Jillian in Babylon

"Indeed I do, Jillian. Indeed I do. Shall we retire to my room?"

My heart beating a mile a minute, I tried to quell my panic as Anton pocketed my controller and offered his right arm for me to grasp. I accepted the proffered elbow and fell in next to my "Master."

Anton proved far more perceptive than I imagined possible. Sensing my distress he said,

"Oh yes, this must be quite disconcerting for you."

He retrieved my controller from his vest pocket and operated it like a seasoned pro. My sense of fear, shame, and humiliation was replaced with an air of relaxation, contentment, and bliss. On some deep level, I knew that was not my true emotional state, but embracing it would make everything far more tolerable, perhaps even enjoyable. Clearly, it was better than being simply ravaged and foully used.

Anton owned a suite of rooms just to the right of the winding staircase from the main room. He opened the door, turned on the lights and ushered me inside. While as well furnished as the rest of the house, this was clearly Anton's fortress of solitude. His personal touches were everywhere. There was a pin-up calendar on the wall as well as a revealing poster of an actress I recognized. There were also models of aircraft and automobiles created in his youth, an overflowing bookshelf, and art supplies!

A sketchpad, charcoals, and watercolors! "Whose are these?" I asked innocently.

"Those are mine, Jillian. I had a passing fancy that I would try my hand at becoming an artist, I can do excellent renderings, but my grandmother pointed out that being an artist was no life for a Ulanov. I just don't have the heart to throw them away."

"May I have them, Master?" I asked, not realizing until much later that the moment was the very first when I referred to him as "Master" outside the presence of the dowager.

"I suppose so, Jillian. Are you an artist? I thought slaves were criminals or traitors."

"It's a long story, Anton. One I do not feel like relating just now. But, yes, I AM an artist."

Anton smiled, a sly look crossed his face and he said, "Perhaps later, we can sketch each other. I prefer figure drawing myself."

It was the perfect icebreaker. I laughed and replied, "Then, I suppose, you will have to unwrap me."

I fell into Anton's arms and our lips locked. I realized now that the kid really was a very good kisser. His hands went to the zipper of my dress, it fluttered to the floor and Anton took a moment to drink all of me in.

"Oh, gran thinks of EVERYTHING!" he said with gusto before beginning round two. He unpeeled me a just the proper pace. The kid was no novice, he knew what to kiss, how to kiss it, and for how long. Even without the controller, I was working up a head of steam.

I began to pare him down and was pleasantly surprised. The excess baggage of so many of the photos in his grandmother's parlor was absent. He would always be a bit stocky but, for now, at least, he wore his poundage well. His arms were quite muscular as was his chest. I liked his height which neatly complemented my own. I'm not usually a fan of dark eyes, but I like his sincere brown orbs. I liked his nose and smile. He was not Phillip, could never be Phillip but he was not bad at all. Especially once it became clear that he was not simply going to use me merely as a sperm dumpster, like a wad of Kleenex.

I had him down to his silk boxers. I retained only my gossamer panties, stockings, and bridal garter. Feeling very good and totally in control at that moment, I fell to my knees on the thick carpet and teased his shorts down with my teeth. His manhood once revealed was in the "Goldilocks zone" Not too big, not too small, just right. He was fully, proudly erect.

I began to suckle his balls, taking each one slowly into my mouth before I worked my way along the underside of his shaft with my lips and tongue. I encircled all of him with my lips. He tasted fine. Like a flash, I realized that whatever his charms, Anton could NEVER replace Phillip in my mind. Even if I built up tremendous affection for this stranger I was giving head to, my heart would forever belong to the man I married. In the months and years ahead, I often wished that this was not true, yet it always was. Still is!

I paused a moment and Anton urged me to my feet and steered me towards his huge, comfortable bed. I allowed him to take the lead. He kissed down my neck to my collar bone and then on to my breasts. He knew how to properly tweak them erect and his subsequent nibbling wasn't bad. I was feeling really good at this point. He circled my navel with his hot tongue and lips and then began to tease off my panties with his teeth. He worked them over my rump and down and off my long legs. He left the stockings in place, winked and then demonstrate his skills at cunnilingus.

Frankly, he was better than I would have suspected. Not at Phillip's level or Trevor's the much older professor who seduced me when I was a freshman in college, but not bad. He knew just how to focus on my clit. My artificial good mood had become genuine. I knew I was not far from the big "O." I tightened the clasp of my thighs about his head and made soft little noises and I was there!

Anton came up for air with a broad smile and embraced me we kissed for a while and, somewhere along the way, he entered me. It was not a bad fit. My kitty missed Phillip's tool but Anton was practiced with his. He erupted deep inside me and I gasped. I was in two minds at that moment. On the one hand, I realized that Anton would be a more than an adequate lover. On the other hand, my already shredded wedding vows were irrevocably damaged. Even if, by some miracle, he and my old life were returned to me, I would still have THIS to deal with.

With difficulty, I forced the dilemma away to focus on the here and now. Anton was extolling my beauty in a most poetical manner. It dawned on me that the kid was already hooked on my charms. Even though I was only six years older than him, I felt ancient in his presence. Like Madonna bagging some eighteen-year-old virgin. At least, I thought, blissfully, I didn't have to deflower my "owner."

Like most men, his age, Anton was not long in recovering. He asked nicely if I would consent to be on top and ride him to climax. I usually prefer to under a partner, but he was calling the shots and he did ask very sweetly. While I was pumping away, Anton mentioned that his household had a large stable of horses."Maybe we could ride together!" he stated before laughing at his own joke. His staying power was not quite to my satisfaction. I slid off of him and fell in next to his warm, large body.

"You are wonderful, Jillian. I could not have had a woman made to order as beautiful and wonderful as you."

"Thank you, Anton." I replied quite sincerely.

Before he had a chance to plan some other naughtiness, I rose, gathered up the pad and a charcoal pencil and began sketching him. He smiled and held a pose. I could tell that he had drawn live models before. For preliminary drawings, I'm pretty fast. It did not take me long to present him my work. I captured him sitting up against the headboard, the blanket, and sheets around his thigh, so what if I exaggerated the dimensions of his flaccid penis? Artistic license is fairly broad term.

"Superb, Jillian. Superb." he stated, "You really ARE an artist."

After a moment he continued, "I can't match this skill, but now it is my turn to draw you."

I was sitting with my legs on the floor my arms supporting the rest of me.

"Don't move." stated Anton as he got out of bed and pulled up a chair. He was nowhere near as fast as I am, but few are. The expressions on Anton's face he concentrated were priceless. I've rarely been on the other end of the artist's easel. Phillip fancied himself a photographer but posing for snapshots required little from me aside from a sincere looking smile.

At last, he finished. He was not bad at all. Had he attended an art school, there was a good chance the instructors could have whipped him into a fine talent. My compliments were honest and even included a bit of constructive criticism.

"I'll have these sketches framed." he announced. "As mementos of our first few hours together." Now, I ask you, what woman would not respond to that?

I kissed him deeply and realized that my emotions had not been artificially stimulated since his first icebreaker. I realized as I had not before, that I really could have ended up in a myriad of horrible places. No matter how awful the fact of my slavery was, no matter how awful my loss of freedom would always be, no matter how miserable the days, months and years ahead might become, Anton, whatever else his faults, was NOT horrible. Nor, I now realized, could he ever be.

We did it doggy style and once more in missionary before Anton's pecker completely petered out. We fell into a deep slumber in the early A.M and slept past noon the next day. Anton was big and warm, but I'd need to teach him just how to hold a woman in bed all night long. Already I understood that often, I would be in control of the relationship. It was good. A woman should always have that power.

The next morning, he showed me my toothbrush in his bathroom and was polite enough to wait outside while I did my business. After determining my exact sizes with a nifty gadget I wished I could take to my old world and patent, he logged onto what passed for the internet in this universe and began ordering me clothes. He allowed me NO say in what he ordered, claiming it would "Spoil the surprise." I did not like the sound of that. ON the other hand, he fulfilled my requisition of art supplies to the letter. He dressed me in the pretty frock from the night previous, save my bra and slippers, and we toddled down to the kitchen for brunch.

I could not read the expression of the collared maid. I read open contempt in the gaze of the prim and proper and collared butler. Trying her best to appear to have entered the room innocently and failing miserably came the dowager. She smirked, almost cracking her reserved features when she spied, Anton's left hand caress my thigh. While she was present she asked how we were getting along and reminded Anton, far more firmly than necessary, about her rules against unsolicited nudity in the living areas of the house. It pained me to see how cowed, Anton was when she was around. Later, when I spied other members of the family interact with her, I realized that Anton was actually the most independent and iron-willed of them all in her presence. I deduced that she wanted to increase that independence. Gifting me to him, giving him his society's most expensive and challenging responsibility, was, she was certain, just the way to do that. Before she left, Anton turned his head to converse with the butler, and I am positive, that the old bat actually smiled at me!

So as not to ruin the stockings, I took them off and I made a barefoot tour of some of the estate at Anton's side. There were private woods for birding and hiking, duck ponds, a creek, tennis court, a huge swimming pool, and a fore mentioned stable. One unused building appealed to me. With just a bit of work, it could make a perfect painting studio! Already, I could feel the pastels in my hand, visualize the easel and see my brush transform paper and canvas into things of beauty. I decided to ask Anton about the building and my dreams for it when the time was most opportune.

People as powerful as the Ulanovs do not have to wait long for anything. By early evening the first of many packages destined for Anton's room arrived. He allowed me to open all of the boxes from art shops, no questioned asked. Everything else went into a pile. He blindfolded me with one of his bandannas while he opened a few boxes. I heard him ooh and ah, like a kid at Christmas. Still blindfolded, he had me stand, stripped me starkers, and began dressing me. Whatever the fabric was it felt great. He slid stockings on my legs, panties on my loins, housed my breasts in a very comfortable bra. There were a skirt and belt and a buttoned blouse, and finally, I stepped into a pair of heels. Anton walked me slowly over to the full-length mirror and with a "Ta-DA!" pulled away my blindfold.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, certainly not this. The heels were navy blue, the same shade as the short skirt. The stockings were white as was the silk blouse with the mother-of-pearl buttons. Everything was exactly my size so they fit great. I MIGHT have picked this very same outfit for myself, on a really bad day. I tended to be a bit demure, but I could not deny that it probably would have looked great on some other woman.

"I have you dressed just in time for dinner!" boasted Anton.

"He held my hand as we made our way downstairs. "That was so much fun, Jillian, that I am issuing my first order that I expect to be obeyed. So long as I am present, you are FORBIDDEN from dressing yourself or choosing your attire. I WILL respect your opinion from time to time but the final decision is mine and mine alone!"

"Yes, Master." I replied robotically.

"I'm serious Jillian!"

"O.K, Anton." I replied and winked at him."At least I wouldn't have to take responsibility for any of my own future fashion faux pas!"

"Trust me, Jillian, Trust me."

"Do I have a choice?" I asked. Anton said nothing in response.

Dinner in the Ulanov family was more or less a formal affair. Women and girls were expected to dress up, men and boys were required to wear ties and jackets at a minimum. Anton looked nice in his jacket, tie, and oxford shirt. Dame Ulanov sat at the head of the very long table. The generations progressed downward until the end of the table was a few scattered adults, teenagers, and children. The kids were remarkably well behaved. To my surprise, there was a seat reserved for me. The place card to the left of Anton, as I later understood, read "Anton's Jillian," my new identity, and one that would be mine as far as I could see into the future. I pocketed the place card to commit to memory the crazy letters that made up the phrase. If I learned a few more words, I'd have my own Rosetta Stone.

The food was very good. Bits of it I could identify, corn, rice, beans. The meats were complete mysteries and the casseroles would have been tossed away as garbage in any kitchen I knew on my earth. The desserts seemed normal enough but, sour flavors seemed to be in vogue on this planet. I spoke to no one unless spoken to. Anton answered most of the queries about my presence from the children as only a smart uncle or cousin can. I mostly watched and learned. One of the women, dressed far nicer than myself, asked me where I bought my clothing. Anton answered vociferously and with pride, never discerning that the woman's original question was NOT a compliment.

After dessert, the adult men retreated to the smoking room to partake of panatellas. Before he joined his fellows he said to me, "These affairs are strictly stag, Jillian. I leave you in the capable hands of my sister-in-law, Faye" he gestured to an attractive blonde woman about my own age in a chair nearby. "I shan't be more than an hour or so." He kissed me and left. I stared at Faye. She stared at me. Neither of us spoke for several long moments. Finally, Faye rose, took my hands in hers and said, "Jillian is it? Shall we walk?"

I followed her lead and before long we were on the rear patio. Faye's voice was pleasant, at first.

"I must say, you are far more beautiful than I expected. Naturally, I had heard the rumor that Mrs. Ulanov was going to indulge her favorite, Anton. But I expected something much more dowdy. How did such a beautiful woman like you end up at the slave pens? Certainly, with your looks, you MUST have encountered a well-connected man or two capable of bribing the police? It is all very odd."

"Faye? It is a long and confusing story and I'm still piecing the details together myself."

"That's not really an answer."

"Perhaps NOT but IS the truth."

"So say you. As if I'd believe the word of a criminal."

Faye appeared to contemplate further questioning along these lines before she decided to let it drop.

"How is my brother-in-law treating you?"

"No complaints so far." I ventured.

"Anton tends to lend his heart and affections unwisely. Some women turn him into putty. Dame Ulanov, HE turns into putty. Let me be frank. The entire future of virtually everyone in that room whom you supped with DEPENDS upon Anton taking the reins of the company trust from the queen. If Dame Ulanov can not find an heir to her liking, the ENTIRE estate, from flagstones to roofing shingles will be willed to the state, and liquidated. If the estate goes, so do ALL of our inheritances! If Anton decides to toss it all away over his passions for a living sex doll, we ALL hang."

"There is no need to insult me." I answered

"You are what you are, Jillian. All I am trying to say is that you are being watched, carefully. If I were a smart slave who valued her pretty little neck, I would strive to focus my Master's interests outward. Get his mind beyond the grounds of this mansion. Give him a passion, even if it's just pimping you out for cash from his fraternity buddies, almost ANY kind of independent enterprise will do. God knows that this family has produced enough dilettantes over the last several generations. As I said, find something he loves and have him run with it. It will not take much independence on Anton's part to win the prize. A prize that the matriarch very much wants to give to him, so long as he proves himself worthy."

"Can't your husband?" I ventured.

"Roscoe? Hardly! My husband, like his siblings, is a sniveling doormat for his grandmother to walk all over, which she does, with relish. Only Anton has ever stood up to her, and that, mostly in small ways Roscoe's a nice enough guy, but I'm really just in this for the wallet and the luxury. I know a young stud in the city. He almost makes fucking my husband tolerable"

"Why tell me all this?" I asked.

"Because you have the potential to be closer to him than anyone else. You share his bed. You have his ear. Turn that boy inside out! Do this, and when the old lady passes on and Anton takes control; the rest of us will find a way to free you from your collar. I KNOW they told it was for life but this family can pull any string that exists. If Anton takes over, he will have to find a rich, respectable wife and you become yesterday's news. I'm sure you don't want to go back to those horrid slave pens."

I heard the men chuckling in the distance. Cigar time had ended. Faye made the motion of a slit throat with her index finger and hissed. "Not ONE word of this conversation to Anton or to the queen!"

I nodded my head in assent. Anton embraced me from behind, kissed me on the cheek and asked,

"Did you have a nice chat with Faye?"

"Yes, I did, Anton. It was most enlightening."

"She's a delight, Anton." said Faye nonchalantly "You are most fortunate."

"I'm glad you girls are getting along." replied Anton innocently.

A tiny plan began to unwind itself in my mind's eye. If I could not return home, then perhaps I could, at least, win my freedom.

Anton decided that it was still too early to retire. Actually, he said to me, "I NEVER feel like making love after smoking with the boys. With most of them, it is just the opposite. Let's go to the theater and watch a movie."

The mansion's private theater was on the lower level. We rode a charming little elevator to reach it. It was right out of one of those expensive stereo magazines. The kind of thing that Phillip used to drool over and say, "If money was no option..."

Anton called up the selection window. The choices were something else, featuring stars I mostly knew in movies that never existed in my universe. Nicolas Cage as "Superman? Eric Stoltz in the FIVE "Back to the Future" Movies?" Ronald Reagan in "Casablanca?" Audrey Hepburn in "Gypsy?" It was all too much to take in. I begged off and allowed Anton to make the selection. He called up a sweet romantic comedy featuring Jimmy Stewart as the determined suitor, Orson Welles as the rogue, and Carol Lombard, as the super smart hot chick, oblivious to the fact that Jimmy and Orson are secretly fighting over her with more than just romance in the balance. I was completely captivated!