The House of Lesslie Part 2

"No, Mistress."

"Do you love me, Caroline?"

The gorgeous Irish girl trembled a little. It was not often that a slave, be it whore or maid, was asked this question. Most of them, they entered service willingly, and loved their shame and humiliation, never expecting, never daring to dream to be treated in any other way than filth.

"I love you, Mistress," came the whispered reply.

"Did you love my mother?"

Caroline hesitated.

It was clear mother had not ever shown her this kind of intimacy, such care for her thoughts or emotions. I could see the Irish girl's thoughts racing, wondering what would be the proper etiquette, what might be the answer that would please her new goddess.

"I loved serving her needs, Mistress," she finally said.

"You are one of the mansion's piss whores, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"How many of you do I own?"

"Your mother bought me at an auction, Mistress, together with five others."

"A collector's item, then, are you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Is it what you desired to be, darling?"

"I desired to find my place, Mistress."

"Don't we all, darling?" I thought about it for a moment, on this first day of my new duties, all of which would come crashing down on me soon enough and would not leave time for any kind of conversation, not until I had established myself in the ranks of those who had worshipped mother. I repeated, slightly more quiet and more to myself, "don't we all?"

There was a beautiful innocence in that girl in front of me.

Don't get me wrong, my darlings. Slaves are a dime a dozen, and those who entered the services of my family had often many reasons other than subservience to do so. If you wanted to disappear, from debt, from a scorned lover, from the world, the House of Lesslie was more than happy to provide you with that opportunity.

At a price, of course.