The water was turquoise and warm-to-tepid, almost non-existent, as Mme. Sabine – slender and naked – stepped and then slid quickly into the small private pool that was nestled among ferns in the covered bath-house at the home of Mr John Stronnel. Something had changed in her. It was evident straight away. Madam Therese, a woman in her mid to late forties, already lazing with the water up to her bare, tanned shoulders, both arms stretched on the pool's edge, could see it in her face, her eyes. She looked at the younger woman's beautiful nakedness, her breasts, her thighs, her almost perfect frame. What had been happening? What was it that had changed?
It was the second Thursday. Every second Thursday they would meet at this location and spend a good hour – sometimes three – soaking dreamily, sipping jasmine tea, now and then making conversation. Often there was little to say, which was fine with them both, but on other second Thursdays the younger woman had questions and dilemmas ready for the older and they spent the morning in light, comfortable and wide-ranging discussion. And sometimes – like this particular morning – the older woman made observations and wanted to hear of events and experiences, dreams, surprises, disappointments, developments. The great fortune of it was that they – in all truth – had genuine affection for each other and both felt at ease discussing whatever matters might arise. This included matters of the most explicit intimacy – an intimacy without taboos - since, in fact, that was the business that had brought them together in the first place.
The younger woman was at that time an odalisque to a wealthy gentleman, Mr Stephen Tarrant, architect. The older woman had once served in the sexual servant's role to Stronnel; now her duty was mentoring and instruction. Officially, she was Overmistress to Mme. Sabine: friend, teacher, guardian, protector, companion, and on occasion, mom. She knew the odalisque well enough to be able to detect changes in her demeanour and to know when something had gone wrong – or when something had gone right! She could sense when the younger woman was troubled, or when, on the contrary, she was exhilarated in her youthful confusions. On this day she seemed both. It was hard to tell. The Overmistress smiled with compassion and then, wisely, waited for Miss Sabine to relax and start the conversation. For her part, the younger woman flopped her body into the clear water and ran her palms over her breasts and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. At last. Second Thursday. One of her favourite days.
“Do you think,” she asked at length, “that women are more sexual than men?”
It was a big question. The answer – short of an abstract philosophical discourse that might cover all the possibilities – was, of course, that it depends on the man and the woman.
“Why do you ask?” said Madame Therese, waiting for Sabine to open her eyes and reveal more of her feelings.
“Just wondering” said Sabine.
This was followed by a long silence punctuated by the gentle sounds of the water lapping on the tiled edges. The morning sun beamed down through a skylight into the greenery and seemed to make the garden steamy, tropical.
“Do you think,” asked the odalisque eventually, “that lust can drive you crazy?”
These were merely warm-up questions. Despite their trust and the deep connection they had established, and the fact that nothing was taboo between them, the younger woman was = as usual – slow to open her heart, or, rather, she was simply shy and didn't quite know where to begin.
“It can do, sure,” said the Overmistress. “Why do you ask?”
She searched Sabine's face for clues.
“No particular reason” said the slave, “But I was wondering what you thought, and I...”
But she added nothing more.
More soaking. More silence. The sound of bird-song outside. The gorgeous warmth of the April sun. Miss Sabine let her body float limply and commented on what a lovely day it was. It was a few minutes more before she finally started getting to the point, but even then she still seemed uncomfortable.
“My Master,” she said, “organised a group last week...” Then Sabine held he nostrils closed and slid down into the water. When she surfaced, her hair wet, she continued. “And it was, well, amazing...”
“Ah-huh,” said the Overmistress. “A group...?”
“You know,” said the odalisque. And she looked at Therese as if to say, 'Do I really need to spell it out?'
She didn't. Madam Therese understood perfectly, but she looked back as if to say, 'Are you going to tell me about it or are you going to make me drag the details out of you by force?'
The odalisque avoided her gaze by pretending to notice how her toes were floating on the surface and taking an interest in the state of her toenails.
“A big group,” she said finally. “And it was really... well, I think I really shocked myself this time Therese...”
“How so?”
The odalisque rolled over in the water, her skin pale and smooth and glistening where the sunlight touched upon her shoulders. Her breasts were exceptional. Round. Pert. Perfect proportions. Her neck was splendid too. A long and elegant neck, now framed by the long strands of her wet hair.
Why was she reluctant to open up about this? Why the hesitancy? How had she shocked herself? And what did she mean by “shocked”?
A slightly awkward silence. She spun around in the water again, dunked under, came back up, looked coy.
“A big group?” asked the Overmistress. Another invitation to speak.
“Big-ish,” said the odalisque. “At Mr Ahmed's. Mme. Kathy. Dr Hampton. Those people.”
“I see,” said the Overmistress. “And you shocked yourself?” She smiled.
The odalisque raised her eyebrows. “Wow!” she said, and slid back under the water again.
The event to which she kept alluding was a “party” at the home of Mr Ahmed who had only recently returned from a business trip to Istanbul. And by the word “group” or “party” she meant, in fact, an orgy. Her Master hadn't ventured into Mr Ahmed's circle in a long while, and when he did he would often visit on his own. But on this occasion – a special event - he took Miss Sabine along. He thought it time she saw the full extent of Mr Ahmed's “operation”, the euphemism he used for what was, in fact, Mr Ahmed's hareem of sex slaves and the circle of men and women around him who were devoted to the nurture and use of odalisques. The “party” was at Mr Ahmed's luxurious mansion, a two storey white marble home built in the 1920s in the ornate Art Deco style. To the rear of the upper floor was the 'saray' – the playroom – once a ballroom where governors and Secretaries of State had wined and dined in former times; now it was equipped with devans and couches, a large circular bed, rugs and cushions, and an array of fixtures and devices devoted to the pursuit of sexual pleasures. On the night in question there were nearly twenty people present and they could have easily occupied only a single corner of the room. The lovely Mme. Kathy stood on the old bandstand – naked and barefooted as befitting a slave – and gave a violin recital of Brahms while another slave from Mr Ahmed's hareem, Miss Nell, served drinks. The handsome Dr Hampton gave a speech welcoming Mr Ahmed's return. It was an elegant affair. At first.
The Overmistress wondered why she hadn't heard of this party and, even more, why she hadn't been invited, but in fact it had been some time since she was active in the scene.
“Who else was there?” she asked when Sabine resurfaced.
The odalisque listed those could remember but many of those present she didn't know by name. There were several freewomen, several slaves, and a majority of men all of whom arrived in semi-formal attire – suit and tie – and observed the level of decorum upon which the very urbane Mr Ahmed insisted. After the recital and the formalities, though, the lights were dropped low and the night fell into orgiastic abandon – with absolutely no decorum at all! When Madam Therese asked for details of who did what and to whom her companion took another breath, held her nose and dunked down into the water again and upon surfacing said, “My goodness, Therese! It was a wild night. Crazy.”
Therese observed that Mr Ahmed wasn't known for doing things by halves. Indeed, he was possibly the most serious Slavekeeper in the country. It came as no surprise to her that a “party” at Mr Ahmed's – which is to say one of Mr Ahmed's infamous orgies – had gone off with a bang.
“You came away unscathed?” she asked.
Sabine nodded, but her eyes revealed that she had seen things – done things – which she had found... well, extraordinary.
“You know Therese, I think I nearly lost the plot...”
The Overmistress smiled. All was OK. No harm done. The discomfort in Sabine, she realised, was nothing more than old-fashioned shame. It was entirely becoming, in fact, and she observed just how beautiful, and how deeply sexual, the young woman was.
“So tell me...”
For the rest of the morning, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, and as the fernery filled with rich green light, Sabine detailed the events to which she had been privy. Apart from the steam and the beads of water on her skin she would have blushed and been embarrassed. Mdm. Therese was patient, kind, and also amused. “You outdid yourself, then?” she laughed. “Ha!” And indeed it was true. Perhaps Sabine had sipped a little too much wine, or perhaps the night had caught her at a flashpoint in her hormone cycles, or perhaps (as she considered) she was getting more depraved, but her participation in the orgy was wholehearted, full on. At her Master's direction she gave herself to all the guests without discrimination, male and female, fucking, sucking, panting, moaning, on the bed, on the floor, on the divan. She stayed near her Master at first. She had never encountered a group scene so big. But then a certain gentleman – she didn't know his name – took her by the arm, laid her across some pillows and proceeded to pound her with cock. Beautiful cock. Long, thick, juicy cock. It was that that did it to her. He was an expert, and his phallus was divine. He propped himself on his knees and toes, thrust his lips to hers, and started pumping. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Sabine threw her legs wide apart and gave herself to the moment. It drove her mad. Along with the sounds and smells and shadows of twenty or more others lurching and licking all around her. It was wildly exciting.
“I couldn't stop,” she confessed. “I lost control. When he rolled off me I just wanted more. I looked around for another man, another cock. God, Therese. I lost control!”
“Like never before?”
“Yes. Like never before.”
“Why worry?”
“I don't know. I... I lost control. Totally. I was... trembling. Really, Therese. I was an animal. I was crawling around on my hands and knees looking for cock to suck. My god!”
The Overmistress was sanguine. “Well,” she said, “Mr Ahmed knows how to throw a party!”
To illustrate, Sabine related how, at one point in the evening, she was laying in a tangle of naked bodies, her face only inches from the pussy of some woman – identity unknown – while a long, circumcized phallus – identity unknown – slid in and out in joyous rhythms of lust. She didn't care who these obscene organs belong to. She was fascinated to watch them close-up. Pussy juice dripping off the cock. Pink vulva. The sultry scent of sex. The man's testicals hanging low, swinging. Close-up. In detail. Mindless animal organs. Thrusting. Quivering. She could hear grunts at every thrust. A barrage upon her senses. Sounds of squishing. Amazing contours of flesh. Vigour and energy. Spice. Flashes of red swelling. The cunt opening up and gobbling on the cock. And then – led by sweaty, rushing desperation, shafts of hot pink – suddenly, with a cry, the cock withdrew and Sabine watched amazed as streams of white semen burst from its head and splattered all over the sweltering pussy. An extraordinary view. The sudden smell of ammonia-laced man-juice. Thick. Dribbling. No longer content to watch, Sabine repositioned her arm and with a truly bestial lust – this is what she meant by lost control – she plunged her face into the soaked crotch and started lapping up the mess, blissful to have the sticky goo and the sheer heat of fucked pussy on her face.
“I couldn't help myself, Therese,” she said, almost apologetic. “Really. I couldn't help myself.”
The older woman splashed some water onto her shoulders and smiled. “Well, I'm shocked!” she teased. “How digusting of you Sabine! I hope you are thoroughly ashamed of yourself.”
“But that's the thing,” said the slave. “I am! I've never lost control like that before. Never. And there were other things, too. Wow!”
Finally, the older woman realised it was time to avail the younger of the lesson for the day.
“What do you expect, Sabine? I don't see why you are perturbed? This is the odalisque's life. How far will you go? How crazy will it get? So, you've discovered something about yourself. You never thought your lusts extended that far, is that it? I could have warned you. Mr Ahmed's parties have a way of bringing out the beast within a girl... It won't be the last time. If you're lucky.”
Was it 'normal'? Well, what's normal anyway? And what is normal for an odalisque? The only thing to overcome, she explained, is the guilt and the shame. “Don't let guilt get you down,” was her primary word of advice.
“Is that all it is?” asked Miss Sabine. “Guilt?”
It was time to get out of the pool and dry off.
“That's it,” said Therese. “Its deadly. Although in your case, I think its sort of cute...” They smiled at each other. Rapport. “My goodness,” Therese continued, now drying the slave's back with a towel, “once I sucked off a whole football team.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. But I would have if John had asked me to. And, god knows, there were times I swear I wanted to! This life will stir your passions, girl. Expect it. And don't be surprised by your own depravity. Isn't that what led you into this life anyway? And don't be surprised if Mr Ahmed knows how to give everyone a good time. He's an expert at the orgy. OK?
“OK.”
Guilt. Miss Sabine didn't usually think of herself as suffering from guilt. 'Yes,' she thought, 'guilt. I should do something about that.'
“Its just that I shocked myself, I guess,” she said again.
“Be prepared to shock yourself some more before your days are out,” said the Overmistress. “Its an inner exploration, the odalisque's life. You'd be surprised what kind of lusts are lurking within. As you've just found.”
Therese gave her an endearing kiss on the head and then the two of them walked naked through the fernery inside to make some lunch.
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