Mrs. Yates' Trek

"She has beautiful skin, mother."

"Yes, doesn't she? Firm muscles as well. Intoxicating figure."

"She must have cost a pretty penny."

"She certainly did. I think she will suit our needs precisely."

After a long soak, the plug was pulled, and mother and daughter took turns drying me off.

I was led to an old child's bed.

"Lie down and part your legs, slave," commanded the mother.

I was terrified but I complied. The mother returned with a basin of warm water, shaving powder, and a straight razor.

"A bit of groundskeeping. Slaves, whether they be male or female, must be rendered hairless everywhere below the nostrils. I'm going to do that now, beginning with your feminine triangle. It will be reduced to a postage-stamp-sized oval to demonstrate to the world that you come by your blonde locks naturally. Then, I'm going to do the rest of you. Be very still. I'm quite adept with the razor, even so..."

I nodded dumbly.

It was horrid! I looked almost like a child when she was finished. I ran my hands over my now hairless mound. It felt as strange as it looked. Only low women did this or allowed this to be done to them. What did that make me?"

Mrs. Opel chuckled at my discomfiture.

"You'll get used to it," she said flatly

"Where are those measurements, Susan?"

"On the long table."

"Oh, yes here they are." she gestured at a row of shelves. "Take the black bolt out of its cubby and cut off the lengths I tell you to."

I stood, wrapped in a towel as the sewing machine roared to life. In short order, I was presented with a short, black, skin-tight dress with a plunging neckline. To wear under it, a scandalously transparent bandeau and equally transparent step-ins. I was handed suspenders and two long, black silk stockings.

"You are in luck; you share the shoe size of your predecessor."

I placed my feet in the low black patent leather boots. They fit very well. I was scandalized by the dress, the only reason it existed was to emphasize my figure and leave almost nothing to the imagination. Not even the ladies of the evening of my home country would wear something so decadent. In some ways, it was worse than nudity. My nudity was innocence. This dress was a declaration of willingness to perform any salacious act!

"Well, aren't you adorable!" exclaimed the Mrs.

"She certainly is mother. Father has a very good eye."

"Of course, he does, he married me!"

Mother and daughter laughed. The big clock in the corner chimed.

"My word, Susan. Look at the time. You have to change. Remember, Robison Jewel, is taking you to dinner at the club."

"Oh, Mother, Robinson is so ordinary."

"Perhaps, but he is from the right sort of family and has the right sort of wealth. Looks are not a man's only asset. Some men indeed are quite homely but make ideal husbands."

"Robinson is ordinary everywhere. He bores me."

"Enough, you will be a perfect escort for him tonight."

"Fine. But I like Bradley Silver much more."

"Bradley has no money!"

"Well, at least he's not a boring momma's boy!"

"This discussion is over!"

"Yes, mother."

The dark-haired girl sighed as she left the room.

"Let us convene in my study."

I followed Mrs. Opel to a lovely sitting room down the hall. There was a tea service and two chairs.

"Sit. How do you take your tea, girl?"

"Milk and one sugar."

I received and sipped a cup of expertly prepared tea.

Mrs. Opel closed the door and locked it.

"Now we won't be interrupted. I suppose you have lots of questions," she said as she settled herself opposite me.

"Yes, Mistress."

She smiled at me. I didn't like that smile.

"It's a simple thing really. My youngest, Clark was a difficult pregnancy and horrendous labor and delivery. Every doctor has told me the same thing, another pregnancy would be fatal to both me and my unborn child. My wonderful husband, Henry was quite understanding. Still, a man has needs. There are many things I can do for my beloved. There remain, however, certain things I cannot do. That is where you come in."

My marrow froze as I contemplated the implications.

"It's not a bad life really, Henry is a marvelous lover. You will be well tended. A certain chemical, some of which is in the tea you are sipping, will forestall any pregnancies. Of course, it may shorten your life by several years, but that is a risk I am prepared to take. All I ask is that you not tread the path of your predecessor. That little fool tried to alienate Henry's affections! Once I understood the nature of her scheme she was dealt with accordingly. She now resides in a brothel and is nowhere near as beautiful as she once was. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"You are quite the luxury. I won't ask you to do manual labor, we have a full staff for that. I will be looking after your figure and making sure that you remain fit and trim. I can be quite monomaniacal in that area. You are to be a demure yet alluring asset. We expect circumspection and dignified behavior everywhere. Except, of course, between the sheets!" She chuckled and continued. "You shall also be my companion and, eventually, my confidant. We'll needlepoint together, read and discuss books and always think of new ways to keep Henry interested." She smiled that smile at me once more. "Finish your tea, dear. Drink every drop,"

It was the very nightmare I feared. I gulped down the rest of my tea. I was at sea. At sea with neither compass nor sail, encircled by storm clouds. I was to be a concubine! My hands shook as I set the teacup down,

"No need to be nervous, girl."

I gazed at her wide-eyed.

"I suppose we should call you something. Henry normally lets me name the slaves. There is something of the wood nymph about you. I shall call you Silvia, after forests and forest life. Tell me your name, slave."

I choked out, "My name is Sylvia," then everything inside me tore loose and I began weeping as I never had before, not even in the wagon or in the slave cell.

Mrs. Opel passed me a handkerchief and gently patted me on the back. "That was the single hardest step you had to take, Silvia. Now you know, for the first time ever, who and what you truly are."

She left me alone with my broken heart for I don't know how long. When she returned, she tapped me on the shoulder. "Come Silvia, we must see off Susan, and word from the field supervisor is that Henry and Clark had a successful hunt. Feeling like a stranger inside my own body, I allowed the Mrs. to lead me back downstairs to the front room.

Susan descended shortly after us. She looked positively radiant in a mauve gown. Gems hung from her earlobes and neck and gold rings were on several fingers. I looked at my naked left hand and felt bereft once more. Even if I was, through some miracle, able to contact Hamilton at this very minute, there was no way he could possibly reach me in time to preserve my honor. I was doomed.

There was an ado beyond the front door. The servant opened it to reveal the male Opels, each with two slain pheasants over their shoulder, and a well-dressed but quite ordinary-looking young man. All three were engaged in conversation which ceased once the door opened. I felt every male eye as it toured my anatomy. It was an appalling feeling. The young man quickly forced his eyes from me.

"Ah, Susan!" began the young man. He produced a corsage and asked, "Will you do me the honor of your company this evening for dancing and dining at the club."

Susan rolled her eyes, gazed at her mother, and replied. "I'd be delighted."

Father and son watched the young man lead Susan into an attractive carriage and speed off.

"What does she see in that boy?" asked Mr. Opel.

"He is from a good family, and he has wealth," replied the Mrs.

"Perhaps but his backbone is tallow and I've seen more engaging countenances on imbeciles!"

"He'll grow on you, darling."

"What about that other one, the Silver fellow? Now there is a man."

"Unsuitable. Give Robinson a chance."

"Him as my brother-in-law? What in the world would we talk about mother? He doesn't hunt, our business and schooling interests clash, and Susan detests him!"

"Robinson is a fine boy."

"Boy being the key word," put in Henry.

"That is enough out of you two! Hand those fowl to the cook and clean your foul personages and be ready for dinner in an hour."

"Yes, Ma'am!" said father and son as one.

"Come, Silvia. You shall dress me for dinner.

Knowing that rebellion was not only pointless but dangerous, I followed the mistress of the house to her dressing chamber. I marveled at the luxury I saw on display there, fine silks, gorgeous furs, intricate feathers, and all of it astoundingly beautiful. I realized that she had dressed down to go to the slave market in town. That fine dress I was so proud of just a few days ago, was mere rags in comparison.

My heart also fell at the sight. If Mr. Opel could dress his wife so flamboyantly, he would surely laugh at any amount Hamilton could produce to ransom me. I knew now with certainty that here I would dwell, compelled to do the unimaginable until either I lost my looks or the Opels grew tired of me. Perhaps I would see Hamilton again when I was an old woman and he, freshly widowed of his second wife and their passel of children grown, feeling nostalgic, dipped into his military pension to restore the wife of his youth. Amazingly, I succeeded in fighting off the tears that thought inspired.

I unlaced the Mrs.'s dress. Clad in just her scanties, was a physique still young and alluring. Only the thin lines of age about her eyes and the slight sag of her still-trim tummy revealed her true age. A man at any stage of his life, even lads just coming into manhood would be delighted with such a wife. I had no doubt that she kept her husband quite happy. I was also clearly no threat to her. I wondered just how things would transpire when evening arrived!

"Well done, Sylvia. I see that you are familiar with fine clothes. When you are properly trained, I may dress you up for jaunts to town. It would still be readily apparent to all that you are a slave, but the fact that I possess the means to gild such a common asset as a mere slave speaks phenomenally well of my place in society."

Not knowing how to react to that truth, I simply curtsied and said, "Thank you, Mistress."

"Judging by that aroma, the chef has made a fine meal of the pheasants the menfolk took. Take my hand, Sylvia."

She led me to the magnificent dining room. Henry and Clark Open arrived at almost the same time. I had to conclude that both were rather handsome. Henry with his carefully trimmed beard and warm blue eyes, especially. He wore a fine suit, the waistcoat of which was adorned with a brocade pattern. Clark's suit was fine, but it was clear that it would be several years at least until he needed to every day, let alone sprout a beard of his own.

Henry sat at the head of the table. Mrs. Opel sat to his right; I was on his left. There was an empty space opposite me which I suppose was normally occupied by Susan. Clark sat at the end of the table. His eyes devoured me. I felt myself flush at his naked assessment. Henry looked at me knowingly as though my future had already occurred.

Clark did the honors of slicing and divvying up the pheasants. First, he served his mother. Next, he served his father. Then he served himself before serving me. This was to be my place in this home, an addendum, and an afterthought. An afterthought with particular usages, of course.

Dinner was extremely tasty. The Mrs. allowed me only one helping, however. The wine was sweet and heady. Mr. and Mrs. Opel allowed me several large glasses. The wine made the room spin a bit which I did not mind in the least as it took me out of my head where I really didn't want to be anyway.

I tried to pay attention to the conversation around the table. That Mrs. Noreen Opel was the center of things was obvious, but she also shared the floor with her husband and son. She was genuinely interested in their manly pursuits such as hunting. When my husband tried to talk to me about such matters, I smiled politely and composed my grocery shopping list while he droned on. Father and son discussed what to expect in the business world. Apparently, Clark was about to begin an apprenticeship in one of his father's several related companies. There was even some discussion of the absent Susan. Henry most assuredly did not share his wife's opinion on the desirability of the Robinson lad. I wondered who would win the argument. I hoped ultimately that Susan would be happy. Every young woman should be happy with their beau as I once was and hoped to be again.

Dinner ended. Servants materialized and cleared away the dishes. For the first time in a long time, I had not had to perform that duty. Neither would I be washing, drying, and stacking the plates and silverware. That was quite nice, but I would gladly submit to any and all physical toil in this home so long as I never had to go near an occupied bedroom.

The family moved the discussion to the parlor, taking me along. I sat on a low couch. Mrs. Opel played the piano quite well but only for a few songs. Clark took her place on the stool. His playing was a revelation, beautiful, and beyond talented. He played a series of popular songs. Mother and son winked at each other, and the piano fell silent.

"Let's see if Sylvia can sing," announced the Mrs.

"Yes, sing "The Prisoner Song"," put in Mr. Opel.

I gasped. Of course, I knew the song, who doesn't? But the idea of singing it under my current situation?

"Sing it!" came three voices. The piano began to play.

I found my voice as the first verse ended. I picked it up at the lament the prayer of the people as they were led into slavery.

"By the river there we hung up our lutes for our captors required of us songs of freedom."

I began crying. The song's emotional chords struck home with my soul. To be placed in the same position as the believers at their supreme moment of angst and doubt was overwhelming. I felt even lower when every Opel face present smiled at me in a mocking manner. I wished I'd been permitted more wine. It would have made everything easier.

In the third stanza, the Opel family joined in as though the song was just a song and not a statement of my reality.

The Opel voices trailed off and I finished the song on my own. The three clapped softly, patronizing me.

"You have a lovely voice, Silvia," said Mrs. Opel. "If she's terrible, Henry, we could recoup our losses by having her sing on street corners for cash."

"There aren't enough street corners n the world to recoup what I paid. At your insistence, I may add, love."

The Mrs. chuckled and replied with, "I'm sure, she'll be fine."

"Hey, pop, Silvia has to listen to me as well as you and Mother, right?"

"Of course, son. She is subservient to everyone, including the hired help."

"Interesting."

"Remember that you are a gentleman, son."

"Some of your gentlemen friends are real scoundrels, pop."

"Whether that is true or not son, you are the furthest thing from a scoundrel. You are an Opel!"

"I know that pop. I'm also almost a man."

"I see which direction you are heading to, son. We will discuss that later. In private."

"Don't you have some studying to do, Clark?"

"Not really, mother."

"I beg to differ, son. As an apprentice, there is always something to learn and discover. Find something to do."

Realizing that arguing would be pointless, the lad stood, said goodnight to his mother and father, excused himself, and strode up the ornate staircase.

I watched him depart with a sinking feeling. The inevitable had inched closer.

Henry and Noreen Opel were seated on a loveseat. Since I had not been given permission to sit, I was still standing, some of my weight leaning against a wall.

"Come over here, Sylvia. Sit on my husband's lap."

I swallowed hard and prayed for strength. I crossed the short distance. I bit my lower lip and settled myself.

Mr. Opel inhaled deeply. "She cleans up right nice, Noreen."

"I thought you would approve, darling. That's why I told you to bid on her."

His hand touched my cheek, and my neck, then ran the length of my body before stopping at my knee. A shiver ran through me.

"Look at me girl," he stated.

I turned my head towards him, but I had trouble meeting his ice-blue eyes.

"For someone who claims to have once been married, she certainly seems shy."

"The shy and quiet ones tend to set the sheets on fire, honey."

"Your instincts are usually correct, sweetie."

He and the Mrs. Exchanged kisses.

"Look at me, slave."

I forced myself to meet his intense gaze.

Next came the words I knew would come. The words I feared.

"Kiss me, slave."

What else could I do? I closed my eyes and raised my lips to his. My thoughts were of my husband. The kiss felt like the bump of a wagon when a wheel strikes a rut, startling and overwhelming. There was a second kiss with the same sensation. The third kiss was long and lingering and delightful. Our faces parted, and I gasped. Why was I reacting this way? Mr. Opel's right hand stroked my shoulder and then cupped my breast.

"So beautiful!" he whispered. I felt his manhood stiffen beneath my posterior. A flutter coursed through my body. His left hand squeezed my thigh. The Mrs. Placed her hands on my calves.

"Isn't my husband handsome?" she asked softly.

Indeed, he was. Would that he looked like a beast or a scarecrow!

"Aren't his kisses sweet?"

Indeed, they were. Would that they were foul and bitter.

"We bought you because your beauty excelled over all the other women for sale," he said as he stroked my hair.

"We bought you because you need a strong, virile man to make you the woman you should be and always could have been," she said firmly.

Was not my Hamilton a strong, virile man? Was my need for him illusory?

His hand traced up my thigh, went under my skirt, traced the top of my left stocking, and stroked the outside of my step-ins. Another tremor coursed through me. The next kiss was long, deep, and heady. My head was spinning and not from the wine. I placed my hand upon his above my skirt.

"Please!" I gasped.

"Oh, I intend to please you, fair one."

His long delicate fingers progressed past the limits of my step-ins. He was inside me. I felt myself involuntarily moisten. He whispered in my ear, "You want the happiness I can provide." He probed deeper. It was delightful! It was awful!

The Mrs. removed my shoes and began massaging my feet. The Mr. began unbuttoning my dress, it gaped open to the navel. I felt my nipples harden. Why was I reacting this way? Was I a secret slattern? Was Hamilton's jest that I had the "hunger of a whore" no jest? My shoulders were exposed. His hand left hand traced the line of my collarbone. His lips were hot on the hollow of my neck. felt the Mrs. unhook my stockings and slowly unroll them down my legs. I felt her fingers and lips upon my toes!

He manipulated my body with assured authority. My arms were bare, the dress simply a pile at my hips. He unfastened the knot in my bandeau. With his lips and fingertips, he traced the line of my areolas before he set to work on my nipples. It was heavenly! It was damnation! He was far more skilled than my beloved Hamilton! His iron from the forge-hot lips kissed their way down my body. They circled my navel. The Mrs. Pulled away my dress and step-ins in one motion. I was naked before him. I was a rag doll in his grasp. He manipulated me until my cunny was just under his mouth. He closed in. NO! It shouldn't feel this good! NO! Without hair, the sensation greatly improved, but the Master was so talented it mattered not. I opened wider for him. He toyed with my love knot in ways Hamilton had never done. I gasped as my body tingled all over and things went dark for a moment. I felt the Mrs.'s lips upon my own! Both husband and wife squeezed my breasts. Her voice was in my ear.