vieux riche—kinda

You follow her inside, into the lobby-of-sorts.

The first impressions are disappointing. For sure it's luxurious and even lavish, more so inside than out: but living here for seven years? You have your first doubts. It's a mish-mash of good taste, bad taste, and mediocre taste.

Still the contract allows a 7 day stretch and 60 days total a year. Maybe you can visit Falling Water, Kentucky Knob, or Taliesin West to get refreshed; and hey: gift horses and all that. You haven't been here 30 minutes—give it a fucking chance!

The building looks solid, though. You remember a line from an old novel: will you be able to live up to the building? For a second or two you feel like you're getting married to it.

You look around. You see a few pictures, paintings, and even sculptures. Of course you see a large painting of your granduncle—the type where the subject looks at the viewer. Not unexpected, but not bad.

But for all the interior decoration and analysis, you notice Yuri blushing, looking intently at the painting.

"He's looking at you," you say creepily.

"Yeah," she smiles—though it wouldn't be the first time he saw me naked."

You smile. "I wouldn't blame him a bit."

Yuri turns at you, smiling in appreciation.

He doesn't look old in the painting.

"I guess it was made in the 70s."

"Yeah, 1974. He was only 48 then.

"Handsome." you say.

"Yes, and Master Nordhal stayed that way for a long time." she says, not facing you. "Oh, Master Nordhal, I miss you."

She turns to you.

"Will you be a good master to me, Master Nordhal?"

She's looking at you seriously.

This is getting serious.

After a pause, you screw up the nerve to approach her, take her by the shoulders, look in her eyes, and say: "I will be a good master to and for you, **** yuri, and all the other slaves I've acquired here or might acquire. I will take care of you. I will fuck you, make you give me blowjobs, spank you, make you dance for me as naked as you are now, and fuck you some more. All you have to worry about is pleasing me, **** yuri."

At that, she lunges and wraps her arms around you.

"Oh, master, master, master, Master Nordhal. You make me so happy."

She's crying.

"You're a beautiful ****, yuri."

"Thank you, master."

You wait a minute as she basks in the feeling.

"You ready to continue the tour?"

"Yes, master..., There's so much to show you, the ground floor, upstairs, third floor, attic, basement, and of course, the dungeon, and all around."

You give a bit of an eye roll. A dungeon?!? Will it have black walls, **** devices, and gothy techno music?

Is this the part of the will where you have to have 21 people over? Will these parties you're suppose to host involve this dungeon?

You have images of people in black robes and pentagrams, rich losers, creeps, and possible serial killers.

Ahhhh, fuck.

Maybe you can have other parties to counter it: maybe invite some Minnie Pearls over for tea.

Not that the whole BDSM thing is a turn-off. You will be fucking Yuri before long, preferably over a barrel or something like it, giving her ass a good spanking, and saying a lot of un-PC things.

You look around. You see the leash, and, it turns out, some handcuffs. You walk to them.

You wonder who's made the bigger commitment: you or her.

You're glad you brought some condoms. If she got pregnant, had a baby, and left, she might wind up with more money than you after a year or so in suing you. On the other hand, she could have sued your granduncle—but who knows if she wouldn't his estate. As for whatever photos and videos in that package? There are women who'd put up with slut-shaming for a few $100 000s—more so if it's a few million; and Yuri might have developed a high resistance to slut-shaming.

You're going to have to be careful about her: don't let this master-**** shtick get to your head—at least more than it has.

But still, you look at her, and she is soooo fuckable.

Ah, just this once—probably after this tour, if not earlier—you think.