The young woman in the castle

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

In the darkest, coldest hour before dawn, Bill reappeared. He switched on the bathroom light, leaving the door open. A square patch of light shone into the middle of the bed, illuminating the slightly raised area under the covers, beneath which lay O's slender body, curled up slightly. He silently pulled back the covers. O was still lying on her left side, facing the window, her legs slightly curled up. Before him was her white profile, appearing even whiter against the black animal hide. After removing the pillow from under her head, he politely said,

"Please stand up."

She struggled to her feet, clutching the chains. He helped her stand facing the wall, supporting her elbows. The light from the bed seemed somewhat dim against the black animal hide, illuminating her body but not his movements. Though she couldn't see clearly, she could guess that he was untying the chains and attaching them to another chain to tighten them, because she could feel the chains getting tighter.

She stood barefoot on the bed, unaware that this time, instead of a leather whip, he carried a black riding crop on his belt. She felt Bill press his left hand against her waist, then the mattress shifted as if his right foot had stepped on it. With a whooshing sound, half-hidden in the darkness, she felt a terrible burning sensation on her back and screamed in terror. Bill had been whipping her with all his might; before her screams subsided, he lashed her four more times, deliberately setting each lash slightly higher or lower to make all four welts clearly visible. Even after he stopped, her screams continued, tears streaming into her open mouth.

"Turn around obediently," he said.

Confused and unable to obey, she was grabbed by the hips and turned around, the whip sweeping across her waist. When she faced him, he stepped back slightly and then began to lash her thighs with all his might, the whipping lasting a full five minutes. He then turned off the light, closed the bathroom door, and went out, leaving O groaning in the darkness, tossing and turning along the wall at the end of the chain. She tried to stop groaning, leaning against the wall for support; her whipped body felt cool against the shimmering fabric against the wall.

Dawn was slowly breaking; she faced the high window, half-leaning against the wall, her face turned east. The window opened from the floor to the ceiling, but had no windows. O watched the pale dawn gradually rise, its mist following the asters outside the window; the outline of a poplar appeared, yellow leaves occasionally falling, though there was no wind. Below the asters outside the window was a meadow, at the end of which was a path. It was now broad daylight, and O hadn't moved for a long time.

A gardener appeared in the path, pushing a wheelbarrow; the screeching of the iron wheels grinding against the gravel could be heard.

If he came here to collect fallen leaves from the asters, with such a large window and such a small yet bright room, he would surely see her chained, naked, even the whip marks on her legs, swollen and forming narrow, dark red streaks.

Her lover loved to sleep soundly in the quiet mornings. In which room was he, in what bed? Did he know the pain and torture he had inflicted on her? Was he the one who had decided all of this? She remembered the prisoners she had seen in sculptures and history books, chained and whipped, many years ago, many centuries ago, long since dead. She didn't want to die, but if enduring torture was the price she had to pay to protect her lover, then she only hoped that everything she endured would bring him happiness. In tenderness and tranquility, she waited, waiting for them to bring her to his side.

At this time, no woman possessed keys—not the keys to the door locks, the padlocks on the chains, or the locks on the collars and bracelets. But each man carried a set of three keys, each a different size, to open all the door locks, padlocks, and collar locks. The servants also had these keys.

Every morning, after the servants on night duty had fallen asleep, one master or another servant would unlock the doors. The man who came to O's room was wearing a leather jacket, breeches, and boots; she didn't recognize him. He first unlocked the chains on the wall, and O lay down. Before unlocking the lock on her wrist, he reached between her thighs, doing exactly the same thing the first masked and gloved man had done in that little red parlor—perhaps the same man. His face was bony and thin, with the sharp gaze of old Hagennos's portrait, but his hair was gray. O's eyes met his gaze, and it lingered for what seemed like an eternity before freezing. She remembered the rule against looking above the master's belt and quickly closed her eyes, but it was too late. As he unlocked the lock on her wrist, she heard him laugh and say,

"You will be punished for this after dinner."

He said something to Jenny and Angie, who had come with him to serve on either side of the bed, and then left. Angie picked up the pillow that had fallen to the floor and spread out the blanket that Bill had pushed to the side of the bed while whipping O. Jenny moved a dining cart table, which had been pushed in from the hallway, to the bedside. On the table were coffee, milk, bread, and butter.

"Eat quickly," Angie said. "It's nine o'clock. After you eat, you can sleep until noon. When you hear the bell, it's lunchtime. Take a bath and comb your hair; I'll come and do your makeup and help you put on your bra."

"And you?" O asked.

“We’re only here to take care of you for the first twenty-four hours of your stay. After that, you’re on your own. You’ll only be dealing with men from now on. We can’t say anything more to you, and you can’t talk to us anymore.”

“Don’t go,” O said, “Stay a little longer, and tell me…” Before she could finish, the door opened: it was her lover, and he hadn’t come alone. Her lover was dressed as he used to be every morning when he lit a cigarette: striped pajamas and a blue bathrobe, a woolen robe with a silk lining, which they had bought together a year ago. His slippers were old, and she thought she should buy him a new pair. The two women disappeared without a sound except for the soft rustling of silk when they lifted their skirts (all of which were floor-length). The slippers made no sound on the carpet.

O was now sitting on the bed, a cup of coffee in his left hand and a buttered bread roll in his right, his legs crossed or half-crossed: one leg bent, the other resting on top of it. She didn't move, but the cup in her hand suddenly began to tremble, and the buttered bread roll fell to the floor.

"Pick it up," René said. That was his first word.

She put the cup on the table, picked up the partially eaten bread roll, and placed it beside the cup; a few greasy crumbs remained on the floor beside her bare feet. René bent down, picked them up, and then sat beside O, pushed her down onto the bed, and kissed her. She asked him if he loved her, and he replied, "Yes, I love you!" Then he stood up, helped her to her feet, and gently stroked the whip marks on her body with his cool palms, kissing them all over.

O wondered if she could look at the man who had come with her lover; he was now leaning against the door, smoking, his back to them. What followed unsettled her.

"Come here and let us see," her lover said, leading her to the bedside. He told his companion he was right and thanked him. He said that if he needed her, it would be fair for him to go first.

She hadn't dared to look up at the strange man. He first touched her breasts and buttocks, then demanded that she spread her legs.

"Do as he says," René said, reaching out to grab her. She stood with her back to him, his right hand caressing one of her breasts, his left hand on her shoulder. The strange man sat on the edge of the bed, slowly parting her hairy labia. René understood the man's intention, so he pushed her breasts forward to make them easier for her to access, his right arm sliding to her waist, holding her tighter.

She could never accept such caresses with a clear conscience; they always filled her with shame and made her try her best to avoid them. She saw such caresses as sacrilege, believing it was sacrilege for her lover to kneel, that she should be the one kneeling. She suddenly realized she couldn't escape this time; it was her destiny. When those unfamiliar lips pressed against her petal-like, open flesh, she groaned, suddenly feeling a burning sensation throughout her body. She no longer restrained herself, letting the fiery tongue ignite her even more intensely. When those lips began again, her groans became even more violent. She felt that hidden spot harden and erect, being sucked on for a long time by teeth and lips. It still didn't let go; another long, slow sucking made her hold her breath.

Suddenly, she lost her footing and fell onto the bed. Le Nei's lips pressed against hers, his hands pressed her shoulders down on the bed, and the stranger's hands underneath pushed up her knees and spread her legs. Her hands were behind her back (her wrists had been locked together when René pushed her toward the stranger), and the man's genitals lightly touched her body. His thrusts made her cry out, as if whipped, and each subsequent thrust made her scream. Her lips were bitten by her lover. The man suddenly withdrew, cried out, and collapsed to the floor as if electrocuted.

René untied O's hands, picked her up, placed her on the bed, covered her with a blanket, and the man stood up. René accompanied him out the door. A flash of lightning struck O's mind; she felt abandoned, vanished, and cursed. She had uttered a moan she had never made in front of her lover beneath a stranger's lips, and the stranger's penis had made her cry out sounds she had never made in front of her lover. She felt defiled, ashamed, and if he left her because of this, she would only feel guilty. But he didn't leave. When the door opened and closed again, he returned. He was with her again, lying side by side with her under the blanket. He slipped into her damp, hot embrace, holding her as before, and said,

"I love you. In the days to come, I will have to hand you over to the servants. One night I will come to see you and let them whip you until your skin is torn."

Sunlight broke through the morning mist and filled the room until the noon bell rang, and they woke up together.

She didn't know what to do. Where should her lover lie, as intimately, as tenderly, and completely unguardedly, as in their low-ceilinged room, as in the bed they had slept together almost every day since they moved in together? It was a huge English mahogany four-poster bed, the headboard slightly higher than the footboard. He always slept on her left side. No matter what, sometimes even at midnight, whenever he woke up, his hand would habitually reach for her leg.

Because of this, she always slept without anything under her robe, and even when she wore pajamas, she never wore anything on her lower body.

He did it again, as was his habit. She grasped his hand and kissed it, but hesitated to ask him anything. He began to speak. He reached for her collar, two fingers slipping between her neck and the collar. He told her: all this was happening according to his will. From now on, she would be shared by him with those he chose, and with those he didn't know but connected to the circle of this castle, just as it had happened the night before. She should trust him and depend solely on him, though she would also receive commands from others, because in principle, whatever she was asked to do, or whatever was imposed upon her, he was involved. Everything she endured in the hands of those strangers was his possession and enjoyment of her, because he had handed her over to them. She must greet and obey them as she would him, as if they were his many incarnations, so that he could possess her as God possesses his creation.

God gives his creations the appearance of demons, or the appearance of birds, transforming them into invisible spirits, or a state of ecstasy. He didn't want to leave her; the more he gave her, the tighter he held her. In fact, he gave her away to prove to himself and to her that she truly belonged to him: only what belongs to oneself can be given to another. Giving her away was gaining her, gaining her as she became more beautiful in his eyes, like an offering used for a sacred purpose.

For a long time, he had desired her to sell her body for his sake, and he was pleased to find that the pleasure he derived from it was greater than expected, making him even more inseparable from her, just as she was inseparable from him. Because in this process she would suffer more humiliation and abuse, but because she loved him, she couldn't help but love everything that came from him.

She listened, trembling with overwhelming joy, for she was certain he loved her; she trembled with excitement at having tacitly agreed to everything he said. He seemed to guess what she was thinking, for then he said,

“It’s easy to verbally agree to give up things I want but you can’t give me, but even if you agree beforehand, even if you agree now, and even if you think you can submit, you still can’t help but resist. And we must get your submission no matter what, not only for the unparalleled pleasure that I and others will derive from it, but also to make you understand the changes that will occur in you from this experience.”

She was about to say that she was his slave, that she would gladly bear the shackles placed upon her, when he stopped her.

“Yesterday you were told that as long as you are in this castle, you cannot look at a man’s face or speak to him, and this applies to me as well: to me, you must remain silent and obedient, I love you. Now get up, and from this moment on, in front of a man, you may only open your mouth when crying and caressing.”

So she obeyed and got up, while René remained in bed. She took a bath, combed her hair, and her wounds throbbed with pain when they touched the warm water, so she had to use a sponge to dry herself to avoid the burning sensation from scrubbing. She applied lipstick but not eyeshadow, then dusted herself with face powder. She lowered her eyes and returned to her room, still completely naked.

René was watching Jenny, who entered the room and stood beside the bed, also head bowed and silent. He asked her to help O dress. Jenny brought her a green silk corset, a white petticoat, a long skirt, and green slippers. She first helped O fasten the corset, then went behind her back to tighten it. The corset was long and tight, with the once-fashionable wide whalebone braces and padding to support the breasts. The tighter the corset, the higher the padding lifted the breasts, and the more prominent the nipples became. At the same time, the tight waist made her abdomen and hips appear more prominent.

Surprisingly, the outfit was incredibly comfortable, even instilling a sense of peace and tranquility: it made you stand very straight, yet also made you feel—it's hard to say why unless you use a contrasting approach—that the unrestrained parts of your body felt freer, or rather, more easily utilized.

The long skirt and trapezoidal neckline opened from below the neck, across the breasts, and down to the entire chest; for the girl wearing it, it seemed less like a protective garment and more like something designed for allure or display.

After Jenny tied the lace around her neck, O picked up the long skirt from the bed. It was a dress, with a petticoat and outer skirt connected, but also separable. The corset and lace accentuated the elegant lines of her bust, more or less affected by how loosely or tightly it was bound. Jenny had bound O's corset tightly, and O could see her reflection in the bathroom mirror through the open door: slender, her lower body hidden in the waves of green silk. The two women stood side by side. As Jenny reached out to help O smooth the wrinkles in her green dress, O saw her breasts tremble beneath the lace of her corset, her nipples slightly elongated, her areolas brown, and her dress yellow.

René walked up to them and said to O, “Look.” Then to Jenny, “Lift up your skirt.” Jenny lifted the rustling hem and stiff edges of her skirt, revealing her golden belly, her shimmering thighs and knees, and that tight black triangle. René gently stroked it with one hand, while the other played with one of her nipples.

“It’s for you to see,” he said to O.

She saw it; she saw his expression, a mixture of irony and eagerness. His eyes were fixed on Jenny's half-open lips and her neck, which was slightly tilted back, the leather collar tightly around her neck. She thought painfully: what pleasure could she give him that that girl or anyone else couldn't?

"Not with you," he added.

No, not with her. At this thought, her spirit suddenly collapsed. Leaning against the wall between the two doors, her hands fell limply to her sides. There was no need for her to remain silent anymore; what else could she say?

Perhaps he sensed her despair. He released Jenny and held her in his arms, saying she was his love, his life, repeating his love for her over and over.

His hand stroking her neck was damp, carrying Jenny's scent. What else could she do? The despair that had once overwhelmed her slowly receded: he loved her, ah! He loved her. He could play with Jenny or other people as he pleased, but he still loved her.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible, “I love you.” He didn’t leave until he saw her eyes clear and her expression calm and satisfied.

Jenny took O’s hand and led her into the hallway, their slippers echoing loudly on the brick floor once more. They saw another servant sitting on a bench between two doors. He was dressed exactly like Bill, but he wasn’t Bill. This man was tall, gaunt, and had dark hair. He led them into a drawing room, where two servants stood before a wrought-iron door adorned with green curtains on either side, and several white dogs with brown spots lay at their feet.

“That’s the wall,” Jenny muttered. The servant walking in front of them heard her and turned around. To O’s surprise, Jenny’s face turned ashen. She released O’s hand, the one that had been gently lifting her long dress, and knelt on the black marble floor of the living room. The two servants by the door burst into laughter. One of them walked up to O and politely asked her to follow him through the opposite door. She heard laughter and footsteps, and the door closed behind her. She didn’t know what was going to happen. Would Jenny be punished, and if so, what kind of punishment? Perhaps she had knelt down to beg the servant for mercy, or perhaps her action was in accordance with some rule. Had she achieved her goal?

In the first two weeks at the castle, she had noticed that although the principle of silence was absolute, in situations where only they and the servants were present, on the way to a certain part of the castle by the servants, at mealtimes, and especially during the day, the girls always tried to break this rule. It seemed that the sense of security shattered by their nakedness, by the chains of the night, and by the presence of their masters had returned to them. She also noticed that in their masters' presence, the slightest gesture could dictate their actions. This was not the case with the servants, who never gave orders, though their polite requests were as unchangeable as commands. They clearly enjoyed punishing any minor transgression committed in their presence, and always on the spot. She had witnessed three girls being caught talking and immediately thrown to the floor and whipped—once in the corridor to the Red Quarter, and twice just as they entered the dining room. Thus, it was possible to be whipped during the day, even though they had told her it wouldn't happen. This seemed to suggest that the servants' behavior was not subject to such rules, but rather left to their own discretion.

The servants' attire looked strange and frightening during the day; some wore black stockings, red jackets, and white shirts—soft, wide-sleeved silk shirts tied tightly at the neck and wrists. On the eighth day after O's arrival, at noon, one of the servants, carrying a leather whip, roused a blonde woman named Madeline from her stool. The girl was voluptuous and alluring, and O happened to be sitting not far from her. Madeline thrust out her rosy, milky-white breasts, smiled at him, and said something—but O didn't hear it because it was spoken too quickly. Before his hand reached her, she had already caressed his still-dormant penis and placed it under her half-open lips, thus escaping the whip. Since he was the only watchman in the dining room that day, and he had closed his eyes while being caressed, the girls began to whisper: It's possible to bribe a servant, but what good is it?

There was one rule that O found most difficult to follow, and in fact, she had never truly been able to completely adhere to: the rule against looking at men's faces—a rule that also applied to the servants. O felt constantly in danger because those faces always attracted her curiosity, and she had already been whipped by two servants for it. But it wasn't always because they discovered she was looking at them; it was more likely just to humiliate her.

They valued flexibility and freedom, unwilling to adhere to rules such as the requirement for girls to keep their eyes off their faces and mouths to their penises, whips, and hands. No matter how cruel they were to her when they were ruthless, she never had the courage to kneel before them to plead for mercy, though her submission was certainly not meant to encourage their cruelty. The rule about silence meant little to her; except for that time with her lover, she never violated it, always responding with gestures when other girls took advantage of the guards' distractions to speak to her.

At the meal, they were led into a large hall with black walls, black marble floors, and long, heavy, black glass tables. Each girl sat on a round stool covered in black leather. Before sitting, they were required to lift their skirts; the smooth, cool leather against their legs reminded her of the first time her lover made her remove her pantyhose and underpants and sit in the back seat of a car in the same way.

When she leaves the castle, she will dress no differently than anyone else, except for one thing—beneath her seemingly normal suit and long skirt, she will be completely naked. Whenever she lifts her petticoat and long skirt to sit beside her lover or others, whether in a car or a restaurant, that familiar feeling will return to her: the breasts supported by the silk corset, the mouth and hands that cannot resist any invasion, the terrible silence.

Yet, for her, nothing can offer more comfort than silence and chains. Chains and silence bind her deeply within herself, suffocating her, oppressing her, yet simultaneously freeing her from herself. When her lover makes her surrender herself to those strangers in his presence, what would she be if she had the right to speak, if her hands were free, if she could make a choice? Indeed, she spoke when she was tortured, if groans and cries can be considered speech, and they often put a gag on her.

Under those gazes, under those caresses, in that absent illusion, she lost her boundaries; she was merely one of many, one of many girls. Her body was forcibly opened, just like all those girls who were forcibly opened. She saw it all, but she was utterly powerless to stop it.

And so, less than twenty-four hours after she arrived at the castle, on her second day there, after dinner she was taken to the library to serve coffee and tend the fire. Jenny had already been brought back by the dark-haired servant to go with her, along with a girl named Monique. The servant led them into the hall, standing not far from the pillar where she had been bound. The library was empty, the French doors wide open to the west. In the vast, cloudless blue sky, the autumn sun moved slowly, its light shining on the bookshelves with their drawers, a large bunch of golden chrysanthemums exuding the scent of earth and decaying leaves.

"Did Bill mark you last night?" the servant asked.

She nodded to indicate he had.

“Then you should show them,” he said. “Roll up your skirt.”

He watched her roll up her skirt from behind, just as Jenny had done the night before, and watched Jenny fasten it for her. Then he told her to light the fire. Her hips, waist, thighs, and slender calves were all exposed, outlined by a waterfall of folds in green silk and white linen, the five whip marks now black.

The fire in the fireplace was readily available; soon a bunch of apple branches were ablaze, followed by round oak sticks, which crackled and rose high with colorless flames almost invisible in the daylight, but smelled wonderful. Another servant came in, placing a tray full of coffee cups on the long table, moving the lamp to make room. O went to the table; Monique and Jenny remained standing on either side of the fireplace.

Just then, two men entered. The first servant immediately left the room. O felt she recognized one of the men from his voice—one of the men who had taken her last night, the one who had suggested making her back more accessible.

Monique placed sugar in each cup in turn, and as O filled the black and gold cups with coffee, she secretly glanced at the man. He was such a thin, blond boy, a young man with an English air. He was speaking again; now she was certain it was him. Another man, also with light-colored hair, a burly build, and a somber expression, sat in a large leather chair, his feet dangling near the fire, quietly smoking and reading newspapers, paying no attention to the women as if they didn't exist. Occasionally, the sound of turning pages or coal falling into the fire could be heard.

She sat beside the basket of firewood, on a cushion placed on the floor, adding logs to the fire again and again. Monique and Jenny sat on the floor opposite her, their skirts overlapping, Monique's being a deep red.

An hour passed. Suddenly, the blond boy called Jenny over, then Monique, and ordered them to bring the leather stool (the same one Monique had lain on that night). Without waiting for further instructions, Monique knelt down and lay on it, her breasts pressed against the leather stool, her hands gripping the corners tightly. When the young man ordered Jenny to lift her red skirt, Monique didn't move. Then Jenny followed his instructions and undressed him—his command was extremely brutal—holding the fleshy sword in her hands, the very same sword that had so cruelly pierced O's body at least once. It hardened in her clasped hands, and then those same hands, Jenny's small hands, parted Monique's legs, and the young man slowly thrust into the hollow between her thighs, letting out a weak moan with each brief spasm.

Another man watched them silently, gesturing for O to come to him. He pulled her to sit on the armrest of a chair, his eyes still fixed on the scene before him. O's rolled-up skirt revealed her buttocks, and he grasped her genitals.

A minute later, the door opened, and René saw her in this very situation.

“Please don’t let me disturb you,” he said, then sat down on the cushion he had just been sitting on by the fireplace. He watched her intently, a slight smile playing on his lips with each thrust and pull of the hand that held her. The hand explored both her front and back orifices simultaneously, probing deeper and deeper as they opened, until she finally let out a groan she could no longer suppress.

Monique had already stood up, and Jenny was leisurely adding a log to O’s place. She brought René a glass of whiskey, and he kissed her hand. He continued to drink, his eyes still fixed on O.

The man still holding her asked, “Is she yours?”

“Yes,” René replied.

“James is right,” the man continued, “she’s too narrow; she needs to be widened.”

“But not too much, you have to be careful,” James said.

“As you say,” René said, standing up, “you’re a better judge than I am.” Then he rang the bell.

For the next eight days, usually between 8 and 10 pm, after dark, O would finish her work at the library and return to her room, where she would be chained. She would be naked except for a red cloak, and a black rubber rod resembling an erect male genitalia would be inserted into her anus. It was secured by three small chains attached to a leather strap around her hips to prevent it from falling out due to internal muscle movement. One chain was at the back, and the other two were on either side of the triangular area of her abdomen, designed to allow anyone to access another orifice if needed.

René would ring a bell to summon a safe filled with various sizes of small chains, leather straps, and rubber rods, all meticulously crafted and designed to be thinner at the top and thicker at the bottom to prevent them from slipping inside and causing problems. These rubber rods were intended to widen the entrance, but if slipped in, they would actually tighten it. Each day, James would personally select a rubber rod slightly thicker than the previous day, and O would kneel or lie on her side, watching as Jenny, Monique, or whichever girl happened to be present inserted it.

At dinner, the girls ate in the same dining room. After bathing and applying perfume, she wore it naked, the little chains and belts visible to everyone. Only on nights when no one wanted her, the servants would remove it after chaining her to the wall. If someone wanted her, the servants would first chain her hands behind her back and remove it before taking her to the library.

After several nights, this opening, though still narrower than the other, was easier to use.

Eight days later, the tool was no longer needed, and O's lover told her he was delighted by her double openness and was determined to keep her in this state. He told her he would be leaving for several days, and she would not see him for the last seven days at the castle until he returned to take her back to Paris.

"But I love you," he added, "I truly love you, don't forget me."

Ah, how could she forget him! He was the hand that blindfolded her, the whip that whistled in the hands of the servant Bill, the chains that bound her, the hushed voice.

Had she grown weary of it all? No. The immense and excessive pleasure and pain, the constant defilement and growing accustomedness to violence and humiliation, seemed to have thrown her into a state of numbness, a state bordering on hibernation or sleepwalking. In fact, quite the opposite; the corset that kept her upright, the chains that tamed her, the silence that had become her haven, had now become the eternal image of the used bodies of girls and of herself—an eternal image of a body that, even unused, would always be ready for use—the image of her own body and her self-awareness.

Having endured this ritual of being defiled by saliva and semen almost daily, she felt herself becoming truly unclean, the cesspool mentioned in the Bible; yet, the parts of her body, dulled by constant violation, became incomparably beautiful and noble in her heart: though her lips held a strange penis, her breasts were constantly caressed, and the two adjacent orifices between her thighs were brutally invaded, her self-sacrifice became a source of greater nobility and dignity. This may sound unbelievable, but the word "dignity" is indeed most fitting here; she was illuminated by all of this, her heart filled with peace. A bright, almost imperceptible smile could be observed on her face, the kind of smile that flashes in the hermit's eyes, something that can only be guessed at but never seen.

Night had fallen when René told her he was leaving. She was waiting in her room for the servants to take her to the dining room, completely naked. When her lover arrived, he was wearing the same suit he always wore when going into town. As he embraced her, the stiff tweed jacket chafed her nipples. He kissed her, laid her flat on the bed, and then lay down beside her, taking her with extreme tenderness, slowness, and elegance. He used both her open orifices alternately, kissing her lips once more before finally ejaculating into her mouth.

“Before I leave,” he said, “I wish to whip you one more time. This time I must ask for your permission first, do you agree?”

She agreed.

“I love you,” he said again, “and now the bell is called Bill.”

Bill chained her hands to the wall. Bound like this, her lover kissed her again, then stood beside her. He told her once more that he loved her, then nodded to Bill. He watched her struggle hopelessly, listening to her moans turn into cries. When tears streamed down her face, he ordered Bill to leave.

With her last ounce of strength, she told him she loved him. He kissed her tear-streaked cheeks and panting lips, untied her, laid her on the bed, and quietly left.

If it were said that she had begun waiting for her lover's return from the moment he left, that wouldn't be enough: from that moment on, she felt nothing but the bitter wait and the darkness. On that day, she wore a portrait-like expression; her skin was soft, her lips docile, her gaze always lowered—for the only time, she could endure this rule.

She lit the firewood, poured wine and coffee, lit cigarettes, arranged bouquets, and folded newspapers, just like a young girl in her parents' living room. Her bare neck and leather collar, her corset and prisoner-like bracelets—all of this made her appear so pure and ethereal, even though the orders she received from the men she served were limited to standing by and watching them ravage other girls. She could sense their desire to ravage her more.

This was undoubtedly the reason for their changed attitude towards her. Had she done something wrong? Perhaps her lover's departure made them feel more free to do with her? Whatever the case, this is what happened next: the day after he left, as night fell, she began to undress, examining in the bathroom mirror the welts Bill's riding crop had left on her thighs—they were almost gone.

Just then, Bill entered. Two hours before dinner, he informed her that she would no longer be dining with the others in the dining room and told her to prepare herself. He pointed to the Turkish toilet in the corner and made her squat down, which reminded her of something Jenny had once mentioned Bill would make her do.

She stayed there for a long time, and he stood there watching her. She could see his reflection in the mirror, and also her own. She couldn't control the fluid flowing from her body. He waited for her to finish bathing and apply face powder. Just as she was about to get her slippers and cape, he stopped her and then locked her hands behind her back. She sat down at the foot of the bed and waited for him.

It was pouring rain outside, and the poplar tree outside the window swayed in the wind and rain, occasionally a pale leaf hitting the windowpane. Although the seven o'clock hadn't rung yet, it was already as dark as midnight. Autumn was deep, and the days were getting shorter.

When Bill returned, he was carrying the blindfold they had used on her when she first arrived in one hand, and a clanging iron chain in the other, very similar to the one on the wall. She could sense his hesitation, unsure whether to put the blindfold on her first or put the chain on her first. She gazed at the rain outside the window, indifferent to what he intended to do to her. She was only thinking: René had said he would come back to take her away, five days and five nights to go. Where was he now? Was he alone? If not, with whom? But she believed he would return.

Bill placed the chain on the bed, not interrupting O's daydream, but simply covering her eyes with a black velvet eye mask. The mask, round below her eye sockets, fit snugly against her cheekbones, making it impossible to peek, even to open her eyes. Then, a comforting darkness descended like night, which O greeted with unprecedented joy, the equally comforting chain carrying her away from herself.

Bill fastened the chain to her collar and asked her to follow him. She stood up, led forward by the chain.

From the cold brick floor beneath her feet, she deduced she was walking in the corridor of the Red Zone. Later, though the ground remained cold, it began to roughen, and she knew by touch that she was now walking on stone, a surface paved with sand or granite. Twice, the servant told her to stop, and she heard the sound of a key unlocking and then locking again.

"Watch your step," Bill said.

She tripped as she went down the stairs, and Bill caught her around the waist. Before this, he had never touched her except to whip her while she was bound in chains, but now he pressed her against the cold stone steps, and she tried to hold onto the steps with her chained hands to avoid slipping. His hands grasped her breasts, and then his mouth moved from one breast to the other. She could feel his slow erection pressing against her body. He didn't help her to her feet until he was satisfied. She was wet and cold, shivering, and finally reached the last step, at which point she heard another door open.

As soon as she stepped inside, she felt a thick carpet beneath her feet. With a gentle tug on the chains, Bill untied her hands and removed her blindfold. She found herself in a small, low-ceilinged, domed room. The walls and ceiling were made of stone, the seams between the stones visible. Directly opposite the door, an iron ring was embedded in the wall, to which the chain of her collar was fastened. The ring was three feet off the ground, allowing her no more than two steps forward.

There was no bed or any other furniture to use as a bed, nor any blankets or anything like that. There were only three or four Moroccan-style cushions, but she couldn't reach them; they were clearly not for her. However, within her reach was a niche, from which a faint light shone, illuminating the otherwise dark room. In the niche was a wooden tray containing bread, water, and fruit. A ring of heating pipes ran along the base of the wall, but the heat emanating from them couldn't mask the smell of earth: the smell of ancient prisons and castle dungeons.

In that oppressively warm darkness, there was no sound; she quickly lost all sense of time, day and night, the lights burning constantly. Bill or other servants—it made no difference to her—constantly replaced the bread, water, and fruit on the trays, and led her to a nearby dungeon to bathe. She could never see the men who entered, because each time a servant would blindfold her before they came in, removing the blindfold only after they left.

She had lost the ability to recognize them, to tell who they were, how many there were, or who was it that her soft hands and lips were blindly caressing her. Sometimes several came together, more often one, but each time before they took her, they made her kneel before the wall to be whipped.

The ring beneath her collar was fastened to chains on the wall. She pressed her palms against the wall, her face against the back of her hands to avoid chafing, her knees and breasts pressed directly against the stone. She was lost in this constant torment and screaming, the rounded arch of the ceiling soothing her painful groans.

She waited, time itself ceased to exist. She had waited three months, three days, perhaps ten days, or even ten years.

In the velvety darkness, her chains were unlocked, and she vaguely felt herself wrapped in a thick cloth, lifted up by someone's shoulders and knees, and carried away. She found herself back in her room, lying under a black animal skin blanket. It was a morning when she opened her eyes, her hands free. René sat beside her, gently stroking her hair.

"You must get dressed now," he said. "We're leaving here."

She quickly took a bath, and he combed her hair, handing her face powder and lipstick. When she entered the room, she found her suit, shirt, coat, socks, and shoes already laid out by the bed, along with her gloves and small handbag. She even saw the trench coat she used to wear over her suit when the weather changed, and a scarf around her neck. But there was no belt or underpants among these clothes. She slowly put on her clothes one by one, rolling her stockings down to her knees. She didn't wear the trench coat because the room was warm.

Just then, the man who had explained the rules of the place to her on the first night came in. He removed the collar and bracelet she had worn for two weeks. Was she finally free from their constraints, or did she feel a sense of loss? She remained silent, almost afraid to touch her wrists and throat.

He took out a small wooden box and had her choose one from among many rings that fit her left ring finger. It was a peculiar iron ring, gold on the inside, with a wide emblem on it, raised in the center, and three spiraling circles of decreasing size at the bottom, like a Celtic halo. The second ring she tried on fit perfectly; it felt heavy in her hand, and gleamed faintly with gold in its dull gray iron.

Why iron? And why gold? She didn't understand the meaning of the symbol. It was impossible to discuss such things in this room, for the iron chain still hung above the bed, the black blanket had slipped to the floor, and the servant Bill could appear at any moment. In the dim light, he seemed to have truly appeared, dressed in that absurd theatrical costume.

But she was wrong; Bill did not appear. René had her put on a trench coat over her suit, and put on gloves and cuffs. She picked up her headscarf and small handbag, draping her coat over her arm. The sound of her heels clicking on the floor wasn't as loud as her slippers. Doors closed one by one behind her, and the living room was empty.

O, holding her lover's hand, had a stranger who had been with them open the wrought-iron gate for them. She remembered Jenny calling this place "the walled village." The servants and dogs she had seen before were no longer there. The man lifted a green velvet curtain and led them through it, the curtain hanging behind them as they heard the door close. They finally arrived at a living room from which they could see the lawn outside. As they descended the steps of the gate, O recognized the car.

She sat beside her lover, who gripped the steering wheel and started the car. They drove through an open field and past an open gate, and after a few hundred meters, he stopped and kissed her. Then they drove home, the car passing through the quiet outskirts of a small town, where O saw a name on a road sign: Rossi.

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