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From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Over"  by  deirdre  (FF, slavery)  -- rp  by  H. Jekyll and Please Cain 
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Date: Fri, 21 Apr 2006 02:10:02 -0400
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Over 
by deirdre

(FF, slavery)

*****

NOTE: We are not the authors of this story. "deirdre" was the enigmatic
queen of Usenet sex stories in the mid-1990s. She posted 156 stories in
just over two years, using an anonymous remailer and apparently *never*
corresponding with anyone (though she did give permission to repost her
stories to non-commercial sites). She was last heard from in late April
1996. We will finish reposting all 156 stories this month.

While you're following the a.s.s.m. 10th Anniversary "deirdre-fest,"
enjoy! There's still time to contribute.

To contact us: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com, or PleaseCain@aol.com. 

*****


Date: Thu, 9 Mar 1995 13:41:59 UTC

Request to alt.sex.stories posters: if your posting does not include a
story, please don't post it to alt.sex.stories. Please post it to
alt.sex.stories.d.

Disclaimer: my stories, like the private sex fantasies of many people,
often depict "breaking some rules". Do not read this story if you
believe fantasy stories should never depict situations undesirable in
real life. Be warned that you may not be comfortable with the sexual
situations. Do not read this story if you are less than 18 years of
age.

Permission granted to archive, repost, or publish in low-cost CD-ROM
archives of alt groups. Permission granted to publish in anthologies of
this type of material if attributed to deirdre and an author's payment
is sent to AIDS research in the name of deirdre. -- deirdre

Over 
by deirdre, 1/22/95

I guess I expected a fancy place but I was still amazed. I looked out
the limousine windows at trees and more trees--a veritable forest on
both sides of the road. We had just passed through iron gates and I was
sure we were on the grounds.

The woman was wealthy--that was for certain. She had flown me all the
way from NYC in her own private jet. This was all new to me--I'd never
experienced anything like it--and all because she liked one of my
paintings. I looked ahead out the limousine and at last saw the house.
Or castle, or mansion, or chateau, or whatever you call it. It was
beyond anything I'd seen before.

The limousine stopped at the front door. From there I couldn't actually
tell how large the mansion was--I could see some of it off to the right
but couldn't see how far back it went. The chauffeur retrieved my bag,
walked up to the front door and opened it for me.

The front hall was huge--certainly larger than my apartment or even the
house I grew up in. A woman in a maid's outfit approached and took my
bag from the chauffeur and put it on the floor to the side. "Hallo" she
said and I had the impression that she didn't actually speak English.
She was pretty. The chauffeur left and I stood there with the woman.
She just stood there, not looking me in the eye, but looking
unconcerned. Or maybe she looked a little nervous--I couldn't quite
decide.

Double doors to the right opened and I turned to see another woman
enter. She entered and walked up. As she approached, she said "Welcome;
Come with me." Her English was perfect and without accent but something
still told me she was French. She glanced at the maid who picked up my
bag and walked out of the room. She turned and waited for me to follow,
then led me back through the double doors she had arrived in.

She was wearing a suit--an incredible suit; I knew it was absolutely
the best. She was tall and had black hair which hung down to the middle
of her back and had a slightly severe expression though she was very
beautiful. I judged her to be a little older, perhaps thirty five. We
walked through another large room and then another. The rooms were
lavishly furnished. More and more rooms and no sign of when they would
stop. It vaguely reminded me of walking through an up-scale furniture
store or perhaps a museum. We finally emerged into a long corridor. Its
walls were plain white and it was large: wide, and very long, and the
ceiling was high and had skylights. I'd been glancing at the art work
as we passed through the rooms and noticed a huge abstract on the right
wall of the corridor up ahead. When we passed it I looked up at it and
almost gasped--I'd have sworn that piece was in the hands of a museum.
We just walked on, our footsteps echoing up and down the corridor. The
woman didn't say anything at all but just kept walking and I followed.
We finally turned and walked into a room only to pass through it to
another room and another. I couldn't believe how big this mansion
was--it was beyond comprehension to me. We had passed a few maids at
work along the way but hadn't seen anyone else. These rooms were
different from the ones we'd passed through earlier--the first rooms
had had a traditional feel about them and these mostly had lower
ceilings, walls painted white and more modern furniture--a more stark
feeling.

Finally we stopped in a room where a woman was seated on a couch. The
room was large but the furniture, a couple of chairs and a couch, were
gathered in a little circle in the middle around a little coffee table.
One wall was completely glass, revealing a very green garden in a
little courtyard. The woman looked up at me and smiled. She had light
brown wavy hair that fell to her shoulders and wore a white blouse and
dark skirt.

"Good afternoon, please sit down," she offered and waited until I was
seated. I sat in one of the two chairs and the woman who brought me sat
in the other. "I am Beatrice Moreau and I will guess that Juliette did
not introduce herself: she has been my secretary forever. I am so glad
to meet you at last." She was absolutely beautiful and I was so glad to
see her-- something about the other woman, Juliette, had made me
nervous. Beatrice Moreau looked to be about my age, perhaps even a
little younger. Her voice--she definitely had an accent though her
English was perfectly clear. Juliette had picked up a silver teapot and
was pouring something, tea I suppose, into two cups. I noticed that
Beatrice Moreau already had a cup in her hand. "I hope you had a
pleasant trip," she offered. Juliette added cream and sugar to the two
cups. I never have cream or sugar in tea, but I didn't mention that.

"Fine, thank you."

"I have been so excited waiting for you, to meet the artist," Beatrice
went on. Juliette placed the cup in front of me and took the other one
for herself. "As you must know, I adore your painting."

"Thank you," I said, feeling tongue-tied and not very witty. Juliette
was holding her cup and saucer in her hand and I realized I was the
only one who wasn't. I felt clumsy and wondered if I could manage to
pick mine up without spilling it. I did my best.

"I feel that I have found a secret that the world has yet to discover."
Beatrice's slight French accent mesmerized me, probably preventing me
from blushing too much at the praise she was giving me. "You must tell
me who bought your earlier works. I will find a way to get them.
Forgive me, but are you tired from the journey?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Good, but you let me know when you are feeling weary and Juliette will
show you to the room. And I have to know: have you finished another
painting?" She was positively glowing. It was all like a dream and I
briefly recalled my normal life in my studio. Juliette just sat there,
sipping her tea. I felt I should be too and lifted the cup to my lips.
As sweet and milky as it was, it didn't really remind me of tea, but
didn't bother me as much as I thought it might. "I assure you that I
will pay you well for it," she continued. "Have you visited France
before?"

"No Ma'am."

She laughed in response to my answer, "Please call me Beatrice," she
said, still laughing. "I apologize; this must all be very strange to
you."

"Yes, it is...uh..."

"...Beatrice. Go ahead and say it, to please me." She smiled again. She
was so beautiful when she smiled.

"...Beatrice." She smiled again and I felt a little like a circus
animal doing tricks for a reward. *Say 'Beatrice' for the audience*.

"You will feel comfortable with me before you leave; I can assure you
of that," she went on. Juliette had put down her cup and saucer. So had
Beatrice Moreau, I noticed and I put mine down too. While she was
speaking Juliette moved the cups onto the silver tray and picked up the
tray and carried it away. She left it on a small table that in the
corner next to the window and returned to her seat. "It has been a long
time since I invited an artist here, and I plan to enjoy it. Are you
sure that you are not fatigued?"

"No...Beatrice."

"Very well, but I will send you to the room before too much longer. But
before then perhaps you can tell me about the piece that you are now
working on."

I usually don't talk about what I am working on and I thought for a
moment about whether I should break the rule for Beatrice Moreau. I was
inclined to talk, but it struck me that if I did, I'd be changing
myself to encourage her to buy my paintings. That made me feel wary,
but my thinking was interrupted by the sight of a woman entering
through the door by the table, picking up the tea tray and leaving
again, closing the door behind her.

Quiet as the woman had been, I was caught off guard. I'd stared at her.
It was her clothing: she was wearing a plain long dress--the material
was sheer, like a nightgown's. And when she'd been in front of the
window, it was obvious from her silhouette that she was wearing
absolutely nothing underneath! I must have sat there for a second with
my mouth open, wondering if I were remembering correctly. "You seem
intrigued by the girl," said Beatrice. I suddenly felt so
embarrassed--but it was so weird and had caught me by surprise. What
did Beatrice think of me? I sat there tongue-tied. "You can have her,"
she added.

"W... What?" I stammered.

"I will have her sent to your room. She is a gift." I was shocked. Of
all the surprises of the day, this one left me feeling the most
out-of-it. What did she mean?

"I... I'm not lesbian."

"Then do not make love to her," she said and giggled, "But I will wager
that before three months are completed that you will try it with her
just to see what she can do."

"Months?" I said weakly, wondering what she meant.

"You will have her with you every day, always ready and willing, and
the temptation will simply overwhelm you. But I will guess that you
will yield to temptation tonight!"

"Have her? In New York?"

"Yes, she is yours! Do you not like her? I have others..."

"What do you mean *mine*?"

"Your slave, to do what you tell her, naturally."

"Slave? You must be joking."

"Joking!" She laughed some more. "Yes, I like to laugh, but she is your
slave. Did you not always wish to have a housemaid? Or to have a
roommate who gives you all the money she earns every week?" Juliette
just sat there and didn't say anything.

"How can she be my slave?"

"Simple. You tell her what to do and she obeys."

"I... she's *your* slave?"

"I gave her to *you*."

"You have slaves?"

"Many. Would you like to see more? Would you like another? ..."

"But how can you *do* that? Do you lock them up?" I didn't know what I
should be doing. This conversation was ridiculous in a way and a part
of me told me I should not be there. Where could I go?

"Oh no, only when they are naughty. They like to obey."

"They do?"

"Yes, is that not so, Juliette?" Juliette gave a little half smile and
nodded her head ever so slightly.

"Where... do you find them?"

"Anywhere."

"People who *want* to be slaves?"

"Oh, they do not *want* to be until I train them. That is a little
unpleasant at first, but then it is all right."

"Train them?"

"Oh yes. I have Bridgette who is very good with the new slaves.
Tomorrow I will show you how she does. Is the girl OK? Or would you
like to see some other slaves to choose from?"

"I don't want a slave."

"Of course you do. Juliette, have Bridgette bring some girls here to
show our guest. You may have your choice of all the slaves. Or any of
the girls that you see working here. Did you see one that you like?"
Her smile had a wickedness that I hadn't noticed before.

"Listen, I can't do that. Uh, are the maids slaves?" I couldn't help
myself--I wondered what it would be like to own a slave.

"No, but they will be. Anyone who works for me will eventually be
trained. If you choose one, we can begin their training tomorrow."
Juliette made a noise--the first thing I'd heard from her since she
asked me to follow her at the front door. Then she leaned over and
talked to Beatrice in a low voice, in French. She kept talking for a
while but I watched Beatrice and she didn't show by the slightest
gesture that anyone was talking to her--she just continued looking at
me in her friendly way.

Juliette started talking louder and more excitedly, then suddenly
stopped and the whole room was completely silent. Beatrice still hadn't
taken any visible notice of her. Suddenly Juliette stood up and kicked
off her shoes and darted out of the room. It all was so weird, I felt
my sanity was leaving me. Beatrice calmly picked up a telephone and
said a couple of words in French. Then she put down he receiver and
faced me.

"I did not intend to train Juliette for a few more years, but now I
have no choice. Would you like Juliette?"

"Juliette?" I answered weakly. This was too strange.

"She will be ready in about two weeks--no more than three. Do not
worry, the unpleasantness is over after the first day--then she will be
willing even if not yet enthusiastic. You can use Juliette tomorrow
night if you like. You can watch the beginning of the training
tomorrow. Or if you wish to be wicked, I can have her brought to you
for tonight, *before* the training begins." Her smile looked so sly.
This beautiful woman in front of me: talking about slave training!

"No... no thank you." I tried to think of those slaves: trained until
they like to obey? What would I do alone in a bedroom with a woman who
wanted to obey me?

"OK, but tomorrow you will tell me about the girl. And choose a second
one too." I felt almost trapped. It was the most ridiculous position to
be in, having a slave pushed on me. It was all so strange: this wealthy
woman and these women who loved to obey her. Slaves. Juliette being
trained. "But we digress... we were talking about your art."

"Uh, yes."

"Were you going to tell me about your new painting? You are shy, are
you not? Listen, I have a good idea: I have an art studio that is not
used: why do you not come here and work just for me? I will pay you a
salary that you will like."

I froze, my mind and my heart racing. This was *Beatrice Moreau* I was
dealing with. I chose my words carefully: "I'm very flattered, but...
I'm afraid I *need* the freedom to choose my own projects."

"I will let you choose them. So it is settled."

I opened my mouth to protest, but ended up staring at her knowing,
inviting smile. She was so beautiful. That's when I should have spoken
up. Right then. But I couldn't manage to say a word.

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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