O-A Little Later Ch. 07

The Sculptor...

"A fortnight later, the weather had warmed further and much had been resolved. The book had been through its final edit and we were pleased with it. A few months would now pass before we received the proof copies. The negotiations with Claire and her husband had gone well. They were a delightful couple, he was an educated man with a bright future in the Civil Service of the Republic, and indeed rose to head the Ministry in which he served, some years later. We visited their home which was plain yet tasteful and set in a delightful rural village. Claire's youth had included a love of outdoor sports and ponies, as had my own, I had come to accept that this was an excellent choice for my daughter.

I walked away from the new home I had given her to, with mixed feelings in my heart. While they had accepted my requests for contact, name and disclosure, there were many possible difficulties in this situation.

We returned to the city in Anne-Marie's red Alfa Romeo. When I emerged from my reverie I saw we were not at my apartment. We had come to a place I did not expect. We drove into an industrial courtyard where there were cheap workshops and some apartments that were run down and grimy. A few workers were crossing the yard at the end of their work day, and looked tiredly at the alien luxury car in their zone of commercial camions. I was surprised, and looked to her for reassurance. She looked across at me while she came to a halt in front of a light industrial building that seemed to have an apartment above the workshop. She said 'get out of the car please, then remove the dress, gloves, hat and shoes then place them on the seat you were using'

"Far from reassuring, this frightened me intensely. This was an area of the city with many migrants and much crime. To be naked here was a direct threat to my survival. Of course I did as instructed. The light summer dress joined the other items in the car and I stood naked before the truck-sized door. Anne-Marie cheerfully told me that I would not need any other items as the man who would shortly meet me would have all that was required. 'Stand exactly where you are until told to move.' I wore only my iron ring. She then waved and drove away. I listened fearfully to the rasp of her exhaust echo out of the courtyard and into the distance.

"I stood for what seemed to be an age, with the workmen's voices rising, as they noticed me and came to investigate. I wished for release from this threat, though a part of me felt that these rough men could do no worse to me than I had already endured in my slavery. To be raped was no terror to me, even by all of them, to be sodomised likewise, nor to have them use my mouth. I had no pride or privacy to lose.

"The real fear was that they might cause me permanent harm that could affect my future. Whatever was to happen to me I must face it with calm and acceptance, as I had no real choice- I had given that up those years before when I offered myself before Sir Stephen and Rene. In essence I was facing discomfort and some dirty men's use of me, which was a common experience to me. The fear I had felt before was melting away, I was protected by the debasement of my state.

"The men gathered around me in a group, and drew closer. Many were foreigners- swarthy of skin and with guttural and broken French, in which they argued about me, calling me a whore and degenerate. One older man stepped closer to me, and I tensed for what was to come. He took his grimy overcoat and wrapped it around my body, turning to the others with contempt in his voice. After a sharp burst in Arabic, he spoke at more length in rough French, shaming them as being like dogs sniffing at a bitch's rear. He reminded them of their wives and daughters at home.

"The men began to shuffle and lose their bravado, though two younger ones argued back and looked ready to fight. My saviour was much older and alone in his defence of me, yet seemed to command respect. I became aware that a loud vehicle was approaching from the street outside the courtyard. The noise increased until a battered Citroen panel van appeared and swerved toward the small crowd, driving directly to the group which made way as it slowed to a stop in front of me. A small powerfully built man leapt from the sliding side door and came around to me. He greeted my rescuer and invited him to come in for a cup of tea.

"He thanked the man, Farouq for his help of the new model he had hired for his project. He unlocked the big door and ushered me inside. The group of men began to shuffle and disperse. Farouq declined the offer of tea, but came through the door to stand waiting politely. The short man found a rough blanket and gave it to me, so I removed the coat and took the blanket for my covering. I folded the old coat and handed it back to Farouq. As I did this I succumbed to a sudden urge and fell to my knees and kissed his boots in gratitude. He jerked back in horror, and scuttled away quickly.

"My new master, if that was to be his role, pulled me to my feet and shoved me towards the stairs at the side of the workshop. He then went back to the van outside, restarted the noisy engine and drove it inside. In the left seat was the pale face of a woman, clearly terrified by what she had seen. He reclosed the high door and locked it. The woman stepped out and gathered the shopping from around her feet. She looked at me with pity, which I was used to from other women.

"In the rear of the workshop space was a huge object, wrapped in canvas. Near it were ladders and a platform on wheels, also tables with a wide range of implements. None of them looked to be torture tools, but I was aware that an imaginative mind has always been the most fearsome source of suffering.

"They made their way up the stairs and I followed. Above was a rough apartment, with places for cooking and eating, a potbelly stove and an area with several couches and low tables. Through a sliding door at the rear I could see a tiled space I took to be a bathroom. The woman went to the kitchen and began to busy herself, the short man came to me, removed the blanket and asked me to raise my arms and turn around slowly.

"'You are everything I was expecting and more, cherie. Your pictures are exact and yet the reality exceeds their promise. You may call me Gorodish, or Maitre. You are to be my model for a work of art that is for a very select market, that which you know well'. At these words he took my hand and kissed the iron ring that was my sole possession, yet symbolised that I was in turn the possession of another.

"'You will stay here with me until the work is well advanced. You will be fed and kept, but you are to follow my instructions as you will those of my woman, Jeanne. I have spent time in the house at Roissy, where I learned of the proper treatment of slave women. I am told that you were there at the same time as I was, though I don't remember possessing your body. I will do so here from time to time. You understand those methods, so just accept that you are not free here, though the formality of that place will be relaxed here, much of the time.

"I will immortalise your body and the spirit of your slavery in stone. It will take some months to make it succeed and your obedience will be tested to the limit of your endurance. But now, sit at the table and Jeanne will serve the dinner she has made for us. We will start early in the morning tomorrow and work hard each day to meet the deadline. We will live and work together. When I do not need you to pose for me you will have assigned tasks to support the work or run this home.'"

O stopped her tale, the light was fading from the window. I asked, "is your daughter coming here soon? Do we need to break for the day?"

She shook her head, "Non, Monsieur, she is with her family, being Claire's daughter again. I think we should eat again, then I will take you to visit that which we produced. It will save ten thousand words and take only an hour or two." She summoned Clothilde once more and gave her instructions for a tasty meal with grilled lamb and potato, together with salad and a rich Burgundy. The meal was ready soon, and soon eaten. O drank just a half-glass during the meal, while serving me attentively. She ate well, though I noted that she waited for me to begin before starting herself.

I was still not used to her nudity at the table or in general, though she seemed to feel it normal, and Clothilde yielded no expression that I could detect. I asked how far we would travel to see the object and how we would go there.

"Monsieur, if it pleases you, I have ordered a car to take us there, which will arrive shortly. The trip is less than one hour, though the traffic can be difficult at this time."

She made no further comment, so I took charge. "Let me look at your clothing, to select what you may wear for the trip." She led me back to the bedroom, to the closet that stood near the door. She opened the double door and stood aside to let me see the contents. I pulled various items from the rack, looked them over then returned them. I was not sure what I wanted on her, until I saw it- a soft grey dress that was low in front and showed her back, with a high slit at the thigh. "Here, put this on to show me".

She quickly obeyed and stood straight in front of me. Her breasts were beautifully moulded by the soft wool, her nipples proudly apparent through the fabric. I nodded approval and she went to the dresser to find stockings that she rolled up her smooth thighs. The effect was electric- her nudity had been matter-of-fact, but this light clothing was sexually charged. The front was low to display the upper curves of her breasts and the thigh slit revealed the top of her stocking when she moved. The motion of her breasts and rear as I had her walk around was fascinating. Her arms and her back were bare, which looked fine, but would be cold out in the autumn evening.

"Fix your make-up and hair before we go. You will need a coat outside, do you still own a fur?" She sat to her mirror and began to repair the perfection that had suffered during our day together. She was deft and rapid with the brushes and colours, then did one of those magic shrugs that French girls learn early in life, to release her hair to flow around her face and shoulder. A tortoiseshell comb appeared and was slid in at one side of her hair- the result made her look like a film star of the fifties, ready to face the press. This rapid preparation, I knew, was a product of the many times she was required to be ready urgently for the men who she was to please, at Sir Stephen's request. I was rapt as I struggled with the thought of possessing her.

Clothilde appeared by O's elbow and gestured to the floor. "The car has arrived, Monsieur. Clothilde, please bring my fur." O affixed diamond earrings as she stood, found some simple black shoes and put her arm through mine. My heart filled as she moulded herself to me-such a woman!

The housekeeper helped her in to the rich soft pale fur at the door of the apartment, and we descended to the street where a dark Benz S-class waited, double parked. The sun's glow was fading in the west as the yellow street lights came up. From the end of the street came the dull roar of traffic. The driver held the door for us, she ducked and went into the leather interior, moving to give me room. He closed the door, and went to the front where he sat and looked expectant. O spoke briefly to him in French, when she was done, he nodded, started the engine and touched the switch to roll up the glass between his seat and ours.

"The Chateau of Roissy is no more, and the Society is fading, as its members age and die. The property was acquired by the Government when they wanted to expand the Aeroport, even the power of its members could not resist that. The activities that were done there have moved to other venues with new players, with surprising openness. The beauty of the sacrifices that were made have been forgotten." She was speaking without bitterness, but with clear regret in her tone. The car was negotiating the heavy rush hour traffic, so we had plenty of time to speak.

"I am taking you to see some souvenirs of Roissy that I salvaged before the wreckers went in, in 1968. There is one in particular that you need to see. It is the product of that time with Gorodish and his woman"

I asked her to slip off the fur, and pulled it across us as a blanket. The evening was cool, though the car was warming up. I held her to me, my hands roamed her body out of sight of the driver and pedestrians on the busy boulevards. I had many questions for our journey.

"Eight years ago, O, you withdrew yourself from men's hands. Tell me why, please?"

She drew in a breath and began. "At that time my daughter turned sixteen. Claire and Jules fulfilled their bargain and told her of her true parentage then gave her the choice of meeting me with the new understanding. She had always known me as her Tante O, we had met often through her childhood, with visits to the zoo, the circus and once a trip to the seashore overnight, where we had shared a room with the sound of the sea loud all the night. I loved her and was deeply proud of the adolescent she had become. I feared that she would feel betrayed by our arrangement, and wind up hating both Claire and myself.

"I should have trusted her more. She proved herself to be wiser than we knew. She told me that she had suspected the truth from years before- that she had no siblings, unlike her friends and the 'aunt' that had the same dark rich hair and deep brown eyes as her, while Claire and Jules were blonde. A book she read when she was twelve had the same arrangement in the family of the girl hero- she loved the mystery and romance of it.

"She asked that she might come to stay with me in my Paris apartment for weekends until she came to know me. Claire and Jules graciously consented, so I bought her a train pass that would give her the freedom to come to and from at will. The key she still wears around her neck was given to her then. Her birthday was on Wednesday, our meeting at her home was on Thursday and she said as I left, "See you Saturday, Tante Maman!" She kissed me, then stood with her arms around her parents as I went back to my car.

"The impact of her parting words hit me as I was driven back to Paris. I had one day to conceal the truth about my life from my girl. The fear of her finding the whips and other implements scattered in my home was sharp in me. While she had a merry spirit and had coped with the news with love and trust, my dark secret was too much to risk. I had always been careful to hide my marks from her, though I had had to cancel a trip to the theatre with her once, as my face was marked from an incident.

"I asked Clothilde to come to my apartment for the day, Anne-Marie lent her to me at times. We put all those items in a locked storage room, then set up the spare room for her stay. The more challenging task for me was to contact the man that was due to visit me for Saturday evening. Our arrangement did not allow for flexibility on my part, as you might imagine. I managed to convince him that I was unwell, though he tried to be solicitous. I did not care for his offer of help as that was not what I needed from him.

"I did not have him or any other man for the next eight years, as my daughter grew and I saw her more often. My secret photographic specialty was in increasing demand as my fame grew, and brought me surprising income, as my silence was also bought. The money I had invested from the book gave me a comfortable life, and my daughter was a joy to me. I was deeply happy with this life, and thought that the needy beast within me was buried for ever. When you wrote to me, that fire relit, and when I consented to your interview there was a dream growing in my heart. After your first visit I asked Clothilde to find the equipment we had put away at the girl's birthday. We worked on it together, with a passion. "

We were travelling more easily now, out of the city on the Autoroute to the southeast. A full moon was lighting the hills to the east in silhouette as we took the off ramp and slowed to enter a small town. This brought an end to her story for now. The driver seemed sure of his direction, he must have been here before. O was watching the view avidly, and smiled as we drove into the circular gravel drive of a large bourgeois house.

O found a key and opened the heavy oaken front door and we went in. The driver leaned against the car and lit a cigarette, carefully looking away from us. The engine ticked as it cooled.

Inside the house was stuffy and dusty, as if it had not been used for some time. Sheets covered much of the furniture and all the blinds and drapes were closed. She turned on lights as we went through the rooms. She stood by a double door, which she swung open to reveal the Music Room from the story.

"This is that house, where so much of that life happened to me and around me. I was strapped to that dais for my whippings, and watched and shot so many others in the same pose. This house is mine now, Anne-Marie no longer needs it.

"This is not what we came for, though. Please come this way." She led on to the conservatory that faced out to the darkness beyond. She did not light the lamps, though and my eyes soon adapted to the moonlight coming in at the glass. The garden outside was bathed in it, showing an overgrown but classic set of plantings, surrounded by a high hedge. At its centre was a pale statue.

O took my hand and guided me through the French doors and across the paving towards the statue. As we drew closer, its' true nature became clearer.

It was white marble, a little larger than life size, which seemed to glow luminously in the moonlight. We were approaching it from the rear- a slim woman's form, kneeling with legs splayed and head thrown back, stone hair trailing down her back to near her tied wrists.

As we came around to the front, I began to recognise the breasts and hips that were O's. What stilled my breath was revealed- the woman was shown impaled on a shaft that entered through her vagina and exited from her mouth. The carved expression was of ecstasy, of utter abandon and transcendence.

"I modelled for seven months as Gorodish made the carving and his assistant hated me. I spent weeks with a shaft inserted deeply within my sex as I knelt spread before his eye. He made a framework above to which he affixed a shaft for my mouth, to be sure of the alignment between the two parts of it. I am sure that he would have truly impaled me on a single rod, to be sure of the precision of the piece, but was forced to be content with the illusion. He was driven to seek perfection in his work.

"I can still taste the cold iron bar that invaded my mouth and throat- it was a piece of waste he picked from the floor and welded in place. All those men who had used my throat for their pleasure had trained me to breathe around it, I was grateful to them.

"His assistant, the woman Jeanne, was jealous of me. The artist took me to his bed the first day, putting me between him and her, both physically and sexually. He insisted that she perform acts on me while he watched, or even while he penetrated me from behind. She did so, but cruelly, with teeth and sharp nails in my most tender parts such that I often bled when she was done. Gorodish neither noticed nor cared, except once when I stained the damask cloth covering the plinth that I knelt on. Jeanne was triumphant when she took it to be cleaned.

"The man did not sleep, he rutted with us both all night, showing a truly depraved imagination. At one time he took me, naked in his foul-smelling van, to the Bois de Boulogne late at night, where he opened the rear door in a quiet corner, then stood back in the shadows to watch as men came. At first they came singly, to lie with me on the thin stained palliasse, then moved away when finished. The word slowly spread among those who were there for that purpose, and soon there were handsful of men at a time waiting to use me.