So on that sweet summer's day I fell in love with O. She stood out among the multitude of girls that had come before her. Yet I only realised that I was impressed, almost flustered. I may have briefly blushed.

Although easily as subservient as any of the others, where these were humble and cringed, O stood proud. Proud to be her Master's possession, proud to serve him and obey his every wish and whim, however cruel and demeaning. Her Master was aware of O's preciousness. He was also jealous of her. He will have noticed my flustering and resented it. My awe and her pride made him want to establish his ownership unmistakably and to torture her especially hard.

O was to stay with me for four weeks. The first week she was to recover from the tortures she had just been subjected to. Indeed she looked hurt, with welt marks on her back, the inside of her thighs, her breasts - the executioner had been quite deliberate. She shivered when I touched them. While she recovered, she was excused from being at the receiving end during the lessons of obedience. But on the first day, I made her whip another girl. This was a fate worse than being whipped. She cried like an animal, when I finally managed to make her do it, and then madly lashed out, hurting the victim to such extent that I had to interfere and stop her. She then collapsed at the feet of the other girl, imploring her to forgive her. The other girls who stood by were pale. And so was I. I took both O and the victim girl to my bed that night.

O during her time here always had to be forced to do the whipping. She remained a natural victim, almost a martyr, who is prepared to suffer for her convictions. When she later took her turns being chastised, she naturally cried and screamed as much as the others during the process, but was more composed when about to be whipped and afterwards. The others were quite prepared to hurt each other, presumably to take revenge for the last time the situation has been the reverse and also for all the little quarrels that went on during the day. O did not take revenge. Her contacts with her fellows were distant. She was neither close enough to love or hate.

Her Master had decided to establish his ownership by marking her. She was to wear two stainless steel discs with his initials on a ring, pierced through her outer labia. She begged to be anaesthesised, but, naturally, he did not allow it. In fact, it does not hurt any more than any of the lashing. I am quite good at it. We did not try to convince O, but tied her down firmly on a table, the poor girl. It was over before she realised it, of course, but she could not help a fierce cry. The ring we inserted was replaced a week later by the permanent stainless steel one, with the discs. O said that it was quite an akward feeling at first, as they were quite heavy, but she appeared to be pleased to wear them. They clanged quitely as she walked, thereby marking her in other way and constantly reminding her of her purpose in life.

When her Master saw her, he was not satisfied. In his mind, the discs did not stand out sufficiently against the dense growth on her under-belly. Her pubic hair was to be removed by depilation, not by shaving, thereby leaving a smooth skin. As this was something that I did not do, she visited a beauty parlour and I accompanied her. The attendant was used to waxing legs and the 'bikini-line' and looked rather strange when she was instructed to remove all hair. When O dropped her skirt and the attendant saw the welt marks and the discs, she grew pale and trembled. I informed her that all that was probably no more painful than the waxing process, but she did not seem convinced. She did as she was told, however. Her Master had been right. O looked pure as a virgin, hurt as sweet St.Sebastian. The discs of ownership stood out well. The attendant was amazed at the joy on our faces. She shook her head as we tipped her liberally. Back at the house, O walked around like a queen and the other girls were very envious. O was hit with vehemence that night.

A day later, O was presented to her Master in the presence of all the other girls. He looked her over and touched her belly. He then shot down on his knees, uncharacteristically eager, to have a closer look and grabbed O hard by her buttocks. He pressed his lips against her belly and kissed her with abandon. After a few moments, he stood up again and dragged her to the edge of the stage. There laid her down, lowered his trousers and entered her forcefully. He came quick and fast. He was unaware of the audience he had. I had not seen him loose his composure before. During the evening, she sat on his lap and he clasped her like a lover does.

He was evidently pleased this time, so pleased that he decided to take her out that night. He would present her to some friends at a party. Before they left, he attached a leash to the ring through her labia and led her like a dog, naked, into the waiting limousine. It is hard to believe, it is even for me, who saw her there and then, that she was radiant, superbly beautiful, quite into her own as the property of her Master, seemingly no better than an animal. The sensation then overcame me, that I would never see her again. When the car drove away, I cried and locked myself in my room, wishing to see no one.

I did not see her Master until two weeks later. He was downcast and nervous and evaded any talk about the condition of O. On the next visit, a few days later, he was on the other hand very cheerful, boisterous - in fact: drunk. I asked about O. When he did not say anything, I slapped him in the face, grabbed him by the shoulders and insisted that he'd tell me about her. He shouted: "I gave her away!" Utter disbelief was followed by tears in my eyes, and finally anger. I spit him in the face. "I could see it written with capital letters on your face that you wanted her, Anne-Marie, and I would not have it. And you are not alone. I do not want to share what I possess! The more I humiliate her, the more I bring her down, the more she rises, the more she is. A slave, but superior."

He tells me how they arrived at the party. They walk towards the crowd, the Master and his slave, in procession, bonded by visible and invisible ties. Merriment and music are audible in the distance. They go unnoticed until they enter the circle of the lights. Then gradually the voices stop and the faces turn towards them, towards O, as they proceed to the central area. The friend of the Master comes slowly forward, in awe, fascinated. There is a period of indeterminable length when no one moves and everyone keeps silent. O is like the star in this solar system, radiant, the key to one's existence.

The Master's friend folds his hands as in prayer and he falls to his knees in adoration. "Who is this vision?", he askes with strained voice. The Master does not answer. A storm builds on his countenance, darkness next to O's light. Suddenly, he brutally takes O by the scalp and tears her to the ground, on top of his friend. "If you are her slave, then let her possess you. I give her to you, or you to her as the case may be." He then turns O around and pulls her flat on the floor, her legs spread wide. He reaches for his pocket knife and cuts the discs of ownership from O's labia. He runs away with blood on his hands as the crowd cries horror and roars away in the car. O has fainted and her crotch is covered with blood.

That was the last we heard or saw of her for another year. Rumours told us that the friend had kept O for a while and had locked her up in a bare and filthy room, which she left only to be misused. Later, he had prostituted her, to the scum of the earth, anyone who had deviant urges which could not be satisfied elsewhere. The Master was not inclined to investigate the rumours nor cared to interfere. Jealous he had been of the independence of his slave, whose slave he had been. I went to see him and confronted him with this wisdom. He looked at me with his penetrating, condescending look and sneered: "Woman, the curse of man, teaches him another lesson. Would you, Anne-Marie, please leave me in my doomed misery?"

I did not see him anymore. The paper brought me the news, that the great industrialist and philanthrope .... (the Master) had been brutally murdered in his Parisian apartment. He had been found naked, his hands and feet tied up, covered with wounds, his genitals butchered. The police was without a trace, as any signs of burglarly were absent and nothing appeared missing. Whether the murderer had links to any of his business competitors or partners, envious of his success or thwarted by him along their upward way, was unknown.

A few days later I knew. A letter arrived, written by him on the day he died. He had met O, by accident, on the streets of Paris. The ghost who currently haunted him every living moment, was there, real before his very eyes. She was thin, with closely cropped hair, was nervous and had a feverish look. Her eyes were filled with tears when she saw him. He had invited, significantly: not ordered, her to visit him that night. He wrote to me that he had every intention to pay for having deserted her.

What became of O I shall never know. She is my ghost now. I consider it most likely that she committed suicide, if she was indeed the perfect slave who cannot be without her master. I am envious of such dedication. O haunts me, I think of her every day, every moment. O for obsession. Will she release me? O my devil, O my saviour.

What went before

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