This will make more sense if you have read the previous parts of the story.
Picture: Liana, lovely
After that, the day became lovely — almost painfully lovely — for Liana.
The answer Anne-Marie had given her — acknowledging that it was possible that she would, on her own terms, take possession of Liana, but that she was not certain that she would so choose, was at the same time desperately unsettling and a glorious relief.
For Liana’s offer of herself, heartfelt and serious as it was, was not one made without fear, without deep trembling — there was no sense in her, none at all, that to be Anne-Marie’s possession would be a joyful, easy existence.
That offer had been made in urgent, emotional tribute; heartfelt and tremulously delicious to make, but not borne of need, or even yearning.
It was enough to have been considered, not to have been laughed at, scorned; enough to make her heart sing — and, on the other side, too, there was the postponement, at least, of the prospect of being totally annexed, of being consumed.
Oh, she was willing; deeply convinced — knew that she would give herself in a heartbeat, if asked — but the giving would not be without desperation, without terrible apprehension — both physical and psychological — concerning the possible uses and abuses Anne-Marie might make of a girl who became her possession.
Thus it was that although Anne-Marie’s teasingly cruel rejoinder to her offer of herself had heightened the girl’s already elevated condition of tension as to the status of the most important aspect of her life — whether she meant anything at all to Anne-Marie. It had certainly confirmed in Liana’s mind the certainty of her deep and helpless dependence upon Anne-Marie’s whim for anything approaching happiness — while at the same time it had postponed for her the day on which she might have to relinquish everything; all hope, all dignity, all self-determination, all her freedoms; relinquish even her body (and, she was sure, so effortlessly and intimately controlling was her older lover, of even the content of her thoughts) — relinquish them all to the control of a woman who was, after all, a self-proclaimed sadist; evidently, too, both practised and ruthless in the prosecution of her perverse desires.
Dressed only in a girlish summer dress, terribly short, the new half-cup brassiere and the micro-corset, together with her highest heeled strappy sandals, Liana was cold in the brisk breeze, such a contrast to Anne-Marie, in her warm but elegantly cut coat with the mink trim, long skirt and high boots. Despite this, Liana was kept warm on the inside by the delight she felt at having Anne-Marie back, at having been found satisfactory — praised, even; by the confirmation that Anne-Marie is open to the idea of prolonging and deepening her interest in Liana.
Picture: Liana in the street
The contrast between the two; on the one hand the animated, nervous, willingness — no; determination — of the girl (tall, slight, delicate, pretty) to telegraph to her companion (slightly shorter, handsome, magnificently self-assured) — to telegraph to her without reserve her dedication to her lover’s pleasure, and on the other hand the calm, coolly amused, unruffled tolerance of the older woman; between the way the younger woman fawned and wiggled to the point of humiliation; needing, asking for, but not daring to presume that she deserved attention, approval, while Anne-Marie, her hands warm in the pockets of her coat, rarely even acknowledged the younger woman’s existence — this contrast was evident to anyone with eyes to see as the two passed along the fashionable street of mingled art galleries, upmarket boutiques and jewellers.
For however Anne-Marie had teased her, the simple fact that she had been granted a day with Anne-Marie was rare — a whole day! — and the quality of the attention Anne-Marie had shown her this morning had lit a slow burning flame amid the emotional log-jam that had been building within Liana’s psyche; a fire that would burn for days yet, as she processed the radically shifted ground of this — whatever their ‘thing’ might be called — with Anne-Marie (Liana had realised long ago that it was not, would never be permitted to become anything as boring and pedestrian as ‘a relationship’).
Whatever it was, it was enough that Anne-Marie has smiled at her, this day, so often that she had lost count — which didn’t mean the number was large, just that Liana had been overwhelmed enough to have forgotten to take note, happy enough to bask in the knowledge that it had been more than three — or was it four?
She was eager, happy — joyful — to know that, for once, she had been able to give Anne-Marie something — something not trivial, something that her lover really wanted, had acknowledged as interesting — and, despite knowing, all too clearly, what the regime of the last two weeks had done to her, how hard it had been, how disturbing, how deeply it had changed her — despite all these things, Liana was happy.
Anne-Marie had broken in on these thoughts, with yet another little smile;
“They’re all looking at you, you know?” — indicating the passers by with a lift of her eyebrows, and a quick look.
“They all start thinking about sex as soon as they see you — so much skin on show, so uninhibited, your lovely tits jiggling, your nipples stiff from the cold poking through; you with that loose walk that only comes from having been fucked hard in the last few hours. They can’t be sure, because you look so innocent, but at the same time they are pretty confident that you must be some sort of a slut, whether that makes them angry — like that dried up old widow over there — or horny, like those two security guards — or jealous, like both halves of this couple, walking towards us: the man and the woman both finding the sight of you, in your glory, your displayed sexual vulnerability and easiness, finding it painful, so screwed up in their guilt and shame are they.”
“While you, pretty, you are free. Free, by virtue of having allowed me to own your sex; having let me take charge of you — your tits, your cunt, your ass, your mouth. Free to display yourself, to advertise yourself as something that can be fucked, just a body; because it is not you who acts, any longer, as the gatekeeper to your soft and vulnerable places — the places with which you can be made to moan, and scream, and beg, and sob, and pant — that it is not you, but me, who is in control of all that.”
Painful and lovely, all over again — Liana had never considered herself as sexually attractive, so shy and withdrawn had she been, as a teenager; so gauche, so unable to understand how fashion worked, so natural in herself that she could not understand how to play games with her body, her expressions, her mannerisms, still less interpret those games as played by others. Which made it a glory to hear herself described in such terms — the very idea of herself as the sexually radiant creature Anne-Marie painted such a picture of made her grin and blush with foolish pleasure.
At the same time, though, the cool description of the depth of her sexual enthralment was deeply disturbing — particularly because, far from rejecting the idea that she is controlled so intimately by her lover, the transgressive implications of Anne-Marie’s words had made her belly squirm with a delicious mixture of arousal and apprehension.
The heightened self-consciousness Liana experienced as a result served, as Anne-Marie saw, entertained, to further exaggerate and highlight the obviousness of Liana’s movements, her reactions. It would be time, very soon, thought the older woman, to introduce the pretty to a real whip — to have her learn to associate her state of arousal with vulnerability — to begin to instil and impose on the girl an increasingly destabilising and intimate association between fear and pain and sexual arousal.
Anne-Marie was aware that she too was travelling further down a path — imagining the future of her entanglement with this young girl, rather than its termination. For Anne-Marie, as well, there was a frisson from the clash of emotions — her awareness that she was getting in deeper than she normally allowed herself, the blurring of the strong line she had always drawn between the usage she made of girls from The Castle and the way she related to her lovers — and at the same time, there was a definite, particular thrill in taking this one, this particular girl, deeper into complicity with her own subjugation.
Liana had stepped ahead of Anne-Marie, then; turned to face her, her cheeks glowing a hot pink, her lips smiling and trembling at the same time, stopped walking, reached her hand out and laid it on Anne-Marie’s arm, nervous, trembling. The contradictions in her mind had become too much for her, and she felt a burning need to express herself, no matter that they were in a busy street, that passers-by were already staring at her, judging her, shaming her with their eyes, their tight mouths, their knowing grins; she was unable to stop herself;
“Even … even a fortnight ago, if … if you had spoken to me like that — used those words … I … I would have been horrified — been appalled. I … I don’t know if I would have screamed, or shouted, or … or just cried, but … but I couldn’t have borne it. It … it would have been the end for me.”
Picture: Liana, baring her soul
“And … and it is. It is, still, the end for me, but in a different way. It … it’s the end of Liana — the Liana that I was. I … I don’t know what … what this new me is, yet. But I am changed. You have changed me. The new me finds … finds the way … the way that you have used me, finds those words just as shaming, just as shocking, just as hard to accept as the old me would have done …”
“… but … but now, now they are the words I want to hear from you; they … make clear to me the way I want you to … to treat me. I want to be what those words describe for you, what that treatment makes of me. And … and I’m scared, and happy, and … and hot in my belly, and … and wet between the legs, and hungry to have you using me, and ashamed I feel that way.”
“But I’m … I’m sad too — terribly sad — because … because you can’t ever, won’t ever … you … you won’t ever love me, now. Of course, of course, you never would have, I knew that — always knew that, really — but now, saying those things about me, me, wanting them to be true, knowing they are true, because … because of how … how you treat me, because I want it that way, I know — I have to know — that no-one will love that girl. That girl is … is for f…fucking, for … for entertainment … not for loving. And … and she wants to be fucked, likes … likes the idea of being used, of knowing she will … will be shamed, likes knowing she will be exploited — she wants it all … however slutty that seems.”
“And so no-one will ever love that girl, and … and too, no-one will want her love, not really, because … well … because she’s a … because she’s just a slut, nothing else. And … and that’s alright — it has to be, because I want it, want to be that girl for you, want to be your … your slut … I want it so-o-o-o very much.”
“But I’m scared, because I know that sluts don’t last forever. You’ll be done with me, and … and then I’ll be a slut, alone, and … and … I don’t know, but … but it won’t be good. And so I want you; I beg you — please — to be very strong with me. Whether … whether you … take me … or … or not, I beg you, don’t, please, let it be me who gives you a reason to let me go. If I … ever … annoy you, or … or displease you, or … or disappoint you, I want you to stop me — show me; tell me — make me; make me please you; force me; hurt me, if you choose to.”
As she spoke, Liana had become increasingly calm; although her voice trembled, it was clear and low, and sincere, and urgent; although she was blushing deeply, and mostly unable to meet Anne-Marie’s eyes, yet she kept forcing herself to look up, to show Anne-Marie the depth of urgency in her eyes, for however brief a moment she could sustain it. Tears brimmed there, but she was, very obviously, controlling herself hard, keeping her mouth soft and open, trying to smile — a shaky, willing, pleading smile.
Anne-Marie, in turn, was impressed, in spite of herself. The girl was ready for The Castle — had shown herself ready, in her body language, even more than through her words. Anne-Marie knew that she could, right then, simply call a cab to deliver Liana directly to The Castle, there to be stripped, raped, whipped and chained, without the slightest doubt of her complete surrender. Liana had revealed herself as a natural.
That this had not been clear to Anne-Marie, until that night a fortnight before, was delightful — she was so used to being three steps ahead of everyone, that it was extraordinarily pleasant to see something new, something unexpected.
Her smile, slow growing, was genuine, but not in the least generous. When Anne-Marie smiled, she was always smiling for herself, at her own pleasure. The most that another could hope to take from such a smile was relief. There was no affirmation, no togetherness, nothing given by that smile, nothing at all.
Nevertheless, for Liana, it was yet another smile that day, and her tears nearly spilled over, even as her own weak, hopeful, offering smile lit up, so great was her relief that her torrent of words had not been unwelcome.
Picture: Anne-Marie caresses Liana’s cheek
Anne-Marie had reached up, then, and gently caressed the girl’s cold cheek with a hand warm from the deep pockets of her coat;
“Don’t worry, pretty. I will take everything I want from you, now. You will never be permitted to disappoint me, have no fear of that. But I am afraid I have dropped my little wallet. Would you kneel, please, and get it for me?”
Picture: Liana kneels
Her voice is cool and light, pleasantly amused — she has, after all, heard thousands of such impassioned outbursts from desperately vulnerable girls, appalled at the situations they have offered themselves up for with such foolish, eager urgency — this is simply one more; to be enjoyed, certainly, but not taken in the slightest seriously. Just another sweet, pretty, helpless little cunt, entertainingly offering itself up for heartless exploitation, hoping against hope that it will somehow turn out to be special — not simply to be used up and tossed aside.
In this instance, Anne-Marie would discover, to her surprise — her discomfort, too, at times — that Liana would indeed turn out to be special. That core of insistence which had pushed the girl to pursue Anne-Marie’s secret — the revelation which had triggered the shift in their relationship which would bring her so terribly low, would also permit her to survive the depths, and finally, to be reborn.
But there was no inkling of that future in either of their minds at that moment, as Liana, blushing deeply again as she accepted that she was being made to kneel before her lover in the street, slowly went down onto one knee, down to the cold, damp stone, hating and loving the shame and the powerlessness she felt as she turned her head, looking for the slim leather case, only to see Anne-Marie’s boot slowly and deliberately pushing it off to one side.
For Liana to reach it, then, she was forced to lean right forward, go down onto both knees, feeling the short skirt of the little dress riding up her thighs, the cold breeze threatening, perhaps, to flip it entirely back on itself and expose her naked buttocks, her pantiless sex, while she was made to lower her face almost to the pavement as she stretched. Her unsupported breasts swayed, her heart twinged at the nakedness of the power game she was being subjected to. She wanted so much to hurry, to get this humiliation over with, but instead, knowing she must, she made herself take her time, to let Anne-Marie see how well she understood what was required of her, how willing she was to please.
Her doctrine satisfied — of never letting a pretty offer herself without immediately demanding more from her than had been offered — Anne-Marie’s smile was more blatantly self-serving than before when, at last, Liana was upright again, and offered the elegant little wallet back to its owner; the girl’s rapid blinking and trembling lips confirming that the message had indeed hit its target.
“Thank you my dear. Now, I’m starving. We’ll go to L’Auvergnois — it’s not far — I feel a need for a large, bloody steak coming on. We’ll look for a pretty dress and maybe some ‘fuck-me-please’ lingerie from Mme Fermier’s after that.”
And that was how it went — for Liana, every part of the day was both delightful, and squirmingly uncomfortable, as Anne-Marie entertained herself, relaxed and confident as she manipulated and teased; brought the girl’s mood up, then rubbed her nose in the dirt, again and again, while Liana went along with it all in a spirit of urgent, helpless sweetness, even as each successive episode layered on more shame, more hard truths about herself, more disturbing, shaming memories for her to carry with her for the rest of her days.
In the restaurant, Anne-Marie had announced to the Maitre d’ that they wanted a table for two, but that only one would be eating. She had then ordered a three course meal and a half bottle of wine, taken out her phone and proceeded to ignore Liana almost completely, with the exception of a few little episodes, during which Anne-Marie both praised and criticised, teased and rewarded.
In the course of these she demanded better posture, suggesting to Liana that she should make sure never again to sit without first tucking up her skirts, so that she would always be conscious of her lack of panties, enjoined the girl to make new habits for herself — thrusting her breasts forward, spine and neck straight, head up, eyes down, shoulders back, while constantly holding her belly in.
“It will seem awkward at first — even hateful, darling — but if you persist — and you will persist — for me — won’t you? If you persist, it will gradually become unthinkable to you to allow yourself any other posture.”
These, and three or four other little suggestions, however teasingly proposed, were clearly nothing less than ironclad, non-negotiable requirements for Liana’s future behaviour.
Efforts by Liana to comply were then rewarded with little morsels of food — not offered up, but simply held over the plate, so that Liana had to duck and lean to get to the fork.
“No, don’t you use your hands, little slut girl — you are to be passive, accepting, always weak, always begging, always needy, always understanding that you may be denied, that you will, often be denied — that it is good for you to be denied, if you are to learn your place in the world, accept your powerlessness, your dependence upon me.”
And indeed that was just how Liana felt, for she, too, was possessed of a strong hunger after the events of the morning, and the food was as gorgeous as the restaurant’s reputation and shocking prices might suggest, but she had had to make do with a few dainty little nibbles, watching Anne-Marie wave the plates away still half full while her belly growled at her, her mouth watered and her cheeks flushed.
Painful, then — shaming — to accept such careful and petty humiliations, to allow herself to be schooled into presenting herself as a slut, to be kept hungry while her lover filled herself and wasted what she did not want.
But lovely, too, to be played with so cleverly, so carefully, to be permitted to see the teasing, challenging, tormenting invitation in Anne-Marie’s eyes to fully immerse herself in this treatment, to choose to behave just as she imagined Anne-Marie would like her to, trying to play her part well, despite the shame, despite the crawling feeling that others in the place — women, predominantly — had seen just what was being done with her, seen just how abject was her compliance with the cruel little games Anne-Marie was playing.
Despite all this, there was nowhere else on earth Liana wanted to be, and she clung (knowing she was fooling herself) to the thought that Anne-Marie would not put such effort into training her — for it was obvious that Anne-Marie expected her to take note, to reprise these behaviours in other contexts — would not train her if she did not see some future for them.
In the long periods during which Anne-Marie ignored her completely, feeling absolutely certain that it would be frowned on if she were to look around for something of interest to think about, to distract herself with, her mind filled itself with replays of the morning — specifically, of the aggressive and shaming fist-fucking she had been subjected to, in the public hallway of her building, the memory of her own helpless, her wild responsiveness to such treatment, the way she had opened herself, offered herself up to the violence of it, the humiliation of it, of the devastating, emotional wrecking ball of an orgasm that had ripped through her, mind and body — those shocking, well-nigh unbelievable memories, which she knew would replay themselves in her mind forever, now filled her head and had her heart thumping, her cheeks burning, her hips moving.
Gods, she would go down on her hands and knees right here, and beg to be used like that again, if Anne-Marie commanded it, in front of all these strangers. Beg for it — and be proud, too — not of herself, but of having been the girl that Anne-Marie had chosen — even though her work kept her supplied, no doubt, with many helpless girls, many opportunities to tease them — of being the girl that Anne-Marie had chosen to do that to, chosen to spend this day with, chosen as the subject of such intense psychological games.
“My my, pretty — you have got yourself worked-up, haven’t you? Look at you — practically panting with need! I bet that seat is sticky with your juices, too — remember to wipe it before you leave, won’t you — can’t have my little slut leaving messes behind her wherever she goes, can I?”
And with a saturnine grin, Anne-Marie signaled for the bill.
Why, why was it a pleasure to be spoken to like that — for Anne-Marie to know that she was right, that indeed Liana was conscious of a warm wetness between her legs? To be squirming at the thought that, perhaps, the woman looking over so directly had heard what was being said, would connect it with Liana’s deepening blush, her wide-open pupils, her inability to keep her hips from moving, ever so slightly, hungry for the sensation of pressure at her naked sex?
How could it be that it being clear between them that Liana’s continued commitment to Anne-Marie would bring with it more; more nakedly domineering control, more inescapably degrading requirements of her — how could it be that this prospect, far from driving her to end this, put a stop to it, as any sensible person would surely do — was in fact making her ever more weak, more needy, hungry for more, determined to deserve it, as if such treatment were some kind of soul-food, some kind of blessing? This was madness, surely?
How was it that her innate shyness — which had not been reduced one iota by all of this — was not proof against this churning, uncomfortable, undeniable hunger? How could it not help her stop herself when — it having occurred to her that opening her thighs would both please Anne-Marie and increase the contact between her sex lips and the leather of the seat — she could not stop herself, even under the steady, dispassionate gaze of the woman opposite, from carrying the move out; not able, even, to hide the impact of the sensations, half closing her eyes, biting at her lip at the feeling of it?
Anne-Marie’s voice, when she spoke to the Maitre d’, who had arrived with the bill and, too, the electronic device to receive payment, shocked Liana into looking up, stricken, from her little reverie.
“Chèr Monsieur, a man of your experience will have already understood the condition this little one finds herself in. Weak slut that she is, she really cannot help herself. In recognition of any discomfort her behaviour may have occasioned for any of your other guests, I wonder if I might offer you the use of her mouth? I can happily wait ten minutes, should you be so inclined.”
Time stopped for Liana as the meaning of the words burnt themselves into her awareness. Could she? It couldn’t … Was it possible …?
Her eyes flashed across to meet Anne-Marie’s, easy, casual smile, her cool expression, which gave nothing away. There was no pressure — none at all. Should the man indicate his interest, it would be entirely upon her, Liana, to decide whether to stand, allow him to lead her to whichever spot he chose, and there go to her knees, let him put his cock into her mouth, serve him. Anne-Marie’s expression made it clear that she would not enforce anything.
And he? He was looking at Liana, eyes hard, no change in expression, but with a horrible, greedy gleam. A cold fire of despair was burning her, but there was an inevitability about it, and an impossibility that she would do anything — today, of all days — to diminish Anne-Marie’s opinion of her ability to obey.
If he said yes, she knew that she would comply. Comply as sweetly as she was able, that she would conceal the despair, the darkness, the horror that was roiling up inside her, that she would prostitute herself with this stranger, do everything she could to please him, to give him no reason to complain about her service. That even this tawdry, abusive expectation from Anne-Marie would meet with no resistance.
“Many thanks, Madame, for your thoughtfulness. Indeed, your companion is a very lovely girl, but — what can I say? — it is a busy time; la Patronne arrives herself at any moment, so perhaps — as the Americans say — I may take a rain check?”
This release from the need to go through with the act, freed from the requirement that she let herself be fucked in the mouth by a strange man, her consent having been taken for granted, this release did not bring relief, even — for instead a dread feeling gripped her heart that, in failing to make herself sufficiently irresistible, she had failed Anne-Marie.
Everything had become too much, then, and some part of her had shut down. It was not for another few minutes that Liana could really think again — everything had been accomplished on auto-pilot, even the wiping of the seat with her napkin, hoping that people would imagine that she had dropped some crumbs. The reality that she had not, in the end, been condemned to have allowed herself to take a strangers’ cock into her mouth, to exert herself to pleasure him, as she surely would have, that relief sat so lightly into the scales against the knowledge of her own readiness to comply, the cold weight in the pit of her stomach at the idea she might have disappointed Anne-Marie, that it was not until they had turned into another street that Liana really breathed again.
Anne-Marie had given no sign of even noticing this, but this was not in fact the case — the iron-souled ruler of The Castle’s stock of helpless whores, girls who were deliberately kept continually at the edge of despair, had long cultivated, and assiduously practiced, the art of reading the minutiae of a girl’s body language, the particular psychology of girls kept as sex-toys, assessing what these suggested would be going in inside a girl’s head with uncanny precision, without outwardly appearing interested in the slightest.
Not for the first time, Liana experienced the impression of effortless omniscience that girls at The Castle (and members too, it must be said) so regularly wondered at, as Anne-Marie spoke — her voice soft, conversational, but the import and its implications very clear;
“Welcome back, little one. Do you know, I have the strongest feeling that for the past few minutes, you have been thinking exclusively about yourself — that, despite my very obvious presence, you have been absent, oblivious.”
She stopped, then, and with a little movement of her hand indicated that Liana should stop, too, and face her, so that Liana, for the first time with Anne-Marie, experienced the feeling she remembered, of being calmly but devastatingly put in her place by a teacher at her school — a woman with a rigid and strict code of expectations, for whom she had had a terrible, hopeless crush at the time, but who had treated her in the same firm, cool, uncompromising manner as the other girls.
“Just a little while ago, pretty, you talked, with passion, about your desire never to disappoint me. And yet, so soon, you appear to have been putting your own little emotions above what you had led me to believe was paramount for you — dedication to my pleasure.”
“No, no, don’t make a face, don’t look so concerned. Remember, girl, my response; I told you that you can never disappoint me. I don’t wish to hear expressions of remorse — and still less do I want you, once again, to concentrate on any feelings of distress you might be experiencing inside your lovely little head. What matters, always — only — is what you do — how you appear. Try and concentrate on this: I have told you, I think, quite clearly, that with each step forward in this game we are playing, you and I, that I have less and less interest in your feelings — and still less in your thoughts.”
“Remind yourself of this, often. Nothing inside you matters any more. It has ceased to matter, because you have become my toy. Think about that. Does a Barbie doll have feelings? Not even the question matters, it has no meaning, for no-one cares; for you, that is over.”
“All that matters is how you look, how you offer yourself, how you take what is dished out to you, how you work to offer pleasure. If whatever nonsense goes on in your head can be put to the service of what matters, all well and good. If it is a distraction from what matters, it is likely to bring you pain, one way or another. In the short term, my displeasure; if it persists, you will simply cease to be of interest.”
“So do, my dear, remember my helpful suggestions about posture, about expression, about emphasising your tits, communicating your openness to being fucked, about deferential presentation, and do, dear, try to pay attention, at all times, to what matters in your life, now.”
It was all very well for Anne-Marie to request that she suppress her feelings in favour of ‘deferential presentation’, but this cruel speech had set off in Liana a perfect maelstrom of emotion, so that she found it desperately hard not to begin babbling apologies, excuses, assurances out loud, let alone keep a still, pretty face, or think about her posture. Her chest was heaving, her knees were weak.
This was really happening to her, she kept having to remind herself — that it was not a dream, not some role-play scenario. Her lover, the fascinating and powerful Anne-Marie, was relentlessly, smoothly, ruthlessly, steamrollering her, crushing her, degrading her, demeaning her. Every time she, Liana, gave something — and she gave it so whole-heartedly — Anne-Marie simply extended the reach of her impossible requirements, so that Liana was constantly on the verge of losing control, of wrecking everything by becoming hysterical, screaming and yelling her distress, her confusion, her fear, her agony.
And yet … and yet, she clung on. Forced herself to cling on, made herself confront the meaning of every demand, every insult, and somehow, somehow, found a way to love it. It made no sense, but at the same time, it was the only thing that did make sense any more — her identification of herself as Anne-Marie’s possession, her plaything. To lose that would be to lose everything (inside her, of course, there was, too, the voice of sanity — the voice which made the other sort of sense — the sense that the world, her friends, normal people would recognise — the sense that the direction she was going in was the sure direction of loss — loss of everything that really mattered in the real world. Liana could see this, of course — saw it with stark clarity, knew its force, knew that it was ‘right’ — that screaming at Anne-Marie, right now, in the street, repudiating her, rejecting all this madness would be the real liberation. It was just that, quite simply, it was not a liberation that any part of her wanted. In fact, just the opposite was true — that even the idea of any such liberation filled her with agonies of anticipated despair and terror).
Anne-Marie, patient as ever, assured of the direction of travel, and thus the eventual attainment of complete dominion over the lovely girl before her, watched as Liana took herself in hand. Watched as she effortfully controlled her breathing, watched as she attended to her posture, watched as she blinked away her tears, watched as she assembled something like a smile. Watched as she suppressed her emotions, denied her fears. Anne-Marie, smiling faintly, her eyes cool, expressionless, watched her young lover as she crushed herself into conformity with Anne-Marie’s wishes.
Liana felt this attention, understood that she was being assessed, her efforts under scrutiny, that Anne-Marie understood only too well what was going on for her, understood that letting Anne-Marie watch her damaging herself, simply to please, was all part of what was being done to her, saw just how deeply, callously cruel Anne-Marie must be to enjoy this, to subject to such demands a girl who had, so wholeheartedly, over the last year or more, allowed herself to be invaded, subsumed, taken over, by her lover, had given herself so freely, while asking for nothing in return (all of Anne-Marie’s lavish generosity had been self-generated — Liana had neither expected, nor asked for gifts or help — and indeed had often protested, vehemently, that it was all too much, tried to refuse presents, even cried when efforts to avoid yet more had been skilfully, smilingly rebuffed, so that at last, always — as in all things, except, perhaps, that question she had asked about The Castle — always, she had given in).
In the face of this, Liana had no option but to allow herself to accept, fully, for the first time, that the word ‘sadist’ was not simply a shocking-to-think-of character assessment of Anne-Marie, but a deep-seated, active aspect of her nature — one that would be imposed on Liana, as much as upon Anne-Marie’s only hazily imaginable charges at this — equally hard to imagine — ‘Castle’ place where she worked.
Anne-Marie was going to be viciously cruel to her, for no reason at all, other than that it entertained her. Just as she had experimented pushing lit matches into her own dolly’s nipples, between her legs; just to see what it felt like to do such a thing, so Anne-Marie was going to be with her. Cruel.
And this acceptance did something that Liana had not imagined could happen to her again — not since she had been so forcefully taken through the barrier of her defences the night she had been introduced to her new status as ‘fist fuck slut’ — it broke Liana’s heart.
Right there, in the busy public street, with well-dressed shoppers passing, the sun shining even as the cold breeze plucked at her short skirts, brought up the goose-bumps, crinkled her nipples, Liana’s heart was breaking, and Anne-Marie, watching her, knew this — could see it — had intentionally caused the hurt which had made it happen, and was smiling — was finding pleasure in Liana’s suffering.
And yet … and yet … still …
Still, there was, simply, no question that Liana was going to do anything other than maintain the shreds of her smile, pay attention to her posture, work … work … work on herself, until …
And there, there it was. That insane, sick knowledge that she could let herself feel grateful, let herself feel special, let the notion take hold of her that since it was she, Liana, who had Anne-Marie’s full attention now — including her sadism, her intentional cruelty, her smiling enjoyment at seeing Liana suffer — that it was she who was somehow made important, made valuable, and that for this she could feel soft, earnest gratitude flooding through her …
… so that, at last, the smile on Liana’s lips became real — a trembling, fearful smile, perhaps, but unmistakeably, a smile intended as a heartfelt gift — even if that heart was broken.
And now, Anne-Marie smiled, wolfishly;
“Just so, little one; you will learn — never fear — to lock all those inconvenient parts of yourself away. It’s not that I want you to destroy them — not at all. On the contrary, when you are alone, when I have no need of you, when you can think of nothing to do which might serve my pleasure more directly, you should unlock it all — let it all come out, feel it — feel it deeply — and then, then you can explain to yourself, lest the release of emotion drive you mad, just why you have chosen to repress yourself, diminish yourself, why you have placed satisfying my desires — my arbitrary, cruel and capricious desires — placed them so far above the urgent demands of your own being. You will find that work hard — but effective — effective, that is, in transforming yourself ever more into what I wish you to become — what you wish to become.”
“Which is, very simply, a creature which behaves, at all times, in ways that serve me — serve my desires. This is why you will control your face, smile, look pretty, sexy, open, attentive. This is why you will open your body to any treatment I choose, any cruelty I choose, to any person I choose, without any consideration at all for your own wellbeing.”
“Now, just this once, I am going to help you deal with your guilt at having let yourself down, forgotten your own voluntary commitment, by asking something of you. It will go like this; the next time we are alone together, and you feel yourself quite happy, relaxed, comfortable, you will remember this moment, your lapse, and you will ask me, right then, very sweetly, to do something very cruel to you — to make you suffer, make you cry — and you — your job will be to do all you can to continue smiling, to remain attractive, to communicate your availability to me, all the while I am hurting you. Will you remember this?”
And Liana felt her smile growing, her head nodding, her spirits lifting, as if that suggestion, too, were some sort of gift — instead of a requirement to ruin her next experience of happiness. But logic meant nothing, anymore — only the sensation of being the object of Anne-Marie’s approving attention.
And then, as soon as the thought occurred to her, without hesitating, she found herself speaking;
“I wonder … I wonder if … if perhaps you have dropped your wallet, again. If … if perhaps I … could I … kneel, and … and pick it up it for you?”
Once again, Anne-Marie was impressed, in spite of herself. Once again, though, she merely smiled, complacent, as, once again, she took the elegant little thing from her pocket, to dangle it in the air between the two of them, before she tossed it, a little to one side, then grinned at the girl - a small, sardonic grin, as Liana knelt in front of her, reaching out only slowly, so that Anne-Marie had all the time in the world to deliberately, with the toe of her boot, move it out of reach.
Picture: Liana, kneeling again
The little charade was enacted several times, until Liana could not help herself but to giggle, ridiculously, high-pitched, as her shame at her own servility mounted, and demanded release. At the same time, she knew, the heat between her legs was back, confusing, shaming, and at the same time, she knows, something she must find a way to telegraph to Anne-Marie.
Flexing her hips so obviously, so shamelessly, intensified everything, and Liana saw then, clearly, for a moment, just how easy it was going to be for Anne-Marie to take her down this pathway, which, somehow, despite her shyness, her awkwardness, her insecurities, some part of her was clearly made for.
She really was going to allow this Anne-Marie — this person she had imagined she knew, without having had the faintest real idea — she was going to allow Anne-Marie to make her into a helpless, servile slut. And, god help her, she wanted it.
She crushed her giggles then, and looked up, up into Anne-Marie’s lazy, amused grin and, very deliberately, straightened herself up, on her knees, back straight, opened her thighs, pulled back her shoulders, presented her breasts, tucked her hands back behind her, lowered her gaze again, and, forcing herself to endure the shamefulness of doing this in the street, so attention invitingly abnormal, of making her submission so public, made herself simply, wait, outwardly as calm as possible, but feeling her heart racing, pounding, as if it would burst out of her chest.
It seemed a very long while indeed, although in reality probably only a few seconds, before Anne-Marie leaned over, her head over Liana’s right shoulder, and spoke, softly and gently, to shame her again — and, once again this day, the impact of the cruelly belittling words was both lovely and painful;
“That’s it, little girl; you’re getting it. It doesn’t matter, now, whether I take you or not - because you’re mine, now, in any case; past the point of no return.”
