Authors: Wendy Leigh
“I put my clothes back on, not in the least bit embarrassed, because Murray’s inspection of my naked body that day really felt as if it were merely a medical examination conducted by my doctor.
“ ‘So when may I start, Murray?’ I said, confident that I had sailed through the interview and that he had decided to hire me forthwith.
“ ‘How about in an hour, Suzy?’ he said.
“ ‘Countess Suzanne von Stern,’ I reminded him indignantly.
“ ‘Great accent, babe. But you got to forget about Countess Suzanne. Mistresses around here are a dime a dozen. Come work here as Suzy, the Submissive Slut from England, I’ll charge double for you, the tips will roll in, and you’ll make a fortune,’ he said.
“I stared at him, furious that he planned to derail my carefully crafted plans. When I’d first made the momentous decision to throw caution to the wind and work at Le Château I’d dedicated countless hours to fashioning my persona as Countess Suzanne von Stern—with its aura of aristocratic severity, along with a soupçon of class—to suit me. So to me, the concept of Suzy, the Submissive Slut from England, was downright sleazy, and I just couldn’t come to terms with it. So, in the most polite terms possible, I advised Murray to hire someone else to play the part of Suzy, just not me,” she says.
“Then I flounced out of the dungeon without another word. Once in the street, I was confronted by the unpleasant realization that I couldn’t afford another cab. So I trudged toward the subway feeling dispirited and alone, when the call came with the terrible news that was to change my life forever. My little girl, Charlotte, had had a second, almost-fatal seizure. And there was no way in which I could take care of her anymore. There was no alternative for me but to institutionalize her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I swore to raise the money to send her to the best in the country, no matter what. Which is why, half an hour later, I, Lady Georgiana Lacely, arrived at the distasteful decision to become Suzy, the Submissive Slut from England and make my fortune, as Murray had promised I would.
“Thus it was that took my place in an S&M fantasy parlor lineup along with six other girls, primed to be given the once-over by a client who wanted to select one of us to submit to him that day.
“And then the client went down the line, past Patti, the blonde submissive from Chicago; Justine, the African-American from Crown Heights; and Helga, the brunette from Germany, who whispered to me that she was only doing this to pay the bill for her mother’s cancer surgery.
“Finally, after he inspected Laurie, a tall, willowy blonde, a chorus girl by night who only did sessions at Le Château by day, and whom he asked to turn around for him so he could evaluate her ass, he moved on to me.
“Suzy, the Submissive Slut from England. Perfect,” he said, and ran his eyes over my body while I focused resolutely on my posture and tried to project a sweet and compliant nature, though inside I was a miasma of raging emotions.
“Then he took Murray aside and informed him that he had made his choice. He picked me, Suzy the Slut.”
“How did you feel, Georgiana?” I say.
And she laughs her tinkling laugh.
“Just exhilarated. Of course, when Robert reads my book, the main point I want to convey to him is that Lady Georgiana Lacely only became a professional submissive through sheer necessity, because of my desperation to secure my poor, mentally disabled daughter’s future.
“But to tell you the truth, Miranda, each day at Le Château was more exciting than the last. Every morning, I raced down to Wall Street in a cab, and the closer we got, the wetter I became,” she says.
The thought of ice queen Georgiana getting wet is almost too much for me to countenance. I struggle to keep my cool and remind myself that I need to spin out these interviews so as to give Robert the maximum time to come and find me. So I continue in my guise of ghostwriter, eager to listen to her subject’s story in every intricate detail.
“Tell me about that first session,” I say.
“My first time as a professional submissive and I go in at the deep end, because in retrospect, my first client was probably one of the most sadistic men I ever knew,” she says.
“And?”
“Switch off the tape recorder for a minute,” she says, and I do.
“I don’t want Robert to learn of my virtually unlimited capacity to submit to a variety of men in a professional capacity, or how much I enjoyed every single session, otherwise he might become unutterably disillusioned with me,” she says.
But you blackmailed him! How the hell could you ever disillusion him!
“I understand, Georgiana,” I say, and then move on to the next question: “So what happened to your plan to be a dominatrix?”
“I was still determined to do sessions at Le Château in my role of Countess Suzanne von Stern, but Murray categorically refused to let me, and no matter what, I was unable to budge him,” she says.
“But why did you have to listen to him, Georgiana?”
“Because he was the boss, of course!” she snaps.
“But you could have worked somewhere else!”
“Don’t be so stupid, Miranda. I would never have felt as safe anywhere else. I only felt safe at Le Château because Tammy was there all the time,” she says.
“But I thought that soon after she and Murray founded Le Château together, way back when, she sold her shares in the place to him, stopped working there, and became a freelance dominatrix instead?”
“That’s just the story Murray cooked up for your precious Robert,” she says.
Bitch! Don’t dwell on that, though. Carry on feeding her need to talk, just to give Robert more time . . . time to get here. And time for him to learn the truth. . . .
Chapter Twenty-One
“So how long did you work at Le Château, Georgiana?”
“As Suzy? Just for one summer. But only during the day. And every day, Miranda, every single day, I took home at least a thousand dollars. But I couldn’t work nights because until I could afford to place her in the institution, I wanted to be by Charlotte’s side in case she woke up in the dark, lost and afraid,” she says.
And for that moment, at least, the monstrous Queen of Evil that Georgiana undoubtedly is suddenly seems human, at last.
But the warmth I feel for her instantly evaporates when she grabs my hands, leans close to me, and says, “Now it’s time for you to learn the real truth about how I met Robert. And once he reads your immortal words as enshrined in my book, he’ll give me a clean slate and our love will be reborn,” she says.
If I have to listen to much more of this, I think I’ll explode. I just can’t take it. Not this minute. Not right now.
“So you spent a summer as a professional submissive at Le Château, Georgiana. I think that’s fascinating. Would you mind telling me a little more about it before we go into your romantic first meeting with Robert and everything else that ensued?” I say, playing for time before she subjects me to her sick and deluded version of her supposed romance with Robert.
Then I remember Sun Tzu’s advice that if you want to conquer an enemy, it’s crucial that he feel you are inferior to him. So I open my eyes very wide and say, “To tell you the truth—and I feel really stupid telling you this, but I was wondering if you could tell me anything at all that you discovered about submission while you worked at Le Château, so that I can learn from it and enhance my ability to submit . . .” and her eyes light up with malice.
“Oh, my poor dear little cupcake! Here you are, the so-called great love of Robert Hartwell, the king of dominants, and you are asking
me
for advice on how to submit to him properly!” she says.
And I hang my head in feigned shame.
“I guess so. I was just hoping that I could learn something from you,” I say, and however glad I am that my flattery has had the desired result, I still hate myself, and her, for having said it.
She gets up, sprays herself with Georgiana Royale, and then sits down on the couch next to me.
“I don’t intend to waste too much time on this, because my purpose is to write my autobiography, not give you advice on submission,” she says.
“I understand,” I say in a small voice, praying that I can string this out for as long as possible.
“Very well, Miranda, since you appear to be learning your place at last, you may have the benefit of my advice,” she says.
I fight to keep a straight face and not laugh at her vanity.
“The main thing you need to understand about professional submissives is that, like me, a good professional submissive must always have a tremendous amount of acting ability. Not just so that she can role-play with a client—and role play is the number one request made of submissives in most S&M fantasy parlors—but so that she can make the dominant feel as if she is genuinely aroused by him and is completely immersed in the entire scene,” she says.
Much against my will, I’m interested in what she is saying.
“So do you mean that a professional submissive needs to learn how to fake convincingly?” I ask.
“You are so naive, Miranda,” she says. “Fifty percent of the dominant clients don’t come during a session, and they certainly don’t need the girls to, either. All they care about is dominating a submissive girl. Giving her an orgasm really isn’t part of the deal. Unless, of course, they are into orgasm control.”
“Orgasm control?”
“Ask your precious Robert,” she says.
“Give me the phone and I will,” I say.
“Glad you’ve got time to be funny, but I haven’t,” she says sharply.
Then I brace myself to listen to the twisted saga of Robert and Georgiana, as told by her, his wife, a woman so crazed, so malevolent, that I can’t believe how much I hate her.
“Everything that unfolded between me and Robert would never have done so had it not been for Murray,” Georgiana begins, then goes on to explain that through years of running an S&M fantasy parlor and catering to the deepest, darkest desires of his fellow men, Murray comprehended human nature in all its myriad shades of darkness and light.
“Once Robert revealed his desire to find a born submissive, Murray—like all great Hollywood impresarios who cleverly gave fans only limited access to great stars, and like the owners of Studio 54, who only permitted a select number of clubbers to enter its hallowed doors—understood instinctively that Robert would only be captivated by the woman he found for him if he painted her as rare, exotic, exclusive, and unobtainable.
“And for that, he rightly concluded, he needed me, Lady Georgiana Lacely, an English aristocrat down on her luck, desperate to support her gravely sick daughter, an adventuress, yet a woman with class, style, and sophistication to the very tips of her fingers,” she says. I can’t believe how unabashedly conceited she is.
“Do go on, Georgiana,” I force myself to say, although it isn’t too difficult, as I’m in suspense about what transpired next. Besides, the longer it takes for her to tell her tale, the longer Robert has to get here and rescue me.
She continues, “And so Murray wined and dined me at Tavern on the Green, and toward the end of supper made me a startling proposition: ‘If you agree to go ahead with what I’m about to suggest, Georgiana, I will, first thing tomorrow morning, wire a sum of money sufficient to pay the fees for your daughter’s home for the next two years. And after that, if you follow my instructions to the last letter, I swear that you will become rich beyond your wildest dreams,’ he said to me.
“Then he outlined his plan, the spider’s web in which he intended to trap a certain billionaire who would pay anything to find the born submissive of his dreams, and said that I was the only woman who could help him execute his scheme, and if I agreed to it, we would both make our fortunes.
“As he so rightly judged, his offer was more than tempting, as, if I went along with it, my Charlotte would be safe and looked after for the rest of her life. However, long before I learned the identity of the target—the mark, in con-man parlance, and, after all, what was Murray but a con man?—I felt sorry for him.
“But when Murray disclosed Robert’s name to me, I instantly recognized that this was the man who had purchased my family’s castle for a knockdown price. And Murray’s twisted proposition suddenly seemed far more palatable. I told myself that if Murray’s plan succeeded, I would be married to Robert Hartwell and would live in the castle that once was my birthright, as well as gain access to his fortune—it would be poetic justice, and karma fulfilled.
“Consequently, I agreed to star in Murray’s plot. From that time on, like it or not, I had to bow to the fact that this was his production and he was in control,” she says.
“His first command: Suzy, the Submissive Slut from England must be wiped off the face of the planet. So no more thousand-dollar paydays for me, and no more lineups, because, as he explained, if Robert saw Suzy in a lineup with the other girls even one time, then the plan would never come to fruition. Robert might be happy to take a session or two with Suzy, but he would never have fallen in love with her.” Georgiana polishes off her champagne, takes a deep breath, and goes on.
“With Suzy out of the picture, Pamela was ripe to make her debut. First, though, Murray had to come up with a way of introducing her to Robert, a unique way that would lift her above the fray and ensure that he would value her from the start.
“Then late one night, as chance would have it, Robert happened to look through the dungeon peephole and catch sight of the man who called himself William Masters. And at that moment, the plan was set in motion.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When I first heard the name William Masters, when I first learned the truth about the man I’d loved since childhood (I can’t, even now, refer to him as “my grandfather” without shuddering), my world was shattered into a thousand pieces.
Seemingly unaware of my churning emotions, Georgiana goes on, “You see, I never met William Masters, thus he has less to do with the story than you might imagine. There is no need for me to raise the specter of that man again except to say that he was the unlikely but perfect candidate to launch the complex plot that Murray had so cleverly conceived.