O-A Little Later

O, a little later...

The address on the card in my hand turned out to be an apartment on the 3rd floor of a slightly tatty 19th century building. Ile de la Cite was still a fine Parisian address and spoke of old money. The staircase was once of fine quality, with flakes missing from the paint on the walls, while the iron balustrade was in need of a clean.

The woman who answered the door was elegant and calm, but would not have made you look twice if you saw her in the street. Her clothes were of fine quality and she moved easily in them, yet nothing was overtly sexual in her way of dressing. Her blouse was buttoned to an ordinary level, her skirt was of knee length, not tight and her shoes were flat heeled. Her calves were fine, slim and firm, which I could see as I followed her to the salon. A woman used to fine things, yet not arrogant or pretentious in her manner.

The apartment was much finer in its furnishings and maintenance than the stairway to her door.

We sat at an ormolu table, in chairs that were more elegant than comfortable, no doubt antiques of great worth. I shifted until I found a reasonable position. I asked to record our talk, she said 'As you wish'. Her voice was low and slightly husky, in excellent but accented English, with a light Scots lilt to be heard in occasional words. The Nagra recorder was the state of the art for 1978, yet the tape reels could be awkward to fit exactly, to get it wrong meant poor sound.

'Firstly I want to know how your life has progressed since the time that Anne's book was set. That would have been around 1954, I believe?' I tried to sound professional, despite being in the presence of the woman who had filled my nights for years.

'Oui, my first time at Roissy was at the end of January that year. It was the start of my real life. The events in her book are very accurate as to time, though she invented some things that never happened and concealed other things that did occur.' My interest rose at her words, they promised honesty and new insight into a famous true story. She spoke quietly and clearly, her eyes focused on the fire across the room. 'Ask what you will, my life is open to any who would know me'.

'Talk me through the main events of the years since the books, what happened with the men in the books?' I had prepared many questions, yet I wanted to start her talking and see where she took me. It was not hard, as she was ready to speak freely.

'Sir Stephen retained me close to him through the following winter, though I felt his conquest of me had become so complete that he found no challenge in it.' Her voice was low and calm yet had force and clarity.

'My body and soul were so completely his that there was no resistance in me to whatever he demanded. He used me often as a gift to business acquaintances, to sweeten their deals with him. This use became less personal as time went on. Often his driver would bring a card from him, to go in the car, to whoever he offered me to. These visits could last an hour or two, or a weekend, or once for 8 days, when they took me away.

'A single man had formed an obsession with me- in the book he is named Eric. I think Sir Stephen found it amusing to put me in his hands to use, as he knew I detested his manner with me- a mix of child and brute. Eric made it his business at first to punish me fiercely for my loyalty to Sir Stephen. In that first year he came to Roissy when he knew I was there, and took me to his rooms for days at a time. He used a bullwhip on me one night, which has left scars I wear today. He used me harshly, with anything that was to hand, his fist, a bottle- he once impaled my sex on the bedpost and used my rear for his pleasure. I said nothing, though screamed often. Sir Stephen would ask me to describe what Eric did with me, with detail and showing the marks I bore from him. I think he liked to hear how freely I was used and with what utter submission.' O's voice trembled as she spoke of this time.

'As Eric's passion for me grew, Sir Stephen became more distant and used me rarely. He still kept me close much of the time, naked at his feet, with his hand idly caressing my breast or back. I was often his desk toy and I cleaned his hand with my mouth when he was done probing inside me.

'By the second year, Eric began to change in his manner to me. He remained forceful, yet the intensity of his brutality faded. I think that he chose to work on my heart to break the bond that Sir Stephen had for me. This was helped by the long trip Sir Stephen took to Indonesia in early 1956. Eric asked him if I could be left with him during his absence, to which Sir Stephen agreed. I later found that money had changed hands to seal the arrangement. The night before Sir Stephen left, he took me many times, and whipped me in a particularly harsh way, directly on my sex, which he had never done before. I remember hearing my irons squeak as the whip fell on me. When I awoke I had no memory of the end of that beating. It was so brutal I could not walk for some days. I never saw him again after that night.

'During the first few months with Eric, I found I was with child. Eric believed the child was his, but I knew it was not. I had always believed I was sterile, yet I was convinced the child was Sir Stephen's, who only ever used my rear, yet his seed often dripped out and across the opening of my sex. He loved to push his fingers inside me, more so after Eric's rough use of my sex with his whole hand had made me more open than ever. So many other men used me at those times that Eric had only a slight chance of being the father.

'Eric kept me naked at all times, he took me to his bed each night and tirelessly rutted with me, both fore and aft, while stroking my growing belly. He seemed to want my pleasure, which was strange for me, after two years when only my acquiescence and suffering was sought and taken. I think he wanted the child to grow in pleasure within me. My moans seemed to satisfy that need within him. He could not forgo whipping me, though. To be honest I would not have wanted him to stop that- the whip was my release, to lose its touch would have left me empty inside. He kept me to himself and I saw no-one else during that time, not even his servant.

'When labour began he watched me endure the pain, smiling with each contraction. He ran his hand through the fluid that ran down my legs, and brought his other hand to me as the blood flowed from me. As the head came forth, he held my irons aside, to prevent harm. Shortly after my daughter was born he returned in a vile rage, seized my irons and tore them from my swollen nether lip. He picked us both up and bundled us out his door, dropping us naked in the garden in front of his house. Sir Stephen's features were clearly on the girl, not Eric's.'

End of Chapter 1.

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