The Trappings of Success (Closed to littlewaif, Sweet_Denna, and two other females)

Gary Stark was proud of what he had accomplished. How many people were able to go into semi-retirement by the time they were thirty? It was an especially impressive feat, given that he had not come from a rich family. They were not what one would call dirt poor, but his father worked at a factory most of his life, and his mother taught at a junior college part-time. They made a decent living for themselves and their two sons, but Gary had always been motivated by a desire for more. It didn't take him long to realize that he would have to provide that for himself, and so he went out and earned it.

What started as a penchant for working on old cars developed into a genius for mechanical and electrical engineering. The sort of genius that landed one contracts with the U.S Department Of Defense. Almost straight out of college, he had started his own company with the aim of producing weapons for the military. His designs were genius, and unlike so many other contractors, he never wasted the taxpayers' money. The company took off, and he was able to recruit truly talented people to come work for him. So, eventually, he was able to step back, and work from the extravagant home he had built for himself, miles from his nearest neighbor.

This was how he found himself alone on the morning of his 30th birthday, reading a magazine article about one of his latest creations. He was not going to have some huge birthday party; Gary just wanted a quiet dinner that night, with himself and his women. Once he had the money to have his home built, the entrepreneur had also decided to indulge a fantasy he had held for many years: to 'collect' women to keep around him, beautiful women to serve his desires. It was slightly illegal, but he had learned that being wealthy meant that one could afford to break an inconvenient law or three.

It was hours, yet, before dinner would be served, and he had no doubt that his 'pets' were about the house. Some of them had chores, helping to take care of the house in different ways, and in general they were all allowed to enjoy themselves as they wished when not attending to him, so long as they did not try to escape. Each wore a simple metal band around their necks that would notify him should they get too close to the fence that surrounded his property, and they could not be removed except by a small key that he kept on a platinum chain that he always wore around his neck.

As he was about to turn the page in the magazine, he heard the sound of footfalls on the hardwood floor of the room he was in. It was actually a large room, where he often went when he felt like reading, but the tables within were meant for small parties, which he occasionally held for his small circle of friends. There were stuffed animals all around the room, each of which he had killed on hunting trips he had taken over the past ten years or so. The steps were coming from behind him, but rather than look around to see who it was coming toward him, he simply said in a slightly loud voice, "Who is that?"

Claire
Age: 22
Height : 5'0
Hair: Gentle, white-blonde waves to her waist
Eyes: Large, black
Physical Characteristics: She is very pale, a soft blush to her cheeks, and pouty lips. Though she is very short, she is also very slender with large C cup breasts with puffy pink nipples. Her features and hands are quite delicate. She keeps her pussy cleanshaven.
Other Characteristics: Her voice is very soft, so much so that Gary has often scolded her to speak up. She is very affectionate, understanding, and devoted. She has been with Mr. Stark, Master, to her, for almost 5 years. She has a deep, enduring "old soul" quality.
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"It's me, Claire, Master!" her soft, bell-like voice rang out loud enough for him to hear her from the next room. She came into the room, balancing a heavy birthday breakfast tray in her hands as she walked towards him. She was a vision of domestic sweetness, wearing nothing but her small white panties (Master always chose for her the panties she wore,) and a ruffled blue apron patterned with small pink flowers, and cinched around her tiny waist. Her soft tresses were knotted into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. And barely noticable under the floating skirt of the apron, her small, pale belly was swollen with his baby. When he had decided he was ready to begin a family, he had rewarded Claire with his first child for her devoted years of service, and the genuine love between them. She was a little over four months pregnant, and would know the gender of their child very soon.

Claire rose early in the morning, when the other girls were still asleep or entwined in sensual pleasures with her Master so that she could cook for him. She loved to give him pleasure. Many of the younger girls, or even older girls who had less spiritual depth, were easily seduced into a false image of what servitude was. Often, they assumed that to be a good submissive had only to do with sex. That every duty they were accountable for involved being chained up or on their hands and knees. Cooking for her Master was one of Claire's favorite parts of her day.

She knelt in the floor before him, setting the tray on the coffee table at his knees, waiting patiently, with her eyes softly downcast for him to finish reading his article. His plate was large with all manner of berries, poached eggs, linked pheasant sausages from his most recent hunting trip, a few slices of crisp bacon, hashed potatoes with rosemary, and wheat toast. A mug of steaming black coffee and a tall glass of lemon iced tea were arranged next to his plate and utensils. Claire always fixed him breakfast, but she had gone a little out of her way today, because his birthday was of immense import to her.

She had saved the scraps from her breakfast preparations for the other girls, but she knew his permission would be required before anyone else in the house could taste their breakfasts. She waited patiently at his feet, in case he required any of her services as he ate.

Hearing that it was Claire, he smiled and returned his eyes to the page. If it had been one of the other girls, there was a good chance he would have had to chase them off. They had a habit of trying to distract him from whatever it was that he was doing when they came looking for his attention. The lovely woman in the room with him at the moment, however, he knew would kneel quietly there as long as required. "Very good, Claire. I was beginning to get a little hungry," he told her as the sensation grew stronger at the smell wafting from the tray she bore. He did finish reading the article before putting the magazine away, sine he had been close to done with it when he first heard her soft footsteps.

Grinning, Gary turned his eyes on the pale blond kneeling so beautifully before him. "The food looks almost as delicious as the one who prepared it," he told her, and lifted his empty hand palm-up, indicating that he wanted her to stand before him. Once she did, he reached out, sliding a strong hand under her apron. Allowing his hand to slide up and down over her stomach, feeling the slight swell that indicated his child was growing within her. When he first decided to step down as the CEO of the company he had founded to go into early retirement, the very next decision he'd made was that he wanted to start a family. And none of his girls deserved the chance to bear his first child more than Claire. Pressing a kiss to her belly through the apron, he then looked up and told her, "You may kneel again, my sweet pet." Once she did, he began to eat quietly.

"Very good, Claire. I was beginning to get a little hungry,"

Claire glowed softly at even this modest praise. She had come to intuit his needs with remarkable accuracy over the years. She was usually more concerned with his hunger, his exhaustion, his sexual need, before she was even aware that her stomach was grumbling, or her eyes were drifting shut, or that her pussy had become soaked for him...

"The food looks almost as delicious as the one who prepared it,"

Her cute, pale face colored as instantly as if he had pushed a button. Claire knew that her master sometimes indulged her with little scraps of flattery just because he delighted in seeing how bashful she got every time.

He told her with the gesture of his hand to stand, and she rose immediately, without thought. She had been trained with verbal commands, manual signals, and even took her cues from the expressions on his face. She was almost like a little puppy, she was so consumed with her Master's needs. As soon as she was on her feet, he pressed his lips against her gently swelling belly.

She looked down on the top of his head with such a powerful joy and pride, her chest ached. Claire's greatest pleasure in life had been conceiving his child. The thought of her DNA intertwining with his made her spine chill.

"You may kneel again, my sweet pet."

And she dropped to her knees quietly before him, eyes downcast a bit so he wouldn't feel as though like he was being gawked at while he ate. But she couldn't deny herself the occasional sneaked glance. He was putting forkful after forkful of the warm breakfast she'd prepared to his lips with obvious relish, and his enjoyment gave her deep satisfaction.

When he pushed the tray away from him on the table, Claire took it up again to carry to the kitchen and leave him to finish his reading. She had saved the crusts of his toast, put aside the less than perfect berries from the batch, and saved a few extra eggs to scramble for his other pets, should he want her to feed them. On her way out, she turned in the doorway, "Master? Should I fix the girls their plates? Or will you have them wait for lunch?"

Hannan Olivier sat on the large bed, with her legs drawn close to her body, and stared at the wall. Something had gone terribly wrong. All she remembered was the the ferry ride from Sebastopol to Istanbul, and that a charming young man, an Ukrainian that she had met on the ferry, had offered her a drink in his cabin. For once, she should have listened to her mother's warnings. But now, it was too late for regrets.

Hannan had just finished university in Paris and had been on her way to visit her cousin Geraldine who lived and worked in Istanbul. A major in International Relations and Environmental Engineering, Hannan had scored a job as the project manager with an NGO who was working on water rights and irrigation techniques. In the one month between the end of school and the start of the project in Syria, Hannan had wanted to travel around the region. She travelled a lot, and mostly by herself, and had never had any problems. Until now. Angrily, she wiped a tear from her cheek. Crying would not help her think clearly.

From her Lebanese mother, she had inherited her large, almost black eyes with long, raven lashes, the silken dark locks that curled down her back and covered her shoulders and the soft, almost honey-coloured skin. It had also been her mother who had insisted on giving her daughter an Arabic name, while most of her friends had simply called her Anna - the H did just not stick well to the French tongue. Her father, a successful writer and journalist had met her mother in Paris, and the family had never actually lived anywhere near Beirut. That was one of the reasons that Hannan had accepted the job at once - she was curious about her roots.

She was not very tall, but had a tight, athletic body and slender legs. Hannan had always loved to do sports and was an excellent swimmer and runner - had it not been for her rather ample breasts, she would have maybe chosen an athletic career. For a few years now, she practised Capoeira as well, simply because she loved to move, to dance and she liked to be able to deal a firm kick or a blow, if the circumstances required it. As it turned out, this had not helped much against the charming young man who had simply offered her a drink.

The bedroom she was in was tastefully furnished. Nothing seemed to hint that she was in an unfriendly, or even hostile environment. Through the window, she could make out a line of trees and somewhere else around the house she was in, people were laughing.

But then there was the fact that the door to the bedroom was locked, that the windows did not open, that she had no idea where she was and how she had got there, and worse, that she was nude.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong here.

Once he was finished eating, he watched Claire rise and take the tray back toward the kitchen, enjoying the way she moved. When she turned and asked him about breakfast for the other girls, he nodded, and told her, "Yes, give them breakfast, but not too much. You will all be eating a very healthy dinner, so I don't want them too full when the time comes." It would be one of the rare times when they all ate with him, as opposed to waiting until he was finished before they could have any food. It was a special occasion, after all.

Not long after Claire disappeared from the doorway, his cellphone rang, and he picked it up only after seeing Ivan's number come up on the caller ID. "Hello Ivan," he told the russian on the other end of the line. The crime syndicate he worked for, a branch of the russian mob, was one of the few in the country that dealt in selling women. The man on the phone was their delivery guy. "Oh, you're here already? I wasn't expecting you for another couple of hours, but I don't mind taking her off your hands early. I will buzz you in now." Once he hung up, he dialed a number on his phone that would cause the gates at the front of his property to swing open.

He then rose and began to walk through the house toward the front door. On the way, he walked past the kitchen quietly, and glanced in at Claire, seeing that she was dutifully preparing plates for the other girls. She would not know to make one for the new girl yet, as she was also not expecting the delivery to be made so soon, but depending on what the girl's demeanor was, she may not be getting food at lunch, either. Not long after he reached the front door, he heard the doorbell, and opened it. Gary's eyes recognized Ivan immediately, so then drifted to his side to get a good look at the girl he had purchased, having only seen pictures of her prior to this.

Her musings had been rudely interrupted by a rather thuggish looking man who had stumbled in the room and thrown a thin coat on the bed, motioning for her to wear it. Hannan had wanted to know where she was, who he was, and what was going on, but the thug had just glared at her and underlined his request with a threatening grunt. All in all, he had not seemed to willing to deal out information.

With shaking hands, Hannan had wrapped herself in to the coat, before the man shoved her out the door and into a blinded car. After a short drive, they had stopped, and Mr. Friendly had roughly pulled her out of the car. "Mais putain, connard, doucement!", she had cursed when she had slammed her knee into the car door, immediately sorry for her language. But neither did the thug understand French, nor did he care. They were in front of a large mansion, apparently their destination.

Pulling her along with him on the narrow path to the house, he rang the bell once they were in front of the door. After a few seconds, the door opened, and a handsome man greeted them. To Hannan's horror, he seemed to know the thug very well, and was not in the least shocked or surprised that someone would deliver a foreign, scared young woman directly to his doorstep. Unable to speak or move, Hannan stared at the man who was apparently her new...owner.

Seeing the lovely woman who had been brought to his door, Gary grinned slightly, then looked back at Ivan. "Please, bring her inside," he told the man, who abruptly pulled her through the door by her arm. The thin coat hid much, of course, but her face was beautiful, despite the fact that she was clearly not happy with her situation. Gary closed the door behind them, and led them out of the foyer and into the large living room.

Ivan pushed her down onto the couch, and indicated with a hand gesture for her to sit there. Noticing the gesture, he gave the 'delivery man' a puzzled look. In a rather thick accent, he explained, "She does not speak english, Mr. Stark, so unless you speak french, you might have some difficulty communicating with her."

He had been wondering why the price had been as low as it was, given the girl's beauty. Now, Gary knew. Still, it would be worth the challenge, from the looks of her. "Well, then, Ivan, the money was transferred last night, so if you don't mind holding her, I can place her collar on so that you can go about your business," he told the man, and walked over to one of the end tables, and took a slim metal band off of it as the thug stood over her, reaching down to gather her hair up and grip it tightly, both holding her in place and keeping her neck bared.

Hannan was too dazed to do or say anything. The whole situation was simply too unbelievable, too outrageous, and too terrifying for her brain to comprehend it. The thug roughly pulled her inside the house, grunting something in Russian or English, she was not sure. What the hell was going on here? The house was nicely decorated, and the furniture looked stylish and expensive. Whoever lived in this house - and Hannan suspected the man who let them in to be the owner - had very good taste. The thug pulled her into the living room and half-motioned, half pushed her to sit on the couch. Was this a joke? A bad dream? Hannan was lost for words, and as it was, for any coherent thoughts as well.

Only when the Russian man grabbed her roughly by the hair did Hannan come back to her senses. It only then dawned on her that the handsome man who had let them into the house actually had expected them, he had expected, well, her. She started to squirm in the thug's grip, and screaming for help. This must

In the position that she was in, it was not easy to make out the object that the man was holding in his hand, but it seemed to be something like a thin band, made out of a shiny material, like some kind of metal. Hannan panicked. She had been kidnapped, held prisoner and now, they wanted to collar her, like some kind of animal. "Fuck you!" she spit at Gary, her thick French accent clearly detectable in those two words alone.

She was ready to kick that man's balls in, if she had to. The Russian thug was grunting in the effort to keep her still, his growing anger apparent in his roughening grip. He was, however, reluctant to use any real violence and Hannan had the uneasy feeling that this was due to the fact that she was merchandise, and that she was not to be damaged. "Connard, laisse-moi!", Hannan yelled, but was unable to break free. If nobody miraculously came to help her, she would be collared and become the property of the man who looked like he already owned her.

"Fuck you!"

"So you do know some english?" he asked her, though he was not, of course, expecting an answer. Nor did it matter; he would find a way to teach her. Moving closer, he was wary of the girl's legs, poised as they seemed to kick out. He'd had his balls kicked pretty hard before doing this, and as such he had learned to be cautious. Still, he was not a fan of holding them face down, where it would be easier; it led to much more hurt feelings later that were harder to overcome than simple anger. It was easier, in the long run, to deal with their struggles.

Approaching from an angle that made it difficult for her to kick him, he reached in and quickly closed the band around her neck. When the two ends touched, he pressed them together, locking them in place. After taking a few steps back, he nodded to Ivan, and told the large Russian, "Alright, let her go now. Thank you for the help." His eyes then quickly turned back on the frenchwoman, watching her intently. He had to be ready if she decided to bolt, or to attack either himself or Ivan, and without the help of a common language, he would have to rely heavily on physical communication as well as hand gestures.

Deleted.

Hannan felt very much like a trapped animal between the Russian that was roughly holding her in place and the other man who closed in on her with the metal band in his hands. But as much as she tried, she did not land a single kick. That man was clearly experienced with these kind of situations, and with an angry curse, she felt him put the collar around her neck.

In the first few seconds after they released her again, her shaking fingers examined the cold metal around her neck warily. It was closed shut, and it became very clear very fast that she would not be able to take it off again by herself. Fingering with it for a while nevertheless, the dark-haired girl sat on the sofa, her head bent forward in the effort to find a clasp, or some mechanism that would free her of her collar. But it was to no avail. Her muffled curses and groans were audible in the quiet living room, and after Hannan realised that she would not be able to take the band of, she looked up again, eyeing both of her captors with fiery glances.

"Mais c'est quoi ce délire?" Her chest was rising and falling fast with her breathing. Her English was pretty crappy, and while she was able to understand some of it, Hannan was practically incapable of expressing herself in the language. How the fuck had this happened, and how on earth did she end up like this in what seemed to be an American living room?

Hannan's body tensed while she weighed her chances of darting to the door. The huge Russian looked as if he would break her skull if she would even try, and the slender girl was not sure about reaching the door before he would be able to grab her. What kind of household was this supposed to be? Turning her dark eyes to the other man whom she judged to be American then, she said: "Si vous ne me laissez pas partir, vous auriez des problèmes graves avec la police, Monsieur. Je suis française. I am French." Hannan was pretty sury that these two perverts would understand the words "problèmes" and "police".

Her fingers dug into the edge of the sofa. The tension of her muscles was obvious. Fuck, it was worth a try. Like a loose bullet, the girl ran for the front door.

Gary stood there, listening to her and trying to make sense of her words. All he picked out, though, was something that sounded like 'problems' and 'police'. Shaking his head slightly, he knew he was going to have his hands full over the next few days in particular, but it was the sort of challenge he would enjoy. As he was trying to figure out what she was saying, though, he saw her jump up and bolt toward the door, getting there before he could even really react.

Luckily, he was in the habit of locking the door every time he closed it. Despite the fact it was a simple enough matter to unlock it, those precious seconds gave him enough time to reach her and grasp her wrists before closing his arms around her waist. It made it look like she was hugging herself, and him holding her in turn. It took a bit of effort, but he was able to pull her back away, whispering into her ear, "I know you probably won't understand this, but I don't necessarily want to hurt you, and this will be much easier if you just cooperate." Of course, he didn't expect her to know what he was saying, so he kept his tone as soft and soothing as he could. With his hands so full, he realized he was going to need an extra set of hands to do a few things.

"Claire!" he called out, knowing he could trust her to handle the things that he would need. Gary would not ask her to help him hold the girl, especially given that she was carrying his child, but she could show the Russian out, and dial the number on his phone so that the gate would open for Ivan. The entire time, his arms remained wrapped tightly around the frenchwoman, as he got to feel her curves pressing against him, even if not in entirely the way he would have liked.

Too late Hannan realised that the door was locked, and while she still feverishly pulled at the handle, the man who had placed the collar around her neck was behind her and pulled her arms around her body, thus holding her firmly in place. Considering a kick or a well-placed bite, Hannan had to give in to the fact that she was trapped, and unable to move.

He whispered something in her ear that she only vaguely understood as a try to soothe her. While he did hold her firmly in place, his grip was not violent, and did not hurt. She struggled uselessly in his arms, well aware that everytime she moved, she pressed her body into his. Realising that it might not be such a good idea to excite this man who had just purchased her from a Russian thug to place a fucking collar around her neck, she stopped, and suddenly kept very still, barely daring to breathe. It painfully dawned on Hannan that she had not been sold to tend the lawn, or do the dishes. At least, not merely for that.

She clearly understood that he was calling for somebody. Claire. Another woman, then, and Hannan was almost curious to see what kind of woman would willfully obey a man like him, and half-expected her to be dragged in by another thuggish slavetrader.

Claire could tell from the urgent edge in Mr. Stark's voice that he required more of her than bringing him a drink or placing a call for him. Something was wrong.

Having already attended the girls in their quarters with warm breakfast plates, she had set to work in the kitchen on her Master's birthday cake, but when she heard her name, she dropped what she was doing, wringing her floury hands in her apron as she scurried to the foyer to see what he required her for.

When Claire got there, she knew immediately. Claire had attended Mr. Ivan socially before, as he dealt often with Mr. Stark, though her acquaintance with him was not deeper than serving him refreshments and sitting at her Master's knee while the two spoke casually.Mr. Stark usually dismissed her when the two of them discussed business, but Claire was privvy to the knowledge that her Master was expecting a delivery today.

As soon as Claire saw that it was Mr. Ivan, she bowed her head and curtsied to him, pulling the sides of her flour-smudged apron out, not immodestly, but enough so that the frightened young woman in Mr. Stark's clutches could see a flash of her white panties, and perhaps she could even discern that Claire was with child. To the cagey girl's eyes, Claire was not exactly a relieving sight. She was obviously... tamed. She looked happy. In fact, she obviously adored the man who had called for her.

Claire walked to her Master, taking in the tense situation with every step forward. When she reached her Master, she stood before him as she had been trained to do, putting her eye-to-eye with the spirited woman his arms were curled around.

They were as alike and as different as could be. In some ways, looking into Hannan's face was like a mirror image. Hannan was not much taller than she, and Claire could not help seeing herself reflected back in the girl's glistening, round black eyes. They looked just like Claire's. But where Claire's skin was milk, Hannan's was honey. Where Claire's hair was fair, Hannan's was dark. And where Claire was a purring kitten, Hannan was a caged tigress.

Still, Claire had an effortlessly soothing aura around her. She reached out and curled her small fingers into the girl's shivering hand. Claire didn't speak without being spoken to anymore, but she offered a faint, sweet smile.

As Claire entered the room, Ivan's eyes gave her an appreciative glance, enjoying the sight of the scantily clad woman. He would do no more, of course, at least not without Mr. Stark's permission. The man was too good a customer, and too powerful to risk angering even if he never purchased from Ivan's employers again. As she took one of Hannan's hands gently into her own, he wondered if the fierce frenchwoman would calm at the woman's touch.

Gary was wondering the same thing as Claire unexpectedly touched the woman he held so tightly at the moment. His first pet, she did have a calming effect on the other girls much of the time, but Hannan was incredibly spirited. He let her try for a moment, though, before telling the fair-haired beauty, "Claire, would you mind showing Ivan back to the front door, then getting my phone and dialing the number necessary to open the gates for his car?" She was the only one of his pets that knew that code, as she was the only one he could be certain would not use it to either escape or help another to do so.

The entire time, he continued to hold Hannan, not wanting her to make another sudden surge toward the door when it wasn't locked. As he did, he began to enjoy the feel of the dark-haired woman, and found himself looking forward to beginning to teach her to obey him. For the moment, however, he needed Ivan gone so that there would not be further need for opening or shutting the gate.

Hannan held very still in the strong man's slightly awkward embrace, but her tension was palpable. Her heart was racing in her chest and each of her tensed muscles betrayed her readiness to bolt again, as soon as she would get a chance. When the woman that had been called entered the living room, Hannan's frightened eyes widened in shock. Claire was very much the opposite of what she had expected to see.

She was the kinky image of a domestic angel. All she wore was a pair of white panties and an apron that was dusted in flour. Obediently, the fair girl dropped into a curtsy before the Russian thug, and as if that alone would not have been enough to make Hannan lose her mind, she approached the man who held her captive and stood before him with her eyes submissively cast down, so obviously happy to please that Hannan could not help but groan in terror. But then, the delicate beauty slipped her hand into hers, and squeezed it sympathetically. Hannan looked at her, puzzled, to confused and frightened to react, but for a second, she muscles relaxed, and her breathing slowed down a little.

Hannan did not understand what the man who held her said, but it was apparently an order. She was almost said when the other woman's fingers slipped from hers, and immediately, her anger and fear rushed back through her body, and she started to wriggle again in the American's grip, even if it was to no use.

After the gentlest of squeezes, Claire's fingers and eyes both slipped away from Hannan's with gentle reluctance, and the fierce but lovely Frenchwoman immediately began to rage against her Master again. It hurt Claire's heart to see the woman so afraid, when Claire knew what a good life she could have here, in her, now their, Master's care.

Claire went to a small alcove in the foyer in which there was a small side-table with a phone and a pad and pen for taking messages. Claire did place calls for her Master on a regular basis, and also, had the occasional duty of letting someone in or out of the distant wrought iron gates at the edge of the property. Resting the phone on her shoulder with one hand, she escorted Ivan to the front door.

She looked up at the roughened thug as she reached the front door with him behind her, "Thank you, Mr. Ivan, for delivering my new sister to us. Mr. Stark thanks you." With her free hand, she tugged her apron skirt softly in another half curtsy as she let him out of the door. Locking the front door behind the man, she watched through the window until his car had reached the gates and dialed the code into the phone on her shoulder to allow his passage.

Returning the phone to its cradle, she turned to face her Master, whose strong hands arms were wrapped around Hannan as she flailed uselessly there. The crook of a smile on her Master's face told Claire that the fight Hannan was putting up was nothing he couldn't handle- in fact, he seemed to be enjoying her spirited nature. Claire went to stand before him again, wondering whether he would require her further or dismiss her to the kitchen again.

Ivan always found Claire to be the most curious woman he could imagine. Always sweet and polite, yet at the same time she always seemed dressed in the most erotic way imaginable and nonchalant about it at the same time. Mr. Stark had never invited him to indulge himself with the woman, which was something of a disappointment, but that never stopped him from being nice to her. "You're very welcome, Claire," he told her as he walked out, giving the woman a toothy smile.

When she closed the door behind the russian, Gary watched her come back into the living room from over Hannan's shoulder. As expected, she returned to see if he would need anything further from her. He had noticed the calming effect that she had on the new girl, and decided that perhaps he would be able to use her help. Still, the other girls would need to be fed, so he told her, "Claire, go put out the plates for the other girls. If they get hungry, they will know where to find them. Once you have put them out, come back. I may need your help with your new sister here."

Once she had gone, Gary used his size and strength to heave Hannan back down onto the couch, but he didn't follow her, instead giving her some room. Pointing to himself, he looked down at the lovely frenchwoman and said, "Master," in a slow manner which emphasized the syllables, hoping it would help her to learn the word, which would be the only name she would be allowed to use for him. He had no idea if she knew what it meant already, as she seemed to know at least a couple of English words so far.

While the scantily clad woman that the American had adressed as "Claire" was outside, Hannan shivered in his firm grip. She tried to struggle, to free herself from his arms, but he did not even groan to keep her firmly in place. The huge Russian was apparently preparing to leave, and it dawned on her that he was going to leave her behind. He really had delivered her to this man, like something that could be ordered in a catalogue. Like a piece of furniture. A decorative object. A toy. A small whimper escaped her lips. She wanted to yell something, make this horrible thug come back, but she was unable to form a single syllable. And then she heard the soft sounds from the hall that indicated that he had been let out the door. The Russian was gone, and she was here, by herself, with the man who had apparently purchased her.

Claire came back, and again her submissive and polite manner made the French girl moan softly in fear. The woman's beautiful face was radiating, she seemed to be content, happy even. What the hell was this place? What was going to happen now? She wished that she had the words to explain to the American what she thought of all this. Of him. She wanted to make him understand that he was in for a world of trouble if he held her hostage this way. That did not think this was funny. Her angry streak of thoughts was interrupted as he sat her back down on the sofa, and made her face him. How could this handsome and obviously very cultured man do this to her? And why?

Her dark eyes were set on his as he spoke to her again. Master. The word did not hold any meaning for Hannan, but she did understand that it was apparently his name, or the word that was used to adress him. Master. Hannan's face clearly showed her anger, her fear, and her confusion. Her gaze kept shifting between him and the door, as she was still trying to calculate her chances to jump up and run. Her tension was clearly palpable. But he was dead wrong if he thought that she would call him anything else than what she thought he was. "Fuck you, connard", she hissed, sure that her tone would make him understand the word, something very close to the English 'motherfucker'.

"Claire, go put out the plates for the other girls. If they get hungry, they will know where to find them. Once you have put them out, come back. I may need your help with your new sister here."

Claire went to the doorway that led into the kitchen, ready to go and lay out the meals she had put together for the other girls, but she stopped as she passed through the door frame, turning curiously as she heard Mr. Stark drawing out the syllables of "Mas-ter," pantomiming to Hannan that that's what he was to her now. It was unclear whether Hannan knew the meaning of the word, for she was powerfully defiant at the sound of it.

"Fuck you, connard" she heard the woman hiss, her best attempt at English so far, but with a choice of words that caused Claire to suck in her breath. She didn't like to hear her Master addressed with such obvious disdain. She could see Master's jaw tighten softly, almost imperceptibly, but she could read his every expression with ease by now. She hesitated for a moment in the doorway, but her Master's eyes caught hers and told her to go and do as he had instructed her.

Claire could not make eye contact with Hannan again... she knew that what came next for Hannan would not be easy... Even though Hannan's spirit was resilient, Claire did not doubt her Master's ability to tame her. She passed through the doorway, and out of sight, heading for the kitchen. For now, Claire had a task to attend to, and then she would come back to assist him in whatever capacity he required.

It was the second time she had used that word, 'connard', both times with quite a bit of venom behind it. Though he couldn't tell the exact meaning, Gary was certain it was not flattering, and that it was meant for him. He was of the opinion that there was never a bad time to begin teaching a girl respect for her owner, and so he reached and slapped her across her cheek hard enough that he knew it would sting, then pointed at himself once more, repeating the word he wanted her to use when referring to him, "Mas-ter." This was going to be a long process, but a rewarding one, he was sure.

"Stand," he then told her in a calm voice, and moved his hand upward with his open palm face up, hoping that she would understand what was, more or less, a universal signal to rise. Such gestures would likely be important in teaching his newest woman his language. He wanted to get a better look at her, something that would require her to be on her feet, and preferably at least somewhat still. His eyes remained intent on her, watching for any sign of an attack or an attempt to escape.

Hannan cried out in surprise and pain when the American slapped her across the cheek, making her head slightly turn to the side. She took a deep breath, rubbing her stinging cheek with one hand, and bit her lip. He had caught on to what she had wanted to say. Again, and very calmly, he repeated the word he apparently wanted her to use. Master. Slowly lifting her gaze to face him, Hannan pressed her lips together and faintly shook her head. No. Whatever it was he wanted her to say, she refused to oblige. His eyes laid on her expectantly. Again, Hannan longed to be able to talk to him, to ask him why he did this to her. If he had a woman as lovely and obedient as Claire, why did he feel the need to hold her captive?

She looked up at him, her dark eyes almost black with the mixture of fear, anger and desperation that rolled through her mind. His gesture had been unmistakeable, he wanted her to stand up. For a few moments, Hannan simply sat there, glaring up at him, weighing the consequences of her next move carefully. Apparently, the pervert did not hesitate to use physical violence, and he very clearly expected her to obey.

Slowly, without letting him out of her glance for even a fraction of a second, Hannan stood up, now very glad for the thin coat the horrible Russian had dressed her in. It was all that protected her from the attentive eyes of the man across from her, and while it was short, it did cover her most private areas. The dark-haired girl wrapped her arms around her body in front of her chest, but did not do anything else. She was still very decided not to talk to him at all, other than to make clear how angry she was. And how increasingly afraid.

"Good," Gary said in a soothing voice as the woman did as instructed, a warm smile spreading across his lips. He knew that the key was not to always be harsh, but to be pleasant when you got the response you wanted. Now, he had to rid her of that coat; he could tell, and had felt, that she had lovely curves underneath it. Reaching toward her slowly, he took an edge of the coat, and began to try to pull it off of her, ready for her to struggle to keep it on. He was certain she would try to fight against it, but he knew the importance of always giving the the option of obeying. "Relax," he told her in that same soothing tone, hoping it would work, but not expecting it to. She was not a mild woman at all, which meant she would be a lot of fun once she learned her place.

After Claire had placed out the dishes of warm food she had prepared for the other girls, she rang a special bell that would sound in each of their private quarters to tell them their breakfast awaited them. She took advantage of her moment in the kitchen to remove the baking layers of her Master's birthday cake from the oven and set them to cool in the kitchen, and washed her floury hands before hurrying back to the doorway where she had paused upon leaving moments ago.

As her Master's first and most trusted slave, she had many responsibilities, to the other girls in the house, to their guests and visitors, and of course, primarily, to her Master, so she had become rather skilled in multi-tasking. But she knew that now her most important task was assisting in the taming and training of the beautiful young woman that had been delivered unto her Master for his birthday.

The thought excited Claire... she had seen a spark of immense potential in the young woman, as they had stood, facing one another, for only a moment. Claire knew that she could do much to help her Master teach her. She stepped into the room in time to see Master pulling the girl's coat from her grasping, reluctant fingers. Claire stood an arm's length away from him, eyes trained steadily to watch for his cue.