The Choices of Evelyn Ch. 16-18

The old woman stood smiling, patting the bowed head of her grandchild. Whispering with her boss, they chuckled.

"Go and look after him, love," M whispered to Eva.

She hastened towards the boy on her wobbly ankles, kneeling beside him and hugging him. The boy's skin felt cold, he trembled. Their masks prevented rubbing their faces together.

"Sandro," she intended to say. "Sandi." But it came out as "Aw-aw. Aw-we." M pulled at Eva's leash and said, smiling: "Sorry, lovers... we really must go now. Can't let them wait, can we?"

***

It was cold and damp outside, although the rain had stopped. Dusk was ready to make a gray day slide into a cloudy night. M gladly accepted the warm mink cape Gustav wrapped around her bare back and shoulders. Eva stood by, shivering in her painted nakedness, wondering what Sandro felt, crouching on the cruel pebbles.

The driver opened the door, helping M into the tan leather interior as Eva and her crawling friend stood waiting in the cold. He carefully closed the door. Then he walked around and opened the tailgate. Kicking Sandro, he growled to get in. Nothing was left of the amiable man Eva remembered. He pushed at her shoulder, forcing her inside with the muzzled boy-dog, and closed the lid.

The Mercedes almost soundlessly pulled off. In the chilly darkness of their confined space, the two creatures hugged for warmth and comfort. Eva's mask and gag and the boy's muzzle prevented talking or even feeling the moist skin of their faces, but their bodies could share their warmth. With dismay, Eva felt arousal spreading through her body. Even now, even here. Would she ever escape the horny, omnipresent lust the woman had injected, bullied and whipped into her so relentlessly? It was an appetite that seemed to never leave her anymore; a forced addiction that occupied her fuzzy mind as well as her conditioned body – seducing her to surrender. She could no longer negate it, even if she'd wanted to. Did she still want to? Was it even a matter of choice anymore? She embraced the boy, feeling a rush of responsibility. She wondered what he felt; if he still felt anything at all.

One day, after the death of his mother, his grandmother had dragged him by his hair and dropped him at the feet of her boss, the blue-eyed woman. M. Papers had been signed, Eva understood. And the two times the boy had fled from the woman's grueling discipline, back to his grandmother, Gina had given him a thrashing that was at least as disheartening as what he'd fled from.

Sandro had been erased. Sandi seemed happy with anything the woman handed him. He craved attention with the eagerness of an abandoned child. His already girlish body had been assaulted with hormones and an endless regimen of humiliation and mental conditioning. He'd do anything now, anything.

The trunk of the car felt cramped; there was hardly space to breathe. But, as the car sped up, Eva felt the warmth of their entwined bodies. Curling her naked limbs around the boy, she tried to physically communicate the fond thoughts her locked mouth could not express. The car's engine hummed around them. The expensive suspension saved her from any discomfort concerning the road, but her jaws hurt from stretching and the nipple clamps were a constant distraction. Mostly though she was aroused – eternally, helplessly, disgustingly, wonderfully aroused.

***

Finally, the car stopped. Muffled by the hull of the car's trunk, Eva heard the opening of doors, the crunching sound of footsteps, murmuring voices, distant music. Then the tailgate opened. A sudden rush of cold air made her shiver. Hands pulled her and the boy out of the trunk. She saw men in old-fashioned liveries talking with M and Gustav while she and Sandro huddled to stay warm against a cold night breeze. Looking up, Eva saw a stately building against the dark sky, its walls and turrets flooded in electrical light. Being set in a park, it oozed a lovely, ancient elegance.

"Stand straight, Evalita; down, doggie! Make me proud, darlings," M called out from the front steps of the house. She smiled, hugging the warm furs around her shoulders. Then she turned and disappeared inside.

A valet mumbled something, nudging the two of them to enter a small side entrance. Eva's heels resounded on the stone floor of a long hallway, dimly lit and undecorated. Sandro crawled beside her on his no doubt sore hands and knees. At the end a door opened, and they were pushed into a vast state room, hung with tapestry and chandeliers. It was filled with the strangest group of people Eva had ever seen – erotic, exotic and mostly undressed. They represented every kind of physical beauty the world produces. Blondes and brunettes were there, boys and girls, black princesses and Scandinavian athletes. Delicate Asian dolls displayed their porcelain skin, a tall Nubian male was mostly dressed in the oiled splendor of his blue-black skin, only his crotch covered by a leopard's pelt. A lovely petite girl leaned against him, her hair blond and curly, her eyes wide and baby-blue.

When they entered, every gaze in the room turned to them, all looking distant, cold. Was it boredom? Or was it hostility? From beyond the wall to her left, muted music sounded. Violins, mostly; Mozart, she guessed. Eva felt uncomfortable standing there, getting this icy attention. She was being weighed and measured, she felt, judged and... dismissed? Sandi hugged her calves from behind. Why was she the only one in this room gagged and masked and clamped, painted and closed up by a metal chastity device? There were feminine looking boys in short, white Roman togas; and very pretty naked girls with bare round titties and tiny penises. Some girls wore transparent tops, some had tattoos, but they mostly displayed their natural nudity, and were very relaxed at it.

She might be the most elaborately decorated one in the room, Eva thought, but she also must be the one feeling the most naked. And for the first time on this day of humiliating charade, the thought didn't arouse her. She felt shamefully ridiculous, glad that she wore a mask. It worked like a shield, a little dark room in which she could separate herself from her ludicrously ornamented body. And the room's hostile scrutiny.

Unconsciously, Eva did a step forward, shielding little Sandi with her body. She felt the boy's hands around her legs, his breath warming her thigh.

"You must be new." It was the small, curly girl that leant into the black giant. She smiled, and her clear childish voice sounded friendly. But her blue eyes were dark now, the pout of her mouth disapproving. Or was it? Eva nodded, unable to answer. The girl's eyebrows rose as her mouth became a tight O.

"So sorry about your gag," she said, stepping forward, touching the silver ball. "You must have been a really bad girl." She chuckled after stretching the 'bad.' "Aah," she proceeded, pulling lightly at one of the chains attached to Evelyn's nipple clamps. It sent an electrical shock into her body, making her wince. "Such a cruel Mistress you must have." The hand rested on the metal chastity cup. Then she stepped back, ignoring the crouching boy completely as she spread her arms to include the room. "Anyway," she said, smiling," as you're new, let me introduce you. I'm Angel, and, well, the others have all sorts of names too, although knowing them is entirely pointless, isn't it?" She snickered. Then she turned to Eva again. "I would love to know your name," she said. "But I'm sure you won't tell me." She laughed out loud at her own joke.

It sounded like silver bells.

***

Chapter Seventeen – Hortense.

A bell chimed, and the young pretty-boys and little she-males ran through a backdoor, disappearing into an adjacent room.

"Come," Angel said, winking Eva to follow her. She opened another door on a crack, showing a luxurious dining room, filled with guests. White damask covered an oval table, china plates and crystal glasses caught the candlelight. The silverware shone and made its reflections dance along the ceiling at every touch. Leaning closer, Eva saw M sitting at the table, having a quiet conversation with an older woman next to her. Looking around, she saw they were all women, about a dozen of them, mostly over forty and dressed to kill. To the left, on a small stage, six young girls played the chamber music she'd heard before, something Italian now, Scarlatti, maybe. The music wove a warm, hazy atmosphere around them. All the musicians were naked.

Then metal chimed against crystal and the music died. Around the table, all eyes turned to where a woman in white sat, obviously the host of the evening. She rose to address her guests before the first course would be served.

"Friends", she said with a breezy voice that was no stranger to alcohol and tobacco. "Our meetings really are too few and too far apart. Je vous souhaite le bienvenue, I wish you all a hearty welcome. I hope tonight will be as satisfying as suits our tradition." A soft rap of well-polished fingertips ran around the table. The woman in white lifted her glass of sparkling wine. All followed her example, sipping carefully after toasting the success of things to come. Then the woman clapped her hands. Tall doors flew open and the orchestra stroke up another piece Eva knew, the Halleluja by Haendel – all festive and triumphant. In a fragrant cloud of pink rose petals eight or nine creatures danced into the dining hall. They were naked angels, balancing silver plates on their hands – pinkish girls with flowery garlands around their heads, and the softly curved little she-males she'd seen before.

The first cherub slid onto the lap of one of the guests, feeding her a small amuse on a spoon. The others followed suit. Soon a pretty little pink angel pecked M on the cheek. It settled its plump butt onto her thighs, laughing and singing an Italian children's song. The little boy-girl kissed M once more with his syrupy lips and flew on. All around the table smiling faces met smiling faces. The air itself seemed to have turned into spun sugar. Fireflies danced where the silverware caught the light. It was like a merry go round until the last guest had been served. Then the whirlwind of fun and laughter fled the room again, leaving the guests out of breath.

Eva looked on from her hidden place.

"Isn't it lovely?" the curly girl said, standing next to her, her hand on Eva's elbow. It was a tiny hand, she saw. Eva nodded at the room, uttering a few garbled words. "Ah, well," the girl said, moving her arm around Eva's chain-wrapped body. "You mean: who are they, at the table?" Eva nodded. "They're a club of rich bitches buying and torturing the kinds of us, mostly," Angel said, shrugging. "The one toasting right now, is Mistress Hortense, some ancient French nobility, as more of them are – French, Italian, Austrian, even Russian, you know? Your Mistress is the tall blonde, isn't she? She's Swedish, I hear, very rich, but no nobility; still young and rather new. Saw her only once before." The girl tightened her hold on Eva; the warmth of her body radiated into hers. Eva felt her soft lips on the skin of her shoulder. "But what do we care about names?" the girl went on. "They're all Mistresses, no? And we? We're nothing." She shrugged, making her curls tickle Eva's skin. Then she chuckled and danced away.

In the dining room the music had returned to its unobtrusive background murmuring. A butler announced the first course: huge ice-filled silver plates covered with open oysters and other seashells, served by well-muscled waiters clad in long leather aprons that left their entire back exposed. Before the guests could reach for the delicacies, though, the woman in white stood yet again.

"Friends," she started. "Before feasting on these invigorating delicatessen, I'd once again like to remind you. The stimulation of your taste buds is only part of the carnival of the senses I planned for you tonight..." She again clapped her hands and the naked little orchestra burst into a crazily upbeat part of Rossini's Barbiere de Seviglia. And like a carnival indeed, a troupe of colorful creatures tumbled into the room.

All the naked pretty boys and girls waved with flags on sticks, balloons and snakelike lengths of colored cloth, throwing coils of serpentine and clouds of confetti as they danced their silly procession around and around the table. Then, on the climax of the music, their group exploded and every one of the boys and girls and girly boys dove under the hanging damask of the table – extracting surprised squeals from their stern and noble owners.

Eva looked around and watched the faces of the guests – how they tried to keep up a blasé conversation and not betray their increasing arousal from what happened between their legs down there. The hanging tablecloth shielded what really went on. Soon eyes closed, and faces got flushed. Perfectly manicured fingers clawed at napkins, throats swallowed, and the first muffled moans were mercifully drowned by the ongoing music.

Eva focused on M. She had to admit that the woman hid whatever she felt marvelously, although a blush started spreading from her neck. She closed her eyes twice, but when they opened, their blue was as calm and steely as ever.

Imagining what happened to the woman, sent a delicious shiver up Eva's spine. And a pang of what – envy? – to the pit of her stomach. Not envy for the woman, but for the invisible, anonymous little cunt sucker under the table. A flash of Venetian sunshine touched her memory – the murmur of the canal's water, the yelling of the boatmen passing, the taste of M's juices.

Focusing again, Eva saw M pick an oyster from the ice-filled platter in front of her, bringing it to her mouth with a steady hand. For a second, the steely eyes closed as her lips opened and her neck arched. Then she let the salty morsel slide down her throat. The slithering oyster, the salty juices, the returning memories... combined, they made Eva churn her metal-covered crotch against the door jamb, trying to get some friction, some relief... Oh, God... she thought, watching M reach a strangled orgasm at the other side of the room... oooh, oh God...

One of the valets, a tall African in a tight, white uniform, blew a whistle, and the sweet tormentors crawled from under the hanging damask. Their faces shone, their hair looked sticky, their skin was aflush with heat and excitement. And all the pretty slaves were smiling – the boys, the girls, and the girl-boys. They licked the juices off of each other's bodies and faces. Then they huddled together and giggled as they left the room on their way to be tidied and no doubt prepared for other treats.

Eva noted that the music had stopped. The gap slowly filled with murmuring voices. Laughs sounded around the table. There were excited exclamations, and comments on what had happened. People started to concentrate on the iced seafood in front of them. Eva felt a hand at her elbow again.

"Your turn," the girl, Angel, said. A hot wave hit Eva. A dizzying cocktail of panic, apprehension, excitement and yes, of course, arousal weakened her knees as she stared at the girl – her eyes like saucers behind the silver mask.

Her turn.

***

The lights went on. Eva prayed wordless prayers as she waited for the huge doors to open. Then a loud drumbeat made the air vibrate. From her position she could see the huge, hammerlike drumstick rise, wielded by the Nubian giant's arm. Then it came down, creating another explosion of sound that sent quivers up her belly.

Through the open doors, she saw the first of her little troupe march into the candle-lit dusk of the dining room, the light at their back no doubt painting haloes around their silhouettes.The giant towered over them all; petite Angel was at his side, holding the heavy leash that hung from his throat in her tiny hand. She'd never be able to control the giant should he chose to rebel. But he wouldn't, would he?

He wouldn't.

Behind them strutted two naked midgets, who'd joined them only minutes ago. They were a man and a woman the size of children. Their massive heads wore wreaths of ivy around two perfect little horns. Their ankles and feet were lengthened, with stilts, maybe, and covered to look like the hooves of goats. The male dwarf played a pan's flute, it's shrill notes meandering around the beat. His woman held a silver chain that led to the collar around Eva's throat.

The music played parts of Orphée et Eurydice, a sweet, perverted love story from the Underworld. Eva closed her eyes for a second, overcome by the eerie notes. Then she moved the heel of her right foot forward, thanking God that she could hardly discern the eyes aimed at her. She tried to imagine what they saw: a mythological procession of freaks – a black giant, led by a naked nymph, dwarf satyrs, horned and hooved. And then, painted green and silver, masked and clad in chains that chimed and rattled, this freak of freaks stepped in, her mouth gagging on a ball, a tall ponytail rising from a silver skull cap, her tits covered with sparkling clamps, her hand leading a crouching, naked dog that really was a muzzled sissy boy hugging her leg in obvious fear. His purple dog-cock scraped the floor.

Eva felt her ankle wobble as she moved a lethal heel forward into the creamy candlelight. She'd never been any good at performing in public. Looking around the table, she felt the floor move under her uncertain foot as she watched the greedy faces, the bulging eyes, and the open mouths. Old women she saw, bitter women. Then she concentrated on the one, pale face she knew, the eyes darkened by the dusk; the mouth a narrow line.

M.

Could she be nervous too? 'Yes,' she thought, trying to focus so hard that her wordless words would reach this woman who dragged her here, 'I hope it is worth it, whatever you planned. So, you bought and abducted me, you flogged me and drugged me for this? To perform like a freak for these degenerate hags?' They must be important to you. Why?'

As the pageant came to a halt, Eva turned her head. Her eyes sought out the woman in white, Mistress Hortense, Angel called her, a French-Italian Countess, ancient nobility, and she almost tasted the danger. M was nervous too, she saw; nervous like a schoolgirl, and it was because of this woman, her featureless face waxen from endless cosmetic surgery, her plastic tits billowing over what she now saw was a white leather corset. Why be afraid of that when you're M, the most fearsomely beautiful woman she'd ever met?

She saw the Countess talk with her table companion, holding a hand up to hide her mouth. The woman's eyes went to Eva, then to M, and back to her table companion, nodding and talking. Eva saw M smile a mechanical smile, plastered on her Nordic face. What was going on?

The girl Angel left the Nubian and picked up Eva's leash. Standing in front of her, she rose to tiptoes to reach Eva's ear with her mouth. "You look fine. Don't worry," she whispered and led the gagged and masked girl to the woman in white. There she dropped to her knees, kissed the floor and talked to the woman's shoes in a voice too low for Eva to understand. Then she crawled to the side, leaving Eva alone with the woman.

Eva stood in complete silence, Sandro still hugging her calf.

"So, you're the eighth wonder of the world, I hear," the woman said, her words carrying an accent, French no doubt, or was it Italian? "An unbroken slave they say you are; such a remarkable paradox," she went on. "They say you obey every whim of your Mistress but have not been broken. Now tell me, lil' whore, how on earth did she do this? And, for God's sake, why?" Soft murmuring laughter ran around the table. "Ah, yes, of course," the waxen-faced woman went on. "You have some trouble speaking."