The drive was long. They left the city and went on the interstate. It was dark outside now and Fia couldn’t see where they were going. She should have had more concern for her safety, but she found that she didn’t care. Fia was barely capable of keeping track of where they were going.
In less than half an hour of travel she slumped against Jo and drifted off to sleep.
Wherever they were when they arrived, it was far from the city. Jo unhooked the leash from the hook and helped Fia out of the car. Once they were outside the cloak was once again draped over her shoulders. Fia took a moment to see where she was.
It appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. They were surrounded by trees but in a large clearing that was occupied by an enormous house. It was fully dark now except for the extensive lighting from the house.
The house was a contemporary building, one created in its own style. They weren’t close to the city, but the atmosphere hadn’t changed. They were still in the same region. The shape of the house was a variety of boxes and angles and nothing seemed to make sense as it being a place of residence.
“This way,” said Jo. She didn’t tug on the leash, but merely increased the tension.
Fia followed willingly. She was a slave. She fully intended to fulfill all aspects of whatever contract she was sold under. She still had her pride.
They went up the wide steps to the front door. Much like Solange’s house, she was led through the place, full of expensive furniture and contemporary sculptures. Hardwood floors gave way to stone tiles to thick carpeting. Every room was different. Some were large, some small. Nothing made any sense any longer.
“Where is Mr. Stafford?” asked Fia when they finally arrived in what seemed to be a hotel room. Maybe it was supposed to be a guest room.
Now used to the routine, Fia opened up her legs to let Joe unhook the leash.
“Not here. You’ll meet him soon enough.”
“Why am I here?”
“You’re his slave, aren’t you?” asked Jo with a smirk.
“Yes…”
“That answers your question.”
Joe placed a small suitcase on the bed. “Your personal items,” he said. “Your phone included.”
“My phone?” She never expected that. She hadn’t had that with Solange.
“You aren’t a prisoner here,” said Joe.
“You’re just a slave,” said Jo.
They left her in the room alone. Fia waited a minute and then tried the door handle. It wasn’t locked. She opened it and looked down the hallway. Empty.
Fia retreated to the room, sat on the bed, picked up her phone, and called her mother. She was depending on her mother not being savvy enough with technology to figure out she wasn’t in the city any longer.
“Hi honey!” The greeting was far too sunny which made Fia realize she hadn’t talked to her mother in far too long.
“Hi Mom.”
“What’s the matter, Fiadh?” Her mother sounded genuinely concerned. “You sound unhappy.”
“Sorry, Mom. I was just thinking about…about everything.”
“You know, if you want a change in careers…”
“No, Mom,” Fia said quickly. “I’m doing well with my art.” She wandered around the room and came to a stop in front of the mirror above the dresser. The dresser was an odd choice to have in the room considering that she had no clothes to put in it. Taking a moment she studied herself in the mirror and was surprised that she liked what she saw.
“After that little art show you put on I’m not surprised. Is your gentleman friend helping your career? I know how those people in big money finance love to waste money on art to show off.”
“Mom…”
“I know, I know, but still. You haven’t lost him, have you? He’s so good for you. What’s his name again?”
Fia found that for a moment she was unable to remember any name of anyone. It took her far too long to remember who her lover was.
“George, Mom. His name is George.”
“Yes. That’s it. How is he?”
“He’s fine. We’re…we’re on a bit of a trip right now. I won’t be able to see you for a while. A month at least.”
“Well, that’s fine. Make sure he pays for everything. You’re worth a lot, you know.”
Fia idly played with her nipple ring. “I know, Mom.” There was no way she could tell her mother that she was a slave who had been sold for a ridiculous amount of money, real or imaginary.
“Don’t worry about birth control either. I can’t wait to be a grandmother.”
“Mom!”
“Sorry, but do what you need to keep him.”
“I’m just going to keep doing my art.” She didn’t want to think about how much of a slave to her art she was.
“Who was that author who wrote that book about the art of the bedroom?”
“Okay, I’m hanging up now, Mom.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Fia was glad to disconnect the call.
But she missed her mother at the same time.
Fia woke the next morning refreshed and content with her new life even though she had no idea what her new life was. She had removed all her chains and placed them in the empty dresser but, of course, kept in her rings. The attached bathroom was nearly as large as the bedroom. Fia luxuriated in the shower and carefully inspected her body. The new piercings were healing nicely. She wasn’t surprised to find that other than towels in the bathroom there wasn’t so much as a robe.
That wasn’t going to stop her from exploring.
Feeling a bit bold she went back to the dresser and picked out one of the chains. It was easy enough to attach to her nipple rings and it felt right to wear it. Her rings, the one chain, and her collar were her only clothing; it was all she needed.
The house was quiet but she sensed other people were in it. The air was warm, maybe they had taken into account her lack of clothing. It only took her a minute to find the kitchen.
The female escort, Jo, was sitting at a table in the large room, sipping coffee and eating scrambled eggs. The cook at the stove didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see a beautiful and naked woman walk into the kitchen. She was dressed in the uniform of a housekeeper while Jo wore a suit much like yesterday’s.
“Breakfast, ma’am?” asked the cook.
Fia hadn’t expected to be called ma’am. Was miss more accurate? Was slave her now-preferred form of address?
“Yes. Please.”
The rather plain cook set to work while Fia stood awkwardly just inside the kitchen’s doorway.
“Have a seat,” said Jo, pushing a chair away from the table where she was sitting.
Not knowing what else to do, Fia did as suggested.
Jo took in Fia’s naked form. Fia could feel the other woman’s eyes linger on her breasts.
“You have nice tits,” the guard (escort? jailer? groom?) said.
“Thank you.”
“I could never get my tits pierced.”
Fia didn’t want to say she had no choice in the matter. “I’ve found that I wasn’t sure at first, but now I love them.”
Jo made a non-committal grunt. “I’ll be with you here for the day. Whatever you need, just say so.”
“Thank you. But what could I possibly need?”
Jo chuckled. “Clothes would be my first suggestion.”
“Could I have some clothes?”
Jo chuckled again. “No. Those are on the forbidden list.”
“What else is on that list?”
She nodded. “Smart girl. Drugs and alcohol. Anything illegal, just to let you know. No rides off the property.”
“No fireworks?” Fia asked snidely as the cook put a plate of eggs and toast in front of her and then added a cup of coffee.
Jo snickered. “Smart ass girl. No. That’s about it, though.”
“Can I get some paint and canvases? I’d love my drawing tablet as well along with access to the internet so I can communicate with my clients.”
“Sex clients or art clients?”
Fia wondered if Jo knew about her short career as a low-cost but high-end prostitute. “Art.”
“Sure. I think those have been prepared for you already.”
Fia nodded and ate. The smell of the breakfast made her realize she was famished. The conversation stopped as Fia ate.
She heard a buzzing from within Jo’s jacket. The guard pulled out a cell phone and looked at a message. Glancing up at Fia she said, “Stand up and turn around. I need to take a picture of your tattoo.”
It was just another bit of humiliation that Fia had become accustomed to. She displayed the tattoo that Solange had put on to show ownership. Jo took a few pictures and told her to sit back down.
“Why?” asked Fia after she resumed eating.
“Why what?”
“Why do you need a picture of my tattoo?”
“Me? I don’t. Mr. Stafford wants it.”
“Again. Why? And when will I meet him?”
“He wants it removed. And you’ll probably meet him tonight.”
Fia laughed. “Removed,” she chuckled ruefully.
“Why is that funny?”
“I’ve barely had it for a month.”
Jo shrugged. “Life of a slave, I suppose. Mr. Stafford doesn’t like other people’s names on his property.”
“I’ll meet him tonight?”
“Yes. There’s a little party happening tonight. You’re the feature attraction.”