Sylvie's Story

Part 1

Was it for work or for play that made Sylvie get up in the morning? The line between the two was blurred. Though she woke up with the first fingers of dawn, she never felt reluctant to start the day or had that dreary feeling that accompanies the first day of the week. She woke up after waiting all night to fall asleep, waiting for the next day to begin, like a child. She looked forward to each new day.

Odd for a woman of twenty-eight years, a woman with children of her own, whom she hadn't seen in years, but she was having so much fun that she allowed herself to forget about normal, everyday concerns, wholeheartedly embracing her new existence.

After swinging her legs around and hopping out of bed, she energetically got to brushing her livery. She had one for each task: a white wrap dress with buttons and a small blue apron for cooking, a black long-sleeved dress with a short skirt and a white collar, cuffs, along with an immaculate apron for cleaning, riding pants and a collared shirt with a long square ribbon to hold it tight over her throat for driving. These, and other outfits for sleeping, bathing, gardening, even a Japanese nurse's uniform used rarely, she had procured at her own expense. Giulia hadn't put anything about it in the contract, and she had raised her eyebrows at Sylvie's rapid outfit change, but she had grown accustomed to it and even complimented her on the way that her clothing always suited her form.

The discipline involved in spending her days devoted to the care of another made her life much simpler and more orderly, and she was delighted that her mistress was such a formidable and beautiful woman rather than an irritable and infirm old hag whose diapers she would have had to change had she kept on as a private nurse.

That was how they had met; Sylvie had wheeled in the ancient scion to a sham business meeting with one of his contemporaries who was trying to wheedle him out of a fortune with an investment in art the fellow wasn't capable of making, and she had glimpsed her. Usually, she kept her eyes turned down, but she saw that the hand gripping the back of the other man's chair was exquisitely manicured, the white flesh in high contrast with the deep wine colored nails, and naturally, her eyes fluttered up. The woman grinned at her, and Sylvie shivered perceptibly. Then she winked at her before leaning in to whisper something in the older man's ear. She was struck by the difference in their positions. Here she was, a servant to a powerless man, and there she was, wielding all the power over a man in full capacity of his senses. It made her feel helpless, like her life was going nowhere.

Not nowhere, not exactly. She was waiting for the man to die, not in hopes of obtaining anything out of his will, but just to see the end of a powerful man, already so degraded. At the end, she wanted him to hear her breathing, calmly taking in full breaths of air right next to his ear so that he would know how very alive she was, how impermanent his changes were, how soon she would forget him and by extension, the world.

However, when she was offered a new position by the woman she had been captivated by, she didn't even try negotiating for a higher salary, suckered into the idea of glamor and beauty. Though it wasn't really like that day to day, she knew that she still got the best side of the deal.

She had been surprised at first, at the terms of the contract, at how personal and in depth they were. She wasn't allowed to masturbate and especially not to come unless specially instructed. No contact was allowed with her children or their father. She had to learn and eventually anticipate the hierarchy of her new mistress' needs: feed her, clothe her, bathe her, brush her hair, manicure her nails, rub her down with aloe, and she must not go one day without being brought to climax at least once, but how this was to be done, she decided on a whim. Her home must remain spotless, but of course, she must never touch the safe or the third bedroom, where all the moveables were kept. She was given a dedicated phone by which they communicated and through which she was on call to pick her up and drive her wherever she needed to be. It was a comprehensive and straightforward list, and she had eagerly accepted the terms, anticipating the punishments promised in case of breach of contract. Discretion and secrecy were expected as well, but she didn't have much opportunity to lead a life independent of her mistress.