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A Slave's Voice by Alexander Kelly

Available in ebook only! Ebook Ordering

Copyrighted © 2001, all rights reserved.  

Meredith drew her black velvet cloak about her in the passenger compartment, partly to keep away the night chill, partly to reassure herself that no one could see what she wore underneath.  She smiled grimly to herself.  Except for the coachmen, everyone she’d interacted with tonight so far did know, and more would know later.  But only those who were allowed to, only those who knew what took place at the secret rendezvous.

The coach ride wasn’t as long as Meredith expected, although the lamp lights did thin out, and the sounds of other early evening traffic died away.  When the horse’s clattering clip-clops turned to dull thuds, she assumed they’d turned onto a country road to a remote destination.  Then, more lamp lights appeared; signifying a turn down a lane.  Mr. Riordan handed her a golden mask.

“Put this on,” he said.  “Pull your hood over your head.”

Meredith hesitated.  Already she’d given up so much.  Must she give up her identity too?

“It is for your own protection, mademoiselle,” Louis Marchand said.  “We cannot leave yourself, or your family, open to possible blackmail.”

“What about yourselves?  Don’t you wear them?”

“No, mademoiselle.  Our reputations are already firmly established, for good or ill.  The mask, s’il vous plait.”

Meredith still wasn’t sure.  She’d be the only one hiding behind a mask.

“Now, Meredith,” Mr. Riordan ordered.

Meredith’s hands shook as she tied off the strings in back.  Not so much because Mr. Riordan’s tone implied punishment if she didn’t comply, but because it was the first time he’d used the intimate form of address.

The coach came to a graceful stop.  Mr. Riordan led the way out and he and Monsieur Marchand flanked her, one to each side.  Before them was a dark edifice, with only a small crack of light spilling out from the partially opened door.  Once inside they were bathed in the glow of hundreds of small candles.

Other men were already there, most engaged in quiet conversation with several young ladies.  Both men and women wore masks like Meredith’s, but the women were naked.  Firm, youthful breasts, flat bellies, smooth skin. All wore leather collars and cuffs on their wrists and ankles.  A few, off in a corner, wore gags.  One man drew a woman out and kissed her hand, whereupon a peculiar conversation ensued.  The man seemed to ask the gagged beauty many questions, which were answered with either a quick nod or shake of her head.

“Those are newcomers, not yet schooled in voice,” Mr. Riordan told Meredith.  “Neither are you.  If you don’t want to wear the gag tonight, I suggest you keep a civil tongue.”

Meredith gave a start.  He wouldn’t!  But then she noted the look in his eyes.

She lowered her own.  “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Riordan waited a moment, as if assessing her sincerity, then nodded once to Louis.  The Frenchman bowed and moved off into the crowd, where he was greeted by both men and women as an old friend.  Alone with her lord, Meredith couldn’t help but worry as to when he’d give his next order.  She didn’t have to wait long.

“Remove your cloak.”

She knew this would happen, but she was gripped by fear.  Already several men and women gazed expectantly in her direction.

Mr. Riordan placed a hand on her chin and turned Meredith to face him.  He spoke calmly: “Bend all your thought to me.  As your master I’ve already seen you stripped.”

Before Meredith knew it, the small knot at her throat came loose.  The cloak fell away, billowing to the thick rug under her feet.

Meredith was attired like the other women there in most respects, except that she wore a chastity belt.