Needful sacrifice (closed)

[lovingfingers]

Jean closed his journal, having reviewed for the fourth time his findings. He rose and stretched his leanly muscled frame. Walking to the basin, he poured a little water into a bowl and washed his face. Cleanliness was next to Godliness after all.

He walked down the stairs to the first floor of his home. He tied a small sack and a short sword to his belt and then slung on his cloak. No sense in attracting attention to himself. He passed through the door and entered the carriage that was waiting for him. He told the driver where he wished to go and then settled back into the seat. The cobblestones made for a bumpy ride. He would have preferred to walk, but anticipated company on the return.

Eventually, the carriage stopped in front of a long row of modest town houses. He exited and walked to the second to his right. He knocked on the door and was received by a tired looking older fellow. The exchanged awkward pleasantries, until Jean opened his cloak. He took the small sack and handed it to the man, "As we agreed, this should cover all your debts, and then some."

The older man hesitated, then took it. He held it for a moment, then called out for his daughter.

 

[anyaromanova]

Pierre hadn't reached this decision easily, but his gambling addiction made it necessary. He had no sons to help him, only two daughters. He used to have three, but the youngest took ill in the winter and thankfully died. His wife, Charlotte, was grief-stricken, but he was grateful. He hated working his fingers to the bone just to throw it all away on women, who could contribute nothing of value to his household. Charlotte was reluctant to agree to the arrangement that Pierre had, but she had no choice, and besides, she had no say. Furthermore, it was her fault this had to be done. If she had given him sons, this wouldn't have been necessary.

Joannie was a gifted painter. She tried to sell her work, but no one wanted a woman's art. For a time, she considered changing the signature to a pseudonym. She created an alias: "Phillipe Desjardins." She claimed that the artist was her fiance. But in such a small town, the lie did not last long. In fact, only one of her paintings was bought, and then they demanded their money back when they were refused a meeting with the artist.

Joannie had paid dearly for that. Her father had her whipped twenty-five times in the public square.

That was a month ago. The wounds on her back were healed now. Joannie still painted, but she dared not sell anything.

Still, times were hard, and something needed to be done to keep bread on the table. That was why, when Pierre was approached two weeks after the whipping by this man, he knew at once that he would agree to whatever the man offered him. Of course, there was no harm in haggling. He drove up the price, gradually, until he had enough to keep his family - and gambling debts - taken care of for several months.

He didn't think his daughter was worth keeping informed about any of it. He wasn't sure what the man wanted her for, but it was none of his business. He took the sack of money.

"Joannie!" he called.

Pierre looked in the sack and began to count the money within. It was exactly as they had arranged. He nodded in satisfaction as he heard the light footsteps coming down the stairs.

"You are to be a servant in this man's household," he told her. The young woman stared at the man in surprise. Being in a small town, everyone knew everyone, but this man was an exception. He was a recluse. No one really saw him out and about... but he always attended public punishments. In fact, he was right in front when she was whipped. His hands never left his knickers, and he had a sick smile on his face. It was for this reason that she tried her best to hold her tongue and refrain from screaming when they whipped her. She managed to endure only seven lashes before she first cried out, then four lashes later, she wailed and threw her head back in pain. After that, it was hard to keep her composure, and she cried out at every lash from then on.
]
Joannie shuddered and looked at her father, pleadingly.

"Papa, I will be a servant to anyone else in this town, but not him."

Accustomed to doing this, Pierre raised his hand as if to slap her, then stopped and let his hand fall back down.

"You are no longer mine. You are his." He looked at Jean. "You may punish this insolence as you see fit."

Joannie gasped, unable to contain herself. Her body tensed and she took a small step back, but her father pushed her toward Jean.

"You belong to him now. These 800 gold pieces say so." He held up the sack and turned away. "Just make them worth it," he called to both of them.

Joannie looked at Jean in shock, then swallowed hard.

"What kinds of duties would you have me do, my Lord?" she asked meekly.

 

[lovingfingers]

He regarded her closely, his plans circulating in his head. "For the moment, pack your things, and be certain to bring your paints, brushes, and so forth. I have use for your talents."

He saw a mixture of emotions pass over face, then hesitation. "Off with you. I do not like to be kept waiting," he gestured with a wave. As she packed, he stepped outside and waved to the carriage driver. The man got down and stood outside the door, taking Joannie's bags and stowing them away.

When the last was packed, the driver held the door for him. He looked at Joannie and nodded towards the carriage. He got in and watched as she entered, seating herself across from him. The door closed, the carriage swayed and then began to move.

He settled into his seat, "I have seen your paintings, and have use for your talents. I need a series of murals done."

He let this settle in, then continued, "There will be other duties. One of the first will be to bathe. You will do so regularly. I have clothes which you will wear while in residence. Understood?"

 

[anyaromanova]

Joannie was excited at the order to bring her paints and brushes. A female friend of hers was a poet, who was paid handsomely by a local man to take credit for her work. Perhaps that was what this man had in mind.

She climbed into the carriage and couldn't meet the man's gaze. She couldn't shake the chill from her spine as she remembered seeing the look on his face during her flogging. She was afraid of him, but tried to keep an optimistic outlook. She hoped and prayed that she would be wrong about him...

"Yes, sir," she agreed as he gave her orders. "I will do my very best to please you..."

She hoped for fair treatment in return. The way he looked during her flogging told her that he was a man, like several in the town, who enjoyed dishing out painful punishments to servants for the slightest imperfections. She was determined that he would never have an excuse to punish her.

Once they arrived at the house, Joannie was given instructions on where to go to bathe. After this, she dressed in the clothing he had given her and reported to him.

"Does this meet with your satisfaction, my Lord?"

 

[lovingfingers]

Upon their return, Jean left Joannie to the house staff, while walked up the stairs and retired to his study. He poured a glass of wine and sipped it thoughtfully as walked to one wall, and swung a painting, mounted on hinges, aside. Recessed within the wall was a mirror, which reflected light up from the floor beneath. It also gave him an above view of Joannie as she bathed. He watched her appreciatively as she washed and rinsed, her hands moving over her curves, her skin wet and slick. As she stepped from the basin, he closed the opening, thinking that she might do quite well.

Some time later, he heard a knock on the door. He answered and Joannie entered promptly, presenting herself, asking for his approval. She was wearing a fine sheer chemise, stays and a skirt. He regarded her and smiled, thinking "time for the first lesson."

He rose and gestured for her to come closer, then told her to turn around. He brought his hands to her back and felt her tense up. He grabbed the cords on the stays and began to pull them tight. One by one, he cinched them in, until her waist was a more pleasing hourglass shape. He turned around and nodded. The stays forced her breasts to project more pleasingly to him. He reached up and casually tweaked her nipples through the sheer fabric, then stood back, regarding her.

"Yes, that will do," he said simply, "now come with me."

 

[anyaromanova]

Joannie was not used to the tightness of the stay, having to gasp several times as he tightened it. She felt awkward when all was said and done, because of how her breasts were now supported in this particularly revealing garment.

When he tweaked her nipple, she flinched, not out of pain, but out of shock, and she pulled away.

Sex was one thing she was determined never to do with any man who did not love her.

But who was she to protest? She was, after all, bought and paid for...

Still, perhaps she could lay down this condition.

"My Lord... please don't do that again... please don't touch me there..."

Her words and manner were certainly meeker than her thoughts were. She cursed herself for this as she followed her master.

 

[lovingfingers]

As he passed down the stairs and turned down a hallway, he said nothing, but he was resolved to nip this little rebellion in the bud. As he passed an open door, he briefly stopped, reached in and took a riding crop from the wall. He cradled it as he walked to the next room down and opened the door. The room was empty, save for a couple small tables and dark curtains on the windows. The walls were a dull cream color. All that signaled that the room was used were a number of partially erased symbols on the floor and the faint scent of incense.

He turned and watched the young woman enter. "Close the door," he ordered. As she turned back towards him after the door clicked closed, she found him in front of her, and close. He set one hand upon her stays and pushed her back against the door. With the other hand, he raised the crop and gave two quick hard slaps, one to each breast.

As she gasped, he said quietly, "because you are young and new here, consider that a warning. I own you and will do what I will with you. Understood?"

As he stroked her chest with the crop, he continued, "your response will thank you sir."

 

[anyaromanova]

Joannie was not that meek. Her breasts hurt from the crop, and she was frightened, but she took a moment and controlled her breathing.

This was to be her life, fine, but she would not be treated this way.

"What exactly did you have in mind for me?" she asked.

 

[lovingfingers]

He paused. She was recalcitrant. And in truth, he had several things in mind for her. If she proved to be the one he sought, she would be the mother of the child of the aeon. If not, she could be a useful servant, or at least a diversion. He recalled her body in her bath, and the latter option was not an unpleasant one.

He focussed calmly on her, "That will depend entirely on your talents, and your willingness to obey my wishes."

He took a step back, and gestured to the ceiling. "For the moment, I wish you to paint the ceiling. It should be a partly clouded sky. The clouds should be evocative of human emotions, ranging from calm to lustful to raging. I will have scaffolding brought in for you. In the mean time, you will do some sketches for my approval. You may set up in the adjacent room."

He turned and moved towards the door, "I will be back to check on you before dinner. If you require sustenance, the kitchen is down the hall as well. The cook has been made aware of your presence."

And with that, he was gone, returning to his study.

 

[anyaromanova]

Joannie sighed with relief. She let her guard down. She could handle this sort of treatment for this, she thought.

"Thank you, sir," she called. This was out of sincerity, rather than duty. She was grateful for the opportunity to showcase her talents.

She set about looking at the ceiling, gauging the size and scope that would be necessary to convey what her patron wanted. She decided to convey a kind of hurricane. The center would be where it would be calmest, while getting gradually more chaotic as it radiated out. Of course, she kept in mind the "partly cloudy" concept. Then she discarded the idea. Perhaps a "reverse" hurricane idea would be better, to have it be calm on the outside, and chaotic on the inside. Then she thought it might be better to do a more random approach...

Definitely a lot of possibilities, she thought. She decided she would convey all of them in her sketches and let him decide what he liked best.

She had nothing in this room to work with, so she returned briefly to where her supplies had been, and brought them with her into the room. She set to work. Once she was finished with the first hurricane concept, she went and got a little to eat from the kitchen, then returned and set to work on the reverse hurricane. Then she worked on the random sky. As she was finishing up the last variation of this, she heard footsteps coming into the room.

 

[lovingfingers]

As Jean entered the room, he noted that there was sufficient daylight remaining to view her work without lighting candles. He saw Joannie looking expectantly at him and remarked, "I trust you have had a productive afternoon."

He took the drawings that were offered him, and sat down in a chair next to the table to review them. He laid them out on the table, looking at them from various angles, making small "hmm" sounds.

Finally, he selected one of the hurricane pieces and set it next to the edge of the table. He motioned her over, "I approve of the general motif, but fear that these do not convey sufficient emotion. Come here and have a look at this one. Really look at it, set your hands to either side of it, and stare at it. What do you feel?"

"A storm is chaotic. It should bring forth fear and awe," he continued, "Now don't move, and keep staring at it."

He raised his hand, and brought it down sharply on her behind. Whack! The thin fabric of the skirt only slightly lessened the blow.

"Do not move and do not take your eyes from the drawing," he ordered.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

His hand rose and fell, and even through the fabric, he could feel her skin heating.
Her breathing was coming fast. She was flushed and sweating.

After a dozen spanks, he paused, resting his hand on her derriere. "Now that is what I want your painting to exude. I trust you saw what changes need to be made?" he ventured.