All characters are fictitious and all the usual disclaimers. This story fits uncomfortably across exhibitionist N/C and first time categories so I hope you will not be disappointed.
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Michelle lay on her hotel bed munching her toast and reading the reviews of her latest concert in the papers her patron had sent her.
Her prized Cello lay in it's case and between the critic's sentences and bites of toast her thoughts turned to the events of the previous evening as she waited for the call that would confirm her arrangements for the evenings private corporate function.
She grabbed at the cell phone as the ring tone trilled Marriage of Figaro, and answered "Hello."
"Happy Birthday Michelle!" She had half expected him to ring but even so his the words sent an icy shiver down her spine as she remembered the significance of this day.
"Thank you." she replied as pleasantly as she could.
"Did you get the present?" he asked.
"The keys, yes, thank you, I haven't picked it up yet." she replied.
"Then do so, and drive north," he ordered, "Chateau Mirron just beyond Blanchimont, I shall expect you for Dinner at eight, come around seven, don't worry about dressing, we have a gown for you."
Twenty two years old. Michelle pondered, today she was twenty two years old and she had done a deal with the devil and she had lied and cheated and now she was to be found out.
It was so long ago that she sold her Virginity for three years of tuition at the conservatoire and then squeezed a two hundred year old Cello out of the deal, except she was no virgin, a drunken evening of experimenting with marijuana had ended that phase, Clarissa's eighteenth birthday, two whole weeks after her own had seen her wake from a drunken stupor to feel sore and wet between her legs, with an ominous trail of slime over her leg and the sheets of her own brother's bed.
And tonight was the night she was to pay. Not her twenty first birthday but her twenty second, a time when she was making her way in the world, making a name on the international stage, all based on the patronage of Gerard, all based on saving herself for him.
The hotel was booked for the week, she had a corporate recital the following evening, and now she was expected to collect her new car from the dealership and deliver herself for payment, she felt empty.
"In default you will be mine for ever." he had joked as made her sign.
She considered her options, she had none, her earnings and bookings were managed by his company, her Cello was owned by his company, everything she owned had been bought on his credit card, she was effectively his chattel, he owned her, she hated him.
The hate had grown from fear, the fear that her deception would be discovered, she gradually transferred the feeling of guilt from herself to an unreasonable hatred, blaming him for the deceit, the dapper little man with his moustache and Homburg hat, "Hitler" she called him when he was not there.
How dare he pay her tuition and living fees so she could practise when her friends were working in diners or worse to pay their way through college
She had almost become a pariah, pushing boys away in the dread of being found out and losing her sponsorship, and in the process losing girl friends too.
"Ice Maiden" was one of her more repeatable descriptions, her lack of indiscretions a constant annoyance ever since her playing brought her fame, the purity of the sound, unsullied by drink or drugs a delight to all who heard her, but now she walked in near anonymity down the street towards Porsche dealer.
"Surely this is not it?" she asked when the salesman brought the top of the range 911 Turbo Cabriolet around.
"Certainly Madame!" he said, "The top specification, and with extras."
"There's nowhere for my Cello." she whined.
"Madame?" the salesman queried, "It is as ordered, and as Monsieur asked we have done one thousand kilometers to break in the engine for you, so it cannot be returned."
Michelle sat behind the wheel with a heavy heart, a hundred thousand dollar present completely useless to her, yet the fuel tank was full and her master awaited, so carefully she eased out onto the highway.
The acceleration was breathtaking, compared to her Citroen hire car, or her Neon back in California, and the steering frighteningly direct, she glanced at the speedometer as she left town and accelerated past a truck and was astonished that it showed 160 kmh, in just a few hundred metres from the 30 zone.
She braked hard all at once damp with sweat and fear and tried to concentrate on the speed limits, she hated the car, she dreamed of owning one, yet now she was sweating and her hair was a mess with the wind and bugs and she didn't know how to put the roof up or where half the controls were.
Blanchimont, white mountain, passed and then a hand painted sign Chateau Mirron, she overshot the dirt road turnoff and struggled to find reverse gear, then she was crunching her way down the dirt road in a cloud of dust.
She parked the car and a servant appeared, "I shall park your car Madame." he offered, and she handed him the car keys and entered the Chateau's pillared portico.
A middle aged woman in a smartly dressed in a plain white blouse with a black jacket and black knee length skirt came to meet her. "Hello, we were expecting you, you are Michelle yes?"
"Yes, sorry." Michelle replied.
"I am Anna, Monsieur Gerard asks me to help you."
"Thanks." Michelle replied awkwardly.
