The Story of Odile Pt17.

You will find that this makes more sense if you have read the previous part of Odile’s Story.

You can find all the episodes here.

“Up with you now, girly!”

It was easier said than achieved, but Odile was powerfully possessed by an urgent requirement of herself that she achieve elegance as she stood and turned, knowing she was failing even as she began; dreadful to imagine Nadia, reporting to Andrew, describing her as clumsy, unattractive, awkward. And so she put everything she had into the move, though it made things slow, and she felt Nadia’s hard eyes on her throughout, only to receive an emotionless comment once she was, finally standing upright;

“I suppose it can be said of that little fiasco that you did at least try.”

“Now, do it again, this way. Go down first; kneel, turn to me, kiss the floor with full, soft lips, wetted, then rise up. Easier to be elegant going down, and you’ll have plenty of practise rising from your knees, making sure those tits move, your hips surge just a little, offering your cunt.”

“Now, please! What are you waiting for, girl? Into the position, make it expressive, hold until I command you, then try it as I have described.”

It was awful, awful, to find herself so fearful, so pathetically subservient to Nadia, to experience such stress over such small disapproval, to have been so completely and effortlessly subordinated; but there was nothing else in Odile’s body but a desperate, humiliating desire to please.

Nadia knew just how dirty she was, how weak she was, how easily sexually aroused, in even the most dreadful contexts; Nadia despised her, Nadia had power over her, Nadia could tell Andrew how Odile had failed her, or could call Lauren in and tell her— show her— just how low Odile had fallen, and there was nothing Odile would do to stop her.

More— Nadia knew what could be done with her, to her, at will; Nadia was her Monseigneur’s voice; the idea of displeasing the woman was actually physically frightening— she could feel her belly quivering with threatened panic, and she had to accept that she had become pathetic, as she weakly prevented herself from scrambling to once again put herself in that dreadful position, but rather to control her movements, consider how they appeared, lean herself into the wall, force her head down, lift her hands high, twist her neck again, then shamingly move her feet out, a couple of jarring inches at a time— first one, then the other, the increments smaller and smaller as her thighs tightened, as her blushes deepened, as her buttocks jounced and her breasts swayed, as her belly clenched in fear, remembering the pain and shame of minutes earlier, unable to reassure herself that the ordeal would not be repeated, intensified.

“A few inches closer to the wall with your feet, pretty, and further out, too— really double yourself up, stretch yourself out, push your hips up— make the pressure on your neck extreme; arms a little higher; your shoulders must be in real pain.”

They already were, of course, but there was no hesitation in Odile as she did her best to comply, and, pathetic as she was, she felt a real glow of satisfaction at Nadia’s words, as the woman’s rubber-sheathed hand found its way to her sex, lightly grasping Odile’s clitoris between thumb and forefinger.

“There, do it that way always; do you feel how that last extra move opened up this sticky, helpless little cunt just that bit more— it’s almost impossible to resist teasing you there, now, hurting you. Remember how it feels; this level of vulnerability; this is what you want to be achieving.”

“Now, am I right in guessing that you have failed to collect your phone, keys, card, as was required of you? I see no bag ready for me. I’m right, hm?”

Odile could only manage a desperate, abject little noise, which drew a soft snort of derision, but attracted no comment beyond;

“Very well, up then!”

Nadia was right; it was much easier to lower herself elegantly into a kneeling position than it had been to stand, and from there to turn, taking care not to allow herself to bring her thighs together, as she urgently wished to do, but rather splay them exaggeratedly, her hands now automatically finding their humiliating, disempowering positioning, flapping from limp wrists, held just behind and out from her hips, feeling her breasts sway.

Kneeling was as humiliating as it had been the night before, and the way her weight made it not just impermissible, but impossible to close her thighs, protect her sex, just added to the sensation; a shuddering sigh forced its way from her; she only just managed to stop it turning into a sobbing moan, something which could, at least in some small way have defused the pent-up intensity in her.

Odile denied herself relief, as she knew she must. Her own feelings were uninteresting; to be suppressed.

Kissing the floor without using her hands, and without tipping forwards onto her face, was hard, and required folding herself in two, pushing her body, her hips backward, bringing her knees forward, until they were almost either side of her head, her nipples grazing the floor, causing her to gasp, they were so sensitive, forcing Odile to acknowledge, in the midst of all this emotion, that she was still, and powerfully, sexually aroused, bringing from her a sob that was half a laugh— it was both wonderful and terrible to let herself feel just how eager her body was for sex at that moment, to have to accept that being bossed about, humiliated, teased, tortured, hurt, was not only about satisfying Andrew (satisfying Him through Nadia— who know what Nadia felt about the matter?¹)— but was powering her own betraying body’s lust.

The floor tasted, shockingly strongly, of dirt. For some reason, this was welcome, though the taste was bitter and harsh; her body relaxed, and she opened her lips a little more, let the weight of her head push her down, let the knowledge of this further defeat sink in, feeling the disgust as her mind tried to determine what the particles were which were now stuck to her lips, letting it all have her, letting it own her, feeling another part of her self-image crumble, be washed away, and, equally strange, at the same time feeling an extraordinary relief.

She could have stayed there for a long time, let tears softly drip, tasting the bitter earthy flavour of the dirt of the floor along with the salt of her tears, feeling the tightness at her groin, knowing just how obscenely spread her poor sex must be, how vulnerable, feeling her nipples kissing that same dirty floor, feeling, accepting how much her body wanted to be fucked, letting it show, move her hips, so obvious, even though Nadia was watching, would know what it meant, Odile giving herself over to the defeat.

Nadia knew how just weak she was, how helpless, how pathetic, and there was no way back from it. May as well show her the extent of it, the depth of it. Maybe she would tell Andrew; maybe He would be pleased with his new whore. Maybe He woud give orders to have her fucked, raped …

Her heart was breaking, but also overflowing with softness.

It was terrible— appalling— to have lost so much so fast; she could not bear to let herself even think of what the last 24 hours had cost her, how much of her self-image had been destroyed; whole swathes of future opportunity, hope, possibility, all deleted, her future a bleak wasteland of rape and humiliation— it was all there, all real, all going to crash into her at some point; would be devastating in its impact; she felt all this with a heavy certainty. At the same though, there was a powerful feeling, kneeling there; a weak and helpless gratitude at having been chosen for this, at being considered worthy of this intense attention.

Not many girls got to understand what it meant to be taken down this far, so that she was nothing; nothing but cunt and dirt. And, for just that moment, if never again, that relief was enough; more than enough; although really she needed Andrew to rape her, right then, with Nadia watching; to fuck straight into her; into her asshole, for him to be hitting her sex, right where Claude had, hitting her hard, making her scream …

She had to shake herself; she could not lose it again today. Fear rose up in her, then, and swept away the calm, left her shaking, trembling, so that she jumped when Nadia spoke, calmly enough;

“Up! Up now, little slut, find your things. Quickly, now! Claude is waiting; a patient man, but not for useless little sluts …” Odile found herself almost trotting to collect her few things, which she had not had time before to ready in a bag as instructed.

It seemed she could always feel further humiliation, as her ridiculous, tiny, rapid little steps in the crippling heels clacked a tattoo on the floor, her breasts and hips wiggled so obviously. It was awful, all over again, to feel so desperate, so frightened of the woman’s displeasure, to have been so completely and effortlessly subordinated; but she had nothing else within her at that moment.

She found herself, servant-like, bobbing at the knees to Nadia in a ridiculous, humiliating curtsey (feeling her breasts jiggle, knowing that her dyed nipples, so obvious through the thin fabric in the morning sunlight, would exaggerate the effect), as, after a panicky little scrabble, she finally located her keys and— with a stupid pang— put them with her phone and card in the only bag she could find— her favourite clutch purse (everything else having been tied up in the black rubbish sacks), and handed it over.

“Cute bag - I think I’ll keep it.”

The purse had been a rare consumer obsession for Odile; stupidly expensive, she had saved for eight months to afford it; now it was Nadia’s. It was stupid to even be thinking about such a small thing, but she had lost so much, so much, that this silly thing broke her heart again, and bitter bile rose in her throat at how all-encompassing was the disaster that she had brought on herself, that she had embraced, that she could not help but respond to with her deepest desires.

For a moment, it was all she could do to stand.

Nadia’s voice; cold, calm, implacable, but soft, too;

“Remember, pretty, control yourself. For Him. Control, always control. Lock yourself down, lock your hurt, your shame, your despair and fear away. He will have it from you whenever He wants to see it; your screams and unanswered cries for mercy will rob me of sleep before too long, you can be sure of it.”

“But for now; right now, you will control yourself; do you hear me?”

And, somehow, that helped. It had to, because, without a word or a look, Nadia walked out, and there was nothing to be done but fail, lose everything— Andrew included— or follow her.

Read the next part of The Story of Odile here.