Another picture from this year’s party
Not Yet
No. No … I … I’m not a Castle girl. Not …
Lisette could not bring herself to say any more words. How was this conversation even happening? What a question! Older men just didn’t say things like that to young girls they had only just met!
But you’re dressed like one.
Picture: Lisette, in the dress she made for herself
Um! oh. Well … Yes … yes … I … my …
Suddenly the word ‘boyfriend’ made no sense. She realised she had been fooling herself. Fooling herself all along. And it wasn’t his fault, either— Dieter had never acted like a boyfriend— or even a lover, for that matter. He had always been very straightforward with her. It was she, she who had been dishonest. Worse, she had been dishonest with herself.
How— why— had she fooled herself, for so long, until? Until, well, here she was, in this place, dressed like this, being asked THAT question, in a perfectly casual way, as if it was even possible that she ever could be one … one of those.
Except that, now that the question had been asked, now that she couldn’t answer it, it became obvious that this has been, all along, where her — whatever it was— ‘thing’— with Dieter had been going. He had brought her this far, without doing anything weird at all— indeed by doing wonderful, lovely, butterflies-in-the-stomach-inducing things for her, and to her, and with her.
And now … well, now, he had brought her here.
So what was Dieter to her?
The silence was dragging, though, and she just didn’t have it in her to be rude to this man. He had asked her a shocking question, yes, but not in a creepy way, and he was making her feel safe, compared to before, when some of the younger guys had got a bit frighteningly frisky with her— one of them had even picked her up, so that she had shrieked, until one of his friends had laughed she’s a faker, Janösch, put her down!, and had indeed helped her down, but with one hand right between her legs, grasping her pussy, grinning knowingly, right into her face, as he’d done it, wiggling his fingers very obviously.
From this man’s amused, knowing look, she was fairly sure that she wasn’t really ‘safer’ with him; in fact, the way he looked at her made her feel deliciously un-safe, very much in the way Dieter did. It was very confusing, the difference between this fear, and the other fear; they were the same, really, weren’t they?— both reactions to the promise— the threat— of no holds-barred sexual possession, greedy and selfish usage.
But he was waiting for her answer;
… erm, the … the man that brought me here, at least. He … he showed some pictures of last year’s party, and … and I … I made this, for … for him, really, so … so that he could … could be proud of me, I hoped.
Why was she saying all these things out loud? It was just … just that this realisation about Dieter was so … so unsettling. On top of all the other unsettling things about this party— which was at the same time so lovely and magical.
Dieter insisting that she should take her panties off had been the start of it.
They look silly, under that lovely gauzy dress.
But … but they’re really pretty— expensive too, and … and you bought them for me!
He’d laughed, a friendly, funny laugh, and she’d melted for him, the way she always did when he was like this— teasing, flirting, sexy, but demanding and pushy at the same time.
Well I’m not going to buy you any more, that’s for sure. I much prefer you without them. Easy access!
That had made her think about being in bed with him (as so many other things did, those days). Think about his hands on her, his cock inside her, and she would go a bit gooey between the legs and her smile would go soft and she would feel her hips flex for him and he would see it and … well … if there was time, and they were in the right place, things might happen.
And sometimes, even if there wasn’t time, and in a decidedly wrong place, more recently. It had gone a bit far, really, sometimes, only … only it was so fucking good, and he got so hard, and … and she knew he really liked it, and so she let herself like it, and then she didn’t have to try, because— shocking herself— she had discovered that she really did like it like that— far too much.
Really, though, she should not let him; the places they had ‘done it’ in, recently; dirty, smelly alleyways, with the noise of the street loud, just ‘round the corner; back doors of restaurant kitchens open— anyone could have come out, seen her, holding her dress right up above her breasts, his hand so tight around a fistful of her hair, hurting her, holding her bent right forward, tits swinging free, his right foot trapping her ankle out wide, his cock rammed into her butthole, making her squeak and moan, her breasts jiggling wildly as he worked himself toward his climax, taking his sweet time, laughing at her faint protests, ripped panties on the floor in that muddy puddle. God but it had been good (not that she’d come— he doesn’t take as much care that she gets off as he used to, she’s noticed, almost with relief— she’d never had a man pay that much attention to her pleasure before, and it was, truly, a joy to focus on him), but really!
Being blindfolded in the taxi had come next. Sexy, of course, but still, definitely had made her nervy.
But then, this place had calmed her— so beautiful, so swanky— a garden this big, so full of flowers and lovely surprises, so many well dressed people, such an amazing buffet, free bar with all the best things, all those uniformed manservants, the people at that big and heavy antique table on the terrace so obviously important, rich as anything, the chateau itself (Dieter said it had been called ‘The Castle’— using the English term deliberately instead of the French, in reference to something called ‘the English Vice’, which explained nothing at all to her, but seemed to amuse Dieter).
Whatever the setup was, it was clearly serious, rich and well established; even if it did seem to be a place where well-heeled older men were surrounded by young and attractively dressed younger women. But that was actually a good thing, too; Dieter was lots older than her, and she didn’t think anything of it— was grateful for it, to be honest— he was so much less trouble than the boys she had dated who were her own age— he let her do her own thing most of the time, no sign of jealousy or insecurity.
In the end, though, it was the realisation that there was serious money, serious, old money here, that had calmed her then.
Until, after a little while, as she figured out that at least half of the girls were somehow part of some ‘harem’ at this place, she had begun to feel weird all over again. Girls who were dressed in dresses like hers, mostly, though some were much, much more revealing— verging on the indecent.
These girls were not guests, but rather inmates, it seemed; their collars were heavier than hers, and some of their bodies bore marks which Dieter had answered her questions about with perfect calm, as if seeing a young woman who had been whipped, and clearly whipped more than once, from the criss-crossing of welts of different redness, was something perfectly ordinary.
They … they let themselves be … be whipped? she had asked, finding her heart beating faster as she asked, her pulse beating hard in her neck, butterflies in her tummy just like when Dieter started in on her in public; half fearful, half exhilarated, knowing she wanted more, not sure she should be going along with it, but absolutely certain that she would go along with it; more, that she would be disappointed if he did not push on through to the full-on intensity that was promised.
And even Dieter’s answer hadn’t stopped it being as exciting as it was worrying;
They have no choice in the matter— not about whipping, not about fucking, not about anything, to be honest, not while they are held here. They are whores, held in common by the members here; it’s not permanent, but while they are here, you could call them slavegirls, even.
But then he’d been taken off by some older woman, dressed rather severely, who had smiled a very strange smile at her; utterly without warmth, but at the same time a smile of approval that had made her feel very complicated; at once as if she was full of champagne, breathless at the attention, and at the same time terribly small and insignificant; as if she ought to go to her knees in the woman’s presence. The woman had turned, then, smoothly, and sailed away, Dieter following her like a lamb following its mother.
Since then, she has felt at a loss, confused, unsure of herself, lost almost, jostled about by the party, until this man had appeared, offered to take her to the drinks table, helped her to some fruity punch, and asked her that question.
He was still waiting, still smiling at her, perhaps expecting that she might say more than she had, so that, with the silence still wanting more, without thinking about it, she heard herself saying;
What … what does a girl have to do, then, to … to be accepted here?
And instantly blushed crimson, knowing that there was no possible way her question did not suggest that she, Lisette, was thinking about what it might be like to be … well, to be a sex-slave…
And, looking up, to find it equally obvious that the man was thinking about her being a sex-slave, too, smiling at her, laughing at her, almost, but with such a glint in his eye, that she had found herself laughing with him, blushing wildly…
He’d taken her by the hand, then;
Let’s go and talk to Anne-Marie. She’ll have the answer to that question for you.
When she realised that the woman they were going to see was sitting at that big old table, and that she was the same woman Dieter had been talking to, and when Anne-Marie had smiled at her in that same way again, she had faltered, stopped walking, pulled back on his hand (but had not pulled it from his grasp, which, looking back, she saw would have been so easy, and might just have changed everything that happened since);
He’d looked down at her, eyebrows raised, no trace of impatience or irritation, just as genuine, friendly and interested as before, and she’d said;
I … I’m not sure … (her mind racing; sure? Sure of what, exactly!?! What was happening?)
He had turned to her and taken her other hand, too, his face becoming serious, empathetic, understanding;
Of course, you’re not, pretty. How could you ever be sure about such a thing?
And he’d held her, so softly, almost tenderly, while several deep, powerful, gentle shudders had taken her, something enormous turning itself over inside her, unknown, serious, portentous, a feeling like none she had ever known, so that she had lost focus completely, forgotten everything but his hands, holding hers, keeping her safe, waiting for her, not rushing her, keeping everything at bay while she settled herself; feeling the tears, such gentle, big tears, forming and pushing themselves from the corners of her eyes, and then she had heaved a great and tremulous sigh, and she was back in her self, only … only something was over; lost, gone, and she was infinitely sad, and infinitely grateful to him, for having helped her, and very, very weak, too, so that she was glad of his lead as he turned her away from him, and did the obvious thing, undoing the little bow at the back of her dress which was the straps, so that the dress fell away, so that she was naked (the thought appeared in her head, that Dieter had been so right to deny her her panties— they would have spoiled the purity of this moment), then turned her back, smiled at her and tugged, ever so gently, at her hand again, towards the woman;
Shall we?
And she had tried; tried so very hard, to smile, holding back the sadness, the loss of it all, the inevitability of the loss, the tragedy, of it, her terrible, terrible weakness in the face of this kind cruelty, the treacherous cleverness of Dieter, the weight of this place, its overwhelming solidity, this strange man’s confidence in handling her, the shame at having been so easily suborned; but in the end, all she could manage was the tiniest of shrugs.
It had been enough, though, and so then, of course, they were walking, and then Anne-Marie’s fingers were between her legs, quickly inside her, a bony but oh-so-clever thumb at her swollen and needy nubbin, with everyone watching— all those old men— as, from behind her, he had lifted her leg, a hand crooked behind her knee, right up onto the table, splayed her open for them all to see, then stood behind her, gently but very definitely holding her elbows, immobilising her.
And she? She had leant back into his shoulder, opened herself, given herself, unable to imagine doing anything else, as the woman, almost mechanical in her cleverness, brought Lisette to a glorious, devastating, urgent, public come-off.
And then, of course, everything else had happened.
It wasn’t OK, really; she knew it. But it was what had happened, and there was nothing at all to be done about it but accept; the only way to keep despair at bay to helplessly seek the few pleasures which were available to a Castle Toy, such seekings inevitably public and obvious, humiliating and degrading; a downward spiral.
Epilogue
She hadn’t seen Dieter again until the following year’s garden party, with a very pretty brunette in a cute dress. She had watched, avidly, and seen the girl asking Dieter questions, demanding, watched her face go white, ask more questions, angry red at her cheekbones, jittery, watched her slap Dieter and march back to the gate, leaving him shocked, to rush after her, until one of the manservants firmly grabbed his arm, talking into his ear, serious-faced.
A hollow feeling had taken her, as the thought presented itself, unwanted, that that was all it would have taken, to escape. To have still had a life.
The pit yawned for her then, as it did every few months, and she had forced herself to turn away, to throw herself into the dancing, to flip at the hem of her skirts, to brazenly look over at the wildest group of young men and wiggle her hips at them, flicking her tongue tip, shaking her shoulders to make her nipple piercings jingle, desperate; daring them, needing to be handled very roughly indeed.
