There is a small plinth in the Members entrance lobby of the Castle Dining Room— an exclusive dining club in the city, owned by the Castle, which serves as the ‘public face’ of the institution. When people talk about the Castle, or hear scandalous rumours about what goes on there, they remember this restaurant, famous since the 1920s for upper-class debauchery. This, of course, is the place to which Andrew took Odile.
They may be shocked, or disgusted, or desperately wish they could afford to go (even then, could they convince their wives to countenance a visit?)— but they immediately discount the tales of whipping, of branding, of savagery, of chains and dungeons— ‘My uncle went once, and he was rather disappointed, old rake that he is— the maids and waitresses are scantily clad, and some of the members had semi-naked women kneeling at their sides like slave girls, but in fact it was all rather tame, he said’.
In this way the existence of the Castle proper, set in the leafy suburbs, in its extensive grounds, behind high walls, was more easily ignored by the powers that be— many of whom, of course, were members, or had been guests of members. The French aptitude for discretion was operating at its peak of perfection.
On the plinth, in the lobby, there is always, during opening hours, a girl in a revealing maid’s costume. Rather cheesy, to be sure, but it is a tradition.
The girl is from The Castle, of course. An indentured sex-toy. She is subject to Anne-Marie’s rules, of course— she has been set a target for the number of ‘doses’ she must achieve in a week. A number of men who come inside her.
That’s what defines her value now. Being fucked by men. Any hole counts.
And being put on the plinth means no fucking.
No doses.
A reduced score can mean terrible punishment (see the story ‘Incentives’ in Castle Moments), can mean termination of an indenture for a girl who no longer believes in herself, in her ability to live a normal life.
Girls on the plinth try, ever so hard, to make themselves irresistible, to make their offer of themselves irresistible, in the hope that a man— it only takes one— will ask Maitre ’D , softly, in an aside, whether it is possible— you know— to … to spend half an hour with … with that maid? The one in the foyer?
And, of course, for a price— a very fat price— it is. Once a girl is off the plinth, another takes her place, while she, after servicing the diner, is taken back to the Castle and put to work.
Some guy gets a taste of what The Castle— the real Castle, can offer— and may ask about a membership— an extraordinarily expensive membership. The Castle Restaurant’s reputation is maintained; the Castle propers’ mask is maintained.
Everyone is happy.
Except the maid, of course; stuck on the plinth on a quiet night, shaming herself as hard as she can for every bourgeois thrill-seeker who comes through the door.
Picture: Renee, an orphan, recruited at the orphanage gate by a kindly older man
Picture: Ash, fucked her way through her college faculty and wanted more, finally met her match in the Vice Chancellor, one Andrew Strauch
Picture: nOelle, Thierry’s fourth procured girl, still bewildered to have been revealed to herself as a helpless, eager nymphomaniac.
link to nOelle’s Story
Anne-Marie made a point of showing the girls pictures of themselves, on the plinth, how similar they all were. The point being, that they were just interchangeable cunt— the differences between them tiny. That no one of them was in the slightest special.
They try, nevertheless, all of them, desperately hard, to make themselves desirable,
