The House of Fiorella

Moments away from Piazza del Duomo and Teatro alla Scala on the Via Montenapoleone, you would be forgiven for passing without notice the carved blackwood doors situated in between Prada and Hermes. Little known to the passing fashionistas, behind these doors is the world’s most exclusive emporium – The House of Fiorella.

Entrance is by invitation and appointment and only then, after recommendation by at least two of her existing clients. Fiorella doesn’t advertise and knowledge of her emporium is exchanged only by word of mouth through her clientele in hushed, excited whispers when they receive their RSVP to her latest showing. The pleasure of the clients begins when they receive these thick inlaid cream cards, scented with rose damask, indigo ink and copperplate calligraphy. Even her stationery is indicative of the pleasure and indulgence hidden behind those secretive doors.

Resplendent in her tightly fitted, black silk Kiton suit, discreet jewellery, shining ebony waterfall of hair and immaculate handmade high heels, Fiorella herself is the epitome of the very luxury she purveys – perfect, tailor-made, bespoke slaves for women from the highest echelons of society.

Fiorella used to attend faux slave auctions in her younger days – surrounded by the whoops and catcalls of the crowd, always feeling out of place in the sweaty club environment and frustrated that the auctions only scratched the surface of her own desires.

She moved into more secretive circles where slaves were physically altered to provide pleasure – dosing with Viagra to provide permanent erections, prostate milking to prevent ejaculation, steroids injected into tongues to enable elongated periods of oral sex – the artificiality of this scene grated on her innate sense of self. Genuine ownership, genuine dominance and submission had no place in this grubby environment. Money and gratitude are power, and Fiorella realized that the ultimate power was in the hands of those who could set the price without question, get paid and loved for it, not only by the customer, but by the object for sale too.

Her travels had brought her into contact with many men who could and wanted to fulfill the desires and pleasures of women without additional additives such as drugs or fear, but how to make the most of these men? They desired objectification, but had no way of bringing their desires into reality. Fiorella decided to meld her desire for power and sensuality with those of these men and create her own niche market – The House of Fiorella - the ultimate display of female indulgence.

Every element here was designed to give women an experience of a lifetime.

Being welcomed through the doors by her personal slave, Slave A – the only slave allowed to be dressed within these hallowed walls and then only for when clients were visiting - Fiorella liked to keep Slave A’s body for her eyes only, the client would find herself standing on the thick, plush carpet of a long corridor lined with mirrors, fragranced by the crystal vases of freesias, lilies, jasmine and roses, and handed a flute of perfectly chilled champagne. The plush carpet covering the floor had a duel purpose – one, to allow the clients to walk in utter comfort, the other, so the slaves could move without making a noise, bar the tiny tinkle of their gold anklet, the symbol of being Fiorella’s property.

Sitting along the corridor, often clutching handbags and shopping were the client’s husbands. Cuckolds all. Their wives - the clients - having never been told that they can’t have ‘that’, didn’t intend to start now, and the husband’s would shift uncomfortably in their seats, knowing that their only status in life was as a walking wallet, which ordinarily they would have been perfectly happy with, but alongside their fellow cucks, they exuded embarrassment and fear, as should they lookup, they might find themselves looking into the eyes of one of their peers.

The client, led by the hand of the stunning specimen known as Slave A, would be shown to the main floor of the emporium and shown to one of three chaise lounges, to be greeted by Fiorella personally and discuss the requirements each client needed meeting by a purchase from the emporium.

Immediately Slave B would appear silently and kneel at the foot of the chaise lounge, holding a crystal bonbonniere, then Slave C would approach, bow deeply and ensure that the client’s glass was kept full.

Scanning the room, the client would take in the view.- 10 of Fiorella’s best and newly qualified slaves, standing on mirrored podiums and secured in place by a pole or chain from the ceiling, revolving slowly, so all angles of their physiques could be examined. Each had a tag attached with red ribbon to their wrists, stating their vital statistics, training, abilities and history. Fiorella insisted that all her slaves had excellent pedigrees, to ensure an ideal match to her clientele and had each scrutinized and trained by hand. Referring to them laughingly as her stud stable as she took most seriously their entire physical and mental presentation and well-being as would a champion racehorse breeder.

Prices were not a feature on the slave’s tags -if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford them and the slave was to given no knowledge as to their value.

Knowing that Fiorella had trained the slaves herself, her recommendations would often be asked for by her clients, where in front of the slaves Fiorella discussed the slaves worthwhile attributes, potential shortcomings and gave the client the opportunity to trial the slave in these areas.

For oral skills, an area was set aside with a large comfortable chair and strangely a curtain across the middle. The client would sit back amongst the raw silk covered cushions and her top half would be hidden from view as would that of the slave who would be removed from their stand and positioned to perform between their thighs. This blind testing would ensure that the client could focus on the skills of the slave and not on their pretty face, which might lead to minor disillusionment – something that must never be allowed. These slaves were simply tongues; skillful ones yes, but tongues all the same, nothing more.

For massage, there was a warm dark room, scented with oils where the client could relax and focus on the pleasure giving hands of a slave who focused on feet or perhaps shoulders. More often than not, the client would select two or more slaves for this trial room – after all, she was in Fiorella’s! She was more than entitled to make the most of the situation and the combination of massage, warmth and oils ensured that she could indulge her more sexual side and order the massage slaves to play with each other for her viewing pleasure, whilst she propped her feet onto one of the furniture slaves.

Ah! The furniture slaves! A most esoteric corner of Fiorella’s emporium – men positioned into chairs, tables, candelabras, coat stands, footstools and for the more decorative minded mistress - sculptures.

Slaves for cooking and serving didn’t feature in The House of Fiorella. Those were domestic roles and not in keeping with the luxury expected of her clients. They all had domestics, to have someone wait on you, clean after you and cook your meals was nothing new and certainly not exotic enough to warrant wasting a slave on.

After the trial sessions with various slaves, Fiorella and the client would adjourn to her office to discuss the price over espresso, where in her signature indigo ink, Fiorella would write the amount on the clients invitation, then hand back to them. The idea of haggling was unthinkable in this environment, and the client would read the card and nod smiling. With a click of her fingers, Fiorella would summon Slave A and instruct him to fetch the client’s cuckold’s wallet to seal the transaction. Once completed, arrangements could be made for shipping the bought slave or slaves to wherever in the world the client requested.

No guarantees or refunds would ever be referred to as they were unnecessary when it came to shopping at Fiorella’s for slaves. There was no such thing as a dissatisfied client and no place for a dissatisfied slave. Chattel knows it is chattel and there would never be any misunderstanding or second thoughts by the time Fiorella decided to sell.