The Servant Copyright 2011 by Edward -EC- EC's Erotic Fiction - /~caligula97030/ (warnings: public nudity, sex between adults, corporal punishment, medical, femdom, FF, lesbian, humiliation, drug use, language, NIP, ENF) Chapter 3 – Eve Bousquet’s Hope The rest of the afternoon was anti-climactic for the airport police. The other passengers made it through the facility’s security with no problems. The airline already had a replacement aircraft on the way, so there was nothing for anyone to do apart from waiting until the island’s unexpected guests could be flown out. Officer Eve Bousquet looked over the arrest photos of her American namesake. Even though she was just looking at photos and not the detainee in person, the police woman’s feelings of sexual desire returned full-force. She felt a pleasant burning between her legs as she replayed the images of Trish bent over the table. She longed to caress Trish’ frightened face, and run her fingers over the prisoner’s bald pussy. It had been a long time since Eve Bousquet had felt such attraction for anyone. The last time had been four years ago, when she was married. Yes, she was married to a man that almost any woman on the island would desire, but she had married mainly to please her parents, not because she had any love for him whatsoever. No…the person she so badly wanted was her husband’s younger sister. She spent three years of marriage wracked with guilt…pretending to love her partner in marriage but in reality fantasizing over her sister-in-law. Every day she saw the young woman, and every day she could only think about how much she wanted her. However, Eve never dared say anything, because the people of Santa Eduviges still had very strong opinions against same-sex relationships. Eve Bousquet finally couldn’t live with her lies any longer. She couldn’t tell the truth, but she couldn’t keep making love to her husband while seeing the face of his sister in her fantasies. She had to get away from both of them to keep her sanity. Fortunately, Eve’s husband, who was getting tired of his wife’s lackluster behavior in bed, did not object when she moved out. Officer Bousquet had given up on the hope that she could ever be sexually fulfilled. She knew what her problem was, but there was not a soul with whom she could share her heavy psychological burden. She already was estranged from her parents over the divorce, so she dared not tell them the real reason she could not stay married. If she dared tell any co-workers, she knew she’d be fired and possibly expelled from the island. Then, with no work, no home, and no family, what would she do? ---------- Eve Bousquet’s thoughts returned to her American namesake. In spite of the rough treatment she had inflicted on the tourist earlier in the afternoon, the officer started to feel sorry for her. Undoubtedly at that moment the offender was sitting in that dark holding cell, terrified by what had been done to her. Eve knew that Trish Bousquet would have even more reason to be afraid the following Wednesday. Along with all other prisoners that had been arrested and convicted over the previous week, she would be collared and put up for auction as a servant. Servant auctions were a weekly event on the island. There were no jails, but every convicted criminal was put up for sale to whoever wanted to buy a “servant”, which in reality was a simple slave. The slave-sale program had been instituted under the government that preceded Generalissimo Renaud. It was popular among the public because it was an excellent source of revenue for the National Police and a great way to dispose of prisoners without having to execute them. Of course, the majority of the persons offered for sale were men, who usually were purchased to perform manual labor. However, about a fourth of the convicts auctioned were women and girls. On the average, female servants fetched higher prices than the men, depending on their age, appearance, and the length of their sentences. At first it would seem that Trish, a 24-year-old white American, would fetch a premium price, but Eve Bousquet knew that might not be the case, depending on who wanted to bid that week. A woman that was 24 years old already was considered past her prime by Island standards. It was clear she was not a virgin, another factor that would lower her price. The holes in her skin from the piercings and her past history of drug use would further lower her value in the eyes of most prospective bidders. Finally, there was the life sentence for cocaine trafficking. Most men who wanted a female for sex preferred purchasing a girl with a 10 or 15-year sentence. Once the sentenced ended, she’d be set free and there was no further financial obligation on the part of her master. Many men would be glad to have Trish now, when she was 24, but at age 54 she would still be collared and would still have to be properly cared for by her owner. Purchasing Trish involved a lifetime of commitment, not just 10 or 15 years of fun. ---------- That night, Eve lay awake in her bedroom. As always, in the darkness she was naked. She had slept that way since her childhood, as had nearly every other resident of Santa Eduviges Island. The heat and humidity made wearing any clothing to bed impractical, so it was the custom of the Islanders, regardless of whether they were rich or poor, to completely undress if they were in their houses after sunset. The police officer spent a long time masturbating as she thought about the American. The spoiled young foreigner, with her pale skin and hairless pussy, continued to fascinate her. As the long lonely hours of the night went by, she wanted Trish more and more. She realized that she did not want to give up control of her. She wanted to have the American to herself…to…own her…and… Suddenly Eve sat up. Own Trish Bousquet. Yes…it was possible…a long shot…but maybe she could indeed buy Trish. A tantalizing thought, really. Why not? The American was going to be put up for sale next Wednesday…and maybe…just maybe…the officer could somehow gather enough money to place the winning bid. ---------- Eve was exhausted the next morning, following a restless night with absolutely no sleep. She went to the airport and spent an uneventful morning on the job. During her lunch break she and her medical assistant got on two police motor scooters and drove past several palm plantations and banana farms to the island’s capitol. On the city streets the women dodged buses and bicyclists as they made their way to the court house. The cop first wanted to check the holding cells to make sure Trish was still in custody. She’d have her assistant measure her neck and then take the measurement to the sentencing office so the American could be fitted with a collar. She peeked into holding cell # 6 and observed the prisoner lying in a fetal position with her back to the door. The whip-marks from the previous day’s interrogation still were clearly visible on the young woman’s bottom. They had swollen and Trish did not want to put any weight on the welts, which was why she was lying on her side instead of sitting. Every so often her body shook slightly, as though she were crying. The two officials entered the cell. Trish immediately cowered in the corner. She was dizzy from not having eaten and terrified that she was going to be flogged. Officer Bousquet yelled at the prisoner to get into a kneeling position. The prisoner complied, but began to cry. The medical assistant ignored the detainee’s distress and casually wrapped a tape measure around her neck. She took the measurement again to be sure before writing the figure on a notepad. She expected to take the paper to the sentencing office, but her boss told her to hand over the notepad and return to the airport. “I have some other matters to take care of, so I’ll take her collar size in for you.” “Yes, Officer Bousquet.” After her subordinate left, Eve left the holding cell area and reported to the chamber of the trial judge. After having seen the frightened captive for a second time she was more determined than ever to buy her. Eve was on good terms with the judge, so she wanted to see what support she could get from him in her effort to purchase a servant. At the very least she hoped to get his official approval. The judge’s legal assistant accompanied the cop into the sentencing chamber. She stood at attention until he ordered her to relax and explain the purpose of her visit. After exchanging a few comments about the airport and the damaged plane that was still stuck next to the terminal, Officer Bousquet nervously got to the point: "Your honor, will the American cocaine courier still be put up for sale this week?" "Yes Officer." "I've been thinking. With your permission, I'd like to place a bid on her." "You want to buy that prisoner?" "I believe so, Your honor. I’ve wanted a collared criminal for a while, and I think she’d do better under me than under anyone else. I’m confident I can work with her and make her into a good servant. Anyhow, I'm sure it would be an interesting challenge." The judge smiled slightly, wondering what the policewoman’s real motive was for wanting to buy the American. However, he liked her. She was a good cop, never drank or got rowdy, was never excessively rough on prisoners, was honest, and didn’t do anything to upset civilians. The National Police needed more officers like the one standing in front of him, so the judge was determined to help her as much as he could. Besides, it was very likely she was right about the American; that she’d be much better off being owned by her than being owned by anyone else. Yes, he would do what he could to assist the officer’s plan to purchase the prisoner. "Very well, Officer. You have my approval. I'll put you on the list of bidders. If you want the girl badly enough, I'll give you a double discount: the police officer's discount and the public official's discount. How much have you saved up?" "I think I can pay 1,500 Florins." The judge reached into his desk, pulled out a stack of currency, and handed it to the officer. "Here. Let's make it 2,500 Florins. Remember, I'll need the money back if you change your mind or don't place the winning bid." "Thank you, Your honor. Thank you so much." After pocketing the money, the officer saluted the judge and left the chamber. Well, that had turned out a lot better than she expected. Now she had almost twice as much cash for the auction. The two discounts were equally important: each discount would add 500 Florins to her bid. The judge’s generosity meant that instead of only 1,500 Florins, she’d be able to offer up to 3,500. Now that the policewoman was much closer to actually owning her detainee, she felt that she needed to start taking some responsibility for her. Knowing that Trish had not been given anything to eat except a single bowl of leftover rice, Eve exited the courthouse and bought several pieces of fruit and a loaf of bread. She returned to the cell and asked the jail-keeper to open the door. Trish immediately cowered in the corner. The officer yelled at her to stand straight and show proper respect. With tears flowing down her cheeks, Trish complied, struggling keep her hands at her sides and to avoid covering herself. She glanced longingly at the food. “How would you like to eat, Trish Bousquet?” “I…yes, uh…Officer…I’d like…please…so hungry…” “Yes…you would indeed like to eat. To eat, you must display proper respect. Are you ready to do that, show respect so you can eat?” Trish sobbed, but managed to say: “Yes, Officer.” “Then I am instructing you to kneel. You will stick out your hands, palms up, and you will thank me after I hand you each item.” Trish complied and got on her knees. There was no hint of reluctance or resistance. Amazing what hunger can do to resolve “attitude”. Just three days before, Trish never would have imagined that she’d be willing to kneel and humiliate herself just for a few pieces of fruit. However, over the past 24 hours she had been confined in that empty room, with nothing but a bottle of water and a foul-smelling chamber pot. There was not even so much as a bed or a chair, nor a blanket, to protect her exposed body from the dirty concrete. She was exhausted from not being able to sleep and nearly out of her mind from boredom, apprehension, and fear. Psychologically she was starting to break down and her “pride” was one of the first things to go. So, she knelt and followed the Islander’s order to put her hands out, palms up. The cop placed an orange in the trembling hands of the kneeling woman. Trish sobbed and managed to get out: “Thank you, Officer Bousquet…for the orange.” “Good girl.” With that, the cop placed a banana in the captive’s hands. “Thank you, Officer Bousquet…for the banana.” The prisoner repeated her thanks for a mango and a small loaf of French bread. Noting the prisoner’s filthy hands, the cop also handed over a packet of sanitary wipes. “Consider yourself fortunate, Trish Bousquet. No one has brought anything for the other cells. You would be wise to remember that.” With that the cop left the cell and returned to the airport. ---------- Trish wiped off her hands as best she could and tore into the orange and banana. She slowed down as she ate the bread. Finally she tackled the mango. It was hard to eat a mango without a knife, but within a few minutes it was stripped to the seed. A few minutes after eating, Trish had to use the chamber pot. It already smelled horribly from stale piss, but Trish tried to ignore the stench and relieved herself. When she finished, she noticed a bluish-gray oval, a small portion of the cocaine that the police had missed when they emptied her out the day before. She closed the lid of the pot and sat against the wall. I am fucked…I am so fucked… Trish briefly wondered why her namesake had brought her the fruit…probably because she expected something in return. She certainly had money to pay whatever these people wanted, but her instincts told her that bribing officials on Santa Eduviges might not be as easy as bribing officials on other islands. She’d have to be careful on that…but…to sit in this cell…forever…there was no way she could do that either. The prisoner still did not understand what was going to happen to her in a couple of days. No one had told her that she was going to be auctioned as a slave, because the judge and the police took it for granted that she already knew that detail of the Santa Eduviges judicial system. No, she did not know that detail. After having spent 24 hours in the holding cell she assumed that a “lifetime of servitude” meant spending her life confined in that horrible cement cubicle. I am fucked…I am so fucked… She wondered what her trust fund manager would say or do once he found out where she was and what had happened to her. Actually, that might take a while, because she had not told anyone about her trip. She had wanted to surprise her friends, so the only thing they would know was that she was missing, but there would be no clues indicating her actual whereabouts. She wondered how seriously anyone would really pursue her disappearance. The crowd she ran with were not noted for their responsibility. Another thought crossed Trish’s mind. As for her inheritance…there were relatives…her aunt Beatrice and some cousins, who’d be more than happy to get their hands on her money. Already Beatrice and her little shit-brood had accused her of squandering the family’s inheritance and tried to get a judge to force her to rein in her spending. She was on horrible terms with them. So…how motivated would they really be to find her and extract her from her prison cell? Maybe they’d be motivated to do the exact opposite…do what they could to keep her locked up? I am fucked…I am so fucked… ---------- Officer Bousquet spent another restless night. Seeing that arrogant American stripped, kneeling, and crying had been a huge turn-on. As Eve replayed those moments in the cell over and over in her imagination, she spent hours masturbating. Finally, worn out from self-pleasuring herself but still not able to sleep, the woman decided to log onto the Internet and find out what she could about Trish Bousquet. She first found out some details about Trish’s party scene by digging through social networking sites. So…Trish was indeed a spoiled rich girl who, up to that point, had led a shallow and meaningless existence. Well young lady, that is about to come to an end. I’ll be giving you plenty of purpose in life. Officer Bousquet then became curious about the girl’s family and inheritance. It turned out that Trish and her relatives were the descendants of Louisiana cotton barons, an old family with roots in the Deep South that predated the Civil War. In other words, the American Bousquets had started out as slaveholders. The Islander had a good reason to be curious about the history of the American Bousquet family. Her own ancestors had immigrated to Santa Eduviges Island from Louisiana in 1866, the year after the Civil War ended. As was common for that time, they kept the last name of their former owners. Officer Bousquet’s heart raced upon finding out that her suspicions about the matching last names were correct. Officer Bousquet shut off her computer, convinced life had come full circle and that fate had delivered Trish into her hands. Just as her own ancestors had to serve the Bousquet family in Louisiana, Trish would be called upon to serve Eve Bousquet in Santa Eduviges. Although Eve was convinced that the American was destined to serve her, neither revenge nor “payback” entered her thoughts. She was not planning to enslave Trish to avenge her ancestors, nor did she have any desire to harm the legacy of the Bousquet family. The truth was, if she really wanted to see the Bousquet family come to grief, the best way to do it would be to figure out a way to free Trish and allow her to return to Baton Rouge; then encourage her to continue squandering the family fortune. Greed was not a motivating factor for Eve. She had no desire to access any of Trish’s money. So there were cousins who wanted to control the family fortune? Good. Let them have it. If they proved themselves better managers of the Bousquet estate than Trish, more power to them. Eve wanted Trish and had no intention of letting her go, but that was all she wanted. Nothing else related to the Baton Rouge Bousquets was any of her business. ---------- Trish spent the four longest days of her life in the holding cell. During that time, no one spoke to her. Her initial terror faded into indescribable boredom. She never could sleep for more than a few minutes at a time on the dirty floor. Her bones ached from the cement and her muscles were twitchy from inactivity. She could sit, or lie on her back, or curl up and cry. She tried pacing, but the cell was so small that she could not move more than four steps in any direction. She did not have the opportunity to bathe or comb her hair. She became a truly pitiable sight: smelly, her body covered with grime, her hair disheveled, and dark circles under her eyes from fatigue. The only event each day to break up the monotony was the visit from Officer Bousquet and the delivery of three pieces of fruit and a loaf of bread. By Tuesday Trish desperately looked forward to the visit. She was eager to please the cop, because she knew that the food deliveries could stop at any time. She did exactly as instructed; kneeling and expressing gratitude for each item placed into her hands. By the fourth day of confinement that gratitude was genuine.