back in her chair and put her hands behind her head.  “You’re gonna love ‘em.  They’re Premium, but…..”

“But!”  Hugo lent forward.

“Concubine class.  They’re gonna be freaked when they find out what you’ve got install for them.”

Hugo turned to Athena.  She was smiling.  “Perfect.”

It came to Hugo as an afterthought. “Hey since we’ve got five do you want to join us?”  Steph fitted in ok with the trio.  He just had to watch Hera didn’t try anything permanent on Steph.

“No can do Mon Capitan.  I got to give Kimberly the once over, then I’m booked in to do a dungeon crawl with some South Koreans from Seoul.”  Steph was in charge of seeing that the Pain slave Kimberly was raped to orgasm and tortured daily.  It was a primary duty she was not permitted to laps in and she had been trained as a child specifically for this purpose.  Her training included skills in torture and sexual encounters with women, as well as some medical training and nutrition.  Under no circumstances was Kimberly permitted to die or fall sick so as not to be able to endure her punishment.

The Pain slave Kimberly was always ball gagged prior to Steph starting her work.  Had she the liberty of voice she would have undoubtedly told Steph that upon her arrival some nineteen years ago at the Compound; Dalton Monroe had raped her till she had fallen pregnant.  Kimberly’s child, Steph, was raised to rape and torment her own mother.  That was Kimberly’s punishment for a crime the four young adults knew nothing about.  Steph had no idea of her primary duty was incestuous, but Kimberly knew only too well the girl raised on her torment was her own daughter.  It was the deepest lash Gia could imagine.  Kimberly, despite her years of suffering never failed to weep at the sight of Steph.

“Ok.”  Hugo didn’t push though he would have liked Steph’s experience on hand.  “You change your mind we’ll be in the West Wing.”

There was a click of an electronic lock at a door adjacent to the foyer.  Five curvy beauties paraded out and were presented to the trio.

“Enjoy.”  Hex said.

“Till we meet again, may all your dungeon crawls have loot.”  Hugo bowed to Hex, something he would not have done had his mother been present, and enjoyed the smile he got back from her.

Athena chuckled at the juvenile psychology the pair exchanged on every meeting and followed Hugo’s lead to the exit.

Hera hung back gazing at Steph.  Even trusting Steph could pick up on the vibe that Hera would have preferred walking away with her to play with than the five beauties they now had.

Steph’s expression shifted to concern, briefly, and then remembering there was little in torture and cannibalism that Hera knew the she didn’t smiled.  “Have fun Hera” Steph said composing herself.

Hera relinquished and walked out forming the rear guard of the five doomed women.

Once they were gone Hex spun around three-hundred and sixty degrees on her chair.  She patted her fingers on the table.  The business of the day had been taken care of and if she could get Kimberly worked over soon enough she’d have enough times to scan the forums on the game site and perhaps catch some news on the new expansion.  She got up and left the desk.  She didn’t need to call for a replacement.  One of Gia Eros’ improvements was the organic flow of the servants.  If Steph left the desk someone would just appear and take her seat.

She walked out the Conservatory door.  She could see Hugo and his party heading to the West Wing.  She walked straight ahead to the East Wing.  The East Wing housed all the Maids, female kitchen staff and the two Junior House Keepers who help Gia run the compound.  Housed in an opulent dungeon, made up like a quest room, would be Kimberly.  She crossed paths with a couple of ground keepers and smile.  They dipped their heads in respect and kept on about their business.  The Compound was built above an aquifers and the ground water had long ago transformed the sand of the Compound into soil, the desert kept at bay by the high walls; an Oasis.  Steph watched the fountains flow and a couple of Maids scurrying around.  Maids at the compound could last longer than a year.  If less were required extras were sent out to the Estates. 

Steph had reached the entrance to the East Wing and walked out of the heat into the cool air conditioned air.  She navigated her only turn and walked to the end of a hall.

“On your six Harold.” She said to the middle-aged guard who was watching something on one of his projected screens.

“Good morning Ste…… Hex.”  He winked at Steph.  She’d been insisting he call her by her tag.  She was hoping it would stick amongst the servants.

“Here for my daily with Kimberly.”  Steph leant on the counter as Hugo had done to her.  She liked his non-establishment body language and tried to learn the mannerism of the outside off him whenever he came home.

Harold did not approve of Steph’s body language, but liked her all the same.  “Not the first today.”  Harold said and opened the draw and reached for Kimberly’s ball gag.  He gagged her before all her sessions.  Once Kimberly had escaped her bounds and had attacked Harold as she tried to escape the room.  Despite the struggle Harold had yelled for Steph to stay back.  Kimberly was atrophied from her restraints and had been over powered and the norm had been restored with only a minor hic-up.

“Who else has seen her?” Steph asked.  Kimberly was her business.  Only Dalton, Gia and one of the two House Keepers could have gotten access.

“Mistress Eros wanted to clear her mind before Master Hugo’s visit.  Rose early and spent a good four hours on her.”

“But that will totally ruin my rhythm.  I was working her up in increments to a full day session.”  Steph was a little annoyed.  A luxury amongst Servants.

Harold just shrugged and rose.  “You know the drill.  Wait her till I come out both doors.”  The room had a system similar to an airlock.  One soundproof door would open; Harold would step in; it would close and then he would enter Kimberly’s cell and gag her.  It was a precaution Gia took to ensure Steph never found out the reason she was so efficient at making Kimberly cry.  There was an electronic click and a swishing sound and Harold disappeared into the chamber.  Once he was gone Steph looked over the counter at Harold’s display.  She saw the video of Harold approaching Kimberly suspended on her cross.  She fought as always as Harold forced the ball of the gag into her mouth.  Kimberly had been chained in that room for as long as Steph could remember.  When she was a child she would sit off to the side and watch as Gia tortured her.  She had always been given ice cream after the sessions and grew to look forward to them.  Harold had achieved his task and Steph bolted upright, away from the screen, as the door opened again.

“She weak?”  Steph enquired.  Gia often took torture too far.  Steph had learnt that the brain can only take so much punishment before an apex is achieved.  More than the peak is wasted energy.

“You know her best kid.” Harold said leaving her to make that evaluation. 

Steph thought about asking what she screamed at him and what her voice sounded like.  All she had ever heard was weeping and muffled cries.

“I’ll sound the bell when I’m done.” Steph walked to the first door and Harold opened it for her; then the second and Steph was alone with Kimberly.  Without even looking up at her Kimberly began to cry.  She hung defeated on the cross, head slumped.

When Steph had first seen the woman she had been so beautiful, but a life of torture had thickened her dermis from fever and created wrinkles and creases on her pale skin.  Her hair was mated and tangled and would have hung down to her waist.  She struggled to raise her head.  Her piercing blue eyes stared intently at Steph.  Steph looked back.  Kimberly had long wanted to communicate something.  At first Steph had been dying to find out what and nearly removed the ball gag.  Harold had come through the door like a bullet and prevented her.  He swore to her if she did it again Gia would hear.  Harold was not threatening her, but making it clear he was taking a risk protecting her.  For his sake Steph had never tried again.

“I’m ranked Eighth in Central Asia on X-Com now.” Steph liked to chat to Kimberly.  Another tear rolled down her cheek.  “I got a Raid this afternoon in WoW.  Some guys want me to join their Guild but I don’t want to get tied with playing with the same set of people.”  Steph examined Kimberly’s bodies.  Gia Eros tortured with a silver needle and fresh puncture marks were visible all around Kimberly’s androgynous zones.  Steph was concerned at the number of them.  She touched Kimberly’s brow.  “You’re burning up.” Steph said out aloud, distracted from giving Kimberly her gaming update.  Next she ran her finger over the back of Kimberly’s ear wear the skin met her head.  The skin was dry.  This meant she was dehydrated.  None of the puncture wound were bleeding.  Steph relaxed.  “No more today Kimberly.  You’ll wake up in your bed.”  It was her call.  Gia had pushed her too far and made her sick.  Steph would administer first aid and put Kimberly under and chain her to the bed with a drip attached.  Tomorrow Steph would give her a light going over and rape her, but today was of the cards.  Steph walked across the room to the medical cabinet and took the pneumatic needle out and plugged a vial of anesthesia into it.  As she walked back over to inject Kimberly she said.  “We’ll start from scratch and work up to the all day session, ok.” 

Kimberly whimpered.

“That is so long as Mistress Eros doesn’t interrupt my schedule again.”  She injected Kimberly.  Her slumped postured relaxed further into unconsciousness.  Steph undid the straps that held her wrist and ankles out to the side and caught the wasted away body of the once beautiful woman now in her mid forties.  She dragged her over to the bed, old and solid oak and laid her on it.  Before going any further she washed Kimberly with a soapy sponge and then a clean one to wash away all traces of the soap.  Steph dried her and treated the puncture wounds with a dabs of Iodine.  Finally she pulled out the straps to bind her to the bed.  She tested them and then continued with first aid.  Kimberly couldn’t eat so Steph mixed up a cocktail of nutrients, vitamins’ and some steroids into a bag of saline and hung it as a drip, its tube leading to her wrist.  She pulled the blankets up over Kimberly’s scared, skeletal figure and leant over; giving her a kiss on her burning brow.  “See you tomorrow.” Steph whispered and walked to the exit and hit the buzzer.  Harold released the lock for her.

Interlude.

The five Concubines prettied themselves at the vanities of the West Wing.  The eldest, a raven haired brunette voiced her concern.  “There’s something wrong.”  Years of seeing her sister in the Conservatory purchased and taken away never to be seen again had created a mild paranoia now bought to a head.

“There’s nothing wrong.”  The tall ebony Caribbean spoke.  The Conservatories slaves had been handpicked and spoilt; raised on fairy tales of a glamorous life as prized lovers exploring the world as their Masters (or Mistresses) greatest love.  Strangely it was true sometimes.  Over the years several slaves from the Conservatory had become submissive and loved possessions, but most were just imaginatively fucked until their owner became bored with them and ate them.  These stories never filtered back.

“I think it’s exciting, we’ve finally been claimed.  Who knows where they’ll take us.”  The dirty blonde and youngest voiced.  She was in heat.

“I want the man to give me anal.” The blonde next to the cautious one confessed.  “They gave me lessons when I came of age and I liked it.”  She took a final look at herself in the mirror.  She was the last to finish.

A knock came at the door.  Hera poked her head through as if she was checking for modesty.  It was silly really.  She smiled, but hid her hunger that had kicked in since she had seen Steph.  “If you are ready ladies please follow me.”

All five women turned and paraded out of the room.  They followed Hera down the hall to the room at the end, passing countless rooms either side housing Servants for various purposes.  The West Wing was used for the Compound Master’s entertainment.  The Concubines paid no attention to the art studio or the Servants looking on at the death march from the bedrooms they passed.  They headed to a solid wood door at the end of the hall that led to Gia Eros’s private torture dungeon.  If a Servant left that room, it was only to be taken to the kitchen.  Hera held the door open and the Concubines smiled at her as the each walked through.

Chapter 3. Part 2.

Steph was in the kitchen.  Not the kitchen where the meat was cooked but the private kitchen in the West Wing.  She sat on a stool at the kitchen top eating some ice cream, her traditional reward for servicing Kimberly, and wondering how she was going to kill the time before her dungeon crawl.  Dalton Monroe walked in and approached Steph.  She had been welcome in this room since she was a kid and had no concern for her Master.  Dalton came up from behind and kissed her on the side of her head on route to the fridge.

“How’s it going kid?” He said and bee lined for the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk.

“Mistress Eros was too hard on Kimberly.  Got out early.”  Steph took another spoonful of ice cream.  She didn’t know by comparison, but ice cream made from breast milk was sweeter than normal ice cream.  It didn’t matter, it was her daily treat.

“Yes.” Dalton said, not in objection to Steph’s idleness, but as a prelude.  “Gia does like to remind Kimberly she is her pain slave her from time to time.”  He poured and drank his milk.

Steph looked at him and smiled her big smile.  Dalton looked back confused.  Steph touched her upper lip and Dalton realized the cream from the milk had left a white mustache.  He wiped it away.

“Thank you Hex.” He said and gave Steph a buzz.  If Dalton called her Hex the Servants were sure to do it.  All she had to do was get him to say it in front of them.

“You’re welcome Master.”  Steph said and scraped the bowl of her ice cream to get the melted portions.

“Hex, when it’s just the two of us you can call me Dalton.”  Steph was his daughter and as his blood she was more than the other Servants.  Dalton protected his only bastard.  Her erotic attire was a compromise with Gia.  She was not naked and exposing Dalton to the vulnerability of his daughter, but the attire was not on the level Gia wore. 

“I don’t think Mistress Eros would like that.” Steph cautioned.  She didn’t want trouble.  Many times Dalton had been attracted to Servants and every time they had met horrible ends at Gia’s hand despite their Masters protection.

Dalton surrendered to his undeclared daughters point.  “Why don’t you go hang out with Hugo and his friends?  They’re in the dungeon.”

Again an objection.  “Hera wants to eat me.”

“You know very well Hugo wouldn’t let that happen and besides; you are ours, not hers.”  He started out of the room “Go play.  You have to torture someone to earn that ice cream young lady.”

Steph took it as an order.  She collected the last of the melted ice cream in her bowl and leaving it for a Maid to collect and wash headed out of the kitchen to Mistress Eros’ dungeon; the one that did not contain Kimberly.

Chapter 4.  Leveling Up.

Steph opened the heavy door to the dungeon.  Dungeon was perhaps a too stronger word.  Gia had not redesigned the room like she had with many others, it remained a bachelor pad from a distant era; either the fifties or early sixties.  The door opened up to a stair case that followed the adjacent wall down and had a red wood railing.  Black and white posters of Sophia Lorene and Marilyn Monroe (to name a few) lined the high walls of the deep room that housed shackles and racks; a double bed ;a spit; and implements of torture housed as if they were in a museum.  As Steph, not seeking attention closed the door and started walking down her expression one of reservation at entering Hugo’s party shifted to a smile as Hugo called out in welcome.

“What’s this?  The little gamer princess wants to level up.”  The statement was teasing - welcoming.

Steph felt welcomed given Hugo’s temperament, but was from a different world.  Her comfort was dependant on friendly attention.  “Your Mum gave Kimberly a going over this morning.”  She said as she reached the bottom of the stairs.  Four of the five Concubines hung from the ceiling via shackles.  There positive outlook had shifted to confusion and apprehension.  None had known torture and had total ignorance of their situation from innocence.  The only one of them that knew what was coming was the eldest, the brunette, strapped onto the spit - selected for the abundance of firm flesh on her legs and thighs.  There had been no struggle as the Conservatory’s slaves had no inspiration to spark any such ideas.

As Steph walked towards Hugo, knowing him the best, she past Athena and the ebony dancer turned and smiled appreciatively for the company.  “We have two spares and you have talent.”  Athena always chose her words when talking to servants.  She both implied Steph was welcome and praised her.  For a Servant approval and praise meant security and allowed pride.  Steph visibly relaxed, but it was obvious she wanted the company of the one she knew best.

Hera was at the other end of the suspended Concubines fondling the Caribbean slave’s breast.  Her eyes narrowed on Steph, the prize before her seeming of little interest know that something more alluring was in striking distance.  Steph did not think to engage her and Hera’s brain started to calculate how to overcome the absurd situation of not being able to have her way with a Servant.

“She looks delicious.” Steph said to Hugo. 

He was busy prepping the spit.  He knew how to do it, but a life of privilege meant he seldom had to do it himself.  He fiddled with the latches and settings.  The brunette was in no hurry for him to finish and remained silent hoping for a reprieve.  “She was the only one who hesitated to be shackled.”  Hugo ran his finger over the brunette’s thighs admiringly.  “Weren’t you?”

The brunette’s brow broke into a look of desperation and a mournful whimper escaped.

“The Master said I should come - earn my ice cream,”

Hugo frown baffled.  He didn’t know what that meant, but said “Of course you should have come.”  He took a break from fiddling and gave Steph a hug with one arm.  “This is for fun.  You can do whatever you like.” 

Steph smiled again, not realizing the therapy she got from talking to people who had liberty and turned to the four girls hanging.  Athena was still watching the one to the far right, standing a couple of meters back from her, studying and planning her game.  Hera was still stroking the Caribbean Negress but was looking at Steph with appetite.  As Steph looked at the remaining two to pick one she glanced back at Hera sensing her eyes scanning her lingerie clad figure.  Despite Hera’s nudity the Asian made Steph feel more exposed.  Steph smiled in an attempt to disarm Hera, a little nervous, but not worried.

“What about a game Hex?”  Hera was attempting to lure Steph in.

“Game?”  Steph was unsure and innocent, but the prospect of a challenge and reward caught her id; her ego; and nulled her super ego.

Athena was in meditative preparation, but Hugo was listening in case Hera crossed the line with his and his father’s favorite.

“We each pick one.”  Hera glided her hands up her concubines ebony breasts and teased her nipples.  “We go hard.  First one to make theirs catatonic wins.”  The Concubines were not intimidated by the words.  Catatonic was not in their vocabulary so they had no insight as to how it may be obtained.

Steph was tempted.  She appraised Hera and Hera enjoyed the moment.  Steph had heard from Hugo that Hera enjoyed torture and that she was good at it, but it was Steph’s occupation.  Could Hera be better than her?  “Achievement to be unlocked?”  Steph queried.

Hera was confused and frowned.

“She means what are the stakes.”  Hugo voiced.  Partly to move things along and partly to let Hera know he was listening.  He switched the gyro on and the panic of the death sentence struck the brunette and she started to beg in a pointless effort to awaken mercy.  Twenty seven years of grooming and attention just to be consigned to meat.

Hera ignored Hugo’s subtle warning.  “Winner gets the looser until dinner.”

“I have a crawl before dinner.”

“What’s the matter, don’t think you can take me.”

Now it was Steph who was frowning.

Hera pinched her Concubines nipple until the helpless cried out.  Her distress so easily bought had the desired effect and tugged at Steph’s indentured pride.

“Tools?”  Steph took the bait.

“Whatever you like Steph.”  Hera teased out Steph’s name; the courtesy of her nickname removed to antagonize.

Steph had a moment of inspiration in dialogue and course of action.  “Ok.  Start.”  She turned and walked across the room to a set of glass cabinets.

Hera realized it was on, a little thrown by a servant taking initiative.  Her mother, Lilianna, had taught her with a sharp blade to illicit pain through shallow cuts.  Hera, not familiar with the dungeon scanned the cabinet for a familiar a tool.  Hera had been impulsive and not expected Steph to take charge.  The cabinets she examined looked like they have been repurposed from housing butterfly specimens.  The red felt inliers contrast the silver implements and Hera found a blade that’s tip contoured into a thick needle.  It was vicious looking, but suited the extreme pain she would have to illicit for a quick demise of her victim.

Steph started humming the tune to Super Mario brothers over the cries of the roasting brunette Hugo was busy basting; one eye on Hera.  The tune focused Steph and instead of hurrying like Hera she took her time and from the cabinet pulled a controller with a voltmeter, dial and four long wires coming out the bottom.

The Caribbean beauty cringed and cried out in apprehension as Hera walked towards her with a determined look and a nasty blade.  “What’s wrong?”  She said to her victim, but her need for haste affected her delivery.  She was not after a psychological game, she just need this woman to expire quickly to get her real prize.  What liberty of movement the Negress had she exercised but her restrained were taught enough to remove any obstacle from Hera plunging the needle tip of the blade deep into her pelvis.  Her scream overpowered Steph’s happy tune and Hera twisted and turned the blade mutilating the Concubines clit.  The slave’s beauty was expendable for a speedy victory.

Her song may have been dampened, but not her spirits.  Steph open the cabinet below the display case and retrieved the heavy battery.  She shuffled comically over to the now scared young blonde next the Hera’s ebony victim.  Steph did not come up.  She plugged two wires into the battery and checked the voltmeter and Hera elicited and silent scream from her victims kidneys.  Steph was mildly concerned when she saw her challenges victims face turn white; mouth open, howling silently are the excruciating wound.  Hera snarled with blood lust and Steph knew if she won she would have to sate that lust with her restrained body.  The dial read a full battery.  Gia really did keep the compound ready for everything.  Steph rose and smiled at her victim.  The blonde, distressed by her neighbors suffering was crying.  Softly she whisper, begged to Steph not to do it.  Steph shrugged it off and attached an alligator clip to her nipple and the other to her clit.  Her final protest was inaudible as Hera struck her third wound on hers.  Steph turned the dial to maximum and pressed the button.

Hera sought catatonia through pain.  Steph used cheat codes and raped her victim’s body with electricity.  The blonde’s jaws locked and her body contorted; her muscles contracting in a spasm that made her beauty magnify.  Steph had tortured Kimberly since coming of age.  She was not taken by blood lust as Hera had been but counted in her head to the number of seconds a healthy heart could take before it burst.  She counted to forty-five and stopped.  The blonde slumped so all her weight was carried by her suspending chains.  To Steph’s left Hera paused from carving into her victim’s breast and looked surprised.  In the silence of moaning agony and fear Steph casually slapped her victims face to check for a response.  Slowly the blonde tried to lift her head.  Steph pressed the button again, and again started to count.  Hera turned back to start on the other breast, but stopped before making the cut.  It was no good.  In forty-five seconds Steph had overtaken Hera and pushed her victim further.  Hera frowned, angered at efficiency of her opponents methods.  Steph stopped at thirty and slapped the blondes face again.  No response.  Steph reached forward and grabbed the blonde’s hair tilting her head up.  Her eyes were white slits between dead eyelids; the eyeballs rolled back.  The silver trickle of droll ran down the side of her mouth.

“I win.” Steph said turning to the embarrassed and beaten Hera.

It took her twenty seconds but Hera caught on.  “No.”

Steph was a Servant so didn’t respond, but Hugo did.  “No, she won. Deal with it.”

“No.”  Hera insisted.

“Yes” Hugo yelled and put down his basting brush.

“It’s ok.” Steph said.  “I’m just happy I won.”

Hera felt conflicted.  It was one thing to be defeated, but to be rejected as a prize by a servant lashed her ego.  “G…good.”

The moment was broken by Hera’s concubine finding recovering from the laps in her pain to find her voice and wail in consolable at the cruelty she’d suffered.

Hugo walked over to Steph who was still facing Hera and whispered in her ear.  Steph’s eyes grew wide as if she’d just been told a secret to Hera’s soul.

“No.” Steph said.

“Do it.” Hugo said softly and returned to cooking the brunette.

“Yes; do it.” Athena voiced.  She’d been silent watching her selected concubine whilst the brutality had taken place.  She knew what Hugo had suggested to Steph.

Hera was on the out and didn’t like it.  She glanced at her friends insecurely and then at Steph who was smiling. 

“Ok Hera.  Get on the bed.”

Now Hera was hurt.  “You don’t tell me what to do.”  She said in defiance.

“Hera, get on the bed.”  Hugo ordered.  The dynamic of their friendship and the girl’s pseudo servitude to him permitted him to make that statement.  Hera frowned angry and betray but turned to the wooden bed that rested in the far corner of the dungeon.  Steph followed curious at her exercise in liberty and gifted authority.

“Lie down please.”  As Steph requested the compliance she gently ran the back of her hand down Hera’s flawless skin.  It sent a message not of humiliation but of erotic play.  This was Hera’s weakness.  She could sleep with anyone, but given her station in the Society and place with Hugo seemed to always be denied.  So, enticed by the prospect of having Steph she sat and then lay on the bed.  Hera was still naked and Steph looked delicious in her lingerie.  Steph placed her hands on Hera ankles and glided her hands over Hera’s calves to her knees where she gently parted her legs.  Hera licked her lips in anticipation.  Losing wasn’t as bad as it turned out.  Steph crawled up between the legs and without reservations gave Hera a taste.  Steph had been trained to force Kimberly’s body to betray her mind.  Hera let out a gasp of pleasure, but Steph was going slow.  She crawled further up Hera until they were eye to eye.  “Call me Hex.”  Steph asked politely in a soft voice.  It implied a reward.

Hera’s hunger for Steph had been bought off with the potential for sexual release, but still she was stubborn.

“Call me Hex.”  Steph repeated.  Hera wasn’t so tough, nor difficult to break down.  Any second now she would….

“Hex.”  Hera relinquished looking into the big brown eyes.  They were familiar, but she couldn’t place them.

Steph lowered herself and kissed Hera on the lips.  She pulled away as Hera tried to insert her tongue, not letting Hera have all she wanted.  As Hera looked back in protest Steph reached over her and grabbed her wrist.  Hera should have seen it coming.  Steph practiced at this bed, the same as Kimberly’s, looked the shackle in place and came back to kiss Hera again.  Again Steph hovered just above Hera’s face waiting for her annoyance to be replaced with her longing again.

“Hex.”  Hera said, catching on to the game.

Steph kissed her again, this time permitting the tongue.  As the kissed finished Steph attached the second shackle.  Bondage came with a reward Hera wanted it so she did not protest.

Once her second wrist was shackled Hera politely again said.  “Hex.”

Steph smiled at her and leant forward.  Her hands caressed her inner thigh and Hera relaxed into what was to come.

“Hex.”  Steph glided her finger into Hera’s moistening vagina and teased her.  Steph’s experience showed and Hera succumbed quickly to her motion.  “Hex” Hera sounded again wanting the pleasure to intensifying.  Steph leaned forward and fingers still in motion licked Hera’s clit.  “Hex.”

Across the room at the shackled concubines the Caribbean beauty slipped unconscious from loss of blood.  Steph’s victims mind was gone.  It had exited to escape her brief but intense meeting with Steph as a professional.  That left two; the blonde who liked anal and the young dirty blonde once so eager to please.  Both were crying.  Athena continued to watch the dirty blonde intently as the rich smells of the brunette Hugo was spitting drifted across the room.

Finally Athena moved and she went forward.  Hera and Steph were busy so only Hugo saw Athena start at her very special game.  The dirty blonde screamed, fearing pain, but was hushed and caressed softly.  Athena was saying “Hey.  Hey. Shush.  Hush; be calm” and then the whispering started.  Hugo, and anyone else, never knew what Athena said, but she could be like morphine calming.  Her words were a vaccine that seemed to calm the concubine despite what she had just seen.  The slave calmed and listened.  Hugo strained to hear and longed to know what she said, but relinquished his curiosity and turned back to the desperate gaze of the brunette as she started on another turn on the spit.

Hugo had seen Athena work many times.  First came the calming; then what he imagined was a description of what would happen to them if they disobeyed; then the instructions; and the magic part, convincing them it was what they wanted to do.  At least that was his educated guess based on the range of expressions Athena’s victims would make.  She was some time off the messy part, so Hugo gave her privacy and turned to see Hera.  As per his advice Steph had bought Hera to the mindless writhing that was the prelude to an orgasm, but was not finishing her off. 

Between moans Hera was calling out “Hex.”

If Steph hadn’t been busy at work she would have been smiling.

Hugo felt alone and in the service of three ladies he technically ruled.  He turned his attention to the brunette as her desperate came round.  “Let’s see how you’re doing.”  He said and picked up a fork with sharp prongs.  He pierced her thigh, but the brunette had lost the ability to feel pain.  Clear juices flowed out, but they were followed with a tinge of red.  She wasn’t cooked through yet.  “At least this will give Athena time to finish”, he thought and went back to basting.

A gasp came from behind him.  It was the dirty blonde pleading for Athena not to do something.  Athena had never been tested.  Never had her bluff called so Hugo didn’t even know if she was bluffing or Athena was prepared to do something unspeakable to her toy.  Part of the intimate exchange between victim and Mistress became auditable.

“I think I will have to.”  Athena said out loud to the young concubine.

“No. No; please” and there was real desperation behind the voice.

“Well.”  Athena pretended to muse as if she had just thought of a reason not to.  “There is one thing you could do.”

“Yes. Yes; anything.”

Athena went back to whispering and Hugo got the only glimpse he would ever get into Athena’s game.  The dirty blonde was silent but nodding.  Athena placed her hand on the concubine’s sex.  No protest came and Hugo wondered if it was just a test to see if her victim was focused on the instructions.  Any second now Athena would finish her middle game before calming her victim.

“HEX!”  Hera yelled it from across the room.  Perhaps she had just realized Steph was not going to let her come, but keep her in a state of near satisfaction.  Hugo’s brief advise (or instruction from Steph’s point of view) on how to deal with Hera’s attitude was being implemented.

Hugo felt a little bad for a moment realizing Hera had spent the last six months in the Australian outback with only a gay man as company.  Even when at her mother’s estate she couldn’t engage in sex lest it break her father’s heart.  Lilianna was less sentimental and would have killed any man or woman who touched their daughter without the intent to make her an honest woman.  Hera was doomed to a life of unclaimed beauty.

“Please Hex.  Please.”

Hugo’s conscious got the better of him.  “Change of plans Hex.  Finish her off.”

Like any Servant, Steph obeyed without question and polished off the Asian beauty.  Hera’s orgasm came with a sigh of release and relief and her arc body slumped back into the bed.

The exercise had not been lost of Steph and she patted Hera on the belly as though she were a puppy.  “Good girl” she said and rose, walking towards the exit.

“Not staying for lunch?”  Hugo sounded after her, but could tell she was set on going.  Servants didn’t usually walk with direction unless following instructions.

“Koreans.  Dungeon crawl.  Loot”, Steph said as she started up the stairs.

Hugo smiled at the visible confidence she had gain by getting one up on Hera.  “Good leveling up Hex” he called and received a smile as Steph disappeared out the door.

Athena had finished as Hera had come.  Without any need for security she reached up and released the dirty blonde’s restraints.  The concubine made no effort to flee but rubbed her wrists and waited for Athena.  Athena walked over to one of the cases and removed a knife.  With a sweet ‘aren’t we friends now’ smile on her face she handed the dirty blonde the knife handle and nodded.

The dirty blonde looked nervous and her hand shook as she took the blade.  Athena watched superiorly and the dirty blonde slowly tuned to the concubine with the interest in anal.  The blonde did not expect pain from her sister, but read the look in the dirty blonde’s eyes.  The dirty blonde approached her sister with hesitant steps.  Athena gave no prompting, but waited patiently as the dirty blonde stabbed her Conservatory sister in the belly.  A scream filled the dungeon that was near silent since Steph and Hera’s game.  The scream continued as the dirty blonde drew the blade up, hands still shaking, gutting her sister.  The anal lover’s guts spilled onto the floor with a stream of blood.  The dirty blonde backed away in horror crying; she dropped the blade and looked mortified.  Strangely she turned to Athena for comfort and was met with a hug.  Athena made more whispers and the dirty blonde calmed again; her breathes growing longer and the shacking in her hands stopping.  Whilst still hugging the girl Athena nodded to Hugo and Hugo knew from experience what Athena wanted.  He moved away from the brunette and her golden brown, glistening, skin and approached the young dirty blonde concubine.

“What’s your name?”  He said.

The girl turned to him still in Athena’s comforting arms.  She didn’t answer.

“What’s your name princess?”  Athena said.

This time the girl answered.  “Susa” was all she said.

“Susa you survived.  I know Athena; she won’t let us hurt you now.”

Susa looked at Athena and the ebony beauty smiled affectionately at the girl.

“Susa, what can you do?”  Hugo’s job now was to find a place for Susa.  Athena never killed those she had whispered too; and those whispered too never told what Athena had said.

“Pleasure.”  Susa offered.  That would be a hard sell to the House Keepers when Hugo made a case for her placement on the staff.  All the Servants could give pleasure.

“Anything else?”  He would follow with prompting questions, but hoped the matter could be resolved from Susa’s initiative.

“Languages.”

“How many?”

“Eight.”

“Pleasure, Languages, and beauty.  Susa you will make a fine escort for visiting clients.”  Hugo smiled at the girl and ran his fingers through her hair.  The concubine was more comfortable with affectionate contact through directed upbringing.  She relaxed enough for Athena to let go and Athena gave her a kiss on her check.  “Would you like to join us for lunch Susa?”

Calm now, Susa nodded, but looked apprehensively at her sister on the spit.

Across the room Hera had recovered from her orgasm.  “Is somebody going to untie me?”

Chapter 5.  Dinner with the Parents.

“I received a surprise call from your mother Athena.”  Gia sat to Dalton Monroe’s right.  Hugo sat in her usual chair at the other end of the table; Athena and Hera to his left and right.

“Did she sound tired?”  Athena answered Gia’s statement with a question.

“No.”  But Gia knew of course Cassandra would not allow herself to seem run down.  “I haven’t caught up with her for too long.”

“She’s very busy now and I’m afraid cannot escape scrutiny.”

“Neither can you, but you are hear.”  Gia was really asking ‘Why are you here?’ but was too polite, or to sophisticated, to just come out and say it.

Athena smiled back as an answer.  She wanted to look at Hugo to see if he was nervous, but that would give it away.

“And her condition?”  Gia spoke of Cassandra libido, modified in her youth and never cured.

“My father manages for her…. And when he’s busy there is always Giselle.”

Dalton gave the trio a look of sympathy.  He loved Gia, would always, but as she got older she became more domineering.  She indulged too much for Dalton’s liking, but he would not deprive his love and mother of his son of anything she wanted least she become submissive too him.  He could command Gia (the only one who could) at any time, but reserved it for extreme moments when others could not see.

“And you Hera…”

“Why am I here?” Hera jumped ahead.

If that is what Gia intended to ask she did not out of game.  “No.  How is your mother?”  Hera was not the daughter of a President and should be by her son’s side.

“Beautiful and terrible to all, but very happy.”  Hera knew that Lilianna had somehow gotten an advantage over Gia in the past; though she did not know how.  The Estate had once been Gia’s, but Gia’s pride prevented her from asking after it.

“That’s nice.” Gia said and turned to her son.  “How was lunch Hugo?”

“Devine mother.”  He paused.  “I have something I need to tell….”

“After dinner.”  Gia said and Dalton gave her a look.  It was explained though as Ryoko and Miko, the two Compound House Keepers (Japanese twins), walked in ahead of a tray carried by two kitchen staff.  Gia has sense, linked to the Compound, their imminent arrival.

Dinner was familiar.  The Caribbean concubine Hera had tortured to near death lay dying on the silver tray.  The oven had transformed her into a delicate golden dish and her skin glowed delicious.  No sooner had she been placed down and Ryoko and Miko took the carving knifes of the tray and started carving.  Dalton and Hugo were served first; each taking breast and thighs.  Then the meats sex was carved and laid on a plate for Gia.  Finally Athena and Hera each had belly and thighs carved onto their plates.

At her end of the table Gia examined the sex that had been damaged by Hera’s attempt to best Steph.  Hera cringed hoping it would not become a topic of conversation, but Gia said nothing.  They all ate in silence and Hera and Athena could tell from the haste with which he ate and his declining to start conversation that Hugo was beginning to stress.

When Dalton spoke Hugo looked at him with startled eyes.

“Son; you’ve been of age for a while now.”  Dalton had difficulty asking his son for things.  He had experienced such things from his father and didn’t want to disrupt his sons life as his had been.

“Yes.” Hugo replied.

“The Compound needs an Heir and I was….”

“I thought I was the Heir?”

“You are, but security in multiple generations is desired.”  Dalton broke off.  He remembered the steps his father had taken to push him to produce an Heir.

Gia placed her hand on Dalton’s arm.  “What your father is saying is he would like you to consider spreading your seed.”  Gia took a deep breath and surprised everyone by being honest.  “We’d hoped spending six months isolated with Hera that you might….”

“What?!”  Hera interrupted, but recovered quickly and was not surprised that Gia had set her up to be Hugo’s wench and baby maker.

“….. might have naturally gifted her with a child.”  Gia paused.  “This is important Hugo.”

Hugo lip was muttering something but no words where coming out.  His parents were asking him to….. Hugo blurted it out.  “Mum, Dad, I’m gay.”

Introdcution.

Gia had spotted the young Maid flirting, in her own inexperienced way, with Dalton.  Now she lay bound on the bed and Gia was stroking her naked sex to excite the girl for what was to come.  “How do you feel?” Gia asked Dalton as he stripped in the corner of the Compounds Master bedroom.

“Did you know about this?”  Dalton was serious.  Gia never kept secrets from him.

“You know I didn’t.”  She pinched the Maids nipple.  Gia would calm herself at the Maids expense.  Her humiliation and slow demise would act as Gia’s therapy.  “How do you feel about it?”  Gia was pushing for Dalton to confirm what she already suspected.  Dalton loved Hugo, but it complicated the matter of an heir being born and circumstances had arisen that called for one.  Hugo could be stubborn and they now knew how little they knew about his sex life.  The expectation that one, or both, of his friends would bare his children obviously had never been entertained by the trio.  Hugo was perhaps a virgin in affections towards women beyond merely companions.

“He… It’s fine.  He just puts us in a position.”

“Do you want me to take care of it?”  Gia smiled at the terrified Maid.  Dalton was coming to the bed.  It was not uncommon for Dalton to excuse the Maids and Servants who were caught being affectionate to him.  This act usually endeared Dalton further in the Servants eyes and enhanced the fear they had of Gia, making them even more obedient.  With all that had been revealed tonight it was unlikely this Maid would be spared however; therapy through dominance was better than Xenax. 

Dalton lay on the bed; the Maid sandwiched between the pair of old lovers.  Dalton stroked her buttocks and the Maid began to cry.  “I have a backup plan.”

“What?”  Gia rolled over and opened the mahogany box on her night stand.  The seven inch silver needle slid out.  The Maid squealed in horror.  The pair were so use to cries of distress the Maid didn’t even illicit an emotional response from the couple.

“Steph.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Gia paused and pondered.  She never ordered Dalton, but she did make suggestions.  “As a plan B” she compromised.

Dalton looked at Gia as she twirled her needle between her singers tracing lines of light back and forth.  “You have a week.”  Dalton expression grew soft.  It was obvious either option would bring him no pleasure.  “I’ll ask Hugo to stay for a week.”

“More than enough time.” Gia smiled.  As Dalton parted the Maids cheeks and guided his member to her rear, Gia place the point of her needle against the Maids breast.  They both penetrated at the same time; the squeal and spasm of the Maid enhanced Dalton’s pleasure and Gia had a twofold satisfaction.

Chapter 6.  Indecent Proposal.

Athena and Hera naked sat in the shade of an umbrella on the edge of the Croquet court.  Gia, in a light and casual summer dress positioned the mallet to take first her shot.  The two girls and Hugo had taken breakfast and as they finished eating a Maid, who had somehow crossed Gia, Dalton and Gia had appeared and Dalton had asked his son to accompany him on his rounds for the day.  His father had seemed off balance after Hugo had told his parents he was gay.  Dalton’s invitation to his son was his chance to reassure his son of affection and his position; at least that is how the girls perceived it.  Dalton Monroe was a well balanced and highly intelligent man.  He would undoubtedly like to reassure his relationship with his son at the surprise of not knowing a giant aspect of his nature.  As they left the room Gia had remained and invited Hera and Athena to a game of crochet and tea.  The girls accepted happily, though in Gia’s house they had little alternative.

One of Gia’s two House Keepers, Ryoko, was on hand and a Maid stood by her side to enact any command.  Gia had chosen the first ball and made her shot.  Athena rose and collected her Mallet.  Gia was silent.  Athena drew the mallet back and hit the ball through the first hoop.  She hit with enough force to make progress on the ground, but her ball deliberately rested behind Gia’s so that the Dominatrix would have to work backward if she chose to interfere with her.  Hera stepped up to play her shot.  As she leant over the mallet Athena noted Gia examining Hera’s build; the size of her subtle hips.  Athena remained silent at the observation.  She knew Gia would speak soon.

“You kept my sons secret.”  She said as Hera stood straight from her shot.  Hera understood fighting, but was aggressive and had played long.  Gia would use her shot for progress.

“Is Dalton at peace with the news?” Athena said changing the topic away from the clandestine activities of the trio.  Hera took the back seat.  Athena had her adoptive mother’s diplomacy. 

“He loves Hugo.  It was just a surprise.”  Gia stepped forward and took her turn.  Her ball glanced Hera’s and set it off to the side out of contention for the next hoop.  Hera was now a turn behind.  Gia ball rested in front of the next hoop.  Even if Athena could make the shot she would send Gia’s ball through.  “Today he will outline his intention for the younglings and introduce Hugo to those he believes should be separated into higher roles.”

“The future House Keepers?”  Athena stepped forward and took her shot.  It was offline for the hoop, but hit Gia’s ball at an angle knocking her out of line; allowing Hera to catch up. 

Hera picked up on the play.  Athena was showing the two girls were united in the game; that they were a team.  As she went to take her shot Gia continued to speak.  “Not just the future House Keepers.  Beautiful girls who will go on the dwell in the conservatory; male servants who can acclimate to the outside world and take on roles within it; and some for breeding.  There are always those who show unique talents, and Dalton encourages these sometimes even creating new niches for them.”  As Hera took her shot Athena again noticed Gia’s continued appraisal of Hera’s figure.  She was looking close for imperfections.

Hera had none and her shot was again aggressive.  Her ball bounced off either side of the hoop and rested just past it.  If Gia made it through her ball would be stifled.

“Who else knows Hugo is gay?”  Gia asked and walked to take her shot.

Athena and Hera followed keeping pace and this time Hera spoke.  “No one alive.”

Gia stopped and looked at Hera as if to clarify what was implied.  Hera looked back in confidence.  Gia smiled not fazed by Hera’s confession of killing her son’s lovers.  Whether she was happy at Hera for taking care of business, or happy that the secret was secure until he had chosen to come out she did not let on.

Gia looked at the game.  If she regains position on the hoop Athena would knock her ball out of the way whilst Hera made progress.  She rested the mallet on the ground.  Unless the girls were unlucky they had already won through teamwork.  “There is a little matter that concerns you two however.”  Gia took her best shot.  She surrendered the lead on the first hoop by resting back from Athena on the ground.  She would go through next shot.  “Dalton and I had only one child, a son, so he would not have contestation for his position as Heir to this compound.”

Athena stepped to play and despite the angel made it through the hoop, bouncing off either side.  She stepped back and paid attention to Gia again.

“Hugo will inherit the Compound without question.  His sexuality is not an issue, except….”

Hera walked forward to take her shot and clear a lead.  As Gia paused mid sentence she paused from play.

“It was intended for Hugo to have children till he had a son and Heir.”

Hera didn’t make her play. 

Having the girls full attention Gia continued.  “Both of you are products of the Society.  Your genes are beyond question.”  This was true.  Athena was the daughter of an African beauty and a Caucasian genius.  Hera’s mother was the best of her generation of House Keepers and her father’s blood was pure, ideal, Southern Italian.  “I believe that your new profile, Athena, as the first daughter means that you are out of contention for the position as mother to the Heir.  There will be no way to keep your pregnancy a secret and the child would be American royalty; unable to live his life out of the spotlight.”  Gia turned her attention to Hera.  “That leaves you Hera, but the question is; are you prepared to persuade my son.”

Hera dropped her mallet and her mouth opened.  She was not one to hide her emotions like Athena.

Gia did not break her gaze.

“Mistress Eros.” Athena spoke formally in full diplomatic mode.  “There is no need for hasty action…”

“I feel the need for haste.  You are not fully aware of circumstances.  There is need for haste.”  Gia was in full assertion.  “Dalton is in his mid sixties.  Our son is of age, there should be a guarantee of succession.

Athena knew she could not protest again.  The full pressure came on Hera.

“I… I…” Hera took a breath.  “If it was consensual I would.”  Hera had a weakness when it came to her future.  The only place she had in the Society was as her mother’s replacement and she certainly didn’t want that to happen soon.

“Consent is optional my dear.”  Gia said coldly in reference to her son.  “This issue is more important than the luxury of my Motherly love.”

“Gia I’m not going to date rape my best friend.”  All formality was dropped as Hera was the one to now assert herself.

“It’s either you, or someone we select who will not be nice about it Hera.”  Gia held her mallet out and the Maid came running forward to collect it.  The game was over.  “You can have today to think about it.  I will speak to you after dinner.”  Gia left the two girls standing on the green.  As Gia walked the House keeper followed and the Maid started packing up the croquet set.  Hera looked at Athena for the solution.  Athena had nothing to offer.

Chapter 7.  Father Son Talk.

Dalton and Hugo left the suite that contained a year’s worth of female younglings.  Dalton had announced play as he’d left and now they watched through the two way mirror as the girls frolicked and skipped around the room, their Governess on hand to watch for any misbehavior.  The little girls worshiped Dalton as they would a father and had welcomed Hugo with smiles and intrigue.  In a sense it seemed cruel to Hugo that they were all betrayed at eighteen and the reality of servitude bought home for them.  “That’s what makes them so apt at their duties.”  Hugo mused.

“What is?”  His father questioned by their side.

“The shock of the Society.  They fall back on and rely on their training.”

“They never forget their childhood Hugo.  To them we offer all they need.  The ideals of liberty are not sought by those who don’t know it so long as they are not deprived of their needs and we breed only those with an inclination to serve.”  Dalton placed his arm on his sons shoulder.

Hugo turned to his father.  “I will make some changes in my time.”  The statement was honest and realistic.  Hugo would have the age Servitude commenced raised to twenty-one.  He didn’t like those so young thrust into the hands of the Socialites.

“Of course, but you need to start spending more time with them so if something happens they do not grieve me.”  Dalton turned back to watch the younglings again.  “And you need to start interacting with a year of your own to get a feel for them.  Learn how to better direct them and which ones should be elevated, or those who are destined to be…..” Dalton didn’t finish his statement.  It was a matter of reality that some of the girls playing wouldn’t make the grade and would be consigned as meat.  No child was ever harmed and would never be so long as his family ruled the Estate.  Dalton sometimes even held girls in training past eighteen to give them a chance to succeed into servitude.  “There is the matter of what your Mum spoke of last night Hugo.”

Hugo’s face grew stern.  He had been expecting this.  “Oh?” He said playing ignorant.

“You need to produce an Heir and I would like to be around to meet him.”

“God help us if you’re gone and it comes down to Mother.”  Hugo said defusing the tension.

Dalton laughed.  Though any children of Hugo’s would become some of the few people Gia adored, Dalton had been forced to suppress is lover from imparting her traits onto Hugo least he become a monster.  Hugo had realized this in his adolescence when he became aware of his mother punishing Servants who did not serve him with perfection.  Fortunately Hugo had his father’s admiration for women instead of his mother’s sadism.

“Can you give us a grandson Hugo?”  Dalton asked.

His father was not insisting which told Hugo he had a backup plan.  Hugo frowned wondering what it could be.  “It’s not that easy father.”  Dalton had been a playboy to his midlife; then he had settled down with Gia.  He did not understand the simple fact that Hugo homosexuality had caused him to hide his desires and that he could not love freely.  When maturity and experience had revealed his nature to his two companions Hera had killed everyone he had been intermit with.  For Hugo sex came with consequences.  He had avoided lovers he liked so as not to feel remorse when they met Hera in an alley.

Dalton didn’t understand, but intelligence offered him a slight incite.  He squeezed his son’s shoulder.  “I want ask again.” Dalton said.  Dalton had only softly tried for the plan.  More than anything he didn’t want Hugo to remember him as he remembered Geppetto.  “I have a plan B.  Your mother will hate it, but she is biased to having her grandchild succeed you.”

What Dalton was saying didn’t sink in for Hugo due to the emotion linked with the request.  He missed the obvious implication and casually thought his father would start from scratch; perhaps having another child.  He felt some relief, but his father’s acceptance of his reluctance by nature also made him feel guilt.  His father had always told him the privileges he had came with the responsibility of serving the Society when his time came.  Hugo like the younglings playing had been gifted a happy childhood with everything he needed and more.  In a sense part of him fell back on his upbringing, but as the topic had reached a nature passing he did not voice his possible acceptance of his father’s request.

Chapter 8.  Plan B.

Steph tapped on Dalton’s office door.   He’d left Hugo with the younglings and summoned her.  She’d been up all night on World of Warcraft and the triple dose of redbull was making her irritable.  She forced a smile for Dalton and as he beckoned her in with his hand she sauntered into the room and flopped casually on his leather sofa.

“Comfortable?”  Dalton said sardonically.

Steph rubbed her eyes and tried to relax into the sofa.  “I killed Artoli last night.”

Dalton didn’t know who Artoli was, or that he was a Dark Elf Lord from Mount Hyjal, but acted interested.  “Put up much of a fight?”

“I drained his mana and inflicted burn damage, but some tool from Soule claimed his last hit point and stole my achievement.”

“You want a Korean girl to take it out on.”  Dalton offered.

Steph closed her eyes heavy eyes and shook her head.  “No.  It wouldn’t be her fault.  It just sucks.”

Dalton watched his (and he hated the title) bastard daughter as she tried to feel some rest lying on his sofa.  He was proud she felt comfortable around him and didn’t have the caution of him she had with Gia.  He smiled and felt the guilt for what he was about to order.  The need to separate his nurturing of her called for him to be blunt.  “I would like to breed you Hex.”

Steph’s eyes shot open and she bolted upright.  She stared at Dalton with surprise.  “W...What?”

Dalton looked apologetic.  “I’m sorry Steph, but the need has arisen for me to ask you to have children.”  Despite his fondness for the young tomboy his complacency with having people as possessions meant he lacked the necessary tact when talking to the indentured to comfortably offer the information.  He was domineering in a request an ordinary daughter would find offensive.  There had been no introduction or luring.  Dalton had been plain and Steph suddenly felt like a servant instead of a special. 

“Children?”  She looked upset and wounded.  As far as she knew she had done nothing wrong.  From her perspective of the Compounds operation she was not one of those who were required to breed.

Dalton stood from behind his desk and walked over to sit beside her.  It was something perhaps he should have done to begin with.  He placed his arm around her shoulder and hugged her.  “Or perhaps just a child.  I want you to give us a son.”

Steph’s eyebrows furrowed and she frowned.  “Us?  I don’t understand.”

Dalton kissed her on the brow.  “You are of age and beautiful.  Any child you have will have my upmost protection I promise you.”  He didn’t give Steph a chance to take it in.  “I’ll come up with a shortlist from the male breeders and then you can pick the one you like from them.”

“I… No… I don’t understand.”  Steph looked at him hurt.

Dalton could have arranged for Steph to interact with male servants; wait to see which ones she like and guided her to intimacy and a child, but there was something happening to Dalton Monroe that only Gia and a Doctor knew of.  What he wanted, like his father had wanted before him, was a grantee of succession.  Hugo had years of true liberty and could not be ordered to engage in sex for children.  With Steph he had the luxury that she had been raised with Servants and at her core was one.  He was being week; taking the easier route for expediency.

Steph was still stunned from being so far out of her comfort zone.  She sat watching the floor, her imprisoned liberty challenged. 

Dalton squeezed her tighter.  “I’m not hurting you Hex.  I’m not going to hurt your child.”  He placed his finger on her chin and turned her head so he was looking her in the eye.  “I need you to do this for me Hex.  It’s very important.”

Interlude.

Hugo spent the entire morning with his father and then reentered the Suite housing a year’s worth of younglings to get to know them better whilst his father had departed to take care of some business.  He did not see Athena and Hera till dinner.  When he had seen them and sought their support at dinner against his mother he found them serious, as though they had been burdened by something.  A day with his mother meant it could be anything.  A day being adored by pretty younglings gave Hugo a boon that he tried to share to unwind whatever web his mother had spun.  With conversation at the table lacking he entered into a monologue about a girl who would run up to him only to blush and run away every time he smiled at her.  Hugo didn’t say it, but out of favoritism he would see to it that the girl had a happy and secure future.  The prospect of watching her grow and guiding her development seemed to make him happy.

When Dalton entered late he had a solemn expression too.  He had taken Steph’s reaction as a Master making a request from an obedient servant, but her reaction had hit him after she had plodded out of his office.  Her sassy spirit had been taken from her and the prospect of it being a permanent change bothered him.  He smiled at the gathering at the table all the same.  Gia would have picked up on his mood, but if he lingered on it she would have guessed that he had let Hugo off the hook and a change in mood from Gia could spell a torturous era for the Servants.

Ryoko and Miko paraded in ahead of a pot bellied roast.  It was the concubine Steph had efficiently sent to catatonia.  Her innards had been removed and replaced with stuffing.  The seasoned bread inside the deceased concubine created an atmosphere similar to Thanksgiving.  Hugo was still telling the tale of his little discovery as Ryoko severed the hemp thread that kept the roasts legs curled up to her belly.  As they flopped down on the tray her sex was visible, overflowing with stuffing.  Athena eager to come back to equal terms with Gia after the morning’s interaction said enthusiastically, “My! I may have to challenge you for a cut today Gia.”

Ryoko, one of the twin Housekeepers had no sense of humor and turned to Athena as if about to discipline her.

Gia’s polite smile called her attack dog off.  “You don’t have enough men.”

Hera joined Dalton in silence least she give away her thoughts.  Had either of them spoken and revealed their minds a great deal of trouble and pain could have been saved.

Miko stood on hand supervising the Maids as they scurried about.  The Maids were anxious since Gia had culled one of their numbers.  Gia tended to do so in waves targeting several at a time before relaxing into a lull.  Ryoko carved the turkey/concubine.  Hugo finally picked up on the mood and tried to lift it.  “Sick of being naked yet Hera?”  He said to his friend and smiled.

Hera loved being naked.  One of the perks of youth and perfection.  “No.”  She said and tried to smile.  Her attempt to be happy made Hugo suspicious of something amiss so he naturally looked at his mother.  Gia was calm as a Hindu cow and smiled back.  Hugo then tried Athena who seemed a little more collected.  “What about you Athena?”

Athena did smile.  She wasn’t isolating Hera she just knew that she couldn’t let Gia get more ground on them.  “There’s no one here who thinks it out of the ordinary Hugo.”  Athena sipped her wine.  “I’m comfortable.”

Gia took Athena’s navigation of the tension as a challenge to her presence.  “You know when your Mother was your age I knew her body very well Athena.”  Gia smiled as if remembering.  “I often wonder if she is still as…”

Dalton turned commandingly to Gia.  Out of contact with the outside world Gia’s tact had veered towards smugness.  Gia was many things but lovingly obedient.  She stopped mid sentence and conceded not to demote Athena in the tables standing.

Athena realized a Servant would pay for any frustration Gia felt and so out of the tangle between indulgence and conscious said, “Perhaps we could talk on it after dinner.  Mother is vague in stories of her early experiences.”  This would also prevent Gia from further pressuring Hera.

“Over chess perhaps?”

“I would like that.”  Temporary impasse achieved Hugo went back to stories of the younglings.  Dalton added comments and suggested oversights.  Athena and Gia listened.  Hera mused on her predicament and on a new resultant conflict within her.

Chapter 9.  Descent Proposal:  Hugo and Hera.

Hugo lay on his bed reading.  This time he was naked.  He always slept naked.  There was a knock at his door.  No one save a friend, or Servant on business, would disturb him at his days end so he said, “Enter” with hesitation.  Hera stood at the door.  She did not come in she just leant against the frame, beautiful and vulnerable.  Any man would invite her in, but Hugo did not have those designs on his friend.  “What the hell was going on at dinner?  It was weird.”

Hera remained in place looking at her friend.  She was here on the matter Hugo referred to and it would be divulged quickly.  Hera had long been attracted to people; Male and female.  She had long been attracted to Hugo.  Perhaps Gia knew this.  “You’re Mum asked me to do something for the Society.”  Hera walked into the room.  The door naturally closed behind her and she walked crossing her steps.  A straight man would be standing salute.

Hugo momentarily went back to his book thinking she was just seeking company, but realized as she sat on his bed his mother had put Hera in a position.  “One word to my Dad and I can call her off.”  He said.  If his mother was bothering his friend he would not stand for it.

“Your Dad’s in on it I think”, and to the best of Hera’s knowledge he was.

The awkward conversation with his father earlier in the day rang a bell in Hugo’s head.  He put his book down.  “Hera, what did my Mother say?”

Hera turned her head to look Hugo dead in the eye.  Her eyes were soft.  To say they were burdened was a lie; they were adjusting to a change.  “She wants’ me to have your child.  Give them an heir.”

Hugo sat up and cradled his friend in an action smooth through sympathy.  “Hera that’s not going to happen…”

“Hugo, I want it to happen.”  Hera voice rose.  Sometime through dinner, deep in thought Hera had dealt with the issue of her future.  Her Mother, Lilianna, would have her take over the Estate and then be imprisoned to it.  She could follow Hugo, but now that he was out there would be male suitors that would replace her.  Athena was out of reach from the status of her parents.  Hera wanted a roll other than those designed for her.  Mother to a King seemed nice.

“Hera.  I love you but not that way.”  Hugo squeezed Hera now.

“Hugo… No sex.  I’m not doing that to you, but work with me on this.”  She removed his arm from around her and pushed him back on the bed.  Hugo reeled slightly, but had absolute trust in his soft attacker.  If Hera had wanted to pin him down in a hold there would have been little Hugo could have done to prevent her.  Hera opened her hand to show a veil.  “Close your eyes.  Think of someone you like and let me do this.”

“Hera…”  Hugo was protesting for motives his mind had not yet processed.

Hera was being swift.  Removing any chance for Hugo to back out.  “Please do this for me Hugo.”  Hera spoke through gritted teeth.  Any delay and Hugo would find a way out.  The combination of youthful ignorance, hasty execution and trust went in Hera’s favor.  As she toyed with Hugo member it came firm, his eyes were closed; a troubled look on his face.  Hera started the process of milking him.

Chapter 10.  Descent Proposal:  Hex.

Steph was waiting.  She was tired.  An all night session followed by the news she was to be breed meant she did not get much rest.  Kimberly had recovered slightly so she had just given her a quick going over on the bed.  In a strange attempt for comfort had lain next to Kimberly after the rape and torture.  Steph did not notice the long suffering Kimberly calmed to share some affection with her tormentor.  Years ago Kimberly had told someone that torture has an effect on the psychology of both the torturer and the tortured.  An intimacy is born and the couple becomes dependent on one another.  Steph had fallen asleep and Kimberly for once had not cried in the company of the girl ignorant of their link.

Dalton came up to the end of the hall where Steph was waiting.  Whilst the East and West wings looked like a mansion; the area the younglings were raised like a playschool; the Conservatory like a high end bordello; the Main Entrance and breeding quarters resembled a Hotel.  When pregnant, the woman were housed in dorms, but breeding took place were the male stock lived.  Many of the Servants of each generation could be half sisters.  All male stock had been bread over years; none had been introduced in Dalton’s time, they were selected from the Male younglings.  They enjoyed leisure, performed some light duties so as to provision the guards and such, but lived well and had the benefit of bedding fertile women when their cycle permitted it.  The males selected for breeding got to know the females over the years and despite the fate of the children they helped produced their lives were near utopian.

“Sorry to keep you waiting Hex.”  Dalton took one look at Steph and felt like a monster.

“It’s Ok.”  Steph replied without making eye contact.

“It’s not ok.  I’m asking a lot…”  He had to change tact.  He was asking his favorite to do something she was not designed for.  He placed both hands on her shoulders.  “This is necessary Hex.  If you have a son he is going to be very important.”

Steph not having context couldn’t grasp his point.

Daltons started walking down the hall to one of the leisure rooms.  “I’ve picked my five best.  You choose the one you like the most and you will spend some time with him.

Steph saw a way out.  “What if I’m not ripe?”

“You’re ripe now Steph.”  Dalton said softly, reluctantly brushing aside her attempt at avoiding his insistence.  There were no tampons or pads in the Compound.  The Maids kept a record of when every female bleed for the House keepers.

Steph head slunk as she walked.  They rounded to a room and Dalton entered without knocking.  Five men, dressed only in white boxers stood at attention.  Despite being a modern man Dalton had selected only Caucasians.  Steph reeled at the thought of having to choose one.  She was a virgin to men and there was no seduction.

Dalton waited a moment letting Steph take it in and then tried to put her at ease.  “What if you were selecting one of these for say…? Hera.”

The distraction worked. Steph was overwhelmed and detachment suited her psychology.  Steph relaxed slightly taking Dalton reprieve from pressure.

“I mean, what attributes in Hera would match up with these men?”  Dalton took a relaxed stance and pretended to be thinking about it.  “Push back the ones you don’t think would suit Hera.”  He had turned it into a game.  Hera and Steph had similar builds but different ethnicity.

Steph immediately stepped forward and pushed back the shortest man.  He had the endomorph build, the only one of that type Dalton had selected.

“Good.  We want the child to be tall and confident so someone prouder than Hera perhaps.”

By placing the emphasis on someone Steph was at odds with it became an exercise in building Steph up, not burdening her.  “Not too tall.  If you want a boy he can’t have narrow shoulders.”  Steph pushed another of the five so only three remained.  It was a game, so she was getting into it.  Dalton knew it was only temporary.  When she remembers it would be her in the bedroom the reluctance and hesitation would return.

“Ok.  Now look at the faces.  Which do you find handsome.”

Steph examined each closely.  Dalton knew it didn’t matter.  Any of the five he had initially chosen were suitable donors for his grandchild.  Truth be told he had selected them for intelligence and natural personality rather than appearance.  These men usually produced the girls Dalton saw as future House Keepers and males who had the potential to operate in the outside world.  Steph had relaxed to the point that she crinkled her brow at one of the remaining three and pushed him back.  He took a step back and looked a little disappointed.  Hex didn’t have a wealth of experience, none in fact, so didn’t realize she liked his disappointment.  It was her first thrill of heterosexuality.

Dalton found her innocence endearing and felt bad to push it along.  “Two left, but we come to the crux.  It’s not Hera who is being breed, it’s you.”  He came up behind Steph now and hugged her with genuine affection.  “You’re my favorite Hex.  Pick the one you like.”

Steph had been calmed.  After a couple of minutes without being hastened or pushed by Dalton who stayed still with his arms still around her, Steph pointed to a well built lean man.  She didn’t have the experience, but Dalton knew she had picked the one who had stood solid at attention whilst the other had wavered in his eyes to see if he would be chosen.  Any of the five were approved.  The exercise was designed to give Steph the feeling of choice.  Dalton released Steph from the fatherly hug.

“You four go.”  He waved his hand and the rejects started to depart.  “You”, he said pointing to the winner of Steph’s little game.

The man, six foot eight with thick dark brown hair and brown eyes had the mesomorph build made famous by Kelvin Kline.  He stepped forward and resumed the pose of attention in front of Dalton.  Dalton walked away from Steph and approached the man.  “She’s a virgin to men; she’s hesitant.  Seduce her and minimize her discomfort.  Impregnation is essential, but if you force yourself on her the Trainee House Keepers will use you for melee practice.”

The man turned and despite his confidence looked slightly apprehensive.

Dalton tapped him on his back.  If he’d been perfectly confident there might have been a problem.  “Good man.” 

It was done.  Dalton had secured a Grandchild, ignorant of Gia’s own scheme being acted out.

Chapter 16.  Tempus Fugit.

“You’re returning to Washington tomorrow?”  Gia asked politely.

“I came to support Hugo.  The situation dictates I return.”  Athena sat opposite Gia at a beautiful table with an exquisite chess set ready for play.

“White or Black?”  Gia said over the chess board in the quaint tearoom.

“Let’s leave it to chance.”  Athena smiled.  She felt obligated to occupy Gia whilst Hera talked to Hugo.  She had no idea what her friend had planned, but knew she would want the Dominatrix out of the picture.

Gia took both a black and White pawn and shuffled them behind her back.  She revealed two closed fists and Athena tapped her left hand.  Gia turned the hand over revealing the white pawn.  Gia spun the board so the white ivory soldiers lined up in front of Athena.  Athena promptly moved her queen pawn forward two squares.  It gave the appearance of the Indian opening, but Athena did not know the names of the openings, though she knew their attributes from practice.  Gia moved her Kings pawn forward one square.  Athena immediately replied by pushing her Queens’s pawn forward again, insisting Gia take it and loose overall position.  Athena was sacrificing tempo, the rapidity of development, for position.

“Who taught you to play like this?”  Gia said, not taking the pawn but developing a Knight and severely underestimating what an unorthodox move.

“My Grandmother; she would always do it to me.”  Athena took the pawn forcing Gia to take it with her own Queen pawn. 

Gia knew now knew exactly what the girl was doing.  Athena’s Queen would slide forward and take hers forcing her to move her King and be open to attack in the mid game.  “How is the old crow?”  Gia said annoyed.  Athena did not play the type of chess Gia liked.  Gia liked complicated positions with multitudes of possible exchanges of building complexity and discovered weaknesses.  Athena liked to swap piece for piece slowly acquiring position which would help in the end game.   It was how she planned to win.  She would not seek check-mate; she would allow attrition to present a winning position.

“Still Royalty at Banquets.  She’s eased off telling my father what to do, but does make suggestions to my Mother as to how he should handle certain people.”

“Last I heard of her she sent an envoy to acquire a concubine.  A rather expensive one.”

“The concubine is still alive and earns her keep.  It taught me age does not dull the cravings of the flesh.”

“How does she treat you?”

“In what regard?”

“In regard to not being a true Kennedy.”  Gia was rethinking her whole game plan.

“She was cold to me as child.  Testing when I was young, but grew to see I would be of use.”

“You impressed her!  Not an easy task.”

“She has other Grandchildren.  Blood grandchildren to carry on her legacy.  In a manner I escape her governing by not carrying the sacred genes.”

“I like your father Athena.”  Gia said out of the blue.  “He’s one of the few men who doesn’t bother me.”  Gia made her move having adjusted to Athena’s style.  “You’re mother was the most delightful morsel I ever schooled in the ways of the Society.”

“I know so little of your History, but she does seem to think very fondly of you.”  Athena smiled at Gia and took her Bishop at the cost of a night Knight, but the prize of being able to castle queen-side; putting Gia in check and regain the tempo she had lost on her third move.

Gia’s eyebrows rose.  “You’re Mother is an extraordinarily clever submissive.  She surrenders, give her lover exactly what they want and walks away with them wanting more… and whatever it was she needed.”  Gia had to think on the board in front of her.  Athena skill annoyed her, but she was the daughter of the very woman they were discussing with admiration.  “She would have given you a sibling, but Dalton’s father stung her with the Insatiabilis Wasp.  The Wasp sting usually causes other insects to forcibly lay their eggs which the wasp then eats.  In humans it causes physiological changes; increased libido; swelling of the clitoris and labia; infertility.”  Gia offered Athena a secret.

Athena was slightly thrown.  Her Mothers libido was known to her.  When she had accompanied her Father on his Campaign for the Senate the pair had made headlines by breaking the frame of a bed in a hotel room they had occupied.  Morning visits too Mum and Dad’s room had also been off limits when she was young.  As her father became more busy her Mothers personal assistant, Giselle, had seeming disappeared into her mother’s room for extended periods of time.

Gia picked up on Athena’s musing and offered insight to save Cassandra’s face.  “She can’t think straight unless she has release from her condition and she is incredible when she thinks straight.”

Athena probed for the matter not discussed.  “And in your time with her?”

Gia smiled.  “Lovers in a game of bondage.”  But she added out of pride.  “I was always on top.”

“Always?”  Athena hinted at maybe knowing something that had occurred in the past.

The conversation was interrupted from challenging Gia’s prowess by Hera entering the room.  She boldly walked up to the sitting pair and tapped down a small medicine vile filled with creamy fluid.

Gia and Athena knew exactly what the fluid was, but were surprised by it being displayed so bluntly.

Hera kept her momentum.  “You got a fertility Doctor?”  She said; the hostility in her voice towards Gia unmasked.  “Or at the very least a turkey baster.”

Chapter 11.  The Situation.

“You did what?”  Gia would have transformed into a torrent of destruction in any other audience.

Dalton could see the conflict of a dominatrix striped and shackled in his partner’s eyes.  He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t understand how he could have caused his lover this internal conflict.  “I breed Steph.”

“No, no, no Dalton; no!”

“Gia what’s wrong.  I spoke to Hugo and he wasn’t interested so I went with Plan B.”  Dalton perhaps caught on.  “You spoke to the girls?”

Gia slumped sitting onto the bed.  “Hera got it out of him.”  She said defeated by her own cunning.

“Sex?!”  Dalton couldn’t see Hugo suddenly taking that option when he had his entire adolescence to experiment with the girls.

“Seed.”  Gia shook her head.  “She asked him for it and he gave it to her.”

“Fertilization?”

“In the lab.  Pregnancy likely.  She was ripe.”  Gia looked at Dalton.  She had hoped to tell him the happy news and share a blissful night with him.  They didn’t know how many they would have together.

The reason for the haste in securing an Heir and there insistent behavior had to do with the tumor Dalton had in the temporal lob of his brain.  Inoperable and so far not affecting his cognitive abilities it still meant he had limited time before his passing would hand the torch to Hugo.  He wanted to see a grandson and future successor born before the inevitable came.  It would have been a fairly major element in anyone’s life, but Dalton’s responsibilities meant he did not have the luxury of contemplating death.  He wanted to keep it a secret and spend his time getting Hugo ready to replace him.

“Was Steph…?”  Gia queried in vain.

“Ripe.  I breed her just this night.”

“Perhaps they haven’t…”

“No I checked with the male to ensure he was gentle.  Nothings certain, but we are practiced at this.”

Gia voiced her concerns.  “Two potential male Heirs and you won’t be around to prevent conflict.”  The obvious morning after pill was not an option.  None were kept at the compound.  Abortion was possible, but would require Dalton’s consent.

“If it happens Hugo will see no conflict arises.  He likes Hex.”

“Who?”

“Hex… Steph.  She likes to be called Hex.”

“She’s a tool you made for me Dalton to punish Kimberly.”  Gia was angered by Steph receiving an identity.

“She’s my favorite.”  He knew where Gia was headed.  Get rid of Steph before she was confirmed pregnant.

“Why didn’t you give me the week?”  Now Gia did raise her voice.

“Gia.”

“Dalton I had it covered.”  She said it wounded, as if her lover had doubted her abilities.  He hadn’t, he’d merely tried to save those close to him from her tactics.  Gia was a difficult lieutenant to manage.  Capable, but severe.

“It’s done.  There’s no guarantee either will be male.  We are taking our chances.”  Dalton was flustered.  A trickle of blood ran from his nose and he reached up awkwardly to blot it.

Gia’s mood changed.  “Please Dalton”, she said taking a handkerchief to his nose; rising into a stance of concern and affection.  “Let me handle this.”

“No.”  Dalton looked at Gia.  “Gia, I am commanding you to leave Steph alone.”

Gia smiled.  “I won’t lay a hand on her.”  Had Dalton not been distracted by the nose bleed he would have seen the victory too easily won.  Dalton had been in love with Gia too long. 

Chapter 18.  The Solution… Interrupted.

Steph sat hunched forward staring into the Alienware monitor.  HD; highest possible contrast; and resolution more detailed than her eyes could distinguish.  It was bordered by five speakers that allowed Steph to hear the direction her opponents were firing at her from.  She had two processors (overclocked), linked twin graphics cards and more RAM than she needed silently worked away.  She pitied those with lag.

“Peasant” she said sighting an avatar in the FPS arena that had temporarily frozen.  She had no mercy for those with lesser rigs.  She took her time and took him down before his connection enabled him to unfreeze.  She smiled.  This machine was her link to the real world and she loved being at the keyboard.  LED lights shone from the keyboard and the mouse, but she didn’t need them to highlight the rapid clicks and taps.  Strafing and cycling through weapons she bought up a railgun.  It was a single shot, slow reload weapon, but it was a one hit take down.  As ‘Naviro2012’ rounded the corner she tapped the left mouse button once and his Avatar flopped to the ground dead.  ‘Killing Streak 25’ popped up on the screen.  She was ranked first in the match and this made her a target for others vying to win the round.  There were about a dozen solid players and the rest were intermediate to Noobs.  She preferred role-play MMO’s or turn-based strategy, but after sleeping with the male breeder she need to feel raw and take charge.  The sex had stung and she a bled from penetration.  Slow grinding development and fetch quests wouldn’t give her back the feeling of control she wanted.  She needed to hunt and kill.

There was a knock at the door and a Maid entered with a sandwich and glass of fresh milk.

“Redbull.”  Steph said correcting the choice of beverage bought and the Maid put them down by her desk.

“No caffeine.  Masters orders.”  The Maid curtseyed and left Steph to her game.  Steph did not notice Miko the House Keeper hold the door as the Maid silently left, nor did she see her let the door close behind her.  Steph believed she was alone in her room and sanctuary.  Totally immersed in the arena the Housekeeper crept up unseen until she was standing right behind her.

Miko bought the steel wire down around Steph’s neck and pulled hard.

Steph lurched back away from the computer.  Her legs kicked up knocking over the glass of milk and sending the sandwich and plate to the floor.  Her Avatar on the screen became immobile, it’s master AFK.  She gasped for air, but the taught pull prevented any from entering her lungs.  Gia had issued the order for Steph to be murdered.  Steph reached back and scratched at Miko’s wrists frantically trying to escape.  The fight made Steph weaker her muscles slowed and she felt light headed through her terror.  It did not take long to strangle someone.  There was no sudden regret or realization of betrayal.  Her mind fell back to the person she was most intimate with.  She thought of Kimberly.

“Sick her Hera.”  It was an order someone might give to a dog.

Miko turned to Steph’s door open and Hera dancing forward.  Hera’s leg kicked out low and caught Miko’s knee at an angle.  There was a crack and her knee shattered and bent the opposite way.  Miko cried out.  Hera struck Miko’s temple with an open palm spinning her head around.  It was a professional hit that allowed a hard strike hard without breaking the wielders knuckles.  Miko flopped to the floor KOed.  As Steph ripped the tight wire away from her neck and blood trickled from where the wire had dug in.  She gasped for air and found Hera, the closest as a result of the brief melee, Hugo and Athena standing in her room.  They had come to invite Steph to play with a concubine before Athena left for Washington.  They had interrupted the assassination.

“Steph.”  Hugo said, worry obvious in his voice.

“What the fuck?” Athena questioned wondering at the scene.

Hera stood proud.  She had beaten Gia’s best with two blows.  Steph being ok was a matter of little interest to her.

Panic finally set in for Steph.  She backed away from the trio and Miko who lay at her feet clambering back up onto her computer desk.

Hugo rushed forward.  “Steph.”  The drama of the situation meant he dropped the nickname.

Steph was hyperventilating.   She through her arms up to shield herself from Hugo.

“Steph.”  Hugo said again, trying for calm with a raised voice.  Steph seemed to momentarily assess Hugo’s concern.  She stared at him for a moment and then burst into tears.  Hugo reached out to touch her, Steph waved her hands frantically for him to get away.  Nineteen years a servant and this was her first day of cruelty.  First breed; then an attempted disposal.

Hugo only knew the latter half of the story.  “Hera.  Take Miko to the dungeon.  We’re going to get some answers.  Athena help Hera pick up the unconscious Miko and they started carrying her out of the room.  Hugo remained behind having calmed himself and was attempting to reassure Steph of safety.  Steph was still fighting physical contact.

As Hera and Athena made their way through the halls to the dungeon carrying their flaccid prisoner Ryoko stepped out in front of them.  She held a silver blade in her hand her face formidable with purpose.  Hera dropped Miko leaving Athena to hold up the feather weight.  The two fighters faced off separated by only ten meters.

Hera smiled calmly and placed one hand on her stomach.  “You do know what is inside my belly don’t Ryoko.”

Ryoko visibly faltered.  With the blade she could have taken Hera, but as House keeper she knew whose child Hera could potentially have inside her.

“What do you think holds the better outcome Ryoko?  Coming along with us and protecting your sister, or fighting someone you can’t strike?”  Hera smiled sweetly.  Truth be told she wanted to know if Ryoko posed a challenge, but she knew Ryoko would back down.

Ryoko evaluated the situation.  She turned and ran to report the events to Gia.

Athena shuffled Miko’s weight so as not to drop her.  “We don’t have much time.”  Athena cautioned.  Once Gia was involved the situation would get very dangerous indeed.  Neither girl would be killed by Gia, but perhaps Gia would merely seek to make them uncomfortable as punishment for interfering in her business.  Hugo came up from behind guiding Steph.  Hugo held Steph’s arm tightly to prevent losing her in the Compound away from his protection.  They did not know who else Gia had sent as an assassin.

They reached Gia's private dungeon were they had dispatched the concubines quickly and as Athena and Hera lashed and suspended Miko, Hugo placed Steph in the corner far from anyone.  He ran up the stairs and barred the door to prevent entry.  Only Gia would design a torture dungeon to keep rescuers out.  No sooner had the door been barred and the latch turned in an attempt to open.  The action repeated several times before Hugo heard his mother’s voice.

“Hugo.”  She waited for a reply.

Hugo gave none.

“Hugo dear, open the door and we will talk about this.” 

Hugo descended the steps.  Hugo knew this was his mother’s action alone.  His father adored Steph and would never dispatch her, definitely not by assassination.  As Hugo returned Athena and Hera had prepared Miko for questioning.  That is to say she was hanging in a position to be tortured.  Hugo slapped the side of her face to bring her about.  Miko raised her head slowly and narrowed her eyes.

Hera started things of by grabbing Miko shattered knee and squeezing it.

Miko screamed brought fully awake by the pain.

Hugo, though a gentlemen, took charge of the interrogation.  The banging on the dungeon door continued and Gia’s muffled voice was recognizable but inaudible.

“Athena” Hugo said.  “Could you please find out what is going on?

Athena walked forward directing in front of the helpless Miko.  She ran her fingers of her breasts and belly, letting Miko know she was helpless despite salvation bashing down a door.  “Miko, you failed.”  Athena stared at Miko with an expression to strongly imply matter of fact.  “You know what Gia will do to you for failing.  You know you and your sister are a team.  What happens to you happens to her.”

Miko’s face scrunched up slightly pained.  It was her luxury in servitude, her sister.

“If you tell us why Gia sent you to kill Steph it ends quick and Hugo will see to it your sister is spared.”  It was a fallacy.  Athena did not know Hugo’s intent.  She suspected most likely he would leave her hanging for Gia.

“Steph might be pregnant.”  Miko easily betrayed her Mistress, but had seen Gia in action too many times not to take the opportunity for a quick end and mercy for her sister.

“Why is that an issue?”  Athena said and took a step back so as to give Miko a sense of security.

“If she’s pregnant her child could be a suitor.”  Athena nodded to Hera in a ploy to speed things up.  The bashing against the dungeon door was getting louder. 

Hera advance with the threat of inflicting pain was over kill.  Miko was now desperate to get the information out before she was vulnerable to Gia.

“Steph is the Masters bastard.  Her child, if male, could be the Heir.  Gia wants her blood to succeed.” 

Miko cringed as Hera approached, but all Hera did was stand there.  “How are you the best of the House Keepers?”  Hera said with disgust.  Miko had failed in assassination, been bested in combat and betrayed her Mistress.  The code imparted to Hera by her Mother had been broken at every turn.

Hugo had his answer.  “Make it quick.”  He said and turned to Steph who was shivering in the corner.  She had heard every word, but had been through so much all she could do was stare blankly at her half brother.

“No way.” Hera said.  She stepped back into stance and side kicked Miko in the guts.  “Let Gia have her.”  There was no doubt in Hera’s mind that Ryoko and Miko’s seat as House Keepers at the Compound was gifted by the novelty of having twins rather than their actual capabilities.

Athena decided not to worry about the little things and blew of her promise to Miko who panted winded after Hera’s disgust.  “How do we get out?”  Athena said pointing out they were barricaded in a dungeon.

“We walk out and we leave.”  Hugo said.  He turned to Hera.  “Kill anyone who touches Steph.” He said.

“If she’s pregnant Hugo…”

Hugo said it politely.  “Hera, it would mean a lot to me if you didn’t let anybody kill my sister.  I just got her.  I would really like to enjoy it for a little while.

Hera pulled a face.

“Hera.”  Athena said backing Hugo up.

“Ok, maybe Athena could distract the big ones by doing ballet in front of them.”  Hera was being cocky.  She seldom got to fight for stakes and she had the distinct advantage that no one could touch her for the risk of hurting what might be the Heir to the Throne.  For this reason, Hera was the one who raised the bar and opened the dungeon door.

Chapter 12 .  The Last place she will go.

Hera had struck one of the guards Gia had called just to establish she wanted to fight.  It was obvious that by slumber or engagement Dalton was not aware of the events unfolding.  Despite Gia running the Household, no Servant challenged Hugo as he walked out holding Steph’s hand.  The shaken gamer and tomboy eyed the dwellers of the compound with apprehension now that the system had turned on her… but it was not Dalton’s system that had turned on her, it was Gia’s ambition.

Hugo and Party headed straight for the front gates.  Though Hugo didn’t suspect his father in wanting to harm Steph he was not going to have her within reach of his mother.  Nor for that matter did he desire to leave Hera to be subjected to Gia’s whims.

Gia knew he was flying out from the compound.  “Hugo you have to stay.”  Gia was not capable of begging and many a Socialite would have been thrilled to see her so determinately disobeyed.

“We’re leaving Mother.”  Hugo said without looking back.  As the party of four approached the impenetrable gates they started to slide open.

Gia grabbed Hugo’s hand.

Hugo shook her off.

She grabbed it again, perhaps desperate for the first time in her life.  “Your father is dying Hugo.  You have to stay.”

Hugo sneered disgusted.  “You’ll say anything won’t you mother.  Anything and play any card to get what you want.”  It was a son’s perception of his mother, not an accurate assessment of the woman who was totally devoted to Hugo’s father and her son.  She wanted Hugo’s offspring to be the Heir just as much as she wanted her blood to be carried forward.

Gia realized her son had abandoned trust in her.  “What will I tell your father”, she said shaken.  The prospect of death all those years ago hadn’t broken her composure, but Hugo didn’t know how much of her pride was in her son.

“Tell him you fucked up Mother.”  Hugo left his mother at the Gates not looking back.  Athena split off from the group to go to the US Air force Helicopter and crew that had been there solely for her to support her friend.  She made the signal of a phone with her hand to Hera indicating she would call when they were in the air.  Hera followed Hugo and Steph as they boarded the Leer Jet.  The Stewardess Hugo had reassured was still getting ready for the flight at short notice and her smile vanished when she saw how serious Hugo was.  “Tell the Captain we’re going to Spain.  Have a car waiting there to take us to the Autumn Estate.”

Hera opened a compartment that housed the clothes she had changed out of to enter the compound.  She didn’t require and explanation.  The Autumn Estate was the only place Gia would not follow Hugo and Lilianna guaranteed Gia had no influence there.  Steph stood in the isle not sure what to do.  Hugo turned to her and grabbed both her hands.  “No one is going to hurt you Hex.”

Steph looked back at him with caution fading.  Hugo guided her to a seat and the plane navigated the tarmac.

 

The Heir to the Throne.  (Part 2).

By ninja5

Introduction.

Alison looked at the English girls on the Nation line of the Metro.  Three of the four were still in uniform.  They were playing hooky from their Friday classes to spend the weekend in Paris.  They were bubbles and curls; innocence and sexual delight bundled into conservative attire.  The one Alison was interested in looked a little older, of age and delightful, only the uniform gave her away as not being an older sister or chaperone to one of the other girls.  She had long brown hair and high cheek bones.  She was tall; slender, but has wonderful muscle tone; firm by youth.  The girls were huddled around a vacant seat on the train checking every pocket for loose change, or a forgotten tenner.  They were pooling their resources to get in somewhere.  Alison smiled at the fearless freedom with which they lived.  Their parents probably didn’t even know they were in Paris for the weekend.

Her station, Bel-Air, was next.  A good minute from the stop she rose as the train started to decelerate.  She approached the girls and clasped the handrail on the cubicle they sat in.  One girl looked up, then the other three including the English beauty.  Alison smiled.  From her jacket pocket she pulled a hundred Euro note and lowered it to their pile of spare change and pocket money.  All four girls’ eyes were on the note, greater in value than their combined wealth.  Decoyed by the tease she releases her hand from the handrail and glided the tip of her finger over the beauties collar undetected.  The tiny GPS tracker stuck and as she dropped the note all four eyes looked up at their benefactor.

“Profitez de petits” (Enjoy little Misses), Alison said and the start of her stations platform flashed past the window as the train pulled back to stop.

The girls were stunned.  Perhaps they didn’t speak French.  Alison dipped her head and took her leave.  As she exited the train one of the school girls, clearly over the surprise, called out to her.  “Merci beaucoup.”  Alison skipped off the train delighted with her flawless execution.  “Merci.” Three other voices chased. 

Alison reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.  She glided the screen across and clicked on ‘The App’.  A white screen came up with a text box.  She nearly bumped into a man as she walked and concentrated on the screen.  She typed the GPS trackers serial into the phone.  A menu appeared.  She clicked ‘Activate’; on another screen, ‘Retrieve’.  She exited the App and put her phone away in time to pull out her Metro pass to exit into Paris above.

Somewhere; someone would receive her activation.  They would track the girl and when she was vulnerable retrieve her for Alison.  Alison was a chef for a Society of people with exotic tastes.  She had a Spit Roast booked for Sunday evening.  The girl she had tagged was the perfect spit-muffin; long legs, thin waist, perfect small mounds of breasts.  Alison allowed herself a smile at the thought of roasting her.  She truly enjoyed her work.

Chapter 1.  Breach.

Cold grey stone sculptured in pre-revolution style.  That was about as much of it as Alison understood of the buildings architecture.  The building was cold, grey, hard stone on the outside, but warm and opulent inside.  She walked up the stairs to the front entrance.  She had been inside the security office to identify someone who had arrived for an appointment, tricked into coming for dinner (as dinner; to be honest).  She knew a computer scanned the image of her face.  A bunch of dots and triangles appeared on the projected monitor and then when it had confirmed she was Alison…. (Alison hadn’t gotten used to having a last name yet.  She kept forgetting it) Bridges, the door slide open without her having to pause or hit the intercom button.  As she passed the thick glass doors she approached the metal detector and its guard.  Alison smiled at him.  He did not smile back.  She handed him her purse and then stepped through.  It beeped.  The guard sighed.  He stepped forward and ran the paddle over her.  It beeped, as it did every time at her waist.

Alison’s smile grew. 

Alison grew up in a green, heavenly garden in the desert.  When Alison came of age she was taken aside by the only adult man with the freedom to talk to her.  He told her she was beautiful and talented.  He told her he would like her to cook for The Society.  She had shown a flair for it.  Alison was put into quarters with two other girls and sent to work in the kitchen.  As Alison studied and learnt to cook she became happy with her station.  One of her counterparts did not.  The last day Alison saw her she had been pierced; a tiny silver stud in her clitoris.  Alison had thought it neat.  Jewelry was prized by all servants.  The girl with the piercing disappeared, taken to the Conservatory.  Alison always remembered the tiny piercing.  When she had finished her training she was sent to travel with a French Master as he traveled and worked.  She was chaperoned.  She learnt fast and it wasn’t long before she was head chef at the bequest of the Society.  The need for a chaperone ceased and she was trusted to have liberty of movement.  She acclimated to the real world and soon was traveling herself to cook for the always satisfied members of the Society she was owned by.  On achieving her status, her first reward to herself was the piercing she had seen on that girl who hadn’t made it as a chef.

Alison unzipped her trousers and lowered her panties.  The guard glanced at the piercing (he had to check) and waved her on.  He wasn’t impressed by it, but Alison loved people seeing it.  Had she not learnt it was not etiquette she would have shown it to everyone?  She gave the guard another smile and he didn’t make eye contact.  It was a matter of pride for her that one day he would enjoy peaking at her silver stud.

She walked on to the elevator ahead.  The pewter doors slide open and inside she just stood.  Security would direct the lift to the appropriate floor without her having to press a button.  The doors closed and the old lift gave a jerk as it moved up.  Tinny elevator music played.  It only played during the day, to common for occasions.  Alison had been booked for three dinners in this building.  The occasion brought mostly French members of the Society, but on the second event the clientele had grown having heard rave reviews.  Alison was respectable in growing fame.  Her culinary skills where known and being endorsed justifying the Societies investment in her liberties.  She was immaculate in presentation and elegant in method.  The door chimed and opened on the dining hall.  The evenings waiters where at work dressing the tables.  As Alison walked out and past them they chimed “Matiresse du matin” (Good morning Mistress).  Alison nodded and glanced over the table in a quick check.  The silver cutlery, napkins and plates where all in model of fine dining.  Without the need to direct the waiters she moved on to the kitchen.

The double hinges flexed with ease and Alison stepped into her domain.  Four attendants, two of which were trainee chefs for the Society, all paused in their actions and stood at attention.  “Pour travaier” (To work), Alison said not allowing formalities to get in the way of the necessary work.  She moved to the far corner of the room and assessed their progress and preparations as she removed her jacket and started to disrobe.  The three women who were to be the main course where strapped to their silver trays under adjustable grills.  The grills covered the buttocks, legs and feet of the three young women as they lay belly down.  All three were selected for their long muscular and shapely legs and fine rears.  One of the trainees darted from girl to girl basting the cooking legs to keep the skin moist.  As only the legs and buttocks where cooked and the three women were guaranteed to be served live.  They were writhing in agony, sweet cries of pain coming from their gags.  Alison firmly believed, as her teacher had, that pain added to the flavor of the meal.

Before Alison put on her checkered pants and white doubled breasted jacket she called out in French, “Don’t let the feet dry out and brown, the quests tonight will fight for that meat.”  Without looking up at Alison the trainee shifted his routine and compensated by liberally basting the neglected souls of the women’s feet.  She did up her jacket and shifted her attention to the other trainee.  He was busy readying the special press.  “How long has she been roasting” she said to him as she put on her final piece of uniform, her toque.

“Since 09:00.”  He replied, also in French.  French was the language of the kitchen staff.  Other servants of the Society spoke English.  It was largely to keep the Societies servants from knowing the discussions of the chefs and kitchen hands as they frequently discussed how they would cook individual members of the servantile.  Frequently servants assisted in the preparations of dinners for which they were to be the main course.  The segregation by language kept panic from setting in and elevated the kitchen staff above normal status.

“Roasting temperature?”  Alison asked.  She had left specific instructions, but had to check her trainee’s had not become inventive and alerted her recipe.

“Preheated to Two-hundred degrees.  Basted in olive oil and covered in salt.  Cook for fifteen minutes then temperature turned down to One-hundred and twenty five degrees.  Cooked for one hour and forty-five minutes and then temperature cranked to two-hundred and twenty-five fifteen minutes ago.”  Alison’s instructions had been followed to the letter.  I digital timer beeped signaling the roast could be taken from the oven.

“Bring her out.”  Alison said and readied herself.  Fille à la Rouennaise was her signature dish.  She had pioneered it from experiments with leftovers borrowed from banquets during her training.  She encouraged those under her to do the same.

The trainee leant down and opened the oven.  Steam and a delicious savory smell filled the air.  Alison took a deep breath through her nose and marveled at the flavor.  The trainee pulled the oven tray out and it glided along the rollers.  A whimpering girl, dazed by the heat, appeared.  She was partially roasted, not slender and toned liked the main course girls, but plump and juicy.  Her fatty tissues had started to liquefy with the heat and Alison could tell she was ready for harvesting.  Alison clicked her fingers and the two other attendants turned.  She gestured with her index finger to one of them and her stopped chopping vegetables for the side dishes and came over to help the trainee lift the partially roasted girl onto the prep table.  With a grunt of efficiency the two helpers lifted the girl onto the table and Alison brandishes a stainless steel carving knife.  The set it came from cost more than a car and they were wrought in Japan.  A gift from an admirer.

Alison gave the plump girl her full attention.  She smiled at her terror filled eyes.  It was her belief she was granting the girl a boon.  Allowing her to become something exquisite.  The trainee stood by her side.  Alison tutored him and commenced.  “Slice the flesh in hand size portion taking care to avoid arteries.”  She made good on her instructions and a gagged scream filled the kitchen.  Alison took the first handful of partially cooked meat and placed it in a silver bowl.  “Do not waist any of the juices.”  She used a small spatula to collect the juices the flowed from the wound and drizzled them into the bowl.  She moved over to the press and tipped the contents into the piston.  She closed the lid and once sealed twisted the vice on the lid.  The piston compressed the meat and crimson sauce decanted from the bottom into another bowl.  All the juices were extracted from the meat to make the sauce.  Alison sampled it with her finger.  She licked her lips and with a movement of her head indicated her trainee was to do the same.  He sampled it and his eyes widen in admiration as he looked at Alison.  “Harvest her, decant the sauce.”  She was entrusting her trainee.  She could see the pressure of the task both stress and flatter him.  He hasten to the plump girl and started work and fleshing her to get the partial roasted meat for the sauce.  Some of the sauce would be drizzled over the cooked legs of the three girls, but most would be placed in gravy boats at the tables for the guests to opulently lather over their meat to taste.

Alison stepped back and surveyed the kitchen.  She smiled to herself.  The kitchen was filled with the moans of agony, sizzling marinate and clomp of knives chopping vegetables.  All was in order.  This was her universe.

Something sensed and out of place struck Alison.  It was a gut feeling and she didn’t immediately know what it was.  Then it came again.  Shadows wavered under the doors of the kitchen and the clink of cutlery being laid had ceased in the dining room.  The door bumped open slightly and a black disc that looked like a hockey puck was slide inside.  It rested three meters past the door.  Alison wasn’t the only one who saw it in the split second before a loud bang, smoke and a blinding flash lit up the kitchen.

Alison closed her eyes violently and crouched in surprise.  There was a loud thud as the door was kicked open and a man shouted.  “Breach.”  Alison opened her eyes but saw only stars and shadowy monsters dress in bulky black full body suits.  One came right at her pointing something.  Alison started to scream but the shadow grabbed her and threw her to the ground.  She felt the floor rise up and strike her and jarred at the impact.  Her arm was twisted behind her back and then she heard one of her attendants cry out.  A loud crack sounded, a gunshot, and the white uniformed figure flopped to the ground like a rag doll.  All this Alison saw through a daze.  She closed her eyes and screamed.  The shadow holding her down jerked her arm to make her stop.  She blinked her eyes and the six pairs of boots storming around her kitchen stood offensively pointing guns at the remaining kitchen hands.  On the black uniforms of the gunmen Alison read the white label: Police.

“This is all wrong.” Alison thought but any further thought was cut off by one of the officers.

“Jesus Christ they’re cooking people.”

Alison tried to struggle but her arm was twisted tighter.  This is all wrong.

Chapter 2.  Out of the Frying Pan.

Alison sat in the concrete interrogation room.  Her hands were cuffed by a long chain that was thread through a steel eyelet on the table, which was in turn bolted to the floor.  She was very, very nervous.  She was not fearful of the outsiders who had bought her here.  She would say nothing, do nothing.  What Alison was afraid of was her own kind.  The Servants of the Society would undoubtedly silence her now that their world had been seen by the outsiders who held her.

The door to the room opened and a muscular man in khaki pants and a dark blue sleeveless shirt walked in with a file.  Moments later he was followed by a short, middle aged woman in a business skirt and white shirt.  The skirt came down past her knees, but showed portly unshaved legs.  Alison’s brain dismissed her as meat out of habit.  A reflex despite her apprehension.  The two people sat in front of her.  The man looked at the file whilst the woman stared coldly at Alison.  There was another minute’s silence.

“Miss Alison Bridges?”  The man looked over the file and stared at Alison.  Disgust was visible on his face and tainted his French accent as he spoke to her in English.

Alison said nothing.

“Please confirm your identity as Alison Bridges.”  The policeman, obviously a detective, continued his stare at her.

Alison felt very alone.  A tear rolled down her cheek and she said nothing.

“Several pieces of identification in the room you were arrested in identify you as an American; Alison Bridges.”  The detective pulled a photo print of an open passport and Alison’s photo concession card and placed it before her.

Alison dipped her head.  This was very bad.

“What were you doing in that kitchen Miss Bridges?”  The detective retrieved the photo that held Alison’s gifted identity and tucked it back in his file.

What could she say?

The short women detective kicked Alison’s leg under the table. 

Alison startled and gave the woman a terror filled glance, but her attention was immediately drawn back to the male detective.

“The four women rescued from the kitchen have all been taken to Bicêtre Hospital.  The women who had been in the oven is dying.  The other three are in a critical condition, but may survive.”  He paused for a moment and snarled at Alison.  “You will be charged with at least one count of murder.  If you want the Judge to consider mercy you best co-operate.  What was happening in that kitchen?”

Alison dipped her head again, and again the police woman kicked her in the leg under the table.  This time Alison didn’t look up.  She felt another tear escape.  There was no coming back from this position.  Anything she said would have drastic consequences for her.  Not jail time.  Every Servant in the Society had heard of the Pain slaves.  Those not allowed to die and kept in agony till old age as examples.  If Alison kept quiet she could expect a knife in jail or a sniper as she was walked to a prison transport.  Those were her best options.

A knock came at the interview door.  The male detective closed Alison’s file a rose opening the door a crack.  In French a voice said “Her lawyer is here” through the crack.

“She didn’t ask for a lawyer!” The detective said startled and glanced over at Alison.

Her head rose and a slender man with thin hair and round spectacles walked through the door carrying a brief case.  He did not return Alison’s stare but sat next to her and placed his briefcase by his side.  The male detective took his seat again and looks were exchanged between the lawyer and the two detectives.

The male detective flipped his hands.  “Do you need to speak with your client?”  He asked.  The Lawyer was obviously dirty having come to represent Alison without her having made a phone call.  It also hinted at a conspiracy.

“Charges?”  The slender Lawyer asked.  He clearly understood English, but his accent was very heavy.

“Four counts of accessory to kidnapping; four counts of aggravated assault and causing grievous bodily harm; and we told very soon, at least one count of murder.”  The detective snarled the last word.  His contempt was obvious.

“Has she made any statements?”  He looked at Alison and then at the detectives.

They both looked at him.  “She hasn’t said a word.”  The male said.

“Good.”  The slender lawyer took off his spectacles.  “Here is what is going to happen.”  He took on the appearance snake retracting after spraying venom.  “When I have finished talking there will be a knock at that door.”  He pointed to the door of the interview room.  “A DGSE agent will be outside accompanied by your Police Commissioner.  They will tell you to relinquish all evidence in this case; cease all investigations; and release Miss Alison Bridges into my custody.  You will be informed this is a matter of National security and that you are forbidden to discuss it.”

The two detectives stared back baffled, but then a knock came from the door.  The male detective rose and opened it a crack and then opened it all the way.  A formally dress policemen with many shiny bobbles and tassels and a man in a black business suite whispered in French at the male detective.  The female detective turned in disbelief.  The lawyer waited until they had finished speaking and as he closed the door grabbed his suitcase and rose.

“I will be waiting for her out front.”  He clicked his heals as if he were military and headed for the door.

Alison exchanged glances with the two stunned detectives, and then she kicked the female detectives shin from under the table.

Chapter 3.  Into the Fire?

Alison had clothes she had been wearing that morning on the train clothes returned to her.  As she pulled on her knickers she looked down at her naked clitoral hood.  They had taken her stud.  The tiny hole of the piercing made Alison feel striped of status.  “What now” she thought and turned and walked out of the room to the police women escort.  The cops didn’t know what to make of the transfer of those they had arrested at the scene.  As she was walked out past the front counter she saw the male and female detectives arguing with the Commissioner.  They had followed orders and promptly, but now they wanted and explanation.  The male continued to yell, clearly agitated whilst the female detective turned her head and glared at Alison.  Alison looked away, forward, to the lawyer standing by the entrance.  She was walked through the metal detector.  It had beeped on her coming though and the stud had been discovered and taken.  The escort stopped outside and Alison tentatively walked over to the slender lawyer.  He waited for her naturally.  The clerk at the front desk nodded to the lawyer and raised a zip lock bag.  It contained Alison personal effects.  The lawyer stepped forward and took it.  Alison could see her tiny stud in the bottom corner of the bag.  The Lawyer took the effects and as he turned grabbed Alison firmly by the arm.

“Come; before there is trouble.” 

Alison gave way to his tug and let herself be pulled along.  The entrance door slide open and she walked out into the afternoon sun.  A black limonene pulled up along front.  Alison realized she was being guided towards it.  Already parked she could see her surviving kitchen hands and the waiting staff lined up.  They were still in their uniforms having no other clothes to change into.  They were lined up boarding a white mini bus.  A group of police officers in black t-shirts and trousers watched the procession in disgust.  Alison wondered if they were the masked men who had burst into the kitchen.

The lawyer stepped forward and opened the door for Alison.  She stepped in and the lawyer followed, shutting the door behind her.  Alison sat with her back to the driver.  The lawyer lent forward in his seat and tapped the window separating the driver twice.  The limousine pulled away and drifted in amongst the traffic.

The lawyer looked into open space.  He said nothing.

Alison still didn’t know what was going on.  She looked at the zip lock bag with want.  “Can I?”  She reached for the bag. 

The lawyer looked coldly at her and folded the bag away out of reach.

Alison frowned like a puppy scolded.

The limousine traveled in silence for several blocks.  The lawyer finally pressed the bottom on the intercom to the driver.  “Are we being followed?”  He asked.

“No.”  Came back the brief reply.

“Drive to the plaza.”  The slender lawyer commanded and undid his seat belt.

Alison was fearful he would leave with her things.  “Can I have my…….”

The slender lawyer glared at her as if she was to blame for all the trouble in the world.

Alison cringed, but did not have to endure his company long.  They pulled in at an open space outside a tall modern building.  It was one Alison had not seen on her exploration of the city.  As the limousine pulled to a stop the slender lawyer shuffled across the seat and opened the door and got out leaving the door ajar.  He left the bag containing Alison things on the chair.  As Alison reached over to get them she startled back as a man in his late thirties climbed into the car.  He smiled at Alison.  He had perfect white teeth.  He was tall and his black hair was speckled with a few greys.  He had a deep cleft in his chin and long dimples in his slender cheeks.

“Miss Alison Bridges?”  He sat in the seat and put his seatbelt on.  Alison’s belongings now lay at his side.

Alison sat back and stared at the man with growing confusion.

“Do you know me Alison?”  His tone was charming and he followed Alison gaze to the bag.  He picked it up, examined it, and then opened the bag.  Removing Alison passport and concession card.  He hand the rest to her.

Alison forgot the question.  She shuffled past the money and phone and her fingers fiddled in the corner of the bag at the stud.

The man watched intrigued.

Alison fingers clasped the stud and she removed it, tossing the bag aside.  Without self consciousness she undid and then pulled down her pants.  With one hand she stretched out the elastic of her knickers and guided the pin of the stud to the tiny hole made for it.  She fastened the holder of the stud and presented herself.  Only after her security blanket was back did she give the man her attention.  He seemed to have enjoyed the show.

“Do you know me Alison?”  He repeated, this time received, and beamed an enchanted smile at Alison.

He reminded Alison of one of those men in commercials for shavers or aftershaves.  Alison shook her head signaling she did not know him.

“My name is Arnaud Brink and I had the pleasure of sampling your talents last Saturday.”

Alison nodded.  The man had just let her know he was Society.

“Let me reassure you that you have become an asset to the Society and you are in no danger of being retired.

Alison nodded again.  Relieved and then guilty.  The other Servants arrested with her and taken from the police station in the white bus might not have been so lucky.

“The Society was briefly exposed to outsiders today; the full consequences of that have not yet been determined.  The situation is under control, but it does leave us with a predicament; you’re face is known to be associated with a crime.  It creates a complication.”

Alison had been reassured by the man, so felt best to remain silent.  He would tell her what was to become of her shortly.

“I have taken it upon myself to clean up the situation you were court up in and those who appreciate my efforts have seen fit to grant me access to your skills until the situation can be fully resolved.”

Alison thought she nodded, but her returning apprehension meant that in fact she didn’t.  The man before her picked up on this and Alison’s uncertainty created a discontinuity in her mind.

“Do you understand Alison?” The man asked.

“You’re going to eat me.” Alison replied, but had no defensive posture.  She had just become aware of the hungry look in the man’s eyes as he stared at her.  She had been told by men from the outside that she was beautiful, but had never taken the liberty of exploring men’s interest in her.

“No.  You’re going to cook for me.”

Alison forced a smile.  She felt a catch coming.  She realized she was losing her liberty as a consequence of outsiders knowing her face.

“I have a vineyard in the countryside; you will reside there and I will join you on weekends.  You will train my kitchen staff and present me and my guests with meals of the highest caliber.”  The man dipped his head.

Alison calmed.  It seemed simple enough a task for her.

“Now.  We have a long drive ahead of us.  Why don’t you tell me the tale of how you invented that dish you served last Saturday.”  The man sat back and waited for Alison to relax into conversation.  He listened intently and did not talk down to her.  The four hour drive was pleasant and Alison fell into comfort as the man seduced her into familiarity.

Chapter 4.  The Vineyard Roi.

“It’s so green.”  Alison had never really been in the country of…. anywhere.  The vineyard was speckled with people harvesting grapes and pruning the vines.  Alison knew a great deal about the harvesting of grapes - of most food really, but she had never seen it before.  “Is the Estate rustic?”  Arnaud had relaxed and praised her to a chirpy optimism.

“No.”  He said with a smile.  “The Estate this vineyard houses is quiet modern.”  Arnaud looked away for a moment.  “I tore the old House down and built a new one.”

“Oh.”  Alison noted the lull in her new benefactor’s demeanor.  Had she had a family of her own she would have realized Arnaud family was a matter of trepidation for him.  In her ignorance of experience she still surmised that she’d best not mention family again.  “I like it.”

“Good.  You are free to roam the vineyard, but I ask you to stay within its grounds.”  Arnaud recovered from his momentary lapse.  You will have a room and access to any room you like.”  Arnaud smiled at her jestingly.  “Do you require companionship?”

Alison blushed.  “No”, she said sweetly and her bashfulness showed.  Alison had never taken that liberty of her freedom.  What status she had she could not carry over into the bedroom and sex seemed a demotion of her status.

“Pretty young woman like you?  Really?”  He was testing the waters.  Alison’s inexperience was evident and very appealing to Arnaud.  He would take her in time, he was sure of it.  “The House has a small staff of Servants.  You will not know them at first, but they will know of you.  If they do not treat you well you may utilize them in your cooking.  The two permanent guards will be instructed to follow any command you give them.  The two kitchen hands speak French as well as English.  Please discuss all culinary affairs in French”

Alison nodded enthusiastically as the car broke away from the brown vines and green leaves to a glass and aluminum mansion the extended over a steep decline.  Alison was used to opulence, but had never had a permanent residence before.  Her first opinion was, ‘very rich’ as all the lavish buildings she had stayed in had been more than just weekend retreats.  Arnaud stepped out of the vehicle as Alison peered out and up at her new home.  As she scanned the windows to see their end her door opened and a bald, fat man was standing expectantly.  Her wore a grey suit and tie, but looked mean.  Alison cringed away from him.  He stood still, not gesturing for her to get out.  Arnaud tapped the roof of the limousine and Alison jumped, and then shuffled out the door.  The bald man closed it behind her and she was left standing in the cool breeze.  She looked at Arnaud for instruction.

“Alison, this is Edmond.”  Arnaud said gesturing to the bald man.

Alison forced a smile.

Edmond was blank in response.

“See to it the Alison is obeyed.  You and Harris particularly.  Understand?”

Edmond nodded and Arnaud smiled.

“Come Alison, I want to give you the grand tour.”   Arnaud guided Alison up only a single step and through a glass door with silver handles.  The interior of the Mansion was perfect in temperature and Alison could already see that different the entrance represented the base design on the manner in soft tones and sleek furniture, but some of the rooms partially visible through a myriad of doorways presented different themes.  It was as though Arnaud had had a series of decorators, each never quiet finishing their work.  Arnaud moved into his house and Alison followed close at his heals like a puppy.

“I will show you the kitchen first.  Take note of anything you need.  Think on this.  I would like to get it set up for you as soon as possible.”

“Is there a Housekeeper?”  Alison had to ask.

“I don’t believe in such people Alison.  If your question is too the hierarchy, please think of yourself as the most senior member of staff.  I want no one to interfere with your creative process.”

Alison allowed herself a little smile.  There was no one to punish her for misdeeds.

They slid through room after room and into a large open dining room that sat far out over the hill on stilts most likely.  Alison had not seen this side of the Mansion.  “This is the room you will present in Alison.”  Arnaud said her name a lot as a means in signifying her identity.

Alison looked around the room.  The glass wall made it seem as if you could walk out into the horizon and the lighting would be perfect as evening with the sun setting in the background.  The table top was thick glass, a mauve color at its edges due to the nature of the glass.  The furnishing were black with grey-blue upholstery and on the side behind Arnaud was a portrait of a French nobleman; the only antique in the room.  She stared at it.

“Charles, Duke of Guise.”  Arnaud seemed pleased that she was drawn to the painting.  “An ancestor from the Sixteenth Century.”  Though Alison seemed intrigued by the painting he knew she did not get the statement of it being placed behind his seat at the table.  ‘I am my ancestor’s heir’ was what it said and it faced the two kitchen doors.  He waited until her intrigue subsided and then smiled.  “To your studio my little artist friend.”  Arnaud gestured to the double doors and Alison walked towards them.

As the standard Society double kitchen doors easily pushed open she was met by sterile and polished stainless steel; whimpering of distress; and distant French chattering from behind the multitude of shelves and cardboards at the back.  Arnaud walked in behind her and gently guide her forward with a hand on her back as Alison took the kitchen in.  The whimpering came from a tall body covered in a sheet lying on the stainless steel prep table; the French chattering revealed itself as a short, young woman in her kitchen whites appeared.  She had a round face and brown hair caught up in her toque.  She obviously did not know Arnaud was visiting home as she immediately stood to attention.  More French came from behind her and the kitchen staffer looked nervous.

“Les tomates sont pourries.  Comments pouvons-nous preparer las sauce africaine avec des tomates pourries.  Le Laiter ne comprend pas.”  (The tomatoes are rotten.  How can we make Sauce Africaine with rotten tomatoes?  The Master doesn’t understand.)  The slightly tall slender woman with tuffs of red hairs sticking out from beneath her toque who emerged from behind the shelves examining a tomato looked up and grew paler highlighter her red freckles.

Arnaud frowned at the redhead.

Alison immediately understood what was to be done.  She stepped forward in her element and examined the tomato.  “Laissez-moi voir.”  She spoke politely, asking to see.  She examined the tomato and immediately turned to Arnaud.  “Cela ne va pas.” (This will not do).  She had taken charge immediately, not allow for introductions, but also protecting her new staff prior to introduction.

Arnaud played defensive.  “Very well.  You may send for fresh ones and anything else that is needed.”

Alison handed the tomato back to the redhead and walked back over to Arnaud’s side.  Arnaud put his arm around her waist, but not with affection, he was signifying she was important.  “Jacquelyn”, he said to the redhead; “Beatrice”, he said to the brunette.  “This is Alison Bridges, my new chef.  You will follow her instructions and learn from her.  Understood?”

The two Servants curtseyed at the pair in synchronicity and stood awaiting instruction.

Arnaud took his hand from Alison side.  “I will leave you to get familiar with the kitchen.  When you have free time you may explore and choose any room of the House you like.  People can be moved for you to be comfortable.”

Alison smiled back politely and Arnaud turned to leave.  “One moment.”  Alison said.  In all her other rolls Alison had been granted the right to assess the subject of her dishes.  Since she was taking charge she felt it best to establish that rule as she would not be granted the freedom to select them for herself.  She walked over to the prep table as Arnaud waited as requested.  Had Alison known him better she would have realized he was being tested by her request.  Alison removed the white sheet that covered her subject and revealed the English schoolgirl she had tagged earlier that day lying naked on the cold table.  Her fair skin was bespeckled with Goosebumps and she was crying through her gag.  She looked at Alison for mercy, a wasted exercise.   She turned and smiled at Arnaud.  He had intercepted her collection.

Arnaud nodded having composed himself and took his leave in silence.  All that remained was for Alison to, with what little time the day had left, prepare the girl for him.  She turned to her two new kitchen staff and in French said, “Sauce African will do, we must be quick.   Jacquelyn; fetch fresh ingredients.”

Jacquelyn nodded like a soldier and hastened out of the room. 

“Beatrice prepare the grill.”  Alison glided her finger over the shivering English schoolgirl.  “Legs only.”  Alison then pointed to the girl’s slender belly.  “We will Harvest the rest for the weeks meals after she has been presented to your Master.  The school girl did not speak French well so her fate was still a mystery to her.  “Pain is important.  No pain killer or relief from cooking in my Kitchen.”

Beatrice nodded with the same military nod and hastened of to prepare the grill.

Alison turned to examine the girl more closely.  She did not see a beautiful and innocent girl caught in the horror of a kidnapping and slow death.  Back in her comfort zone she calculated dishes that could be utilized from her victim so as not to waist anything.  Alison did not know where her next specimen would be coming from.

Chapter 5.  The Vineyard Roi (Part 2): Jezebel.

The English school girl’s legs were under the grill and Jacqueline had returned to prepare the sauce with fresh ingredients.  Alison sampled the unfinished sauce once it was ready to be set to simmer.  See knew from experience the flavors would blend correctly.  Jacquelyn had experience and most likely she and Beatrice ran the kitchen effectively before her presence.  It needed to simmer for a half hour more so she felt she had time to exit the kitchen briefly and shower.  Showering meant finding a room and Arnaud had given the impression many were empty.  Alison walked out the kitchen into the dining room assuring the two aids that they could continue at leisure.   Again, in the dining room, she looked at the portrait of the rose cheeked ancestor of Arnaud’s.  She walked out of the dining room into a living space used, most likely, for entertaining guests prior to dinner.  She was new to the house so smiled at the beauty lounging on a chest by the sofa.  She seemed to be waiting for something, modesty prevent Alison from assuming it was for her to appear.  Alison awkwardly walked by the tall slender beauty who followed her progress with a cold, unblinking gaze.  Alison hastened.  Despites Arnaud giving her status the woman wasn’t dressed like a servant and Alison did not want trouble.  She would wait, dependant on Arnaud’s introduction to her.

“Where are you going?”  The blonde woman enquired, immediately asserting that Alison had faulted.

Alison stopped dead in her tracks and turn pensively to the woman.

The woman rose gracefully despite her long limbs and walked over to Alison.  Her hair was done up with intricate detail and the complementary make up suggested an evening out at a society function.  She seemingly knew who Alison was so did not seek further introduction.  She asked Alison again.  “Where are you going Servant?”

The pride Alison had in her role above Servants was hampered by her ignorance of the woman’s identity; more importantly her status in the House.

“Speak clearly girl” she said despite not being much older than Alison.  “You bore me already.”

Alison was use to praise and respect.  Inexperience at being talked down to resulted in her saying “I’m looking for a free room.”

“You think the rooms are free.”  The woman said and blinked in aristocratic comprehension.

“I… I’m not sure.  Arnaud said…”

“You work for your room, so they are not free.  Don’t get ahead of yourself and think you have status.”  The slender blonde waived her hand and looked perturbed.  “Adjourn to the kitchen staffs quarter, because that is what you are.”  The woman remained standing confrontationally in front of Alison though she seemingly had little more to say.

Alison started to continue on her way, hesitation in her steps.

“Good heavens if you have to look for it, it will take your forever.  Go ask them where it is.”  As she said ‘them’ she gestured to the kitchen.

Alison felt gosh.  This woman was demoting her status to the kitchen staff.  Arnaud had given her the impression she would be senior in the household.  There was no house keeper, unless this woman had accepted the role.  Her ignorance of the situation meant she had to obey least she get herself in trouble on her first day.  Reluctantly she turned and went back into the kitchen.

Beatrice and Jacquelyn both looked up at her expectantly.  Alison cringed on the words.  “Could you please direct e to your quarters so I may shower”, she said.

She was met with looks of surprise.  Jacquelyn looked at Beatrice.  Beatrice shook her head as if she immediately understood.  “Jezebel.” She said with scorn.

Alison felt even more confused.

Both of the kitchen staff stopped what they were doing and looked at Alison.  “Do not obey Jezebel.”  Jacquelyn said angrily.  Her obvious frustration at the blonde beauty showing anger above her station.  “She interferes.”  Her explanation was brief.  Jacquelyn was busy with the sauce so Beatrice stepped forward and walked signaled for Alison to follow.  Beatrice guided her out the doors, past the dining room and lounge and into the maze of hallways.  The blonde Jezebel had already disappeared; mischief managed.  She started up a set of stairs without a rail to the second floor.  As the passed a pair of decorated black doors Beatrice gestured to them and said “The Master’s and Jezebel’s.”  Beatrice did not stop and Alison concentrated on memorizing the route shown by Beatrice in a still unfamiliar house.  Beatrice paused and waved to the rest of the hall and the seven doors coming of it.  “Any of these.”

Beatrice performing her subservient role bought back Alison’s confidence.  “Merci.”

Beatrice nodded as if order had been restored and hastened off leaving Alison to inspect the rooms.  She did not want one adjacent to Arnaud’s so walked further down the hall.  The rooms were near identical, but the ones on the Master’s side all had a view of the vineyard they had driven through.  All the rooms had double beds and clean sheets which meant as of yet unseen Maids.  The ensuite and vanity looked inviting and Alison striped down after having picked the room viewing the vineyard at the end of the hall.  She locked the door.  She walked naked into the shower and was free to think for a moment.  Hunting; Raid; Detectives; Slender Lawyers; Arnaud; Vineyard; and Jezebel.  All this was rapid change were rapid change was not usual.  She closed her eyes and buried them in the warm flow of water from the shower head.  She stuck with what she knew.  She would serve a meal for Arnaud and hopefully be able to request the things she would need.

As she emerged from the shower she dried herself and then walked with her damp towel wrapped around her body.  She was not sure but suspected by merely picking up the phone she could hear a voice.  She did so.  There was no operator but a dial tone.  Without a pair her chef’s whites and checkered pants she started to change into her dirty clothes.  She put her hair back in a pony tail and head back down the hall hoping she would not bump into the blonde, Jezebel.

Back in the kitchen Alison had not needed to take true charge until she had heard voices muffled in the dining room.  The pressure of her task, a thing she loved and flourished in, took hold.  She directed Beatrice and Jacquelyn and made the touches on the presentation herself so as to assert her presence.  The English school girl was delirious with torment her doing contorting against the silver restraints of her train as she lay semi conscious ready to be served.  Alison had made a series of deep parallel cuts alone her thighs and collected the juices to paint over her legs giving them a an oiled like gleam.  A trickle of the sauce had been drizzles in a zigzag pattern over her cooked meat, sex and belly.  Spinach and rocket surrounded the girl. 

A bell rang from the dining room.

“Arreter.” Alison said and summoned her two aids.  Alison opened her arms to the meal, “Simple et manifique.”  She smiled at both of them signaling they had done good work.

The bell rang again and it was obvious the diners were impatient.  Beatrice and Jacquelyn positioned themselves either side of the tray and lifted it between them.  Surprisingly they carried the load with ease from practice and carried it out through the loose hinged kitchen doors.  Alison was alone to look around the kitchen.  She had already decided she would instruct her two new helpers to remain behind tonight to harvest the remnants of the girl.  She would insist they experiment of the meat as well.  She would rise early for breakfast allowing them to rest.  The better they were, the better she would be.

Jacquelyn popped her head through the door and waved her hand for Alison to come.  Was something wrong with the dish?  Pensively Alison walked too through the doors.  The dining room table was filled with the House staff.  Arnaud sat at the head, Jezebel to his left side.  Edmond sat close to the kitchen opposite another large man Alison guessed was Harris.  Beatrice was sitting and Jacquelyn joined her.  A collection of Maids Alison had yet not seen all looked at her with expectant glances.  Alison was being introduced to the Servants.  Arnaud smiled omnipotently at her and gestured to a vacant seat by his right.  Alison had never dined at one of her meals.  She did not move.

“Please Alison.”  He said politely.

Alison forced herself to walk to the seat all eyes on her.  As she sat Jezebel glared at her vindictively.  Alison ignored her, her actions clarified by instruction from her new Master.

“These are your people now Alison.”  Arnaud said.  “This place is for entertaining my friends.”

Alison scanned the table.  She was met with faces waiting to be obeyed until she came to Jezebel and again was met with scorn.

“Do you understand?”  Arnaud polite tone came with retributional responsibility.

Alison felt nervous.  With the events of the day she could not remember the countless kitchens she had run and her burgeoning success.  Fortunately her tiny voice of pride sounded in her head and she smiled.  With all these staff following instructions she could started to create with total freedom.  The fact that her creativity was contained did not enter her mind.

Arnaud picked up on her psyche.  “Wonderful.”  Jezebel stretched out her hand to claim Arnaud’s affection away from his gift to another, but Arnaud pulled his hand away.  Jezebel looked wounded, but her demeanor of contempt for Alison remained stable.  “Begin.”  Arnaud permitted verbally and Beatrice and Jacquelyn rose and claimed carving implements to distribute the meat.

Chapter 6.  A Taste of Things to Come.

The Servants could be quiet gay at times.  Never to the extent were they would mock their Masters, but they could laugh, tease and flirt with one another.  Arnaud’s presence meant this was kept to a minimum, but after he had eaten he rose, Jezebel quickly rising with him, and politely took his leave.  He paused only to place his hand on Alison’s shoulder and compliment her.  The confrontational and threatened Jezebel strutted after him as he exited and the volume of voices rose moments after his departure.  Alison feared being isolated by status but Beatrice and Jacquelyn started talking over the table in English, something they should not be doing. 

“Do not worry about Jezebel.  You are the new favorite, Master will sort her out.”  Beatrice said.

The concept of favorites was new to Alison.  Alison began to get the feel that the Society rules were more relaxed here.  She briefly wondered if she should correct them, but had little experience in dealing with disobedience.  A Maid down the table kept looking at her as if she wanted to say something so Alison addressed her.  “Yes jeune fille.”  Alison said.

Anything the Maid was going to ask was frightened out of her as the whole table turned to look at the Maid.  She blushed into silence.  The incident was awkward but gave Alison her footing.  If this were the kitchen Alison would get the individual on her own and coax the issue out of them….. and it was that simple.  If Alison was senior in the House she would run it like a kitchen, leaving only the segregation of language between the kitchen hands and the Servants.

The table slowly eroded as Harris left to patrol and the Maids who obviously wanting to enjoy leisure time remembered they were hampered by duties pulled out until only Edmond, Beatrice and Jacquelyn remained.  Edmond was eying Jacquelyn and though naive in the execution of sex Alison knew the stare of hunger.  She did not approve of the matching and had directed even Society away from Waiters and kitchen staff in her day.  She decided to take charge.  “Beatrice, Jacquelyn:  Clear the table and perverse the still fresh meat for the next couple of days.  Take what is left and create a dish with it.  You will work with what is on hand and it will be sampled by only yourself.  No pressure for perfection, just try something new.  She spoke in French and that isolated Edmond.  Perturbed, but getting the point, he rose and retired giving Jacquelyn one last look.  Alison hoped he got the message.  As Edmond left and the pair started their work Alison added.  “I will take breakfast, you may both rest tomorrow.”

Beatrice and Jacquelyn nodded their brief reprieve from Servitude over.

Alison walked to the stairs that led to her room and started down the hall.  As she came to Arnaud’s room she saw the doors open.  Crying was coming from the room followed by a cry.  Alison knew better to pock her head into Society business but chanced a look as she passed.

Jezebel’s hands were bound and strung up on the mast of Arnaud’s double bed.  Her dress had been torn and lay crumpled at her feet.  Arnaud lashed her with a whip and her cries came again.  Alison found herself eavesdropping as Arnaud disciplined her.  “You were rude to my new possession Jezebel.”  Another lash.

Jezebel wept openly.  Perhaps experience had taught her to debate would only make things worse, but pleading obviously worked for Jezebel began to do so enthusiastically.  “I don’t want to be replaced.  Please Arnaud I want to be your favorite.”

“So weak Jezebel.”  Another lash came.  The lines on her back were shallow but red and were an indication of her intense discomfort.  “You were so rude to her Jezebel.”

“I wasn’t…. I didn’t mean… Who is she?”

“She is the delightful side benefit of something bigger Jezebel.  She is not my expensive concubine from the Conservatory.”  Now Arnaud was stroking her buttocks with his hand blending lust with sadism.  “You will be nice to her?”

Jezebel didn’t say anything at first, but as her experience taught her the moment he drew back his whip she broke.  “Yes.  Yes.  Yes.”

Arnaud relaxed and lent in to kiss Jezebels’ shoulder.  “Good girl.”  Before he reached up to untie her wrist Arnaud turned to Alison standing in the hall exposed by the open doors.  He winked at her.

Alison blushed with apprehension and hastened to her room.

Introduction.

Alison walked the rows of vines at the Vineyard.  The early morning sun on the dew meant mist flooded of the vines, almost creating the illusion of smoke rising.  The rows did not run in straight lines but curved around the side of the hills.  Every two dozen rows was a line of Lavender.  It was perhaps Arnaud Brink who introduced the lavender into the vineyard.  Whilst economically not viable the grapes took in the flavours of those grown around it.  Certain dishes could bring out the flavours and Alison knew only too well honey from the hives (there were a lot of bees at work) would activate the lavender and she could create a meal that would sedate the guests with the house wine.  Lavender was known to have relaxing properties and perhaps its essence was what he wanted to incorporate into his wine.  Perhaps he produce a wine that was intended to sedate drinkers rather than bolster and enthuse them.  Alison was looking for hives she assumed were kept on the grounds.  From her position on the hill she could see a small farmer’s market and town down in the valley and desperately hoped it was on vineyard land.  It was the place she expected the fresh vegetables came from.  She wanted to go down and see firsthand what was on offer.  Already her surrounds dictated her she would be cooking seasonally, but Arnaud had specified she was not to leave the vineyard.  She would spend all morning looking for resources to cook with.  The problem she faced, no longer free to roam, is that she could not select her main ingredient.  She was entirely dependent on Arnaud to supply her.  This could prove to have an adverse effect on presentation and meal planning.

Bobbing red hair swayed from side to side as Jacqueline ran down between a row of vines to catch her.  Alison stopped, seeing one of her newly found assistants and started back up the hill to slightly ease the distance she had to traverse.  She met the out of breath kitchen hand and smiled in greeting.

“Master wishes to speak to you before he departs for the city.”  She said in French.  The rest of the Household, though in France, spoke English.  Her face was flushed as she tried to calmly express the message.

Alison turned from her exploration and walked back towards the Mansion at the vineyard.

Jacquelyn startled and scampered up back the hills, an even more daunting route with the incline, to convey the message that Alison was one her way.

Alison would have to leave the exploring to later in the day.  Some flesh, preserved, still remained from the English schoolgirl and Alison would have ingredients for the next couple of days.  The staff required protein and in truth Alison did not know the rules for their diet.  Arnaud had thrown her in the deep end sending her straight off to cook and she as yet still didn’t have clean clothes.

As she reached the House she saw Harris patrolling the car Arnaud and she had arrived in.  He nodded to Alison and she smiled back before climbing the single stair into the Mansion.  The layout of the House she was familiar with led her to Arnaud in the lounge with Jezzabell dressed for an evening of cocktails and dining at eight in the morning.  Contempt was still in her eyes, but Arnaud had whipped the edge out of her gaze.  She was like a cat luxuriating in the company of her Master.  Arnaud turned from the Swiss beauty and gestured at Alison to follow.  Keeping step in dirty socks and day old clothes Arnaud walked her out to a balcony that surveyed the vineyard.

“You need clothes, new ones, and ingredients.”  He was talking business, but had a familiar context as he spoke in French.

Alison just listened politely.  She was not in the habit of requesting things she did not need to cook with.  Her previous liberty meant she could get the rest herself.

“I will have samples sent today, you must not continue in dirty clothes.  A chef’s whites; that is a priority.”

Alison nodded though she was looking at him and he was looking out at the grounds he owned.  “When the girl has no more fresh meat to offer go to the market in the valley with Jacquelyn and Beatrice, they are known to the sellers and will offer you everything you need.”  He paused and gave a cautious but detach look over at his shoulder at his concubine and her long perfect legs.  “I tired of Jezzabell.”  He spoke bluntly and with a coldness Alison had not yet seen.  “She has run her course.  Next Saturday I am having an important dinner at the vineyard.  Thirteen guests minimum, have Jezzabell served as the main course.  Harris and Edmond will back you up.  Keep it from her, though I doubt she will flee.  Request any ingredient you require.”

Alison did not say a word she fidgeted, slightly uncomfortable with having to interact with Jezzabell for five days before having her lain on her kitchen bench… no that wasn’t the problem.  She had never cooked anyone with a personality gleamed beyond a glance.  Though the two had not spoken if Jezzabel was available for the table then who else might be.

“This is an important event Alison.  See that it goes well.”  Arnaud turned and left Alison alone on the balcony.  Arnaud smiled at Jezzabell as if he had just not signed her death warrant and the concubine came to him and lovingly embraced him.  Arnaud’s affection showed no hint of betrayal and Jezzabell kissed him affectionately on the check.  The discipline of last night forgotten in her Keisha like role. 

“Take care Alison Bridges.” He said in English and left for the front door.

As soon as he was gone Jezzabell glanced over Alison and raised an eye.  She had no hint of her immanent sentence as main course next weekend.

Chapter 7.

The English school girl’s chest rose and fell slightly.  She was very week and Alison gave her, maybe, six hours before she finally succumbed to her injuries.  Jacquelyn and Beatrice’s experiments had been isolated to the girl’s grilled legs and Alison was happy with the amputation of the legs.  The left over leg meat provided bacon and sausage for breakfast.  The girl had been in pain so long she was delirious and no longer had the strength to require restraints.

Alison wore a spare pair of Beatrice’s whites and her hems were folded on her wrists and ankles.  She gently ran her finger over the girl’s belly.  Jacquelyn was readying the tools.  The pair had made do without Alison and there were only minor oversights in preparation.  Beatrice hung over Alison shoulder.  In French Alison began and Jacquelyn immediately came to see the visual component as Alison laid out the slaughter of the remnants of the girl.  As became evident to the girls the angle of the cut could dictate choice meat being harvested incorrectly.  The English school girl panicked as much as her low energy permitted as Alison fingers tracing lines over her body hinted at more tortures.  Jacquelyn and Beatrice nodded in understanding.  Alison began the first cut around the girl’s sex.  Her eyes bulged, but only a whimper escaped her from exhaustion.  Alison cut in degrees, but along identical paths so that the meats edge was shear.  The girl’s blood was tainted from her wounds so Alison gave no mind to collecting it and she removed the delightful mound.  Jacquelyn had a tray on hand to collect it.  It would be frozen, but kept for an occasion when all of Arnaud guests could enjoy prime fillet without the need to slaughter a dozen or so women for one cut.

Alison allowed Beatrice to flay and cut her tenderloin and the girl expired in the process.  Beatrice looked at Alison concerned that she had erred, but Alison shrugged and politely asserted, “Elle etait proche de la mort” (she was near death).  Alison put a reassuring hand on Beatrice’s shoulder and the kitchen hand continued successfully claiming the tender meat.  Beatrice past it down to Jacquelyn who, under Alison’s scrutiny, sliced it further along the natural separations of muscles.  Again Alison was happy and praised.  The pair new much, but had lacked a Master to give them praise and the liberty one bought to try new things.  “How bland things must have been”, Alison thought to herself in French, because that was the language she thought in in culinary affairs.

As Beatrice moved onto remove the fat from the girl’s breasts for soup and stock Alison took her leave to explore further the Mansion House.  There was a pool!  Alison did not know how to swim, never a need permitted in her training to learn, but she marvelled at it.  It was tucked away at the side of the Mansion.  There was a balcony, from Arnaud’s room, leaning out towards it.  As Alison smiled at the thought of stripping to her nickers and just walking through the water she felt eyes boring into the back of her head.  She turned around to see Jezzabell in the doorway of the balcony, splendid in her beauty and perfect.  Alison glanced at her next unwitting project and Jezzabell posed claiming aesthetic dominance. Knowing Jezzabell was doomed took the power off any intimidation Alison may have felt.  Jezzabell was meat now, she just didn’t know it.  Alison took a professional pose and observed Jezzabell.  She did not know it, but she assess Jezzabell as a chef would venison.

When girls were cooked contortion and muscle breakdown warped their shape from their original toning.  This was why Alison was such a fan of grilling portions of women, or very slow cooking.  A Society dinner of at least thirteen meant all of Jezzabell would have to be utilized in one occasion if the servants (and Alison firmly believed those who created the meal should sample for education, if not pleasure) were to have a taste.  Jezzabell grew bored with her peacocking not having the desired effect, but Alison was abuzz with an idea.

Across from the pool was a sauna.  She walked, now unnoticed, over to it and opened the door.  It was spacious and had a bench someone could be laid on flat.  Alison smiled.  She had never tried steaming a person before.  The process was long and a medical drip would be needed to keep Jezzabell alive, but it could be down.  Jezzabell could be served cold, with some type of tomatoes sauce, like Gazpacho, but thicker, Alison would need to invent it.  Her mind raced at the possibilities.  Now it was essential she went to the market and saw what was on hand.  Her idea of cooking with honey would have to wait and probably wasn’t suitable to the event Arnaud had in mind.  First she would converse with Jacquelyn and Beatrice and bring them up to speed, the talk to either Edmond, or Harris, about keeping tabs on Jezzabell and requisitioning what she needed.  The Maids and other servants she would keep completely in the dark.

Inside Alison spoke in French to Jacquelyn and Beatrice, then repeated and glanced over details in English for Harris.  Harris was nervous.  Edmond was asleep having taken the night watch and Harris should have been patrolling.  Arnaud kept something very important at his Mansion.  Alison did not know that it was merely a precaution to keep the House secure from other Society members who may come and interfere with his isolation.  Alison now found it foolish to assume that Jezzabell had been the thing he had been protecting.  For her too be so very beautiful meant she must have cost a great deal at the conservatory.  Arnaud’s dinner must mark a very special occasion.

Requisition Request:

1 Bottle of Chloroform

8x sterile surgical pins

Timed Medical Drip with Needle and Tube

10x 1 litre of Saline Solution bags for drip

One bottle of 10mg Nitro-glycerine tablets

2x Super Soft Bondage Rope (Red) 200ft

1 gram Spanish Saffron

10 grams Ground Capsicum Annum, sourced from South America (Paprika)

500ml Nunez De Prado Extra Virgin Olive Oil sourced from Sicily (bottled 2013)

Magnums of Pinot Noirs from the Barossa Valley, Adelaide, Australia (enough for dinner party)

1x Bikini

Note: Remainder of ingredients sourced locally.

Alison hoped the request for a bikini was not two bold, but she did so desire to enter the pool, but did not want to embarrass herself paddling around in front of Jezzabell.  When the bikini would arrive Jezzabell would be close to her reassignment as dinner and perhaps Alison would chance it, or even use it to her advantage.

In a high-rise office in Paris Arnaud Brink read through the email requesting the things Alison couldn’t source for herself.  He smiled as he read the last one.  His anonymous call that gave the location of the abducted girls to the police gave him the power to master the cover up that saw Alison Bridges become his possession and the guests who had dined at the building become indebted to him for protection.  The SWAT team had been neutralized on a training exercise when dummy explosives had been replaced for real ones.  The female detective had been stabbed in an alleged mugging gone bad.  Arnaud would keep the male detective alive so he could be activated if the dinner didn’t go as planned. 

This weekend the most influential of the Society caught up in the scandal would be dining with him to once again experience what Alison had to offer.  He would make his proposal to them then.  There need for discretion guaranteed his success.

Chapter 8.

Alison received no reply to her requisition order, but the ingredients started to arrive, the bikini coming first.  On the parcel was a post-it note with a smiley face drawn on it.  Alison resisted the urge to slip into the pool with it, having an idea of when that time should come.  Instead she waited till all the ingredients had arrived and on Friday morning sent Beatrice down to the market to pick up and check the local produce they had gone down to request.  Alison would check the local ingredients again.  Everything must be fresh and perfect.  It was time to bait the hook.

It seemed Jezzabell’s routine showed she suspected nothing.  She walked on her treadmill; lifted light weights; and kept herself immaculate should Arnaud come unexpected.  She was ready to be perfect for him at all times; her only responsibility and role in life.  Alison changed into her bikini for the first time.  Arnaud was no stranger to the female form and the bikini fitted her body perfectly.  Alison looked at herself in the mirror.  She took leave from her plan to wonder if she should get another piercing in her naval; another stud and mark of status now that she could play in the pool and ran a household as well as a kitchen.

The Maids needed little guidance and Alison did not know the low profile they kept was the result of Arnaud sister having a tendency to visit when Arnaud was away and take one for her own designs.  Alison had heard Renee Brink discussed amongst the Maids, but had never enquired to her character.  The quicker they were at their duties meant they could spend more time in hiding.  Jacquelyn and Beatrice seemed to be more active around the Mansion and their middle management gave Alison all the time in the world to dream up dishes and pass them on.  She was on good terms with everyone save the soon to be removed Jezzabell who still seemed to think she was the most valuable object in the Mansion.  Arnaud was not so shallow.

Alison left her room and as she walked past the Master bedroom where Jezzabell luxuriated she pressed on the door.  It drifted open and she walked slowly so Jezzabell could see her walking to the pool in her bikini.  Alison did not look back.  She rounded the corner took a right and walked out below the balcony of the Master bedroom.  Sure enough Jezzabell was there watching as Alison, boldly, displayed her beauty.  It was not on the level of Jezzabell’s, but she was a woman who if born free would have been the trophy of a very powerful man.  Ironically, slavery meant she was the exact same thing.

Jezzabell sneered at Alison apparently discovering pleasing physical appearance.  She sneered and turned back to the room.

Mild panic took Alison.  Quickly as Jezzabel turned she pulled off her bikini top and flung it at Jezzabell striking the railing of the balcony just beside her.  At the look of pure contempt Alison sat by the pool and displayed herself.

Jezzabell turning would have alerted her to Harris sneaking up behind with the cloth and chloroform.  Alison was insistent her prize specimen not be bruised by struggle.  Alison watched as Harris approached from the rear the capture immanent.  Jezzabell’s eyes seemed angry at Alison’s, almost, nudity.  Any man would find her attractive.  Perhaps Jezzabell had some concept that Alison might even seem more desirable being less out of reach. 

Harris made his move.  The cloth came over her mouth and the eyes turned to surprise.  Alison did not waist anytime seeing the struggle.  The most important thing was to get to the room to make sure the certain take left Jezzabell unmarked.

Alison gave no thought to her vulnerability as she climbed the stairs and burst into the room wearing only her bikini bottoms.  Harris was laying an unmarked Jezzabell down on the bed.  She was unconscious and would remain so for some time.  Harris nodded to Alison and then let his eyes wander.

Alison tilted her head to the side as if to say, ‘Really!’ and then snap into chef mode.  “Strip her and carry her to the sauna.”

Harris nodded and without ceremony started to rip Jezzabell’s dress.

“Caution.”  Alison snapped.  “No marks.  None.”

Harris sighed and searched for some scissors to gently remove Jezzabell’s dress.

Alison took her leave and went to her room to change into her chefs whites.  So far everything was going according to plan.  Harris knowing the entirety of the plan was carry Jezzabell like a small child as Alison emerged from her room.  She led the way and Harris followed carry the meat.  Alison head straight back outside to the sauna and Beatrice was waiting.  The steam had not yet been turned on.  As Harris lay Jezzabell down on the bench Alison moved onto embolization.  Beatrice handed her the sterile needles; long thin pins.  Alison turned Jezzabell’s head as far as she could and slid the needles into Jezzabells spin between two vertebrae.  The needles would cause swelling of the spinal cord and paralyse Jezzabell from the neck down.  She would breathe as normal but could be unable to escape the soft (relatively speaking) heat that would cook her for an entire night and day.  Once the needles were in place Alison tied Jezzabells ankles to the paled bench and her wrists behind her back.  In the unfortunate event she had some mobility she would be unable to escape the sauna between visits.  The heat would be so low that a person, either Alison or one of her two helpers, could come in and check on Jezzabell every hour.  The final step was to set up the saline drip so as to prevent Jezzabells from dying of dehydration.  The salt from her sweet would act as one of the three garnishes.  To the dinner guest Jezzabell would appear raw, the surprise coming when they cut into her to serve themselves and found tender, rich meat.

It was all in place.  Harris left and Alison gave final instructions to Beatrice who would take the first shift.  Midway through the day Jacquelyn would come and relieve her and so on swapping every six hours.  Alison was to be notified on any deviation from the expected cooking procedure.  The remaining two of Jezzabell’s assassins left the sauna and steam gentle flowed in.  If the paralyse worked the binds would be removed and Jezzabell would be served in a picturesque state.

Interlude

Arnaud was so focused on the evening he did not talk to Alison other than to see things were on track.  Alison had just removed Jezzabell from the sauna after slowly cooking her over eighteen hours. A Maids was at work applying makeup to Jezzabells face so that she looked serine.  The pills of nitro-glycerine had been used to keep her heart beating and they had used eight of the saline bags keeping her alive. Arnaud’s brief check was how Alison liked it.  She left to the hospitality to others and liked to focus on her art.  The quests were beginning to arrive and Alison asked Jacquelyn to take the sauce out of the fridge.  Vegetable had not been cooked.  This meals was about Jezzabell’s beauty from Alison perspective.  She knew she had never cooked a woman quiet so beautiful and it was as much about the presentations as it was about the meal being a unique experience.

Alison looked down at Jezzabell as she lay on the polished silver tray.  The heat had undoubtedly cause brain damage, but she was aware of what was coming.  Alison pulled the needles out of the back of Jezzabell’s neck.  It didn’t matter if the swelling subsided she was cooked through.

Alison took the olive oil she had requested as the Maids marched in to collect the deep plates with the sauce, decorated with garnishes out to the quests.  The evening was beginning with the meal.  They were arriving promptly, the socializing would take place after dinner.  Alison took the saffron and flicked it over Jezzabell’s soft skin.  She repeated more liberally with the paprika giving Jezzabell the final glittered effect she had envisaged.  It was perfect.  Once all the plates had been delivered four Maids came back in to collect Jezzabell and carry her out.  As the door closed behind them Alison, Jacquelyn, and Beatrice all leaned their ears to the door to hear the reaction of the guests.  The cries of delight and complements to Arnaud came in a flurry and Alison in the centre of the trio placed her hands on her two helper’s shoulders.  “Travail bien fait” (Job well done).

Chapter 9 .

The statuesque Swiss woman on the platter was carved like butter.  The Maids stepped in and out of between quests keeping their glasses full at all times as a dish exquisite in appearance was slowly consumed amongst the chatter of the dinner guests..  No one was driving.  No one there had a need to drive, their chauffers waiting for them outside in luxury vehicles.  Arnaud sat at the head of the table observing and replying to those whom addressed him.  He was modest when the topic of sacrificing Jezzabell was raised by those who had met her.  Arnaud made her out to be a trifle thing, though she had been his concubine for five years.

“But who will entertain you now?”  A potbellied man asked whilst gliding a piece of Jezzabell’s bicep through the chilled sauce.

Arnaud smiled in reply.  He briefly thought of Alison and her classic American beauty.  She was not as divine, but her skills made her more tempting.  He was distracted by another question on House Keeping matters.

“Your Mansion is slight of staff”, it was a passive aggressive jib, “but it seems to run itself.  You never thought to get a House Keeper?”

“The Maid’s know I will gift them to Renee if they stray and House Keeper gossip amongst their kind.  I wish to not have a servant guide my House in any direction not dictated by me.” Arnaud replied and to his left a Maid pouring wine slipped slightly staining the white table cloth at the casual mention of the one they all feared.  It went unnoticed.  The topic of Renee should have been a sensitive one, but Arnaud had always played it down by killing the story.  ‘Yes Renee breaks the rules.  Yes she is my sister.’  He admitted it as if she was entitled to her extremes.

“Did you get all the staff from Paris?” another guest asked.  All the people present had come under threat from the police’s discovery.

“Just the Head Chef.  The rest were retired.”

“And our cover-up is secure?”  An as of yet silent party spoke.

“There is no danger gentlemen so long as I am alive.”  Arnaud smiled.  He’d just secured his safety with the aid of every person in the dining room without threat,  nor apparent due-arrest.

A slender woman in contrast to how much of Jezzabell’s thighs she had eaten took her turn.  “Why so lavish?  Did you just wish to polish the season off, or do you require something from us?”

Arnaud eyed the woman suspiciously.  Most people were born into the Society.  This woman was new blood and had sought them out.  A dangerous game, but she had been accepted and had no expectations of endulgent treatment.  She took what she was offered.  It was funny that the one person who would not appreciate the history of what Arnaud was about to say had come closest to his motives.

“Dalton Monroe is dying.”  Arnaud sipped his wine and took a break from eating.  What had been Jezzabell’s left shoulder sat on his plate waiting for him to resume eating.

The table was silent.

“Hugo is poised to take his place, but I say no.  We have entertained the usurpers claim to long.”

All the guests were now silent and looked at Arnaud.  “Are you speaking of rebellion?”  The plumb man spoke up.  This dinner party could very well be considered a meeting of conspiracy.  Secret Societies did not stay secret if internal fighting took place.

“All I ask is that when Dalton Monroe is gone you permit me to display to you that he is not capable to train the Servants at the Compound.”  Arnaud waved his hand back gesturing to the portrait of his ancestor.  “No violence.  No death.  No need to keep this a secret; tell who you like.”

“This is a dangerous game Arnaud.”  It was the new blood, slender woman who cautioned.  If she could get into the Society she obviously had a fairer idea of how it worked than most.

“There is no danger in making the suggestion.  When it happens, without killing, back I and I will garuntee prosperity.”

The silence continued to someone, clearly uncomfortable tried to change the subject.  Arnaud seized the distraction and carried the conversation on, active for the first time in the dinner’s conversation.  He had made his statement and news would circulate around the Society and back to Saudi Arabia.  He could not be removed least all those who would be affected by his cover become exposed.  If the Society in France was exposed it would ripple through Europe and then onto America and Asia.  Arnaud had his sources, but he could not predict the response.  It was a game of chess he was playing.

Epilogue.

The guests were nervous with news as they departed.  Had Arnaud not held their security in his hands it would have been a matter not worthy of concern.  Arnaud was the figure preventing an investigation into things that would destroy them.  If any tried to secure their own cover up Arnaud could use his resources to prevent them.  France was his foundation.  He would claim Europe and then America, leaving Asia to fall in tow least they segregate and loose Saudi Arabia.

As the final guest left Arnaud walked into the kitchen.  Alison was busy at work cleaning with Jacquelyn and Beatrice.  “You shouldn’t do such menial things Alison.”  Arnaud implored.

“They have been busy with preparations for two days.”  Alison offered in explanation.  The constant attention Jezzabell required whilst cooking had fatigue her to helpers.  Pushing them further was no way to ingratiate them too her, she knew this from her own experience.

“It is your kitchen.”  Arnaud had hoped to claim her for his bedroom now that Jezzabell was gone, but despite being a villain, who unbeknownst to her had claimed her liberty, he did not wish to interfere with the working of the kitchen.  He would be a