The dream came to me again last night, the one in
which I am lost in the fog. It is an all-encompassing
miasma that chokes the lungs with its cold dampness
and shrouds my senses with its blanket thickness. It
is certainly very frightening, though I am not a child
and dreams should not scare me, this one does. In my
dream, I am lost and I cannot find any landmark that
could indicate where I am. I do not even know if I am
in a familiar place or lost in some dread realm. The
fog swirls in the manner of tar, thick and cloying, a
dancing cloud as dense as lead and just as
impenetrable.

I am lost and bewildered, wandering aimlessly, looking
for something or someone, though what or who, I cannot
tell. It is then that I see Peter coming out of the
fog towards me; his smiling face is somehow almost as
frightening as being lost. He comes closer and
something within me councils that I should run from
him, but there is nowhere to run to in this place.
Wherever I go, he finds me and comes for me, still
smiling that awful smile. He gets closer and closer
until I am backed up against a wall or something just
as solid and immovable, and then he puts out his arms
either side of me to block my escape. He looms ever
closer, his breath coming to me in small swirls of
fog-laden foulness. It has the stink of the charnel
house about it, a smell of death and corruption that
makes my gorge rise as I inhale its sweet stench of
decay.

It is, as his face comes closer to mine that I
eventually find my voice and scream for all I am
worth, but it does nothing to stop Peter’s advance
towards me. He simply laughs at my futile attempts to
raise an alarm and comes ever closer.

It is at this point in the dream that I awaken and sit
upright in my bed, normally with my breath coming in
short gasps as I fight to regain control of myself.
But tonight as I awaken, I can still sense the
chilling touch of the fog and I can still smell that
corrupt smell that is Peter’s breath. In my semi-awake
state, I imagine that I can see the shadows retreating
across the moonlit room, rushing for the sanctuary of
the dark places, hiding in corners, ready to emerge
again should I return to my dream realm. I fancy that
from the corner of my clouded vision, I can see the
few lasting tendrils of the fog evaporating as I try
and focus on them. Then they are gone, as is the
terror and I am back in the familiar surroundings of
my bedroom.

It all began over a year ago now when I first met
Peter at the dancing academy. I for my part attend the
academy as a matter of necessity. I must be able to
dance in the latest mode to ensure my gentlemen
friends have a partner able to behave in a manner
befitting the generous gifts they adorn me with.

I am not a whore, neither am I a courtesan. However, I
do survive on the generosity of those gentlemen who
make my acquaintance and who have me as their escort
to parties and to grand balls. They are oft times most
generous in their appreciation of my gracefulness on
the dance floor and my attentiveness when in their
company. That is how I live, that is from where my
income derives, though they are seldom so ungallant as
to pursue me further than this.

On occasion there have been some who wished to make
further demands of me than is my accepted norm, and I
readily admit that I have, on occasion, taken to them
and we have loved for a brief while. But these
liaisons rarely last longer than a few weeks. Either I
initiate an end to the affair or they do, for fear of
their wives or fiancées will discover their
infidelity, or that their position in society will be
compromised by a continuation of our trysts. This is
how I met Peter.

I attended the academy one evening to learn the latest
dance, an impertinently fast caper, an import from
France I have no doubt, but I had no partner to take
me through the steps. Mister Conner, my dance tutor
paired me with Peter, saying that as the most
accomplished dancer in his class, I would no doubt
soon have mastery of the steps, and would I be so
gracious as to dance with this gentleman who was new
to his academy? I had no argument with this and so I
became Peter’s partner for the dance that evening.

He was courteous, a gentleman in every sense.  And yet
there was something about him, something I could not
quite put my finger upon, that gave hint of adventure
or threat, of danger, perhaps even seduction.  Nothing
in his manner could be faulted, though I felt his eyes
upon me every second.  Or was it my imagination?  Yet,
he did not do it outright, openly, though I had the
feeling when in his arms dancing that he had singled
me out.  How I know not, for it was Mister Conner who
paired us. Oh, his hands stayed where a gentleman’s
hands should when dancing with an unknown lady – but
his eyes roamed wayward over my bosom and lower person
until I became flustered and blushed.  I feigned the
heat and tiredness and we sat for a while, taking
refreshment at the small tables set-aside in a corner
and manned by an elderly maid.

The dance was a quadrille and made a fine exercise for
the evening.  As expected, the steps were soon learnt
and I was enabling Peter to follow them with some
ease.  While attempting the dance, we talked of minor
things – the weather, newspaper articles of interest
and what a writer called Charles Dickens was doing for
the poor in the form of his weekly stories in the
newspapers.  This last subject seemed to touch at a
place close to Peter’s heart for he became more
animate in his speech and movement.

At last, the end of the session came and we collected
our outdoor clothing from the small cloakroom adjacent
to the dance room.  Mister Conner was there, as is his
want, to see all of his lambs from the building until
the next class.  He made easy conversation with ladies
and gentlemen alike, bidding them farewell until the
next time.  It was soon my turn.

“Good evening to you, Mrs Seagram, and thank you so
much for taking Peter under your pretty wing.”  It was
open flattery, I know, but Mister Conner believes it
his duty to flatter the ladies.

“By all means, Mister Conner.  The gentleman is an
adept partner and manages very well.  I will see you
next week, sir?”

The last I directed at Peter, who stood just behind me
and to one side.  As I turned to him in question I saw
his eyes wander up from where they had been lazily
admiring my posterior and hesitate momentarily on my
bosom before he answered my question with direct eye
contact, “Surely, madam, I will be here and awaiting
your further instruction.”

Did I imagine it, or had there been a flicker of a
smile around the corner of his mouth?  Mister Conner
did not seem to notice anything amiss, and took
Peter’s hand in his own, showing us to the door and
out into the night with a hearty, “Good evening to
you!”

I stood for a moment, gathering my thoughts in the
dimness of the gas lamp that stood just outside the
academy door.  A fog had sprung up from the river
while we were at the dancing class and now swirled in
probing fingers around the street lamps and doorways.

Peter stood silently, watching me.  I must admit to
feeling disconcerted at this observance.  I turned to
him, “Good evening sir.  We meet here next time, I
think?”

“We do indeed, madam,” came the gentlemanly reply.
“If not before, upon the street.  I’ll escort you to
your home, if I may?”

I did not think it right that Peter should yet know my
address and so replied, “I think not, sir.  The
distance is but a short one and, here, a hansom draws
near.”  I hailed the cab’ and the driver reined the
horses in.  Their breath added to the fog.

Peter handed me up into the carriage without a word
and stood on the pavement as we pulled away.  I
glanced up out of the rear window as we did so and
there, beneath the gaslight, stood Peter.  The fog
coiled about him, curling upward until, at last, he
disappeared.

It was that night that I had the first dream.  I had
had no other engagements with my gentlemen and decided
to take a soothing bathe and retire early.  The social
season was fast approaching and I fancied the more
ease I took now the better.

I was relaxed, as far as one can tell, and had no more
thought of Peter or the evening than of anything in
particular since reaching my residence.  Yet, as I
dropped into slumber, it was as if I were not alone in
the room.  As if, in the dark corners, someone sat and
watched me dream . . .

The fog was thick.  A London Particular.  It froze
around people’s mouths and made dragons of them.  It
clung in drip drip drips from leaf and gutter,
dropping down the collar of the unsuspecting as they
passed beneath.
People walked hunched through the dense mist like
phantoms in an ethereal soup.  But clasp the collar or
scarf as tight as you may, the fog seeped into the
very marrow of the bones and made ice of them.
You could not see who approached; you could not see
what approached.  Echo’s of “I beg your pardon” and
“So sorry” bounced about with muffled sounds as
strangers met with a bump.  Streetlights, giving dim
illumination, a mere reflection of themselves, came
into focus as they were walked into, and disappeared
up out of sight before an arms length.  They could
have been the stilt-limbed elephants from a Salvador
Dali painting marching off into the clouds.
Fog has strange effects of things of everyday
familiarity.  It can turn a tree into a building.  A
play area into a shadowy pit.  A friend into a
monster.

In my dream I was walking along a street, a familiar
street, one that I have walked many times, but for now
its name escaped me. The fog was closing in and I felt
its cold touch like the fingers of the dead on the
warm flesh of the living. I gave an involuntary
shudder at my own imaginative analogy and walked on
with a slightly quickened pace to escape the gloom.

As I hastened to my unknown destination, the fog
thickened and became the choking, cloying veil that is
the manner of a London Particular. The sounds of
people colliding and apologising in the gloom faded
and I realised I was alone. Alone save for a presence
that I felt rather than saw. I stopped momentarily to
see if I could identify who, or even what it was that
was with me on my promenade. It could well have been
just a dog, wandering the streets looking for a warm
dry place to sleep for the night, but I sensed it was
something more sinister.

I saw nothing and heard even less in the fog, its
dampening effect having muted even the sound of my
footsteps on the cobbles. I was now more than just a
little afraid and so I increased my pace to get me to
whatever sanctuary it was I was destined for. I
glimpsed a side street and took a turning to the left,
feeling that this was the direction I should be
taking. Once in the next street, I realised that I had
wandered into a small alleyway, the smell of decaying
rubbish was strong here. I turned around to exit this
unsavoury thoroughfare, as I knew all too well what
kind of denizens might lurk here awaiting the
unsuspecting pedestrian. I looked back in the
direction I had come but could see no clear exit. I
was lost.

I moved on hurriedly hoping to avoid any encounter
with thieves or worse and I walked straight into
Peter.

I nearly screamed with surprise and only managed to
stifle it when I recognised the sardonic smile playing
around his handsome lips, a vision only possible at
close quarters. He stood there wreathed in the damp
fog, wearing it like a cloak of invisibility. I stood
back a pace, my heart still beating fast from the
sudden shock of our meeting.

“Peter, what are you doing here?” The question was
stupid, for it was none of my business what Peter did.
But I blurted it out without thinking.

That same sardonic smile returned to his face, but he
remained silent. In control of myself now, I leapt to
an unfair conclusion, partly out of surprise but also
out of a sudden feeling that I was in great danger. He
had followed me home and now he was following me in my
wanderings. The fact that this was a dream mattered
not, for I was not aware at the time that I was in a
dream state. All I knew was that he had followed me
and he had at heart some evil purpose in doing so.

I looked to him for an answer, but none came, he
simply continued to smile. Then he looked off slightly
to one side, almost a half glance. I was unable to
stop myself and I followed his gaze across the
alleyway. The fog had thinned slightly and I could now
see my surroundings clearly. There, on the ground
lying in a crumpled heap was the body of a woman. The
dark stain that was spreading out from beneath her
could not be seen as red in the darkness, but I smelt
the warm, hot smell of blood. I knew she was dead,
what I did not dare to consider was who had killed
her.

Peter looked back at me, and this time he spoke.

“Well well well, I see you have followed where I lead.
I am glad. I knew you were of my nature when we met
this night at the academy. Come, let me show you
something,” he said and moved towards the body of the
woman on the ground. Despite my rising terror, I
followed him across to her lifeless form and watched
with horror as he pulled her body over onto its back.
A thick viscous stream of congealing blood ran from
where her throat had once been, now just a gaping,
ragged hole in her neck. Peter looked up at me and
smiled again, this time I could contain myself no
longer, I felt the scream rise within me from deep
down, but it stuck halfway. As I looked into the
lifeless face of the murdered woman, I realised that I
was looking at myself.

Sitting upright now in bed, my mind raced to make
sense of what had just happened. I was cold and damp
from the sweat of terror that had soaked me in my
sleep. The fresh, perfumed smell of my recently bathed
body now replaced by the rank odour of fear. My heart
was beating rapidly and I took my time to come back to
reality and to realise that I was awake and at home in
my own bedroom and not in some dread alleyway with my
own corpse and murderer. What had this meant? Was this
some kind of warning to me? Was I simply reacting to
my meeting with Peter that night or was there
something deeper at work here?

As I sat and thought of what it all might mean, my
train of thought was overtaken by an insistent sound.
Someone was knocking on my bedroom door. It could have
only been one person and so I called for them to
enter.

My maid, Polly came into my room. I had thought that
she had been awakened by my nightmare. Had I cried out
in my sleep? I would not have been surprised to find
out I had, such was its intensity and depth of
reality. I took a deep breath.

“Yes Polly, what is it?” I asked.

“Sorry Mrs Seagram, I didn’t mean to bother you, but
you have a caller.” My face must have shown my
incomprehension as she repeated her statement.

“A caller? What time is it Polly?” By the fact that
the gas lamps were all lit outside my window, I
assumed it must be after ten, Polly confirmed this.

“About half past ten Mrs Seagram, shall I tell the
gentleman to call back again tomorrow?” she said,
anxious to get back to her own warm bed no doubt. At
the word gentleman, I suddenly became alert. None of
my gentlemen friends would come here at such an hour
uninvited, so it could not be them. I instructed Polly
to show my visitor into the drawing room and to tell
him that I would be with him soon. Polly left and
scurried off downstairs again. It was then that I
realised I had not even asked Polly if he had given
his name.

Pulling on my gown as quickly as I may, I pondered who
the visitor could be.  The particular evening of the
week had always been put aside for my dancing
practises and any household accounts that needed
attending to.  My gentlemen knew this and had never
interrupted before.

I opened the door and descended the stairs, still
quite without a clue as to who waited below.

As I neared the hallway at the bottom of the stairs I
heard murmuring – a man’s low voice talking to a
woman, who answered hesitatingly.  I had visions of
the visitors being one of my gentlemen accompanied by
an irate wife or fiancée.  Steeling myself against the
expected barrage of verbal abuse I gripped the handle
of the door.

I opened the door to the drawing room and there, to my
surprise, stood Mister Connor from the dancing
academy.  Polly was a short distance from him, with an
occasional table positioned between herself and Mister
Connor.

“Mister Connor, this is an unexpected time to be
calling.”  I tried to sound nonchalant but was, in
truth, intrigued why my dancing tutor should call at
such an hour.

Polly made a quick curtsy while Mister Connor was
distracted by my approach and escaped to bellow stairs
to await my call.

“I apologise for it, Mrs Seagram, but there is a
pressing matter that will not wait for our next
meeting at the academy.”  Mister Connor eyed me in his
Great-Uncle way under his bushy eyebrows.

“And the pressing matter being?”  I motioned him to
take a seat in the chair near the banked fire.

Mister Connor seemed to be unsure how to begin.
Usually a forthright man, very flattering to the
ladies but with a whimsical, almost theatrical way
about him, and always the gentleman, this was a
different side to the man I had come to know through
many months dancing practices.

“I am troubled, Mrs Seagram.  That is the matter and I
do not like to be troubled.”  The bushy eyebrows rose
and fell in thought, the mustachios likewise.  Mister
Connor leaned forward in his seat towards me, as if
straining to make his self understood and escape his
thoughts.  “I introduced you tonight to a gentleman by
the name of Peter.  In truth, this gentleman is
somewhat of a mystery to me.  He arrived tonight at
the academy and asked to be allowed to join in the
classes.  He paid a handsome fee, Mrs Seagram, I don’t
mind admitting.  As I received his donations he said,
‘I am sure you can partner me with a lady of
experience’.  Of course I believed him to mean dancing
experience and immediately thought of you.  As the
thought passed through my mind I saw a change to his
face.  It has only in the last hour or two occurred to
me.  His face became almost as that of a hunter when
he has the prey clear in his sights.  As I say, I
thought nothing of it then and it did not register
until an hour or so ago.”

Mister Conner took a deep and sorrowful breath; I
waited.

“When I returned to the academy after seeing you leave
this evening it sparked curiosity about the gentleman.
 I was concerned for your well being and went to see
Agnes, who you know is adept at the formalities of the
academy administration, and asked to see the
gentleman’s application.  Agnes is such a little
stickler for her paperwork that I was sure I would
find out what I needed to put my mind at rest from the
completed forms.  But Agnes, for the first time in her
twenty-five year employment at the academy, had
relented in the proposal that Peter fill in the
paperwork at a later date.  She was most emphatic, the
dear, that Peter would honour his promise but knew no
more of him that I do.  His name only, in short.  Mrs
Seagram, we know not where he lives, nor where he
comes from, nor his age or occupation.  I have paced,
Mrs Seagram, paced in agitation these last two hours –
and I know the reason not.”  Mister Connor stood
abruptly and, indeed, paced.

“Calm yourself, do, Mister Conner,” I placated.  “I am
sure that these are but a chain of consequences and
there is nothing untoward in Peter’s character.”  I
spoke the words but my mind raced over the events in
the dream I had experienced a short time before,
remembering the feeling of terror and the recumbent
corpse with the too familiar face.  “He has said he
will be at the academy for the next lesson and perhaps
then your troubles will be alleviated.  I cannot think
that a person so charming and willing to learn of the
social graces could have ulterior motives for not
giving account of himself.”

Mister Connor looked up and was staid in his
movements, “You are, of course, right, Mrs Seagram.”
He smiled, the mustachios animate.  “I am sorry to
have troubled you with this; was only wondering, in
fact, if the gentleman had talked of himself at all
during your evening or perhaps on the journey home?”

I looked steadily upon Mister Connor’s countenance but
could see no hint of malice.  “Sir, we talked of
everyday things while at the academy and I made the
journey home alone.”

Mister Connor approached and took my hands in his own,
“Madam, please forgive such an impertinent question.
I am foolish and it is late.  I will leave you now and
look forward, as you say, to the next time we shall
all be at the academy with our fears unfounded and
troubled no more.”

The theatrical statement had lightened the mood
somewhat, and we laughed lightly.  Thinking of my
maids’ disposition, I forbore ringing for the girl and
gave Mister Connor his hat and coat myself, showing
him into the hallway.

As we reached the door, Mister Connor took my hand
once more and lightly pressed it to his lips.  It was
an apology, and it stirred a thought.

“Mister Connor, you made mention of the conversation
between myself and Peter earlier, of which I can think
of nothing that would signify comment.  But why would
you think we had journeyed together from the academy.
What would give you such an impression?”

Mister Connor stood on the doorstep outside pulling on
his gloves, his breath smoking in the cold air.  “What
impression, madam?  Why, for the simple reason that I
assumed you had shared a cab’ home, for I saw him,
from the window, step onto the backboard of your
carriage and ride along with you.  Good night to you.”

I closed the door on the good and honest Mister Conner
and stood for a moment, stunned by the revelation of
what he had imparted to me. On leaving the academy, I
had taken one last look at Peter through the rear
window of my Hansom cab’, and I had seen him standing
beneath a gas lamp; the fog surrounding him like some
spectral wraith. If he had indeed climbed on to the
backboard of the cab’, would I have not heard him?
Would I have not seen him when I alighted from the
carriage at my own doorstep? This was most perplexing
and not to mention a little disturbing. Why on earth
would he follow me home in such a manner?

I went back to my drawing room and sat a while by the
fire. Then I had an idea and I rang for Polly to
attend upon me. She arrived a moment later, still
dressed in her night gown and robe. I have long known
that Polly watches my comings and goings with interest
from her basement window. I am discreet indeed when it
comes to my gentlemen callers and I always ensure that
she is either away when they call or I take the
precaution of entertaining them elsewhere. But oft
times I have seen her round face pressed against the
window on my arrival home, watching to see whom I
arrive with.

I motioned for her to be seated and she took her place
awkwardly before the fire, as she was not used to such
informality with me. She looked uneasy and I wondered
why.

“Polly, tell me something please,” I asked. “Tell me,
did you see me arrive home this evening from the
basement window?” She began to turn a deep crimson
that could have been a reflection from the now dying
embers of the fire, or through acute embarrassment at
having her secret discovered. She began to speak but
she was nervous and she garbled and tripped over her
words. I held up my hand to silence her and I
explained what I knew. I told her I knew that she
often watched out for me and I made light of it by
suggesting that she did it out of a concern for my
well being and not for any other purpose. She grasped
at my tailor made excuse and she seemed relieved.

“Yes madam, I saw you arrive home this evening, as you
said, out of concern for your safety. You can’t be too
safe now days, what with all that has happened over at
Whitechapel lately.” She was referring to the recent
spate of gruesome murders of prostitutes in that area.
I ignored the implication by association that I might
be at risk from the maniac committing them. I indicate
that she continue. There was not much more to say. She
had seen me arrive and had come to me to take my cloak
and to fetch whatever refreshment I might desire. Then
she had retired to her room below stairs.

I asked her if she had seen anyone else when the cab’
arrived? She shook her head to indicate that she had
not and then she seemed to have a second thought.

“I did see a man,” she said with some hesitation, less
this not be the answer I sought. I told her to go on.

She said she had seen my cab’ arrive and I had got out
and paid the driver. I then came up the steps to the
front door and I had let myself in. As the cab’ had
pulled away, she said she saw a man across the road,
standing under a gas lamp in the fog. I asked her to
describe him to me, and she said all she could see was
that he was wearing an opera hat and a long black
coat. It was too dark and foggy to make out any thing
else like facial features. She seemed very ill at ease
now, as if her spying had angered me and that she
would be disciplined for her lack of respect. But I
had no intention of disciplining her, she had actually
done well and I sent her to her bed again and then
retired to my own chamber to dwell upon all that had
happened tonight.

A fitful sleep ensued in which I dreamt on the
periphery of the dream I had before, of Peter in the
fog.

The next week passed quickly, I had many assignations
with my gentlemen friends and I attended many parties
with them. Life was a whirl of dancing and meeting
people. None of my current gentlemen were on more than
these simple terms with me. I had no desire to take
any of them as lovers and they in turn were happy just
to have my company and to dance with me. The evening
of my next dance class at the academy soon came around
and I set off in state of some agitation. Would the
enigmatic Peter be there? Would Mister Conner solve
the mystery of his identity? So many questions.

I arrived by cab’ and entered the building. I said a
polite good evening to Agnes, Mister Connor’s trusted
secretary, and I handed over my coat to her. I could
hear voices from the dance hall and I recognised one
or two of them. As I entered I saw Mister Connor deep
in conversation with Peter over in one corner. They
both looked around at the same time as I came in and
Mister Connor smiled his charming smile, full of
delight at seeing me again, but underlying his true
desire to know me better. This was something I had
known of for a long time, but I had never acted upon
it. Mister Connor was my dancing tutor and I had no
wish to have it any other way.

Peter looked at me and smiled also. I gave an
involuntary cold shudder as his eyes roamed my over
body from across the room. He did not try and disguise
what he was thinking and despite myself, I felt a
strange tingle of excitement at his attention. Then
his face changed and he became Peter, the man I had
danced with the week before, a perfect gentleman. Had
I imagined his gaze was other than what it was?

Mister Conner clapped his hands to gain our attention
and we gathered around him in the middle of the floor.
I deliberately kept a distance from Peter for now,
until I was sure of what I was feeling and until the
mystery of the previous week had been explained to my
satisfaction. Mister Connor soon had us paired off to
begin our lesson. He had tried to partner me with
Peter again, but I managed to avoid this and was
partnered by an ageing colonel, who came more for the
company than any real desire to learn to dance and we
were soon moving with fluid grace around the dance
floor together.

We twirled and moved in each other’s arms well, but I
had to keep my face at a discreet distance from him.
He was obviously not averse to partaking of strong
cigars and brandy, which left an aroma to his breath
that I found more than just a little distasteful. As
we danced, me with my head slightly to one side, I did
not see Peter and his new partner dance a little
closer to us. It was only when the colonel stopped and
released me from his arms that I realised what was
happening. Peter had taken his place and he had left
his partner with the colonel. I looked around to see
Peter in front of me, his arms encircling me as he
spirited me away from the noisome colonel.

We were soon lost among the other dancers; only the
voice of Mister Connor calling out instructions and
encouraging remarks to the group above the sound of
the orchestra could be heard. I was shocked at such a
bold move on the part of Peter that I was unable to
find my voice for a moment, but when I did it was to
berate him for his behaviour. As I opened my mouth to
speak, he pre-empted me and told me to shut up.

Again, I was stunned. How dare he speak to me in such
a manner? I tried to break free of him, my intention
was to seek out Mister Connor and to have Peter
forcibly ejected from the class for his treatment of
me, but he held on to me with a grip of iron from
which I was unable to break free.

We danced on stiffly and I continued to try and
release his grip upon me, but it was futile, as he was
far stronger than I. The next thing I knew, we were
close to the door and Peter had stopped dancing. He
still held me tightly and I still struggled to break
free, but to no avail.

“Stop wriggling so woman. You will have us both over
on the floor and then what will your dancing friends
think of you? Rolling with gay abandon on the floor
with your partner? The scandal of it all, imagine
that.” He was smiling that sardonic smile again that
had so intrigued me the week before, but which now
simply frightened me. What were his intentions towards
me? Why had he spoken to me so harshly? Before I could
get my answers, he had manoeuvred me through the door
and into the lobby. I looked around for Agnes to help
me, but she was nowhere to be seen. Peter held my arm
and took both our coats from the rack near the door
and he hurried me out into the cold foggy night air.

He released me long enough to throw his coat around
his shoulders and then he did the same with mine. I
grasped my coat close to me and then decided to make
my escape from this impertinent upstart. As I turned
to leave, he caught my arm and pulled me back to him.
I would have cried out, but my fear had paralysed my
voice and all that escaped my throat was a sad mewling
sound.

Peter smiled at me again. “Why are you so afraid of
me? We are after all much the same in many ways. I
simply wish to show you my world, as I now know so
much about yours, I felt that you would be a willing
partner in some of the diversions I find, how shall I
say, entertaining? Come with me now and I will show
you much that you had not dreamed possible. I imagine
it is some fun to take money and jewels from
well-heeled men who simply wish the company of a
beautiful woman, but what comes after this? Do you
take them as lovers? I know this is not so, save for
one or two of the younger and more energetic ones I
believe. No, you keep them at arm’s length and they in
turn keep you in the lifestyle that you seem to think
you deserve.” He held me a little closer and I could
feel his breath on my cheek, as he took in air in
ragged, short breaths, almost as if his excitement
were too much for him.

“Well Mrs Seagram. Alicia, I can show you a life that
is far more entertaining than the politics of dancing
with men you wish dead. I can show you pleasures
untold that will strip away the curtains that have for
so long covered your eyes. I can make you feel really
alive. All you have to do is come with me now and I
will make it so.” I was trembling with fear and I
wished only to be released to go home, but there was
something about him now that sparked in me a desire to
know more of this life he promised, but I was far too
afraid to speak. I looked at him with pleading eyes,
hoping he would understand my dilemma and let me go,
but he simply laughed.

“So, you wish to see what I have to offer but your
petty fears and prejudices are holding you back. This
is fine moral behaviour for one who takes money for
nothing from stupid old men and who uses her body to
allure and entrap them. You will come with me Alicia.
I will show you my world, and I promise you that you
will never look back once you have tasted the fruits I
have to offer you.”

Linking my arm firmly in his own, his free hand
gripping my forearm, Peter guided me the short
distance along the road to a side street.  He did not
speak nor indicate by any means where we were going,
but intermittently would smile that sardonic smile
down at me and quicken his pace as if the sight of my
pleading eyes made him eager to reach our destination.

We turned down the side street into a busy
thoroughfare.  As we walked along, Peter continued to
smile down at me as though we were a loving couple out
for a brisk walk together.  The idea that the people
teaming around me did not know my plight made me fear
all the more what Peter might have in store.

I repeatedly struggled in the tight grip Peter had on
my arm, but to no avail.  I saw no Peelers to call out
to for help, even though the regular few that
patrolled my area were well known to me.  I
considered, briefly, calling out for help to a
stranger – but as the thought crossed my mind Peter
took even tighter hold and whispered in a deep
threatening way, “If you call out I shall say you are
drunk and not in your senses.”  I believed he truly
would, and walked on with him.  In silence.

We passed down this street and along another narrower
one and through an alley way.  As the district changed
visibly from one of exclusive residence, merchant
houses and select business premises to warehouses, rag
and bottle shops, greasy beer houses and brothels I
realised we had almost reached the river.

I had never entered such a district before.  Dirty
faces peered from doorways and leered from windows as
we passed.  The beer houses were raucous and noisome,
drunken slipshod unsightly folk screeched in laughter
or teetered in the street, their clothing in disarray
– the women showing a breast, shoulders or thighs to
the men.

Mangy straggly children ran in the gutters with dogs
as mangy and straggly as themselves.  Foul language
reached my ears from every quarter – from men and
women and children.  The air steamed with dank odours
and the stench of the docks.

Feeling I was way out of my depth I felt panic rising
in my breast.  The area, as mentioned, was totally
unknown to me.  If I managed to escape Peter and run
for help I feared that danger of a different sort
might overtake me by unknown means on these streets.
Every alleyway held a swishing blade, every man leered
in wanton lust, every woman and child laughed at my
plight.  It would do no good to call out here.

Just as I thought I was bound for a ship down by the
wharf, to be loaded on like cargo bound for exotic
countries, to be sold off as a slave to passion, Peter
turned into a doorway.

The building was shabby, the paint peeling and rotten.
 There were draperies in the windows yellowed with
smoke.

We entered the doorway and into an entrance hall where
sat a small crusty man, unshaven, his vest and jacket
open to reveal a stained shirt open at the collar.
Whatever this character may have worn on his nether
regions remained a mystery for he sat behind an old
battered table, stained with rings from beer tankards
and marked with burns.

Peter greeted the man, who answered him cordially,
sniffing to the full extent of his capacity as he did
so.  “Ooo, Mister Peter, sir.  Welcome back now,
welcome back.  I see you ‘ave brought a lady for to
take her pleasure too, so ya ‘ave.  Good, good.”

“Is the room ready, Art’?  A private room?  Something
a little tasteful?”

“As you directed, sir.  Fa you, Mister Peter, sir, we
‘as the very best, sir.  Almost royal, ‘tis.  We ‘as
Royalty uses it, in any case.”  The joke was issued
with a rowdy laugh that ended with a belch.

The man disappeared behind a torn curtain that flapped
in the breeze behind his desk of state.  He soon
returned with a slovenly woman made up to look like a
ladies maid, though who of quality would have employed
such a person I have no notion.

“Takes this ‘ere gen’leman and this ‘ere lady ta the
Crimson Room, Flora.”

“Yess’um.”  Flora bobbed a stiff and aged curtsey in
our direction.  “I noticed she looked adoringly at
Peter as she passed.  Looking closer, I realised that
Flora could not have been above twenty, though she
looked twice that age.  What a squalid life she must
lead, I thought.

We were led by the woman, who held a candle aloft in
the dreary darkness of the hall, up a flight of stairs
to a landing off of which led different corridors.
Down one we went and on each side of the corridor were
rooms interspaced by a long wall – almost like a
hotel.

We came to a door and the woman produced a bunch of
keys and unlocked it.  She stood back as she did and
handed Peter a spare key from the bunch.  Peter led me
into the room and the door was closed behind me.
Closed and, to my consternation, locked from without.
I knew that Peter had a key – but that was also a
quandary.  I was locked in a room, alone, with a man I
hardly knew.  And he had the only available key.

I kept my wits about me and tried to sound unworried
when I quipped, “May I ask what we are doing here?
You think to bully me into admitting to something you
think I have done?  Is this a form of blackmail
because you are very much mistaken if . . .”

“Shut up, Alicia.”  Peter’s voice was level, a hint of
exasperation bordering on menace entering the tone for
the first time.  “You are here because I led you here.
 You came, if you will only admit it to yourself,
willingly.  Only making half-hearted attempts at
escape – and those mostly in thought.  I intrigue you,
by my lifestyle and by your surroundings.  Oh, they
may be sullied to your refined tastes.  They may be
beneath your usual degree of themed pleasure.  But you
are willing to see this through so as not to lose face
and, also, to partake in something so far unimagined.”

I stared at him.  He had voiced my innermost feelings
without me even being aware of them.  I could not
utter a word, and so looked about the room.

It was decorated in hues of red, soft and bold, giving
a warm sensual atmosphere.  There was a large chaise.
It was battered but clean.  I sat myself upon it.
Opposite was a curtain or rather a large drapery of
the kind used over draughty doorways.  To the side of
the curtain was a mirror – from floor to ceiling – and
to the side of the chaise was a small table upon which
stood a lidded bowl and next to that a small carafe of
wine and two glasses.

I looked up at Peter who had been watching my every
movement.  “What happens now?”  I asked.

Peter smiled, a genuine smile – the first I had seen
him divulge and it transformed his face.  “Am I
repulsive to you, Alicia?  Is it so dreadful to be
locked in a room with me?”

I realised it was not so dreadful, that my heart
pounded in my bosom not with anxiety as I had first
wanted to believe but with anticipation; with the
realisation that I was attracted to Peter because of
his actions towards me and that I was eager to know
what he had planned.

Peter read all this on my face, if not in my thoughts
– as I believed he could – and approached the chaise.
Sitting beside me he took one of my hands and turned
it palm up, stroking a long finger gently back and
forth over my palm.  The movement, the touch and the
way he kept my eye contact was sensual in the extreme
and I found myself leaning towards him, as if for a
kiss.

Peter stopped the stroking and reached over for
something on the table.  It was the small lidded bowl.
 Placing it in my lap he removed the lid.  Inside was
a small vial.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked me, he eyes
searching my face, my thoughts.

“It looks like a syrup.  A tincture of something –
perhaps a blackcurrant?”  I was naïve in my thoughts
at this point.
“My dear Alicia, it is opium.  A sweet syrup that is
used by the medical profession to help with pain and
depression.  Upon the fire, over there, burns sweet
opium.  Just a little, to give off its heady smoke and
help you to relax.”

I had noticed the fireplace as I came in and how the
fire smoked more than would usually be allowed.  I
registered a sweet cloying smell in the air and
thought, even as I lay back on the chaise, how right
Peter was.  How relaxed I felt and how at my ease with
him.  We were truly two of a kind.

Peter took the vial from the bowl and took the tiny
cork from it.  Carefully he touched a fingertip to the
tiny neck of the vial, then smeared the sticky sweet
syrup on my lips.

My mind felt in a dream of senses.  My ears picked up
a sound I had not noticed before, a heavy breathing,
almost panting sound, with a soft moan and an almost
whispered whimpering.

As I lay in my dream-like stupor,  Peter rose from the
chaise and went to the heavy draperies directly
opposite.  He pulled them to one side, revealing an
inner sanctum, in which a bed was observed upon which
a trio of passion was being played out in a most
erotic fashion.

I sat up at the spectacle, hardly believing my eyes.
Two women and a man were in wanton abandon upon the
bed, candlelight flickered upon their bodies as did
the reflected firelight from our room.  They were in
such a state of passion that I thought at first they
did not realise our presence until one woman, sitting
full astride the face of the man, him prostrate
beneath her, looked me full in the face and smiled in
pleasure, grinding her hips as the man ate her sex.
The other woman sat astride the man’s nether region
and rode his shaft.  The two women, sitting opposite
ends of the man’s body, stroked each other’s breasts
and kissed wildly.

My body started to respond, despite my surprise at the
sight; I had never seen anything like it before.  As I
continued to watch, my thighs pressed hard together to
stop the empty feeling between, my breasts became
sensitive and I felt myself become moist and hot.

Peter moved his hand up along my arm, calling me back
to his presence.  I looked into his eyes and saw the
same feelings swimming in their depths that I felt
within my own emotions.  The hand moved on, up my
shoulder to my throat where he gripped my chin before
lowering his mouth to mine.  His lips were warm and
soft, his kiss passionate and semi-erotic as the tip
of his tongue gently probed my mouth.

I pulled away, not, I have to admit, through any
sensibility but because I was breathless.  I felt
myself longing to feel Peter kiss my naked skin, to
feel his tongue flick over my body and probe my most
sensitive parts.  Just the thought made me gasp and I
reached out for him.

“Wait, Alicia.  You are new to this experience.  We
will have wine and enjoy our show for a while longer
before we join in.”

He passed me a glass of wine into which he poured a
few drops from the vial.  I gulped it down hungrily,
passing the empty glass back to Peter to be refilled,
and lay back once more upon the chaise, turning to
watch the threesome upon the bed.

 The woman who had smiled at me was no longer astride
the mans face and mouth but kneeling at the head of
the bed, her hands tied to the frame with rope and her
legs splayed apart at the knees by a large bolster.
The other woman knelt behind her and slapped her
buttocks with her hand until they shone pink and
trembled.

Peter’s voice came to me as from a distance, and I
found I had to tune myself into his tone before I
could understand what he was saying – rather like a
piano is tuned.

“You are not a disappointment to me, Alicia.  I see
you respond to the sensations around you.  That is
good.  Very good.”  I watched his face, which seemed
to swim in and out of focus – first Peter, then the
smiling woman, then Peter, then Mister Connor – until
I felt dizzy with it.  He continued in a soothing,
almost tutor-like voice, “What would you like me to
do, Alicia?  Tell me your most inner secrets and
desires.  I am here to pleasure your every whim.  Tell
me, so that we can truly be as one mind.”

I couldn’t seem to follow his words.  They swam away
before I could grasp their meaning but returned in a
rush of ideas so that I became confused.  As Peter
passed me another glass of wine I knew I should not
drink it and yet, even as that thought crossed my
mind, the glass raised to my lips and I drank, tasting
the cloying sweetness of the syrup on the rim.

My eyes were once more drawn to the spectacle before
me and I longed to be among them – yes, with the women
too.  I knew Peter was reading my thoughts and, with
almost joyous abandon, I felt his hands move to the
fastenings of my gown and start to undo them.

It was but a few minutes before I was almost
completely naked and ready to throw myself with
abandon into the maelstrom of sexual activity that was
still rampant upon the bed. Peter helped me up from
the chaise and led me with an almost polite
indifference across the room. I sat on the edge of the
bed and my mind, fogged by the opiate, was clouded
with the sensation of wanton desire. In all my most
wild encounters I had never dreamed of participating
in such a debauched scene, but now I was released from
my restraining morality by the drug and I was ready to
drink deeply of the cup that Peter had set to my lips.

I lay back on the bed and immediately one of the two
women came to me. She lay beside me and began to
caress my body slowly, and with sensitivity that only
another woman can know how to deliver. My heaving
breast rose to meet her touch as she cupped it in her
warm, soft hand and she lowered her mouth to my
stiffening nipple and took it into her mouth, teasing
with tip of her tongue. I gave a shuddering sigh as
the last of my inhibition flew from me and I pulled
her closer, wanting her to cover me totally with her
warm, naked flesh.

She moved across me and soon her thigh was between my
own, her silken skin rubbing with increasing pressure
against my sex. I opened my legs slightly wider to
accommodate her and she fitted her body to mine like
the interlocking pieces of a puzzle. She kissed me
deeply and I responded, my hands grasping the back of
her head and pulling her closer to me. I wanted her to
do with me as she wished. I was hers and I wanted her
to make use of my body in whatever ways she might see
fit.

I felt my arms being pulled away from my body and I
looked up from my new lover’s kiss to see the other
woman and the man on the bed, each taking one of my
arms. They bound ropes to my wrists and tied them
tightly to the iron bedstead. I was now helpless and
unable to stop them doing with me exactly as they
pleased. The sensation brought on a momentary flicker
of fear, but I looked over and saw Peter standing,
leaning against the wall at the end of the bed, with
that same smile playing on his lips. I craved his
embrace and willed him to join us on the bed, but he
simply watched as I was seduced by the existing menage
à trois.

Rough hands pulled my legs apart and I felt the heavy
body of the man mount me. His hands holding me around
my thighs, he lifted me slightly and with a deft,
swift movement of his hips, he entered me. I threw
back my head and gasped at the enforced intrusion. My
open mouth was soon filled with the soft flesh of the
other woman, her hardened nipple thrust into my hot,
waiting mouth. I began to suck greedily and I felt her
stiffen all the more as she pressed herself against
me.

She withdrew from me and the other woman sidled up to
her and they began to kiss and caress in a most
passionate manner. My lover was riding me harder and
my hips were bucking to meet his urgent thrusting. My
first female lover raised her leg and lowered herself
down upon my mouth, the hot, musky scent of her sex
was like the most fragrant rose to my senses. I began
to pleasure my lover with the tip of my tongue,
seeking out that most sensitive of female places. She
soon responded to my teasing by pushing herself a
little harder against my mouth, her hands holding onto
the iron bedstead where my hands were bound tight, her
thighs either side of my head. She began to grind hard
against my frantic tongue and her movements became
fevered and rapid. Soon I tasted the hot salty tang of
her climax in my mouth. Never had I experienced such
intense pleasure in all my life.

She moved back slightly and the other woman climbed
over me, facing the other way and I was given to
pleasure her too. My senses were awash with the heady,
exotic nature of our lovemaking. My male lover was
nearing his release and he thrust ever harder, pulling
me closer to him, his penetration ever deeper until in
unison, we both released the pent-up force of our
orgasms together.

I must have cried out, such was the intensity of my
release. Peter was standing beside me now, looking
down upon my naked form, tied and exhausted from the
excesses of which I had just partaken.

I lay silent and spent upon the bed with Peter stood
beside me. My lovers were now readying to leave me.
The man untied my wrists, but only to turn me over
upon the bed and retie me again in the same manner to
the iron bedstead.

I was too exhausted to protest, and I wondered at what
would come next. Surely the depths of depravity we had
just plumbed were excess enough for now, but there
seemed to be more to come.

I lay with my face pressed into the pillow, but I
turned my head to see Peter talking with the man. He
handed him something and Peter took off his long frock
coat. Placing it upon the bed, he began to wind
something around his hand. I could not see very well
in my position, but I was becoming afraid as to what
he had planned for me.

The first stroke when it came was so unexpected, that
I cried out loudly. The leather belt that Peter had
wound around his hand and now used to beat me across
my buttocks was stiff and hard. The second blow came
soon after, leaving a stinging welt across my flesh.

“You will learn two things now Alicia,” he said in a
low tone. “You will learn humility and obedience to
me. Humility is a good catharsis for the soul and you
need this. Obedience is necessary so that you know who
is your master now and to whom you must answer should
you be disobedient.” Another stinging slap from the
belt and I cried out again, though this time the pain
was not so intense as the first time. Then I realised
why. The opium I had ingested had numbed my senses and
so the pain was more imagined than real. I had
expected pain from the strap, and so I had felt pain,
but the pain was now diminished. Peter continued to
strap me with the belt and with each stroke, I became
more compliant to his wishes and his dominance of me.
In truth I was willing to be dominated by him, I
wanted it and needed it.

Having the two women and the man watch as Peter
punished me with the belt completed my humiliation.
Each stroke of the belt brought a deeper look of
desire and lust to their faces. One of the women came
forward and spoke softly to Peter. He gave a short
laugh and handed the belt to her. She took it from him
and continued my punishment, only her strokes were
harder and delivered with more enthusiasm than
Peter’s.

I cannot remember how long they beat me for, but when
it finished, I was in an intense state of excitement
and I wanted more. More of the lash, more of the man
and the women, but above all, I wanted Peter.

I tried to look up at Peter, but my position on the
bed, face down as I was made this near to impossible.
I called his name softly, begging him to come to me,
to take me, as had my three new lovers. But he stood
back and slightly aloof to my wishes. This was a new
sensation to me. All of my gentlemen friends, though
far too polite to voice their true desires, all wanted
my body. I teased them with the vague hint that there
could be more. That there could be greater pleasures,
but they would have to show me how willing they were
to obtain them by showing me their gratitude with
greater and more elaborate gifts. I rarely, if ever
delivered on my half promised offer. Now I was in the
position of being the one begging and Peter was
playing the coy role with me, denying me my pleasure.

He reached over and untied my hands from the bedstead.

“Get up Alicia, we must leave here now.” I got off of
the bed and began to dress, the two women and the man
returned to the bed and each partook of the sweet
syrup that was the opiate that drove their desires.
Soon they had resumed their lovemaking, from which
they had taken a sojourn to deliver me into the arms
of manacled subservience. I knew now that there would
never be any going back to what could be called a
normal life with normal desires and wants. I had
tasted the forbidden fruit that was the perverse
sexual deviancy of their world and I wanted to
experience more of it, for it had awakened in me a
deep desire for servitude and for pain.

Peter took up his coat and put it on. I was
dishevelled from my ordeal, and my face was flushed
with a deep crimson hue, not of shame, but of lust.
The two women looked up from the man they were now
both pleasuring as we were about to leave and smiled
at me. Their smiles told me to return soon and that
they would both take me to even greater heights than
we had experienced here. I smiled back, letting them
know that I would indeed return for more of their
love.

As we made for the door, I reached down to the small
table and palmed the glass phial of opium and
concealed it in my clothing. This too was a new
experience and one that I wished to enjoy again soon.

We left the house and made our way back to the centre
of town. The river area far behind us now, it was
almost as if the whole thing had been a dream. Only
the deep warm glow within me told me that it had all
been real.

Peter said nothing as we walked, this time he did not
need to hold my arm. I followed him with obedience, as
I surely would my new master. He hailed a cab’ and
gave the man directions. Soon we arrived at a large
house and he paid the driver; we alighted and he led
me to the front door. We went in and he showed me into
a reception room. This was Peter’s house, I knew
instinctively. The austere furniture, the way it was
decorated, it shouted his name.

I looked around the room, as Peter had left me alone
for a moment. I examined the prints on the walls. They
were scenes depicting the punishment and humiliation
of women, many were being beaten as Peter had beaten
me today. Others were tied and being used by the men
in the scenes with them, all seemed to be in a state
nirvana with their masters. I wondered what Peter had
in mind for me. Was I to become his slave? To be there
to satisfy his every sexual desire and to be used as
he saw fit? I could only hope and pray that this was
so.

Peter came back in and sat down, indicating that I
should do the same, so I sat by the fire.

“Well Alicia, it was a lot easier than I had expected.
You are indeed the woman I thought you were the first
time I met you at the academy. A woman looking for her
place in the world. A woman in need of guidance to the
pleasures of the sinful flesh. Do you find the
pleasures I have shown you sinful, or are they as
natural to you, as they are to me?” he asked.  My
mouth was dry and I swallowed hard before speaking.

“You make me unsure of myself, sir, so that I do not
quite know my own mind.”  I watched him before
answering, unsure of the answer I should give.  “The
pleasures were not sinful, yet I feel sinful for
partaking in them.  And though I feel sinful, I do not
care that I feel sinful,” I replied.  “I cannot see
any harm resulting in the actions of today apart,
perhaps, from the drug used.  I believe, though, that
I have heard of it before and that there are benefits
from the use of it.  Even great detectives are said to
have solved cases under its influence.”   Peter smiled
at my jest, knowing my meaning.

There was a pause while Peter stared into the
fireplace.  I felt uneasy, and thought perhaps I had
given the wrong answer and disappointed him  That
thought alone was so severely distressing that I
wanted to go and kneel before him, there on the
carpet.  I was about to fill the silence with a plea
for understanding when he spoke.

“And what, Alicia, do you think you have been brought
here for?”  Peter sat back in his chair, his face
inscrutable as he continued to stare at the fire.
“What, above all else, do you want for your future?
Should I take you back to your residence?  To continue
in your hum-drum existence of high-class trollop to
faddy old gentlemen who want one last kick at the
youth they married money out of?  To continue your
dancing lessons with that theatrically inclined rogue
Connor who would have you over his piano at the first
opportunity?  To live that unending round of parties,
dances, escorts and fools?  Or do you want to be
fulfilled?  Have the life of one that is cherished in
her situation.  To have someone you can look up to,
live to please and submit to in the way you know can
be so satisfying.”  Peter finally looked up at me.
“You will have time to consider your answer.”

I was leaning forward in my seat, hanging on his every
word and his last statement took a moment to sink into
my thoughts.

“Time to consider?  You are taking me back then?”  I
did not hide the sorrow in my voice.

“That, as I have said, is up to you, Alicia.  But to
help you in your decision I thought you might like to
consider in surroundings that will be influential
after today’s events.  Would you follow me please?”
He rose from his chair and held out his hand for me to
take.  I did so, a euphoric shudder of anticipation
flowing through me at his touch.

We left the reception room and went into the hall
where Peter led me to a small door to one side of the
stairs.  It was the door to the cellar and I balked at
the thought of spending time amongst old furnishings,
bottles of wine, coal and cobwebs.  Possibly vermin
too.  I faltered in my steps as Peter unlocked the
door.

“Do not think I would be maliciously cruel to you,
Alicia.  I would not.  We are of a like mind where
pain and cruelty are concerned.  There are many rooms
in this house that would be of interest to your newly
awakened passions.  However, I have chosen to start
here, at the root of the place you may decide to call
domicile.  Come, you will be surprised, and I hope
delighted, with what is in my cellar.”

We stepped through the dark doorway and Peter let go
of my hand.  At that moment something brushed my face
and I almost screamed, until a light clicked on a
little way ahead.

The thing that had brushed my face was a curtain,
heavy and lined, but the light shone around it.  I
guessed that Peter must have gone behind this curtain
to put on the light and so pulled it aside to follow.

I gazed below at a room, the furnishings of which I
had never seen the like before.

Peter stood at the bottom of a flight of stone steps
looking up at me, watching my reaction.  There was
that familiar sardonic smile playing over his lips and
he watched as I slowly descended the steps, looking in
amazement at what I saw all around me.

The cellar was spotlessly clean, with not a hint of
dust or cobwebs.  Soft lighting gave an intimate
atmosphere, as did the deep hues of burgundy, ruby and
bronze.  Indeed, the place looked cosy and comfortable
at first glance.   There was a carpet on the floor,
and wood panelling lined the walls half way round.
But here the resemblance to a normal suburban
recreation room or study ended.  The other walls were
left stone, and I could see why.

Sets of hand and feet manacles were attached to the
brickwork with long heavy chains.  There was a wooden
frame hanging there too, upon which a person could be
bound spread-eagled.  I noticed a small wheel by the
side of the frame, hinting that the person could be
bound to the frame, which could then be turned upside
down.  A small iron cage hung from a strong hook and
chain in the ceiling and around the wooden panelling,
whips and ropes and other instruments of punishment,
most of which I could only imagine the use of, were
hung like family portraits.

However, the room did not lack for portraits for there
were pictures too.  Pictures similar in nature to
those in the reception room but far more explicit.
Pictures of women kneeling in submission before their
masters, naked and performing oral sex or bound on a
framework like the one hanging on the wall, taking the
whip and writhing in ecstasy.  Some having oral sex
performed on them as they hung upside down on the
framework.  I stood and gazed longest at a scene of a
woman, bound over a barrel-shaped object in a kneeling
position, while her master whipped her with a small
flail and another woman used an enormous leather
phallus to pleasure her.  There were many pictures,
showing many ways to be pleasured that I had never
known of, and I felt myself once more becoming
aroused.

Peter followed me as I moved around the room.  I
picked things up and examined them, stroked long
leather phallic shapes and ran my hands over the whips
and the chains.  I gazed up at the cage but stood the
longest in front of the frame hanging on the wall.  I
turned to Peter.

“Bind me there.  Please.  I want to experience what it
is like to be totally under someone’s will.  I want to
submit to you, to have you take your pleasure with me.
 However you want to.”  I started undoing my clothing,
dropping the articles heedlessly on the floor.  I was
down to my chemise and stockings when Peter reached
out a hand and stopped me.

“Alicia, please.  You do not make such a decision so
lightly.  I know you are eager to try new things, we
have seen that today, but you must consider carefully
before asking me to do such a thing.  I am committed
to the life I like to lead and believe you would
benefit from living such a life.  Once your decision
is made however, the influences are so strong you
cannot go back on it.”  It was the first time that
Peter had looked at me so thoroughly.  I saw a
different depth to his eyes, an all-knowing depth.  In
addition, something behind that too, but I know not
what.

Feeling wild with thoughts of what Peter could do to
me in such a domestic position I replied, “You have
shown me things I have never experienced before and I
cannot deny myself them now.”  I took the small vial
from the concealed pocket in my cloak on the floor and
raised it quickly to my lips.  “You see?  You see how
depraved I have become, how far I have fallen under
this spell in one day?  I do not want to go back to
the life I have led thus far.  Peter,” I boldly took
his hands in mine.  “I want to you to master me.”  I
walked backward with him until we were by the wooden
frame.  I backed into it, my hands rising up still
holding Peter’s, until they reached the manacles in
the framework, and he was but a breath away.  I slid
my feet into the fixings at the bottom, my legs
splayed wide apart.  With one swift movement, Peter
had locked both the hand manacles and knelt to tighten
the foot fastenings.  I let out a gratified sigh,
feeling my body so stretched and open to whatever
Peter craved of it.

He stood back before me.  Utter victory was written on
his features.  A moment of panic coursed through me as
I saw the sneer pass over his face but then he stepped
closer.  I felt the warmth of his body and his breath
on my cheek.  The feeling momentarily brought back the
vague remembrance of a dream, but the thought escaped
me as Peter spoke.

“I will leave you alone, Alicia, as I said I would, to
make your decision.  You can stay here, like this, all
night.  In the morning I will come to you to hear what
you have decided.”  He made to move away.

“Peter!  Don’t go, not yet.”  I felt the opium working
on my senses, adding to the dose I had experienced
earlier in the day.  It was like a rush of surreal
emotions hitting me all at once, and I felt
emboldened.  I could not bear the thought of Peter
leaving me and not touching me, just once.  My skin
ached to be touched by his fingers and mouth.  I
wanted to feel his hard manly body pressing on mine.
My lips tingled and burned, needing his kisses to cool
them.  I imagined I could feel his tongue lapping at
my sex and pleaded with my eyes for him to do so.  I
longed to take him in my mouth and feel his root throb
between my lips.

Peter stood and looked at me.  His eyes roamed up and
down my prone body as I stood manacled and helpless
before him.  He did not hide the look of lustful
craving on his face.  Reaching out suddenly, he tore
open the bodice of my chemise.  My breasts exposed to
him, he fell upon them hungrily, biting the taught
nipples of each and manipulating the flesh roughly
with his hands.  The experience was so unlike that I
had had that afternoon at the gentle playful hands of
Minette and Sarah that I cried out in pain.  However,
there was no pain, it was only shock.  Shock to find
myself enjoying the rough treatment, and to hear my
voice calling Peter's name, begging him to enter me
quickly and roughly.

I felt his erection press hard against my stomach
through the sheer material of my chemise and I pushed
my hips forward, eager to have that hard pulsing shaft
inside me.  Peter pulled away, his face flushed – not
just with sexual arousal, but with anger.

“Do not be so bold as to assume I want you, Alicia!”
his voice boomed.  “I will tell you if I want to take
you and in what manner, if at all.  Then you will be
willing and subservient.  Do you understand?”  I
nodded my head, shivering with unsatisfied passion and
at the dominating tone of his voice.  I did not fear
Peter in the sense that he would hurt me, at that
moment.  Oh, no.  I feared his disapproval, his
disappointment in me and his rejection.

Peter pulled what looked like a padded belt from a
selection on a hook and forced it into my mouth,
fastening the buckle tightly around the back of my
head.  The strap in my mouth tasted of leather and had
a cloth lining to protect the teeth and tongue.  It
was not uncomfortable but I felt to be totally without
a will of my own.  I was bound and gagged and at the
mercy of this man I desired to master me so much.

“I will leave you now and return in the morning.  I
suggest you think very carefully over all I have said.
 Because if you choose to stay, and what just happened
happens again, you will be punished, severely.  I want
you to be under no illusion.  I am your master and you
will obey me – in everything.”  Peter turned abruptly
and strode to the foot of the steps where he turned
once more.  “You will be quite safe, no one will
discover you as the door will be locked.  Good night,
Alicia.  Enjoy your dreams.”

He ran up the steps and disappeared behind the curtain
at the top.  I heard the door open and shut, then a
key turned in the lock.

Thankfully, the light had been left on and I could
survey the room at my leisure.  Although I was not
cold or particularly uncomfortable, I did not relish
the idea of being alone in this place in the pitch
dark.  It was a cellar after all, and rats find ways
into many places they should not be.

I felt mortified that I had angered Peter.  I had
asked to be manacled and then tried to encourage him
to pleasure me.  I understood now how it would be if I
chose the life Peter offered me.  I was bewildered but
also elated at the thought of someone taking so total
a command over another’s life.  I would not have a
life as an individual, except the one that Peter
allowed me to have.  To have every decision taken away
from you and executed by another was such a fantastic
thought.  Yet, it cause tremors of desire for Peter to
flow through my stomach and down my thighs until I
called out through the gag, and felt the warm flow of
my climax wet on my legs.

Shuddering at the realisation that just the thought of
Peter having such a command over me could bring me to
such a pleasurable state, I believed I would not have
to weigh up the options long before coming to my
decision.  The greatest problem to be overcome would
be the disposal of my house and the servants without
too many questions being asked.  I would have to go
back to my previous life, if only for a short time, to
set my affairs in order.  The gentlemen I had been
stringing along could go to hell.  I would not trouble
myself to drop them gently, or make excuses.

My orgasm having subsided, I looked about the room
again.  Every picture seemed to hold the image of me,
kneeling, bound, gagged, tied up or caged, being
whipped, pleasured with a phallus or mastered in some
other way by Peter or another.

As I watched the scenes seemed to come alive, and I
was witness to shows like I had been a part of that
afternoon.  Beyond any attention I visualised myself
receiving from the women – who took the form of
Minette and Sarah – or another man – who took the form
of Davis, the man who made up the threesome that
afternoon – I was drawn to the scenes where Peter
alone took command of my body.  He ordered me,
punished me, allowed me to pleasure him and decided
when I could be pleasured and reach a climax.  My
master, Peter.  And the thought was overwhelmingly
erotic.  Once more, in my opium induced freedom, I
felt myself becoming aroused.

**

I spent a night in shackles upon the wooden cross. It
was an uncomfortable night spent awake, as sleep was
an impossible state to achieve in my position. When
the light of morning came through the one small
basement window and played upon my semi-naked body, I
greeted the dawn with my choice made.

I looked around the room again, as if for reassurance
that my choice was the right one. I knew that once
made, I would never be able to reverse it and I mulled
over the full implications of what this would mean to
me. The door at the top of the stairs opened and I
heard Peter’s foot falls upon the stone steps as he
descended to the basement where I hung, chained and
helpless. As soon as I saw Peter, I knew my choice was
the right one.

He was wearing jodhpurs and high black riding boots
and a white shirt, open at the neck with a cravat of
white silk. My body began to yearn for his touch at
once, the simple sight of him arousing in me that same
need and desire I had felt the night before. I wanted
him to take me here and now. I could feel the
sensation building within me as another orgasm was
approaching.

He walked into the room and began to move things
around, almost as if he was unaware of my existence
and then he turned his attentions to me. He removed
the leather gag from my mouth and undid the shackles
that held me so securely in place upon the cross,
first my wrists and then my ankles. I stepped away
from the wall and started to massage my wrists to help
the circulation begin again.

Peter had taken a seat on the far side of the room, a
large leather armchair in which he fitted so perfectly
as if it had been made expressly for his body alone.
“So Alicia, you have had a night of contemplation in
which to dwell upon my proposition to you. You have
felt for the first time what it feels like to be
helpless and at my tender mercy. How do you find the
sensation? Do you wish to join me here, to do my
bidding at my every command, or do you wish to return
to your humdrum existence, pleasuring old men with a
dance, for money in return?” He smiled at me and I
felt faint. I came to him and sat at his feet, my
hands running over his legs.

“I have indeed made my choice sir. My night here alone
has given me an insight into what your lifestyle
means, and I for my part wish to be with you on your
journey of sensation and sensual delight. I am yours
sir, to do with as you see fit. I give myself
willingly to you, asking only that you treat me as
kindly as you can when the mood takes you to such
emotion. I will do whatever it is you desire and I
will do it as a willing participant, for I have tasted
the forbidden fruit and now my time in the garden of
Eden is at an end and I wish to leave it to join you
in your own garden of sinful pleasure.” I looked up at
him with pleading eyes, thinking now that maybe he no
longer wanted me. Maybe he only wanted to take me if I
were unwilling to submit to his will, maybe that was
his design. I only hoped he would make the breaking of
our bond swift and painless and return me home without
further ado if this were so.

He stood up and towered over me. “Then you shall stay
little Alicia. You shall become as one with me, your
new master. I shall instruct you in what your duties
are as my slave and I shall also tell you of what to
expect should you disappoint me. For now though, I
will take time to allow you to adjust to your new role
in life. You will of course need to set your own
affairs in order and once done, you will be here with
me forever more.” He walked past me, as I was still
sitting on the floor in front of the chair and he
called out up the stairs and I heard the door open
again. Footsteps came down the stairs and there was
Davis, the man from the opium den.

Davis was carrying a bucket in one hand and a roll of
cloth in the other, which he placed upon a small
table.

Peter grasped my arm and lifted me up from the floor
and led me across the room back to the wooden frame
where he manacled me in place yet again, making the
binding extra tight as he did so. I stood, bound and
unable to move as Peter spoke with Davis. He appeared
to be giving him instructions of some sort. Davis
smiled and came to me.

“Welcome to our world Alicia. I enjoyed meeting you
yesterday and I want you to know also that Minette and
Sarah are keen to make your acquaintance yet again,
for they told me, rarely have they enjoyed the body of
someone as much as they enjoyed yours. Your enthusiasm
for their games was most gratifying for both them and
for me.” I wanted to ask what he was about to do to
me, but I realised that it was now not my place to ask
questions, but to obey my master’s wishes. I remained
silent.

Davis brought the bucket to me, and the roll of cloth
and he unfurled it like a flag. I could not see what
was within it, but whatever it was made a metallic
sound as it hit the table beside me. Davis reached
inside the bucket and withdrew a piece of ice. With
the ice in one hand, he used the other to tease the
nipple of my left breast erect. Once standing proud,
he placed the ice upon it. The cold sensation made me
gasp. This did not go down well with Peter.

He came across to us and held my chin with one strong
hand. “You speak when spoken to Alicia. I wish to hear
no sound from you until I tell you that you may
speak.” He reached up to one of the hooks on the wall
and took down the gag he had used on me the evening
before. Pushing it roughly into my unresisting mouth,
he buckled it behind my head tightly, pulling the
leather bar deep in, stifling my whimpers.

Davis smiled at me and removed the ice from my breast.
He took up something from the table and he again
grasped by breast firmly with one hand. I felt no,
pain as he drove the metal pin through my nipple, the
ice having numbed all sensation. I looked down and saw
a tiny trickle of blood escape, which he gently wiped
away with a handkerchief. He repeated the action on my
other breast.

Now pierced, he inserted rings through each of my
nipples and then he took up a tool, the use of which I
did not know, but I feared he would use it upon me in
some sadistic manner to inflict pain. My eyes were
wide with fear as he raised it at first to my left
breast and then to my right. I need not have feared
it, for he simply used it to crimp the rings closed,
ensuring that they were never to be removed from my
nipples. I relaxed slightly now, as I knew there would
be little pain once the effect of the ice wore off.

Peter examined Davis’ handy work and he seemed
pleased. “There now Alicia, you are as a farm animal,
with rings for me to lead you wherever I will. But
fear not, for I shall not treat you as an animal, oh
no. But with these rings, you will be forever bound to
me. Now Davis will put my mark upon you for all to
see, should they look in the right place. It is a mark
that will stay with you for the rest of your life, so
Alicia I will give you one last chance to renounce our
pact. Nod your head if you wish Davis to continue, for
once he has marked you, you can never go back.”

I bit down hard onto the gag in my mouth. For now was
the moment of truth. Was I indeed ready to give myself
over to Peter completely or did I wish to return to my
former life?

I nodded my head and Peter’s smile lit up my face. I
had done something to please my master for the first
time and the feeling was one of ecstasy flowing
through me.

Davis placed something in the bucket, it looked like a
long metal rod. Peter spoke again.

“Davis will soon put my mark upon you in the form of a
brand Alicia, but fear not for he will not use heat to
mark you with, oh, no. That way lays great pain and
the burn can become infected. I prefer him to use dry
ice. Do you know the way of dry ice Alicia?” I shook
my head, as I knew nothing of such matters as science.
Peter continued.

“Dry ice has a strange constitution. It has but two
states, solid or gas, there is no liquid state as with
water. Water turns from ice, to water, to steam when
heated, but dry ice turns from ice to gas only. The
process is called sublimation, from whence we get the
word sublime, to change states from one thing to
another without an intermediary state. This is
appropriate, as this is what is indeed happening to
you here today. You are changing states from one life
to another, but without anything in between. How
sublime my dear Alicia.” Peter laughed at his joke, as
did Davis.

I looked down as Davis took up the metal rod, holding
it with a cloth. I could see the end of it now, the
moisture in the air freezing onto it as he approached
me with it. Peter undid the shackles around my ankles
and lifted my legs high up, my body suspended by the
wrists. Davis came closer and I could see that on the
end of the metal rod was a letter cast in metal and
attached to the rod. It was a letter “P,” highly
stylised and meant to represent Peter’s name. Davis
applied the end of the rod to my buttock and I felt
the stinging cold on my flesh as it burned with icy
heat the letter into my skin, forever to remain
telling the world that I was the property of Peter and
none other.

Davis took the bar away and both he and Peter examined
their handiwork.  Peter kept hold of my leg and, I
realised as soon as the shock of the ice-cold pain
wore off a little, he stroked my thigh tenderly while
perusing the brand.

Of a sudden, he felt my eyes searching his face and he
looked at me.  A smile, a genuine smile, transformed
Peter’s face from the sneering teasing, evasive man I
had let manoeuvre me out of the dancing class into the
tender, understanding yet masterfully demanding man I
realised I would willingly give up my life for.

He looked deep into my eyes, and I felt my heart melt.
 Peter was as pleased as I of the decision I had made.
 I could tell from his face as he searched my thoughts
that he knew he had not been mistaken in me, and the
thought thrilled me.  This was a man I could love and
obey.  I knew he would be fair in his treatment of me,
would cherish me in the role I would play as his
absolute slave.

That was all that mattered to me.  That I could serve
Peter as his slave, and as long as I did my utmost to
please him, he would cherish me.  I no longer wanted a
life of my own.  I wanted this Adonis to control me in
every single deed.  He was my God and I felt a
devotion to him that I had never found in any
religious sense.  My lord and master stood before me
and I would do his bidding unto death.

Peter broke eye contact with me and lowered my leg.  I
felt a loss so deep as his gaze turned away from me
that I flinched.  I wanted him to return his look and
assure me I was doing the right thing to please him.
But Peter moved to the other wall manacles and seemed
to be testing the fastenings.  He did not look at me
again and I felt as if I had disappeared altogether.

Davis had taken the bucket and iron bar up the steps
and was out of sight for some minutes, until I heard
him returning with company.

Minette and Sarah were both descending the steps as
Davis closed and locked the door behind them.  Once
more Davis carried a bucket down the steps with him
and I wondered which of the girls would also bear
Peter’s mark.  I felt a pang of jealousy at the
thought but tried to push it away.  If Peter read that
in my thoughts I had no idea what he would do or say,
but I knew it would displease him.  For who was I to
demand he look to me only?  I was the slave, not he.

Peter turned and saw them, and then turned back to me.
 “I thought you might like us all to celebrate your
decision, Alicia.  Davis and I will have three willing
concubines.”

I felt a churning in my stomach as Peter said this,
thinking he must have read my thoughts and was baiting
me with the idea of him pleasuring other women.  I
turned my head and saw Davis ordering Minette to be
shackled into some wall manacles.  Sarah removed some
of her clothing, teasing her as she did so by licking
up her thighs as she fastened the ankle straps.

Then it was the turn of Sarah to be fettered.  Davis
was rough in his handling of the girls and I
remembered his strong thrusts and rough hands as he
had mounted me.  But he wasn’t cruel in the least, all
the time talking quietly to the women, giving them
orders but in a masterly tender way, as he removed
some of their clothing himself and lit more candles
and gas lamps.

Peter turned to me and lust was written all over his
face.  He bent and once more bound my ankles to the
frame.  I was securely in his power again – and this
time he would take his fill of me.

I felt faint with want for this man, my master.
Spread eagled upon the frame I could only watch with
anticipation as Peter strutted around the room
collecting various tools of his trade.  I knew he was
master of every tool in this room and its uses, as
well as master of me.  He returned with a small hand
whip, similar to the one I had seen in the pictures on
the walls and, without breaking his stride, he flailed
the thongs several times across the tops of my thighs,
skimming my abdomen.  The flimsy material of my
chemise tore slightly, revealing the downy hair
between my splayed legs.

The sight of the ripped clothing and my bound and
vulnerable body seemed to inflame Peter to greater
depths.  He came to me, stood close before me and,
tucking the whip into the belt of his jodhpurs,
smoothed his hands up the outside of my thighs until
they came to my hips.  He then slid his hands round
over my hips to grasp and squeeze my buttocks.  His
touch was like fire on my skin, sending shivers
through my body.  I wanted to grind my hips against
his but dare not even move for I knew that it would
make Peter angry if I tried to take any control of
myself.

My body was exposed from the waist down and I saw
Davis hungrily watching as Peter brought his hands
back round my waist, over my abdomen, one moving down
and down, through the soft hair, to insert two fingers
slowly and deeply into my now very wet sex.  He held
my eye contact all the while, daring me to express any
sound of my satisfaction.  I knew that if I came close
to orgasm Peter would stop, would not let me climax
just to show his mastery over me.  That thought alone
almost brought me to release.

Peter moved his fingers rhythmically in and out of me;
his free hand moved up and ripped the rest of the
chemise from my body so that it hung in tatters from
just the shoulder straps.   With that same hand, he
stroked up my abdomen to my breasts and teased first
one nipple and then the other.  Finally, his fingers
still working their sensual rhythm, he lowered his
head and took a nipple in his mouth, hungrily sucking
and licking while the free hand moved to the other
breast and pulled with a little force on the nipple
ring there.

The sensation of the slight tug and pain in one nipple
and the sensual sucking and licking of the other
combined with the slow movement of his fingers finally
made me gasp and I could not stop an soul shuddering
orgasm from ripping through my body and soaking
Peter’s hand.

As my body calmed, I opened my eyes and saw that Peter
had not moved.  He still stood in front of me but his
fingers no longer moved inside me.  I felt such
gratitude towards him for letting me experience such a
wonderful climax, the like of which I had never
experienced before, so intense was the feeling.  I
knew that I would never be so deeply satisfied by
anyone but Peter again.

Peter raised the hand that had given me so much
pleasure until it was by my face.  My love juices
glistened on his fingers and I could smell my own
musky scent.

“Lick it.”  Peter’s voice drew my gaze back to him and
saw his eyes boring into my head.  “Now, woman!”  The
menace in his voice made me lean my head forward
instantly and start to lick up his fingers.

I could taste the salty fluids of my own lubrication
as I lapped between Peter’s fingers and along his
palm.  He turned his hand this way and that as I moved
my mouth.  I closed my eyes once more as Peter
inserted the same two fingers into my mouth and moved
them in that sensual rhythm.  I sucked greedily at
them, wanting them to be his enflamed tool.  I had
visions in my mind of me kneeling before him and
pleasuring him like this, his throbbing cock dancing
at every flick of my tongue.  Every dirty word and
sexual term I had ever heard came into my thoughts as
I sucked and licked at the faux-phallus, until I was
groaning and whimpering with desire once more.  My
hips rotated against my will and my breasts jutted
forward, begging to be caressed and sucked.  I felt
another flow of warmth flood my loins and let out a
cry of pleasure.

Before I could recover, Peter had moved away from me.
A smile tipped the edge of his mouth and I saw from
the indecently large bulge in the front of his
jodhpurs that the experience had been one of pleasure
for him too.

He moved to the small table where he had earlier
placed a few toys of pleasure and picked up a huge
black leather phallus.  His hand roamed up and down it
as he walked towards Sarah.  Davis nodded at Peter and
retrieved a padded gag from the hook on the wall.  He
placed the gag in Sarah’s mouth, securing it tightly
behind her head, and went back to the table to fetch a
similar hand whip to the one Peter had used on me.
 
Minette started to groan in anticipation of the show
unfolding right next to her, as Peter stood in front
of Sarah and handled the tool manfully.  Sarah eyed
him, her gaze roaming down to the pipe-like shape of
his erection straining the soft material of his
jodhpurs.  Her lips were parted and her breath came in
short gasps of excitement after having watched me be
pleasured by this gorgeous man.

Davis stepped forward, his member also apparent along
the line of his clothing as he reached up and turned
Sarah round – the chains of the shackles being long
enough – so that she faced the wall.  Davis then
placed a shaped wooden bar between Sarah’s ankles that
forced her legs wide apart and made her pert bottom
jut out.

Peter stepped close to Sarah’s rear and ran a finger
down her spine.  Her bodice came undone as if by magic
arts and fell to the floor.  Her breasts, large and
heavy, bounced free and hung voluptuously, the nipples
almost touching the wall.  He then unfastened her
petticoat and that, too, fell to the floor around her
ankles like soft white snow.

Now totally naked, Sarah tried to turn her head to see
what Peter or Davis might do next.  Her bottom was
forced out further by her twisting frame and her open
slit glistened wetly.

Running his hand once more down Sarah’s spine, Peter
cupped a cheek of her buttock and teased the black
leather phallus between her moist lips.  Sarah pushed
her bottom out, pleading with her posture to have the
hardness inserted further.

Slowly, Peter inserted the great hard tool into
Sarah’s sex, moving it with the same rhythm he had
moved his fingers inside me.  He moved it in and out,
and both Minette and I whimpered at the delicious
sight of the wet tool moving in and out of Sarah.
Davis, too, stood transfixed, his mouth slightly
parted and his breathing deep.

Peter moved near to Sarah, who was gasping with
pleasure, and fondled her breasts from behind.  He
glanced at Davis, who moved forward and brought the
whip down across Sarah’s buttocks.  She cried aloud,
not from pain but from pleasure, and danced her hips
against Peter, begging for more.

It did not take long for Sarah to reach an intense
climax, the result of which soaked the leather phallus
until it fell from her glistening.

I could not believe the depth of my lust at the sight
I had just witnessed.  I felt in a turmoil of
emotions.  There was absolutely no jealousy at all,
but the feeling of hunger for Peter was increased a
hundred-fold.

My body felt shattered and my vision was blurred, so
intense was my passion, and it wasn’t until I heard a
mewling that I turned my gaze to Minette who was the
next victim of lust.

Davis had removed his shirt and was using the small
hand whip on Minette.  She still had on her petticoats
and chemise but the material was becoming tattered
with every added stroke of the leather thongs.  His
muscles rippled under his skin as he raised his strong
arm and brought down the whip.  They were level
strokes, not meant to draw blood or hurt viciously.
Davis, like Peter, was a master of his art.

I watched, as did Peter, as Davis took a small ice
pick from the bucket he had returned with.  A morsel
of fear entered my mind, wondering what manner of
pleasure could be obtained from such a vicious tool.
However, my fears were unfounded as I watched Davis
bend and hack at a block of ice in the bucket.  Having
chipped off a small piece about the size of a walnut,
he approached Minette and rubbed it on her nipples,
making her gasp at the coldness but also the
sensation.  While rubbing the ice over her breasts
with one hand, with the other, Davis unfastened the
ribbons on the front of Minnete’s pretty chemise until
it hung open.  The ribbon tying the petticoat was
untied and it fell to the floor, exposing the shapely
legs and black stockings.

Davis trailed the ice down over Minette’s abdomen,
making her wriggle as the moisture ran in rivulets
over her skin, until he reached the opening between
her thighs.  Gently, slowly, he inserted the ice into
her slit and pushed up until his fingers disappeared
to the knuckle.

Minette groaned in pleasure, feeling the ice hard
inside her yet melting rapidly with her heat and
mingling with her wetness until the combined ran down
her legs.  Removing his fingers, Davis once more
returned to the bucket and chipped off more ice.

I was numbed to what pleasures Minette was
experiencing for my eyes were drawn to Peter.  I
wanted him so badly, needed to be caressed by him so
much, that until he was commanding me once more I felt
I would be immaterial to the world.

Peter watched Davis for a time, the bulge in his
jodhpurs even more apparent and looking like to burst
forth at any moment through the material.  Sarah was
recovering from her pleasuring and hung limply by the
shackles around her wrists.  Peter turned her gently
so that she was again facing out into the room.  As he
did he smiled at her, and she did him.  Once again, it
was a smile of knowing on Peter’s part – but gratitude
on Sarah’s.

He strolled to me and unlocked the manacles on my
ankles, then my wrists.  I was free – but for what
purpose?  The thought that Peter had tired of me so
soon and now would put me out onto the street, out of
his sight, so horrified me that I stood with my arms
still within the loose clasps a moment longer than
necessary.  He watched me and inclined his head
slightly, indicating I should step forward.

I stood humbly before Peter, my legs shaking, awaiting
his next command.  In any ordinary sense, a woman half
naked and in such disarray would make to pull her
tattered clothing about her at the first opportunity.
I did not, nor felt the need.  Peter had done this to
me and Peter was my master.  He had his reasons and I
was not to question them.  I stood as I was, head
bowed.

Peter walked to his leather armchair and sat
comfortably in it.  I listened for his voice through
the pleasurable noises Minette was making under
Davis’s skilful hands.

“Come.” He said finally, beckoning me with a slight
raising of his hand.

I went to him immediately and knelt on the floor
before him.  Peter smiled openly, as if I had
pre-empted what his next command would be.  I felt
such pleasure knowing this that I trembled.

“I want you to undress me, Alicia.  But you will not
linger anywhere until I give you leave.  Do you
understand?”

Oh, yes, I understood.  I nodded my head, not trusting
my voice, and with fingers trembling with excitement I
started at the cravat at Peter’s throat.  I then moved
on to his shirt where I unfastened every button and
eased it from his shoulders, taking great pains not to
touch his broad, muscular chest and shoulders for I
knew I would never stop myself from falling onto him
with hands and lips if I did.

I then removed Peter’s boots and stockings before
kneeling up between his legs to address his jodhpurs.
The material was so strained at the crotch now, that I
had to pull forcibly at the material to pass it over
his erection.  My mouth watered as I slowly and
carefully pulled the jodhpurs down and off – keeping
my eyes averted as Peter lifted his hips to aid me.

Peter sat before me in his arm chair, naked and not a
bit ashamed, and I knelt before him and worshipped his
body for the god he was to me.  He was stunning, a
masterpiece in flesh.  No woman could ever have seen
him and not wanted him instantly.  I felt blessed,
deeply blessed, to have been chosen to be his slave.

Try as I might my eyes could not look away, but
feasted on him.  He caught my look and held it, that
old familiar sardonic smile played on his lips and I
finally saw it for what it was.  The smile of one who
knows my every thought – as I had found out – but also
one who knows my every action and who can predict my
every deed.

I knelt between Peter’s knees, my eyes locked with his
and he spoke, “Take it.”

I hesitated, not knowing quite what he meant until he
stretched forth his hand and grabbed my hair, forcing
my mouth down to enclose the silky moist head of his
erection.  I closed my eyes in ecstasy, tasting his
salty wetness.

Using my tongue I licked up the shaft, over the tip
and down to the root over and over again, for it was
almost too thick to go into my mouth.  My hand crept
up and held the shaft to stop the wayward movement
caused by the sensation of my tongue.  Stroking with
the very tips of my fingers I caressed every part of
Peter’s manhood until I could feel it throb.  I dared
to open my eyes and look up.  Peter was still watching
me but the smile had been replaced by a look of
contented pleasure.  He looked as a cat looks while
being stroked – allowing you to pet it and take joy in
the pleasure.

His lips slightly parted with the increase of sexual
pressure building inside him, Peter dragged my head
away by the hair and pulled me up to stand over him.
I stood with my legs either side of his knees.

>From the side of the chair Peter produced a length of
rope and leant round me to tie my hands tightly behind
my back.  His tongue moved over my abdomen and passed
along the edge of my hips as he tied the rope fast.

I looked down at him and he up at me.  He read the
desperate want in my face and I the dominance in his.
My breasts jutted forward and Peter took a nipple in
his mouth.  I gasped at the sensation of his tongue,
and then at his nipping teeth as they pulled and
sucked on the nipple ring.

While I was so occupied, without warning Peter pulled
me down and speared me on his quivering shaft.  The
size of it was enormous and it caused me some pain so
that I cried out.  But this seemed to inflame Peter
more.  He rotated my hips with his hands, easing me
down further so that our bodies were locked.

Taking me by the hips, he made me ride him and never
before have I had so much pleasure.  I could feel him
throbbing deep within me, stretching me to the very
limit so that the pleasure was fused with a sensual
pain.

I seemed to rise up and up and still felt the thick
shaft inside me, only for Peter to pull me down by the
hips and waist, clutching at my buttocks and kissing
my breasts.  I was so wet with desire that it made
Peter’s abdomen sticky and slippery as I felt my most
sensitive parts rub against him.

His game was exquisite.  If I panted, he would slow
the movements and prolong my pain of release.  If I
squirmed in his hands and mistakenly made deployment
of my emotions he would cease all movement and have me
sit absolutely still, until I had learned to be
biddable.

I felt the familiar warmth of climax deep in my
abdomen, working its way in a rhythm of sensitivity
too much to hold back.  I felt, too, Peter getting
hotter inside me, felt his pulsing veins and throbbing
tool as he neared his release.

I could not contain myself.  I felt the moment come
and threw back my head, letting out a low moan of
pleasure.  Peter, reaching his climax a second after
mine, took my head in his hand and pulled me forward,
biting my throat at the meeting of my shoulder.  He
growled like a wolf and I felt pain, and nothing more.

I cannot remember more, for I fainted, so strong were
the reverberating spasms of my multiple-orgasm.  When
I came to, I found I was lying on a couch in the
reception room that Peter had first taken me to on my
arrival, dressed in a lounging gown of silk.  I raised
my hand to my throat where I had been bitten and there
was a sore mark – like a bruise.  I smiled.

No sooner had I sat up than Minette entered the room
followed by Sarah.  They had, at first, concerned
looks on their faces until they saw me smile at seeing
them.

“Dear Alicia, we were all so concerned for you.  We
could not wake you – not even with salts.”  Minette
stroked my cheek.

“I am well,”  I said quietly.  “Just a little tired,
perhaps.”

Sarah took my hand in hers and pulled me to rise.
“Then we had better get you to eat something.”

They led me out of the reception room and across the
hall to another door.  Minette opened the door and
there, before a blazing fire on a couch of soft
leather, sat Peter.  The room was warm and intimate,
comfortably friendly.  Book shelves lined the walls
and there was a small table to one side of the couch
filled with good things to eat.  In a chair near to
the couch and on the other side of the table, sat
Davis.  He looked up as we entered, and smiled.

Peter turned as I was led into the room and held out a
hand for me to come to him.  I did immediately, and
the girls seated themselves on the soft rug before the
fire.  I knelt on the rug, too, before Peter’s feet.
He took my hand in his and stroked my hair.  Almost
like a father would.

“We were greatly concerned about you, Alicia.  How do
you feel about your decision now?”  He watched my
face; a slight frown creased his brow.

“I feel I made the right decision, sir.”  I said.  “I
am truly sorry to have given you cause for concern,
but think it must have been the excess of my emotions
that made me swoon.”

The girls laughed, Sarah adding,  “We believe so too,
Alicia.  You are well suited to the life you have
chosen.”

Peter leaned across the table a picked up a glass of
wine.  “You need refreshment and rest, for you are not
used to our ways and will find them emotionally
fatiguing for a time.”  He put it to my lips and let
me sip it.  “Are you hungry, Alicia?” he asked.

I realised I was in fact ravenous.  I had not eaten
since the day before, and said as much.

Peter passed me a small plate with some small canapés
upon it.  I began to eat and have never tasted
anything so delicious.  My senses seemed to be aroused
in every extreme.  I could taste in excess; smell the
small amount of opium leaves burning on the fire; hear
the soft breathing of Peter, my master, above me; see
every glint and sparkle in the crystal wine glass upon
the table and feel the contentment of my new-found
situation envelope me.  I sat in perfect submission
before Peter, and in the company of my new family.

I looked up at him.  He had picked up from the table
an apple and was slicing it with a sharp silver knife.
 As I watched, his eye caught mine and I saw a look
cross his face that I had seen before.

I had seen it in a dream that came, suddenly, flooding
back to me.

A dream where I was lost in a fog and pursued by Peter
who was evil and mad, cornering me until we stumble
upon a corpse.  My corpse, the throat cut with . . .

I felt myself fainting again, but strong hands caught
me and lifted me high up.  The room spun for a moment
and I was reclined upon the sofa that Peter had
vacated.  I remember the smell of supple leather, and
the scent of Peter.  Then a soft damp cloth wiped my
face and brow.

I looked up from my recumbent position to see Peter’s
face full of concern.  Above him were Minette and
Sarah, and behind them, Davis.

“What ails you, Alicia?  Tell us, or I will have to
forbid any exertion for a time.  I cannot have you in
this state whenever I have need of you.”  Peter’s
voice was soft, a caress on my cheek.  No foul stench
of the charnel house, but sweet wine instead.

A tear escaped my eye and I tried to brush it away
before anyone notices but I am too late.
“Alicia!”  Peter’s voice is demanding, but there is
concern.  “Explain what is wrong.”

I sat up and looked at these people that I did not
really know but trusted even with my life.  So I told
them about the dream with as much candour as possible.
 I did not leave out any detail that I could remember.

When I had finished there was silence.  A tremor of
fear nestled in the pit of my stomach and worked its
way up to my throat, ready to escape as a scream.

I stole my gaze from my lap and looked at their faces.
 They registered shock.  It was Minette who spoke
first.

“I think I can explain your dream, Alicia.  My mother
was adept at things paranormal and I used to listen to
her when our neighbours consulted her.  Dreams often
mean the opposite of what you think they mean.  But
yours, I believe, means as you saw.”

I gasped and looked about me, trying to see where the
knife had been placed, thinking I could protect myself
if need be.  Did Minette mean I had guessed their
purpose?

Peter saw my startled look and took my hand in his,
rubbing the back to calm me.  “Do not fret yourself.
There is no one here going to harm you – well, not any
more than you want to be harmed.”  There was a general
laugh and Peter smiled.  “Perhaps Minette had better
explain herself further?”  He sat by me on the couch
and Minette sat on the floor alongside Sarah.  Davis
returned to the chair but sat forward with interest.

“It is my belief that the fog you envisioned was your
old life.  You were lost, trying to find something
that was familiar to you and yet, which ever way you
turned, you could not relate to anything.  It stifled
you and left you cold and emotionless.  You found
Peter, but mistrusted his designs.  An understandable
mistake after the men you have entertained.  They have
never given you an ounce of security or any real
tenderness, and so you felt fear and also felt
threatened.”  Minette took a deep breath and, smiling,
continued.  “Peter, you say, backed you against a wall
in your dream and left you no escape – which could
mean you felt you had to be put in such a position
that you made the right one.  The death of yourself is
true.  No!  Do not think we wish you harm – nothing
could be further from the truth, dear Alicia.  We wish
you pleasure.  As a kindred spirit.  The death you
visualised was the death of your old way of life.  You
stood, next to Peter, and saw it, saw the old way of
life die in you.  You stood with the person who
rescued you from a living death of boredom and
betrayal and, at last, loneliness.”

The realisation flooded through me like a warmth.  Of
course.  It was so obvious.  I did not die in my dream
for I stood next to Peter.  It was my old life that
died while I watched.  I remembered the scream I
dreamed just before I woke and realised it was
something primal, base and sexual.  It was the escape
of my liberated sexual awakenings as they soared into
a new and more wondrous realm.

With Peter.