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From: Robin Neal <robin-neal@hawaii.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Pet {Robin Neal} [1/?] incl Synopsis
Date: Wed, 20 Aug 2003 06:10:05 -0400
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This story may be included in the ASSM archive, but may not be
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<1st attachment, "Pet1.txt" begin>
Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without
permission prohibited
PET
SYNOPSIS
Raised by hopelessly repressed and dysfunctional parents in a
wealthy suburb, an adolescent girl rebels by rejecting authority
and social interaction, becoming a bitter, introverted loner.
She drops out of school, alienates her childhood friends, and
spends her days in her room, unnoticed by her remote, workaholic
father and at war with her sexually neglected, neurotic mother.
She has a pretty face, but refuses to care for her appearance or
health and immerses herself in alternative music and
entertainment. Finally, jaded and depressed, unable to relate to
the artificial culture of her television or the moral wasteland
outside her room, she turns to drugs. Her weight drops
drastically, she shaves her head and cultivates a Gothic,
androgenous appearance as a protest against what she sees as the
depraved shallowness of sex- and money-driven American society.
Accidentally involved in a drug bust while buying cocaine, she
is jailed, rejected by her parents, and sentenced in juvenile
court to a year in a girls' work camp. She is placed on a bus
with other prisoners for transport to her incarceration. At a
rest stop, she suddenly disappears, kidnaped by a shadowy and
very capable team of women who take her, bound and heavily
sedated, to a remote and secret clinic. There she is kept for
nearly a year, while an exhaustive program of cosmetic surgeries,
pharmaceutical treatments and enforced physical therapy and
nourishment transform her from an anemic, drug-wasted waif into a
lovely, outrageously voluptuous siren. Psychotherapy and hormone
supplements leave her confused, partially amnesic and with a
constantly overstimulated sex drive. As she recovers, she
manifests anger and outrage at her mistreatment, deep self-pity
and emotional instability. She is prone to tantrums and
violently irrational behavior.
When her physical health is completely restored, she is sent to
a huge, beautiful estate outside a major city in the southeastern
United States. This institution is called the House by those who
live there, and its purpose is to educate, train and support
hundreds of very sophisticated, very accomplished modern geishas,
who are sent on assignments around the world as companions,
models and courtesans, and in other, more mysterious roles. Its
clients are major international companies, governments, and
fabulously wealthy private citizens. Part girls' school, part
prison, part corporation and part brothel, the House is ruled by
a mysterious woman called simply the Mistress and its students
are called House girls. Administration, training, education and
discipline are the responsibilities of the Ladies of the House, a
staff of graduate House girls who live at the House permanently,
keeping order, teaching classes, and personally overseeing every
facet of the lives of the House girls assigned to their care.
Every House girl has a personal Lady whom she serves and who has
total authority over her training and her life. The kidnap victim
is assigned to the care and service of one of the most senior
Ladies, a tall and aristocratically beautiful dominant named
Cissy. She receives a new name, Pet. Her memory of her previous
name has been erased. Still angry and maladjusted, Pet takes
every opportunity to rebel against the strict rules of the House
and against her Lady, Cissy, who rules her with an iron hand.
Misbehavior results in cruel, often erotic punishment. House
girls are also required to serve their Ladies sexually, as part
of their training, and Pet learns the hard way that she must do
as Cissy instructs, in and out of bed.
The House is maintained and the House girls are cared for by a
corps of professional maids who serve meals, clean, organize and
perform every sort of personal service for the girls and the
Ladies of the House, on duty in shifts twenty-four hours a day.
During her first six months at the House, Pet earns a reputation
as an outlaw, making no friends and contesting with her Lady over
every detail of her training. As time goes by, however, she
unwillingly begins to respond to Cissy's patient, inescapable
authority.
1. IN THE DINING HALL
I had to go to dinner with Cissy, and it sucked. If I refused,
I'd be punished, and besides I was starving, but why couldn't my
maids just bring me something in my room and leave me in peace to
eat it? Now I had to get dressed in a stupid slutty dress, and
wear a push-up bra that would practically leave welts, and sit in
front of the vanity mirror looking at a face that wasn't really
mine while a maid did my makeup and hair and even my nails. It
took more than an hour, plus the time in the bathroom to shower
and brush my teeth and stuff.
Class had been hell, even though it wasn't Posture Class, just
Cosmetics, but I'd been asked a question and hadn't known the
answer and the other girls all looked at me like I was a retard.
If I could have gotten any one of them alone, I would have made
her sorry, but of course that would never happen. The duty
Trainers watched us like hawks.
Cissy came for me at six, perfectly punctual, and perfectly
dressed and perfectly polite and perfectly proper, and I
perfectly fucking hated her. She said, "Good Evening, Pet. You
look very nice in your new dress." 'It's not my dress and you
only think I look very nice because of what the maids did to me,
so let's just get dinner over with and never mind the insincere
compliments,' I thought. "Good Evening, Cissy. Thank you,
Cissy," I said. I was too tired and too hungry to risk being
punished tonight, and I took some cheer from the fact that we
were eating in the dining hall, not Cissy's suite, so I might not
have to have sex with her afterward. She offered me her arm and
I put my hand on it, and she thanked my night maid, who curtsied.
I never bothered with any pleasantries where the maids were
concerned, after all they were just hired help and their main
function was to rag me and spy on me. Although they seemed to be
compassionate toward me sometimes, they were clearly on the
House's side, so I detested them. On the way downstairs, Cissy
asked how my day had gone as she drifted along elegantly like
she'd been born in those heels, and I told her the truth, just to
see if she would be irritated.
"I'm sorry, Pet," she said with aggravating sympathy. "Are you
sure you didn't know the answer?"
Caught off guard, I answered honestly again, but I couldn't help
feeling ashamed. "I read it, but I didn't remember until after
she told me," I replied sullenly, not meeting her eyes.
"Please don't feel badly. Mademoiselle Kelly told me at tea
this afternoon that you have shown an improvement in Cosmetics
Class, and I'm sure you simply had a lapse of memory."
Somehow that bothered me more than if she had been angry.
"Cissy, when are you going to realize that I really am as stupid
as everybody thinks? I never know the answers, and I think the
classes are pointless anyway. I'm not trying to make you mad at
me, I'm just being honest. If I have to go through this
training, why can't I learn to do something useful? I know the
House has classes in all kinds of things. Why can't I take
History, or Cuisine or Art, or something?"
"I'm sure you know the answer to that, Pet," she said firmly.
"You are being trained to become a House girl, and although I am
not giving you a choice of classes, I have told you that I will
allow you electives when you are further along. First you must
show me that you can do well in these more essential disciplines.
You cannot be a House girl if you don't understand Cosmetics.
Or Etiquette, or Posture, or Couture. It's that simple." She
gave me that Cissy look of totally inflexible authority. The
Ownership Look, I called it. I almost, almost snapped back at
her. The obvious response was that a House girl was a prostitute
and I didn't want to be one, and I never would be. But by then I
would have been raising my voice and arguing with her and
although she would never argue back, I was sure to wind up being
punished. I had promised myself that I would get through dinner
without that tonight. I ground my teeth and shut up.
"Also, Pet, I want you to stop saying that you are stupid. It
isn't true," she added, just to make sure she had the last word.
I had the last word in my mind, and it had four letters.
By the time we got to the dining hall, my feet were killing me.
I had different shoes for just about every outfit I wore, and
they all gave me blisters in different places. The heels were
too high, the straps were too tight and some of them were mules,
and didn't even have straps so I had to keep them on my feet by
scrunching my toes. I saw it as a subtle form of torture
designed to make me docile and helpless. And my bra hurt too,
and so did my back, because my tits were too big. WAY too big,
and they bothered me all the time. I couldn't sleep in certain
positions, I couldn't move quickly without them swinging or
bouncing and looking really dumb, and they got in the way of
everything I did and made me even more awkward than I already
was, and they were very sensitive and tender, especially my
nipples. It was totally, maddeningly unfair. The House had no
right to change my body. A girl's body should belong to her, and
nobody else.
Now my body belonged to Cissy. But I had sworn my mind never
would.
Cissy held a chair out for me, and I sat down with relief. She
hesitated for just a second, and I said, "Thank you, Cissy."
Then she went around to her own seat and arranged herself with
perfect grace. She picked up her napkin and put it in her lap,
and I copied her, wondering what I would be allowed to have. The
dining hall wasn't really a hall, like a big open space. It had
a lot of columns and archways and potted plants and other stuff
that kind of divided it into little rooms, so it seemed more
private. The walls were white stucco and the floor was beautiful
stone tile, and the soft indirect lighting made it feel very
comfortable. I could see two other tables from where I was, and
there were couples at both of them, House girls and their Ladies.
They all gave Cissy respectful glances, and she smiled at them
regally.
During dinner, I tried to keep up with Cissy's occasional
comments, but mainly I paid attention to my table manners because
I knew she was watching closely. This was probably the biggest
pitfall of the evening. I knew how to do this stuff after
endless training at Etiquette Class, but it was complicated with
all the different utensils and glasses and I would fuck up if I
didn't concentrate. That had often been the excuse she needed to
punish me. She seemed in a pretty good mood tonight, but if I
took a bite with the wrong fork that wouldn't matter.
Cissy ordered for me like she always did, as if I couldn't even
decide for myself what I wanted to eat. She knew I didn't like
beef, and she was kind enough to pass up the filet mignon on the
special card, but she also knew I liked chicken and contrarily
ordered me grilled salmon, with lemon. It was good, of course,
as everything served at the House was, but it wasn't what I
wanted so I didn't enjoy it. I ate all there was, though,
because I was so hungry and the little bit I got wouldn't have
satisfied a cat. There were veggies too, and I ate them all, and
I got one piece of warm bread, with a trace of butter, which was
the high point of my meal. Dessert was out of the question.
Cissy gave me a couple of casual criticisms during dinner, one
about my posture and the other when I didn't finish chewing
before taking a drink of water, but I didn't let them irritate me
very much. At least I was eating, and she wasn't truly lecturing
me as she often did. She had the same thing as me, in the same
dinky portion, which was probably to show me that it wasn't too
little. Of course, there was nothing stopping her from eating as
much as she wanted later when she got home, if she was still
hungry. Presumably I wasn't supposed to be smart enough to
figure that out.
After the main course was cleared, I really did feel a little
better. I was embarrassed, of course, with my huge boobs
practically bursting out of my slinky dress and the tops of my
stockings clearly visible beneath my too-short hemline, but I was
only with Cissy so I didn't really care. In spite of the tense
dislike I had for spending time with Cissy, we knew each other
well by now. You can't sleep with someone at least twice a week,
and have meals with them even more often, without forming some
kind of relationship, and we had one, although it wasn't a
comfortable one. When I wanted to, I knew what to do to get
along with her, and since I had made it through dinner without
getting in trouble I just decided to "be good," as people at the
House were always telling me, and hope that I wouldn't have to go
to bed with her. A maid came and asked if we wanted coffee. The
maids who served in the dining hall and on the two terraces where
meals were available had little fitted black uniforms with white
buttons, collars and cuffs just like the personal maids and the
day and night floor maids, but their aprons were white instead of
black with white lace trim. Cissy surprised me by ordering me a
cappucino. She knew I liked that. Had I really been that
well-behaved, or was she trying to soften me up for something I
wouldn't like later on? I decided it might be a reward and
enjoyed it. She had coffee.
She asked how I was coming with a novel she had given me, and I
really was reading it and it had turned out to be pretty good.
It was all about the history of these imaginary vampires and was
kind of Gothic and spooky, and there was a lot of sex in it, but
it was romantic too in a kind of tragic way. I told her which
chapter I was on and she asked a couple of questions about it,
how I felt about this and that, and I told her, and the next
thing I knew we were talking almost like friends for a minute.
Then another Lady came by our table to say Hello, with a cute,
submissive typical House girl in tow, and she greeted Cissy like
she was a celebrity and even said Good Evening to me. I was
flustered for a second, not having expected to be noticed, but I
said, "Good Evening, Mademoiselle," and dropped my eyes as I was
supposed to, and that got me by. The only Lady of the House that
I didn't have to call "Mademoiselle" was Cissy, and that was
because our relationship was personal as well as official,
although there were still rules about how I was supposed to
respectfully address her. I paid attention to them sometimes.
After dinner, I got what I had been telling myself I wanted:
Cissy walked me back to my room instead of to her apartment. I
felt a little more calm than I had on the way down, and I didn't
really mind when Cissy put her arm around me. She smelled nice
and the warmth of her felt good. Inside my door, though, she
kissed me Good Night right in front of my night maid, who
happened to be in my room straightening up or something. I had
to do it, but it made me feel so ashamed. Cissy smiled a little
Mona Lisa smile that was an affectation of hers, because she knew
I was embarrassed, and I suppose I was blushing. It was because
her kiss had sent a flash of familiar excitement through my body
and she knew it. My overactive hormones and the conditioning of
being her unwilling lover for so long betrayed me, although I
insisted to myself that I didn't want her. She said, "Good
night, Pet," softly and I murmured, "Good night, Cissy. Thank
you for dinner," against her neck, my eyes closed.
"It was my pleasure, Pet," she said, so proper, and then she
turned and closed the door on her way out. I stood looking after
my owner for a second. I looked at the maid standing by the
bathroom door, and then I walked over to my bed and picked up a
pillow and flung it against the door so hard it bounced halfway
back across the room. The maid looked at it stupidly and I said,
"Look, there's a pillow on the floor. You'd better pick it up.
I need a shower." And I went into the bathroom and took one,
throwing my clothing a piece at a time back into the bedroom for
my maid to pick up if she felt like it. In the shower, I could
cry all I wanted, and no one would know.
<1st attachment end>
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