Chapters One through Six


by Boris Lurie

Editorial, Footnotes & Commentary by Terence Sellers



In the ordinary progressive establishment, great emphasis is customarily placed on the rooms where the Mistresses live, where they pass their leisure time, study, and make plans for educational activities. At my previous places of employment, studies and workrooms had been characterized by a particularly creative décor.

Not so in the House of Anita where, for some reason surely valid, all architectural creativity is lavished where it belongs least, namely, on the servants’ quarters.

The rest of the apartment is simple and austere; furnished in the style of zen emptiness, purely spacial relationships, a non-style which, according to its proponents, encompasses both all and nothing at all, an eternity simultaneously.

Servants’ quarters were usually tucked away in places least noticeable, under drafty unheated roof-gables, as adjuncts to kitchens and, in country institutions, across courtyards in separate small buildings. Built in an inferior manner as far as insulation and heating were concerned, outfitted with nothing but raw cement floors and walls, there were still always well-lit by daylight through large window spaces. That kept the rooms habitually freezing in winter, but had the advantage of reducing electric-light bills, as well as serving to remind the servants of the rising and setting of their workday.

So were constructed servants’ quarters since time immemorial; this same tradition now carries through into the modern cultural educational avant-garde slave establishment.

Such modern houses of learning are outfitted with slave bathrooms containing plain cement bathtubs. There is no hot water, and for a valid reason: servants tend to get sluggish when using warm water for showering and bathing. There is nothing like ice-cold water for love-servants, to keep their slave blood from slowing, nothing more stimulating, in particular, to their all-important service parts. (1)

In our compartment at Anita’s, eight bunks are set up in two rows of four. These quarters have no walls separating them from the rest of the establishment. To isolate them from the territory of the Mistresses, large sliding doors with one-way look-through glass have been installed. Floodlights are mounted along the corridor bordering our room which, when lit, bathe the compartment in crystal sharp outlines, just as on a stage. These piercing lights can be moved and focused on individual bunks by the flick of a switch.

An electric screen both outside, and within each bunk’s enclosure flashes the name of the occupant, sometimes ascribing to us the wrong identity — on purpose, of course.

Colored lights flickering on and off illuminate the ladders and the bunks from within, their pulsating relationship creating patterns the Mistresses love to observe. Outside our glass wall the colored lights going on and off, servants’ bodies jolting up and down and sideways whenever pierced or punched, and the floodlights variously directed to illuminate the scene creates a lovely interaction of varying elements.

Comfortable easy chairs are located along the corridor’s wall, into whose giving softness the Mistresses might plunk themselves at any time day or night – most often in the middle of the night – in order to observe us in general, and particularly our sleeping habits. We must always be on guard as far as our compartment is concerned, for we may be watched at any time.

The servants’ quarters seem superficially simple; a continuation of the lean, minimal style of our Masters’ own (with the exception of Anita’s bedroom) so popular among the Neo-aristocrats of New York. However the design of our compartment is in fact extremely intricate, while appearing to be simple — such resolved simplicity being the hallmark of all Art.

For instance: each servant’s bunk is built of different materials, such as the bottom bunk of brick, overlaid with Formica, while the top bunk is made of pliable plastic that bends and wavers with the vibrations of the room. Fortunately that bunk stays mostly unoccupied. Some of the steps of the bunk ladders are covered with fur, while others have needles inserted into them from beneath.

A mechanism has been installed within the bunks, nail-like rods which move right through the servant’s mattress and gently nudge him during his sleep. A soft, fist-like contraption can unexpectedly hit the sleeper at any time.

All bunks are tilted towards the glass wall to afford a better view for observation. (2) It requires some skill to sleep in them, for a slave might easily roll over, incorrectly, and fall off. But pretty soon watching out for such an eventuality becomes second nature – and by now I cannot even imagine how anyone can sleep comfortably on a regular level horizontal bed. It must be terribly inconvenient.

Proper sleeping habits are particularly important in the matter of the grooming of a slave. The slave must not sleep on his stomach, nor may he turn over on his side away from the glass observation doors. The servant must always place himself in a position, even when asleep, so that he may be easily observed. It was explained to us that this rule is in our own best interest — for privacy in sleep, that interior retreat, negatively counters the slave’s education, giving rise to independent dreaming or brooding, and thus withdrawal from the control of his master.

A slave must sleep with his hands straight down the sides of his body, which is the same position as that of a man saluting; or he must kneel while sleeping — and in no other positions. He must sleep naked so the masters’ property may be properly aerated. He is given two blankets, but must keep his genital parts uncovered, so he places one blanket across his chest and stomach, and the other across his legs, leaving genital parts and anus exposed between the blankets.

Records concerning servants’ sleeping patterns, particularly the frequency of nighttime erections, are routinely kept by the Mistresses. These form the basis of the slaves’ performance records, together with service or educational achievements, or lack thereof; all this affecting his treatment. In accordance with his record he will be promoted or demoted, or may even be discharged — a fate much worse than corporal elimination. (3) For example, awakening mornings without a proper erection – considered a very bad fault – might lead to just such an expulsion into the outside free world.

At the foot of the lowest bunk is a large locker with three identically-sized sections to hold our belongings. The reason for a single locker for the three of us, we are told, is not from a desire for economy, nor in an attempt to create quarrels and friction amongst servants, but is intended to encourage a sense of comradely community, and diminuition of a servants’ regard for private property.

Such an arrangement gives the servants the unavoidable opportunity to check up on each other, as far as order and cleanliness are concerned. It also gives us insight into our comrades’ doings.

Yet I wonder why the Mistresses do not comply with a similar arrangement regarding their own property, which is maintained in an individualistic manner. One could then pose the question of who is more advanced in this respect, servants or masters. But I am certain in our lovely garden everything is arranged and prefigured for the benefit of all. To create a perfect harmony, just like in music, a diversity of treatments is required.

The musical accompaniment to both our sleep and waking hours reaches our ears through a loudspeaker system; in alternating loudness to inaudible quiet, it consists of renditions of such historical tunes as American Wobbly (4) and Spanish Civil War marching songs, and the once popular ‘Internationale’ (5) all in contemporary acid-rock style. This intricate combination, operating in self-contradictory unison, is fashioned on the elaborate set-ups of New York avant-garde houses of worship, discotheques, art galleries and museums.

Much later, my elation knew no bounds when observing disco virtuosos on television, performing their intricate steps to the beat of “Non Pasaran,” “Wir sind dei Moorsoldaten“ (6) or again the “Internationale.” It served as a reminder of how our Institution, in all things cultural and intellectual, was far ahead of its time.

Completing the decor of our compartment are four huge photo blow-ups on the walls, illuminated color transparencies of our four Mistresses, dressed in those uniforms most representative of their personalities, They stay lit day and night. When arising we customarily kneel in front of each photo in quiet contemplation. This activity is not at all a part of the regulations, but we never miss a day.

In general we feel happy and protected when within our compartments, and we sleep well and soundly despite the constant motions of our bodies and the perpetual illumination.

The apartment building wherein is located our House of Anita is one of the few remaining grand patrician dwellings constructed around World War One. It is in what one would consider almost, but not quite, a first-class neighborhood on the West Side of Manhattan — once undesirable, but now considered quite chic. Neighborhoods in New York do change, depending on how many adherents of culturally inferior backgrounds have moved there. (7) Our neighborhood is now on the upswing, rentals have increased, and certain elements have had to depart.



There are four of us servants: Hans, Fritz and I are all well-trained and dedicated; but there is Aldo, who might be considered a ‘trustee,’ but really isn’t one in the fullest meaning of that word. After all, he is a ‘Kapo’ — the privileged servant. (1)

Aldo has his own slightly separated living quarters within our compartment. He resides on a platform the size of a double bed, raised three feet from the floor level, enclosed by three walls. The non-existent fourth wall faces the glass partition, used for observation purposes.

Aldo has a large closet all to himself, filled to the brim with his clothing. He is not required to keep his belongings in good order, and both his closet and his bed are usually in a frightful mess. But the Mistresses hardly ever scold him for it, Sometimes he slips us an extra candy ration for cleaning up his mess.

His platform is equipped with a soft spring mattress, pretty colored sheets, and a multitude of pillows in bright hues, sprinkled all over his bed in the fashion of Bohemia. (2) A fur blanket completes the ensemble, but likely sewn together from rabbit or cat skins which shed something terrible. He even has a tiny fridge for soft drinks and sweets obtained from the Mistresses, or liberated from the kitchen — or withheld by him from our own rations. (3)

The Mistresses visit Aldo to amuse themselves and play with him. To visit him in slaves’ quarters gives an added dash of excitement to these infrequent nighttime escapades. I have observed, through a secretively squinted eye, our Mistress Anita bringing Aldo a pair of high-heeled ladies’ shoes. She then has him display his legs thus attired while she gently pets them — but no more. And in the still of the night I have seen Mistress Mistress Beth Simpson turn Aldo over on his stomach, and introduce some object into his anus.

Aldo loves such visits despite the fact that they interrupt his sleep, and he will giggle a bit and say, “Oh, how marvelous, thank you.”

It must truly please the Mistresses to give pleasure to Aldo.

Of course we servants try to continue sleeping during such nocturnal visits, though it is difficult; but to participate in any way, even in fantasy, would be a breach of regulations. On one occasion however, we lost control.

Judy Stone appeared in the middle of the night and truly took it out on Aldo; it was no laughing matter. While she sprawled on her back in Aldo’s bed, she actually made him insert his service instrument into her body. She then made Aldo get on top of her, so that the two looked like a convoluted knot, and had him insert and withdraw his service instrument, repeating this most unusual piercing action again and again. (4)

Of course we had never been made aware that males — civilians, or servants — undertook such activities with ladies — civilians, or Mistresses (5) — but took it for granted that it was normally practiced the other way around.

An instinctive madness overtook us (6) and as one man we all got up and surrounded Aldo’s bed, yelling, protesting and jumping up and down. We lost all self-control and started throwing Aldo’s belongings out of his closet, stomping on them and tearing away at the materials with our teeth. Mistresses Tana Louise and Beth Simpson both appeared as if out of nowhere and punished us mercilessly — which satisfied us, and brought us to peacefulness.

I still fail to understand just why this outrageous act between Judy and Aldo made us riot. It was certainly not the first unusual thing we had learned to accept. However, as you will see, later, Judy was to pay dearly for the weak traits of her character. But by then she had also learned how to profit from her deficiencies.


Sound sleeping habits, if possible without dreaming, or at least, without clearly remembered dreams upon awakening, is one of the ironclad basic rules of servitude. (7)

Yet once in a while when even I am incapable of sleeping, despite the stringent ordinances, I hear Hans whispering “Hamburg.” And Fritz, stammering “Posen.” While we are all apparently asleep.

Once I brought up the subject of these two towns with my fellow servants. But they avoided any clear replies. Fritz, who customarily smiles all the time, as if at any moment he might break out into wild, hysterical laughter (though this never occurs) just kept his visage in its usual fastidious expression, and said nothing. Hans, whose long, drawn-down face reminds me of the sad faces of medieval German or Dutch peasants (in paintings shown to us by Mistress Anita, on one educational tour of the Metropolitan Museum) — not one single wrinkle moved in response. Hans’ prematurely skinny face is etched with such indentations as I imagine a road-map of the suburbs of ancient Babylon might show.

After prodding and begging and threatening not to ever again share any of my own personal secrets with them, I told them I knew these town names must be connected with their past lives in the free wilderness outside. Finally, they admitted it — that Hamburg and Posen are where they came from.

Fritz vaguely remembers fire-bombing in Hamburg (8) as an adolescent. Sad Hans says he remembers his family’s eviction from Posen (9) — now the Polish territory named Posnan — for the sin of belonging to Adolf Hitler’s chosen tribe. (10)

But our sexy long-limbed Aldo — whom I admit I am often tempted to penetrate with my aching unsatisfiable instrument, conditioned to non-stop activity, with insufficient employ — in his sleep Aldo moans and implores, and then threatens and shouts, in his heavy Brooklyn spaghetti accent: “I’m American… I am an American.”

With Aldo, my fellow servants are cognizant of where they have come from, and know how they like to be recognized. Why is it that I have not the slightest inkling of my background or heritage? The farthest back I can remember is my service in England. Before that, all I have is an image of a heavy stone falling straight down from the stratosphere and plunking itself on Earth.

Otherwise my mind is a blank in this respect. I always felt this was an excellent condition for a love-servant. But now that I am being more freely educated, the question of my background tortures me. Who am I?



I am particularly fascinated by Hans’ face.

Hans’ head is elongated like that of a horse. His close-cropped hair is dirty blondish-brown. The shaved-out avenue in the center of his skull reflects light like a puddle of water in brownish earth. His short hair stands up like animal bristles.

When he talks or laughs, which hardly ever happens, one can observe heavy wrinkling along the shaved-out area. This embarrasses the onlooker, for it reminds one of extreme skinniness, of a starved skeleton’s skull. (1)

Hans is still comparatively young, but mature. His eyes have developed double pouches, which creates a bothersome contradiction in relation to an otherwise youthful-looking face.

Particularly around the eyes this face is covered with a network of tiny criss-crossing wrinkles. When in action these wrinkles seem to spin like the view in front of a drunken driver’s eyes.

His nose is aquiline, long, and turning sharply downward in a kind of hook, as if broken at the bridge. That too creates an unpleasant effect when set in a Nordic-Germanic face, for we tend to associate hooked noses only with the Southern Mediterranean type. (2)

He has high cheekbones; of course Germans might sometimes have high cheekbones, a remnant of the Mongolian-Hun strain with which their blood is adulterated. Such preponderant cheekbones create another unpleasant, even painful reaction upon the sensibility of the observer whose aesthetics have been educated in the Nordic ideal. (3)

Hans has a huge chin, too huge for the proportions of his face — recall the face of a horse, to which Hans’ is related, has no chin at all. Though protruding chins exemplify will-power and manliness — just think of Mussolini’s chin, upon which practically single-handedly the fame of the Fascist Party was founded — Hans’ chin does not express any such faculty. Instead this chin is a sickly growth, a long lump grafted onto his face, as an afterthought, once its creator finished the sculpture. If the artist had chosen to paint it in exaggerated reddish tones, thus colored it might remind us unpleasantly of the current epidemic of cancer in the industrialized world. (4)

To add to the general unpleasant impression, (5) Hans’ facial skin falls like a folded curtain straight from his cheekbones to the corners of his mouth. There is usually a little dampness accumulated around the extremities of the lips. In addition, one liquid drip will fall from a cluster on his nose’s tip, a circumstance he doesn’t bother to control. His sinuses’ drainage system apparently does not get along with the harsh and changeable New York climate.

His ears are much too long and curved, and too intricately sculpted even for the proportions of his elongated horse-head. But they are extremely expressive, They strike me as if a horse, pulling a plow, had gone berserk and performed a number of pirouettes, leaving behind circular marks on the earth. The exaggerations of his ears gives Hans’ face a lighter, gayer touch, as contrasted with his general gravity.

And his eyes are watery and transparent and remind one of a clean brook situated in mountain rocks, where one can see right through to the bottom. They are his best feature. Blue, watery eyes usually strike one as representing a forceful, aim-oriented, even cruel personage. But not in Hans’ case. They are set as if imprisoned within the network of tiny wrinkles, above that double set of pouches, beneath thin, delicate eyebrows almost like those of a beautiful woman.

Oh yes, I mustn’t forget to mention his huge Adam’s apple, at all times nervously moving up and down, expressing his real state of mind by the beat of its movement, leading a life of its own.

Can you imagine all of a sudden this funereal visage erupting into a cut-up, smiling, then hilariously laughing grimace?

Hard to believe, but that’s what inevitably occurs, even under the most uncalled-for circumstances. The worm-like, dead, still, larval state of his serious face is suddenly and unexpectedly replaced by a colorful grotesque butterfly. One doesn’t feel like laughing with Hans at such moments, but one neither feels like embarrassing him by shocked silence. So when the smile-attack begins, we usually turn away. or let an approving expression appear on our faces. The outbreak never last more than half a minute. Then it is back to the deadpan, with only the Adam’s apple jumping in his throat, and the aqua blue eyes sinking deeper into their sockets.

“It’s Posen on his mind, “ his buddy Fritz will comment.

When my real service begins in earnest I am thankfully free of such musing.



My Mistress’s hands are stocky, and not particularly well-kept. If her fingernails are manicured at all, on one or two the enamel will be chipped away. Or else they aren’t painted. Or the nails on one or two fingers will be broken off, or clipped down short, while all the other nails are manicured bloodred. She knows it has a terrific effect when she digs that bloodred into her soft white buttocks.

I used to give myself permission to criticize her for not caring properly for her fingernails. But I was told it was none of my business, and I realized she was right. It is none of my business.

She has a way with those fingers of hers. She can manipulate whatever she cares to manipulate with those stubby fingers and broken nails. (1)

And the way to manipulate me is through my prick. My prick wants, it dies, to be manipulated.

Any attention from her, even if painful and upsetting, or aesthetically ungratifying, is beautiful. Because it comes from her. All that comes from her, including her shit, her piss, and her beatings, are God’s gift to me.

Can I begin to describe the various lines of attack her fingers and fingernails use on me: from encouraging and enticing, to hurting me badly; from tenderly caressing me, to sticking a nail painfully into my aroused flesh. Letting go of my prick to rudely grab my balls, squeezing them until they are nearly mashed. To finally grabbing my prick hard, and pulling so that I think my whole stomach is coming out.

Then she lets my balls go and hits my prick from underneath with a mean slap, so my blood awakens with the pain. Holding my penis not gently in her hand, she pulls it down rhythmically, twisting it like a strand of dough, testing to see if it is soft enough.(2)

When she senses I am at the end of my defenses, and so ready to come, she presses a stubby finger against the penis opening to prevent me from doing so. The juices which have risen into the shaft then have no way out, and can’t go back either.

Her faces tenses up — as if a missed phone call or appointment or some such thing forgotten has come to mind — and she gives me one of her self-satisfied, conquering looks. Then, with her free hand, she straightens her hair carefully and loses all interest in the game.

She steps out of the room while I come all by myself, and into myself — or, as is the case most often, I do not come at all. Since she has chosen not to finish me properly I am left aching and hurting all over.

When in an unusually good mood, my Mistress will sometimes have pity on me. She will then fetch a large jar of Vaseline, (3) unscrew the top, and allow me to plunge my erect penis into it.

“Now make believe you have your prick in my cunt,” she says mock-seriously, with a smirk, “You don’t of course, and you won’t ever — not today, and not tomorrow.” (4)



Under the surface of the Mistresses’ wooden dining table are set large drawers, each just large enough to contain a man’s body. We three servants — Hans, Fritz, and myself — are to slide into the drawers, which have no extra room for movement. But it is not uncomfortable in the least. The top is pierced by several small round openings, none larger in circumference than a regular erect penis. A white tablecloth covering has identical holes aligned with those in the tabletop. (1)

This morning the table has been set for breakfast, a regular American breakfast with cereal, orange juice and fruit cocktail. Our Mistresses, dressed in black and red morning gowns, sit down to eat, I see through a crack in the drawer their delicious feet dressed up in pump shoes. They drink the freshly squeezed orange juice, they eat the cereal. A butter knife scrapes against the hard surface of browned toast.

My penis, though squeezed in the drawer, manages to rise through a hole in the tabletop — where it is required to appear. I feel butter being rubbed against it, and it rises higher. Then I feel some biting and nibbling against its walls. (2)

The Mistresses’ conversation turns to how best to enjoy the juices to be drawn from us.

One Mistress suggests it is best to suck a bit at a time, to hold the semen juice in the mouth without swallowing it, then bite into buttered toast and swallow it all down at once.

Another Mistress claims ordinary grape marmalade on toast brings out the contradictory flavours even better. I hear Mistress Anita say she likes to first sprinkle the penis with salt, and enjoy a very plain buttered toast with the penis juice after. (3)

Another Mistress I discern Mistress Tana’s voice says it is best to bite into the penis, first drawing blood, then to swallow the semen in combination with the blood, without any toast whatsoever, at the every end of breakfast — even after the coffee.

Anita replies that Tana’s suggestion sounds most interesting, but that she might not be able to control herself, and not stop from bloodying the penis again and again, wanting more and more juice, which the penis will not longer have — and, in such a case, she might forget herself and bite and bite into it, just to suck blood. (4)

Another Mistress suggests there is ntohing to worry about — should a situation like that develop, Mistress Anita could switch to the third servant’s penis, which would be left untapped, just in case of such an emergency. (5)

But it might be too dangerous, Mistress Anita feels, it might become impossible, in the excitement already created, to desist from uncontrolled biting and blood-drinking. For as the saying goes, “It is the duty of a Mistress to never permanently maim her property.” (6)

While this conversation is going on, I am sweating in anticipation in my drawer, having enough will-power to suppress my panting which might antagonize the Mistresses. Finally they decide they will fry up some eggs and ham, and then discuss how to consume the dessert which comes from our genitals.

I hear the fat crackling in the kitchen, their pumps stepping delicately on the carpetted floor. Then the sound of chewing, the scraping again of butter-knives against the toast. I am bathed in sweat by now, not fully conscious; I cannot suppress my panting. Luckily the radio is going now, set loudly to an FM station playing Chopin and Tchaikovsky. (7)

I feel warm butter dribbling down my penis, I hear the music, and more chatter. A warm pair of lips now plays gently on my penis. Then a bite — I jump in my drawer. A violent slap against my penis. I wriggle back and forth, but the table is heavy and luckily does not move. The music is loud and solemn, mixed with the chatter of the Mistresses.

I feel teeth biting, I come into the soft opening.

But the lips were opened too widely and some juice drips down. The lips collect it gently. One last caress and I am free. Collapsing.



Our free time used to be spent in the servants’ quarters, which is always kept locked. Often we had absolutely nothing to do, and we would grow greatly bored. As a result of this boredom we became nervous, over-excited, and eventually sexually aroused.

But as time went by the Mistresses changed our schedule, and orders were issued that it was our duty to be prepared for table service on a full-time basis. We had to be ready to climb into the drawers of the heavy wooden dining-table every two hours.

Conditioning took its effect, and what at first appeared strenuous became easy. We joyfully awaited the times of the day when we were to be served up for snacks, as well as regular meals. But then the orders were changed again: one of us now has to be permanently stationed in attendance in the dining-room.

Whoever is chosen for this service must climb into an enormous Egyptian-style sarcophagus, mounted on wheels, whose cover has two openings: one for the mouth, the other for the penis. It is outfitted so that when one is restrained within, there is no room to shift around inside the vessel.

The production of such sarcophagi was prompted by a demand for them by cultural institutions, such as the House of Anita, our example being a popular, permanent fixture

Egyptian sarcophagi are thus now produced by a number of world-famous engineering firms, which carry that line in addition to their general medical instrument production, intended for doctor’s offices and hospitals.

In an era when scientists have come to recognize that knowledge is best imparted when the learner is under physical stress — even under pain — such machines are recognized as being of great therapeutic and educational value. It is thought that wisdom thus grafted onto the individual’s intelligence has better staying power. One such definition in their explanatory manuals: knowledge and wisdom thus acquired has “a homogenizing effect which tends to fuse knowledge and physical activity into an unbroken bond, a bondage of ‘action calories’ to ‘knowledge subfiguration.’ It is not easy to understand such language.

The sarcophagi are made of modern plastic material, which is practically indestructible, light in weight and easy to clean. They are faithful reproductions of the ancient sarcophagi that contained Pharaohs and other notables of the Egyptian empire. In their surface decoration each appears absolutely authentic.

There must have been some valid reason for this modern use of the ancient form and decor — instead of building the boxes, say in the shape and architecture of rocketry or space-flight. For whatever reason, all models manufactured by our great Western technological enterprises use only Egyptian design.

Just why is never explained, not in the catalogues, nor in any of the general literature available on physio-therapeutic educational tools.

Another amazing thing is that the latest of modern achievements, “the miniaturized automated silicon-chip technology” is designed in the shape of an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus. (1)


Over a period of time in the House of Anita we had gone through numerous single and double-occupancy models, produced by the various firms. Apparently there is such demand for the instruments that model after model, featuring further refinements of mechanism and design, practically chased each other in succession.

Beautiful glossy magazine published in America and Western Europe carried full-page ads for the machines. They showed satisfied-looking couples lounging beside them, sometimes with a number of identical-looking children, posed around the couple — an allusion I suppose for the Initiated to substitute love-slaves for the children in their minds.

An advertisement that struck me as particularly expressive was one with several cowboy-fashion-clad females on horse-back, accompanied by a number of cowboy-clad children, and a number of foals — while the image of the sarcophagus unfolded in the Western sky above.

I found this ad truly beautiful, a work of Art, and so easily understood even by me, an uneducated slave, that when looking at it I automatically and spontaneously felt a dizziness in my head, exactly as if I were being churned around in person. And yet I was sitting comfortably, just looking at a magazine page. (2)

The advertising succeeded in creating in my mind a physical-aesthetic experience tantamount to the reaction of a devout Christian who, when observing an Old master painting of Christ bleeding to death on the cross, actually feels himself being nailed, his life slowly dissipating and disappearing, like a cowboy on a horse slowly drifting away into a Western horizon.

These Egyptian sarcophagi interested me so much that I read all the literature available on them. I was encouraged by the Mistresses in this endeavour, never by any outright praise, but a short glance from them in my direction told me the story. I even overheard some flattering remarks, though a slave is not supposed to listen in on the conversation of his masters, particularly if such remarks concern him personally. The Silent Encouragement made me study even harder.

I learned about the history of Egyptian sarcophagi: how they popped up in institutional usage after World War II, how prior to that only crude, slave-powered contraptions had been in use. Not because of lack of power-driven equipment, but because the cultural atmosphere had been different.

Male slavery institutions carry with them overtones of eccentricity, elements of the bizarre, the secretive, and the outright sadistic. With the firm establishment of industrial democracy in the West, after the war such institutions evolved and came to be valued as cultural foundations of learning — advance outposts, so to speak, comparatively small in number, but extremely influential in their always-indirect influence on society.

Though the first Egyptian sarcophagus machine on the market had been manufactured in America, they soon lost ground to Japanese technology — which had a particular aesthetic feel for unexpected refinements, such as voice-activated motion. The Japanese models developed complex ways to make the sarcophagi shake furiously while in motion; or stop, and then just shake; or tilt rapidly, stop, then tilt back again — all within various intervening time-spans. Or make them bang and shake against a companion-sarcophagus, and then take a three-hundred-sixty degree turn and stop, while the upper or lower ends alone continue to pulsate furiously.

The Japanese machine also came with an infinite variety of extra attachments: such as hoses for the spraying of liquids on either end, to give off water, or liquid foods at prearranged intervals. Attachments for flashing lights of various coloration inside the sarcophagus, flooding the subject withe melodies composed in light; and scent attachments simulating the odors of the master — all for the subject’s well-being.

With all those imaginative improvements it was no wonder the Japanese sarcophagi conquered the popular market. Most Mistresses liked the idea of relying on such scientifically pre-programmed steps, so as not to tax their individual imaginations.

But as these super-refined contraptions were being relied upon, what developed? The slaves, the recipients of this pre-programmed knowledge, became smarter — while the Mistresses, having ceased to use their creative imaginative powers to dominate, became increasingly stupid.

Such a result was unacceptable. Thus, after a few experiments with the Japanese machines, their use in our House was stopped. We relied instead upon the mechanically trustworthy West German AEG model, (3) equipped with only a minimal number of extra features, which re-instituted the creative role of the master, The AEG permitted no pre-programming, and no program could be mechanically repeated. Every lesson introduced by the Mistresses into its intelligence was therefore unique, and uncopyable.

That was one of the reasons why our House and our Mistresses constantly progressed in greatness, while the majority of the institutions of the Free World gradually sank into uncreative regressive patterns.

At some point in the early part of my service a double-sarcophagus had been ordered and installed which could be used either horizontally or vertically. In full usage, two servants could climb into the contraption, one standing upright and the other squeezed in upside-down. At other times both servants performed in an upright position., Extra combinations were thus available for the pleasure of the Mistresses. The double sarcophagus would be lifted to about the height of the Mistresses’ crotches and they could, through the openings, avail themselves of two erect penises at the same time for straight intercourse. (4) Or they could turn the double sarcophagus upside-down, and thus enjoy the licking of two mouths. Or they could observe the emanation of excitement form the tow penises on top while licking action was taking place at the bottom opening.

The Mistresses at times just liked to observe: it seemed to afford them as much pleasure as actually being served.

The Mistresses invented many entertaining games. They stuffed their shoe-heels into the mouth-openings and observed the reactions from the penises below. They twirled the double sarcophagus around, and observed how long it took for the penises to arise, after the fear and shock of being churned wore off. They scolded us for tardiness in arousal. They invented new, humane ways to accelerate arousal after the shock of the churning process. They came to the conclusion, for example that arousal was accelerated if a Mistress’ breast-nipple was inserted into a servant’s mouth immediately after churning.

They also discovered that an even speedier result could be achieved if the servants’ anuses were stuffed with some object before the churning process began. That seemed to minimize fears and lead to quicker and more efficient service.

This educational activity was officially referred to as ‘butter-making.” (5)

I lavished much attention upon our Egyptian; it was my duty to take care of him. I oiled his innards and cleaned his surface. Just opening up his hood and contemplating and touching his wheel-and-gar mechanism have me infinite pleasure.

My devotions towards our Egyptian went further. As I worked on him I would hear voices, jsut as during an educational lesson, voices commanding me “Spit on yourself,” for example when the Egyptian was upside down. Or when the machine turned violently, “Get out of the sarcophagus,” or “Move your knees to your chin” when I was inside, and it was impossible to move around.

The impossibility of carrying out these orders physically, yet the belief in fantasy that I was actually carrying out these orders — because (I believed) they were the Mistresses’ orders, and all such orders had to be carried out unquestioningly — set me in a frame of mind that went beyond any ordinary earthly experience.

At such times it was as if my mind escaped the physical limitations of my body, and the belief that I had actually carried out the impossible actions outweighed my physical knowledge that such actions were impossible to carry out. (6)




(1) All-important service parts. First of many dehumanized, mechanistic references to his own body.

(2) All bunks are tilted. Beds in the concentration camps of the Third Reich were at best industrial shelves of a crude sort. Our narrator Bobby describes the House’s deliberately uncomfortable beds, at a slant, lit all night by ‘piercing’ floodlights — evoking camp experiences. Lurie embellishes the sadism with comfy observation chairs.

Detailed descriptions of these motorized, constantly moving beds, equipped with a “soft fist-like contraption can unexpectedly hit the sleeper at any time,” reverberate with recognition… camp that prisoners were awakened all night, every night, for whatever reasons.

“While older inmates lived in brick buildings, the group with which I had arrived was sent to wooden barracks housing roughly 400 people. We were given no blankets, no pillows. Each of us slept sideways, jammed in like books on a shelf, on a wooden board with another wooden board slanted for a pillow. Every morning dead bodies were pulled out of these beds.”

Ref.: “My Name was No. 133909 …and I Sang” — Murray Brandys’ autobiography, self-published in 2002.

(3) Corporal elimination. Death by murder. It was a commonplace in the Third Rechian zeitgeist to use euphemisms for atrocities. Sometimes pseudo-scientific, sometimes bland; “Aktion” (action) was another one, signifying murder.

But how is it worse than death, to be expelled into the “outside free world?” And death would be preferred? We enter now the perverse world of the House of Anita.

(4) American Wobbly. A turn-of-the-20th-century international worker’s movement, that held that workers should organize as a class, and that wages should be abolished.

They had a ‘penchant’ for hymns and songs. “Wobbly song writing became common because they articulated the frustrations, hostilities, and humor of the homeless and the dispossessed. The Industrial Workers of the World (IWW) collected all official songs into a “Little Red Songbook,” and continues to update this book to the present time.”

Ref. : Wikipedia for Industrial Workers of the World; states that the origin of the term ‘Wobblies’ is lost in obscurity.

(5) Internationale: The Internationale (L’Internationale, in French) is a famous socialist, communist, socialist, and/or anarchist anthem. The original French refrain goes: “C’est la lutte finale / Groupons-nous et demain / L’Internationale / Sera le genre humain.” (Freely translated: “This is the final struggle / Let us group together and tomorrow / The Internationale / Will be the human race.”) It is sung traditionally with the hand raised in a clenched fist salute.

The inside joke is thus that Mistress Anita and her Dominatrices constantly play these workers’ anthems and protest songs, in parodic solidarity with their worker/slaves; but in truth laughing at them, and resounding the songs ironically. For there will never be a ‘workers’ uprising’ at the House of Anita.

(6) Non Pasaran. Wir sind die morrsoldaten.

“No pasaran,” Spanish for “They shall not pass” was Spain’s anti-fascist rallying call throughout World War II. The phrase referred to the defense of Madrid from the Fascist onslaught. The phrase inspired a song, recorded first in New York in 1937.

Wir sind die morrsoldaten: translated literally as “We are the moorland (or peat bog) soldiers,” translated as “Peat Bog Soldiers;” a famous protest song written in 1933 by internees of a Nazi concentration camp in Lower Saxony, Germany. These prisoners were mostly political opponents of the Third Reich.

First performed at a Zircus Konzentrazani (“circus concentration camp”) at Börgermoor camp, the song has a slow simple melody, reflecting a soldier’s march, and is deliberately repetitive, echoing and telling of the daily grind of hard labour in harsh conditions.

Ironically as per Lurie’s joking implication that such a song might be ‘modernly’ set to a rock or disco beat, there was a punk-rock version by Johann Peiper on You Tube.

(7) Adherents of culturally inferior backgrounds. One of the first examples of the narrator’s mirroring the racist/dehumanist philosophy of his overlords.


(1) Trustee, aka Kapo. In the camps, a Kapo was a prisoner who had been given special privileges, and in that ravaged environment was thus able to lord it over other concentration camp inmates. (Though it is often considered as a form of ‘capo,’ the Italian for ‘head’ or ‘boss,’ the German would be ‘kopf.’)

“Kapo is the abbreviation of Kamaradischafts Politzei, roughly, ‘comrade police force.’ [He might be] a German prisoner serving a sentence for some non-political crime. A few of them tried to ease the lot of their fellow-sufferers, but most were the faithful servants of the SS.”

Ref.: “Auschwitz,” by Miklos Nyiszli, Chapter VI, p.43, translator’s footnote.

(2) Style of Bohemia. In the context of the novel’s time frame, that style would be a sort of colorful hippie-style.

(3) Rations; liberated from the kitchen. Prison argot: the camps’ Kapos to a great extent controlled prisoners’ access to food, giving them power over their life, and death.

(4) Unusual piercing action. The narrator evinces no understanding of normal sexual intercourse. ‘Aktion’ was a common Third Rechian euphemism, used to mean murder or a killing.

(5) Civilian. The narrator Bobby’s distinction between a ‘civilian,’ a term referring to those not involved in war-time activities, and the inmates of the House of Anita — who are thereby ‘at war.’

(6) Instinctive madness. The slaves’ perverse instincts tell them that so-called normal sex is wrong. No normal sex is allowed in the House of Anita.

(7) Ironclad basic rule. One must NOT clearly remember dreams upon awakening. By extension, one can never be free, unless one remembers fully. It’s the slave who can’t remember.

(8) Vaguely remembers fire-bombing in Hamburg. There was nothing vague about it. A joint British-American attack, called “Operation Gomorrah,” began between one and two AM on Sunday, July 24, 1943. 2,300 tons of bombs were dropped, which included 350,000 incendiary bombs. 15,000 people were killed and many more wounded. The Americans began their attack on Monday, July 26th, but sustained heavy losses as a result of Luftwaffe attacks. The raid was resumed on Wednesday the 28th. 722 bombers were loaded with an extra 240 tons of incendiary bombs and dropped a total of 2,313 tons of bombs in just fifty minutes.

The impact of this attack led to a firestorm, with temperatures estimated to have reached one thousand degrees Centigrade. Bomber crews reported smoke reaching 20,000 feet. Winds on the ground reached 120 mph. While not exclusively a wooden city, Hamburg did have many old wooden houses, and after a dry summer they easily burned.

Eyewitness Henry Klank: “We came out into a thundering, blazing hell. The streets were burning, the trees were burning, the tops of them were bent right down to the street. Burning horses out of the Hertz hauling business ran past us, the air was burning, simply everything was burning.” The tarmac on roads melted and anyone who had the chance of escape found they were stuck in the sticky mess.

“Again and again, we saw burning people suddenly start to run and soon after, to fall. There was no way to save them. My wife’s head began to burn. Her hair had caught fire. With the small amount of water I had in a bucket with me I was able to put out her burning hair. At the same time I cooled my hands and face. My wife complained, ‘I can’t go on. My feet are burned. My hands.’ We passed fused masses of people made up of four or five corpses, each probably a family, visible only as a pile of burned substance no larger than a small child.”

30,000 died in this raid. Goebbels called the raids “the greatest crisis of the war.” Hamburg was cordoned off for the remainder of the war; such was the unnerving impact the raids had on the Nazi hierarchy.


(9) Family’s eviction from Posen. Poles considered “racially suitable,” or “Germanizable,” as defined by the Third Reich numbered about 1.7 million Polish people — including between one and two hundred thousand Polish children who were taken away from their parents.

From the city of Posen (aka Posnan) in Reichsgau Wartheland alone, the Germans expelled 70,000 Poles to the “General Government,” an occupied area of the Second Republic of Poland, under the colonial administration of Nazi Germany from 1939 to early 1945. The Nazi government designated the territory as a separate administrative region of the Third Reich.

Together with so-called “wild expulsions,” in four years of Nazi occupation 923,000 Poles were ethnically cleansed from the territories annexed by Germany into the Reich.

Ref.: Wikipedia: Expulsion of Poles by Nazi Germany

(10) Adolf Hitler’s chosen tribe. Some ultimate irony here as the Jews, known as God’s Chosen People, were indeed chosen — by Hitler, for extermination.


(1) Shaved-out area. Embarrasses the onlooker. Starved skeleton’s skull. Stigmatic evidence of dire physical conditions shared. Deterioration from starvation; the ‘shame’ of the inmate.

“Prisoners were customarily given haircuts in which the sides of the head were shaved, and for their next haircut, the middle of their head would be shaved.”


Photo Credit: USHMM


Bobby will later describe his own head as possessing this shaved strip down the center, which is maintained throughout the entire novel.

(2) Hooked noses only with the Southern Mediterranean type. Specious racial distinction: hooked noses are usually associated with Jews.

(3) Educated in the Nordic ideal. Blood is adulterated. The narrator once again proffers pernicious racist ideology as his own.

(4) Mussolini’s chin. The physical attributes of the tyrants become permanently attached to the violence perpetrated; however ‘single-handedly’ denigrates the power he developed. Later we shall read Lurie’s descriptions of Hitler’s alleged monorchidism as connected to his vicious world-view.

“On November 1, 1922, the New York Times predicted that Mussolini’s chin would become famous for its “squareness and force.” Another report stated the man possessed “a marvellous ability to dominate.”

Ref.: “Fascist Spectacle: The Aesthetics of Power in Mussolini’s Italy” by Simonetta Falasca-Zamponi. University of Calfornia Press, 2000.

(5) Unpleasant. The editor has purposely kept in the recurring unpleasant, in contrast to his fascination with the face of Hans, an ugly face he can’t keep his eyes off of. It’s a mild word, reverberating with much more, in keeping with the studied bland tone of the narrator. Slaves can’t get angry…


(1) Stocky hands; a ruined manicure. These are the stubby hands of a worker, perhaps a woman of the lower classes, not a leisured, superior lady. A constant contradiction between her Dominant role and her degenerated condition; viz. female prison guards, powerful, yet shabby.

(2) Whole stomach is coming out. Resonant of Nazi medical experimentation. While the sexual teasing-tortures described here are standard practice in a penis-torture session with a professional Dominatrix, there are a few details, such as “I think my whole stomach is coming out,” which reflect a more seriously painful experience.

“Nazi doctors were infamous for their cruel medical experiments. Extensive sterilization and castration experiments, in which Auschwitz more or less specialized… were a direct extension of the Nazi biomedical vision. They were encouraged officially as a direct expression of racial theory and policy.

“The center for these experimental projects was the notorious Block 10, a place that could be considered quintessential Auschwitz. One woman prisoner doctor who spent a year there described how, from the first night, she gained a lasting impression of having been transferred to a ‘horror place’ that resembled both hell and a mental institution. Prisoners considered it a sinister place of mysterious evil. The Auschwitz principle: Anything is permitted. (Among the many experiments performed were) artificial insemination experiments — women prisoners were terrified of having ‘monsters’ implanted in their wombs.”

Claus Clauberg and Horst Schumman were two of the doctors in charge of sterilization experiments. Schumann was not a doctor. his appointment was political. He was an SS air-force lieutenant…

Sterilization was an important part of the biomedical vision, a ‘negative population policy’ (enacted) on ‘women unworthy of propagation.’ Their main method (of so doing) was to inject a caustic substance into the cervix of the women to block the Fallopian tubes.

“Professor Horst Schumann developed a sterilization technique via X-rays. Witnesses describe (the return of) the experimental victims with burn erythemas (red areas) around the scrotum. Schumann’s callousness was reflected in a ‘little device’ he constructed hmself, to insert into the rectum, to stimulate the prostate, and produce ejaculation, which was painful and humiliating so that the patients suffered a great deal. (There are) victims’ accounts of their sperm being collected, their prostates brutally massaged with pieces of wood inserted into the rectum; and their exposure to an operation removing one or two testicles.

“One of the male victims told of the sequence from the X-ray machine: ‘My genital organ, together with the scrotum, (placed) on a machine… the noise of a motor’ for five to eight minutes’ after which he had a ‘general ill feeling.’ (Then came) the collection of sperm, ‘Dr. Dering came with a sort of club, and put it into my rectum… Some drops came out of my member.’

“Then there were the arrangements for the (castration) operations: ‘After some minutes I saw Dr. Dering when he had my (severed) testicle in his hand. He showed it to Dr. Schumann, who was present.’

“A group of young, healthy Polish men were subjected to the X-ray castration experiment. They were probably given an unusually high dosage because ‘their genitals started slowly rotting away,’ and the men ‘often crawled on the floor in their pain.’ Ointments were tried, but the men did not improve, and after a long period of suffering they were ordered to the gas chamber.”

Redacted from: “The Nazi Doctors” by Robert Jay Lifton, Chapter 15 — The Experimental Impulse, , pages 269-302.

(3) Vaseline. Aka ‘Rod wax.” In 1859, a chemist named Chesebrough learned of a residue called “rod wax” that had to be periodically removed from oil rig pumps. Oil-workers had been using it to heal cuts and burns. Chesebrough took samples of the rod wax, extracted the usable petroleum jelly, and began manufacturing a medicinal product he called Vaseline. The word comes from the German Wasser (water) plus the Greek έλαιον (elaion) (oil), with the scientific-sounding ending -ine. “Rod wax” has since been used universally for masturbation.


(1) White tablecloth covering has identical holes. This description brings to mind an alleged practice by Hasidic Jews of engaging in intercourse through holes cut into sheets. It is a patently false fable. Allegedly a rabbi in the Middle Ages attempted to impose this as a practice, but it was rejected. The term for it in Hebrew is “Hor Basadin,” or hole in the sheet, and it lingers on as a metaphor for a mechanical, non-sensual sexuality.

Lurie is mocking the idea in this bizarre fantasy of the penis exposed and poking through a tablecloth, for the cruel or kind delectation of the female.

(2) Oranges squeezed. Penis squeezed. The fantasy of becoming food, matter to be ingested, and therefore ‘of use.’ The butter knives scraping — this image is redolent of danger, and perhaps a starvation eidolon, that is, a phantom image leftover from the experience of starvation. To hear butter being spread on toast would be in that context a form of torture.

Lurie overuses ’squeeze,’ for whatever reason; it is retained. Also kept is Lurie’s use of ‘walls,’ instead of a more commonplace ‘sides.’ To consider the penis as a sort of room, or enclosure of the self — the narrator’s penis undergoes numerous transfigurations throughout the book.

(3) How to best enjoy… contradictory flavors. Dominatrix professionals do not ordinarily engage in fellatio-related activity; not that this ritual describes normal fellatio. Here sexual organs are producers of nourishment, the Dominants use the slaves’ semen for their purposes. Inversion of sexuality — breasts usually are the sexualised organ for the feeding of others; here oddly it is the penis.

(4) Bloodying. Eating fantasies devolve to vampirism, and death. The preliminary sexual game is a mask for the real agenda, a natural progression of experimentations in the camps: death for the specimen. Anita is concerned she will go too far; ironic displacement.

(5) Switch. Left untapped. Referent to the arena of medical experimentation: Third Reichian doctors appreciated the unending supply of human material.

(6) To never permanently maim her property. This ‘duty’ employs what sounds like the safe-language of the Sado-Masochist player. The fantasies of being eaten/eating another is subverted by the necessity of the victim/submissive to not actually disappear; to be used as entertainment for another day.

(7) Chopin. Tchaikovsky. Musicians who were allowed by the Third Reich, because they were classically inspired, tonal, and of non-Jewish origin. The Nazis fabricated a genealogy that purported that Frederic Chopin was German; he was a Pole. A Nazi governor-general even had a Chopin Museum built in Krakow. Tchaikovsky was allegedly a rabid anti-Semite, however his being a Russian worked in his disfavour.


(1) Sarcophagus is derived from the Greek, sarco, flesh and phagus, to eat. The coffin ‘eats,’ dissolves, perhaps even ingests dead flesh. Jewish slaves locked inside dancing coffins for some arcane pleasure of the Masters is one of Lurie’s most ironical, awful inventions.

Unable to locate any connection between this 1960s-era computer chip and the shape of a sarcophagus.

(2) A dizziness in my head. The 1950s and 1960s new aesthetic of the advertisement, and its new ubiquity began to influence the mind-set of the population. The imagery and fantasy of advertising images began to influence, simulate and sometimes replace actual experience. This hyper-reality leads to dissociation from actual experience, and thus to an increasing poverty of the inner life.

(3) AEG. Allgemeine Elektrizitäts-Gesellschaft Aktiengesellschaft (“General Electricity Company”). Lurie’s interest in this company may be traced to the fact that AEG donated 60,000 Reichsmarks to the Nazi party, and that during World War II, an AEG factory near Riga used female slave labor. AEG were also contracted for the production of electrical equipment at Auschwitz.

AEG used slave labour from Camp No. 36, a new sub-camp of Auschwitz III called “Arbeitslager Blechhammer”. Most of these would die in 1945 during the final death marches imposed by the Nazis as they realized they were losing the war; many finally expired in Buchenwald, where Lurie was living by the war’s end.

The company, dissolved in 1996, in its heyday manufactured everything from railroad cars, airplanes, and cars to washing machines, film projectors, and mobile phones. Thus it can be called upon to manufacture the erotic-punishment sarcophagus.

Ref.: Wikipedia for AEG.

(4) For straight intercourse. On occasion the narrator admits that the Mistresses do engage in this ‘unusual piercing action.’ Unlike the implication in Chapter One, footnote #4.

(5) Butter-making. Ostensibly all activities in the sarcophagus appear to be pointed towards the sexual arousal of the servants, with the Mistresses oddly serving them. This is an inversion that gratified the writer.

(6) Impossible actions. This description of going into “a frame of mind beyond any earthly experience” parallels the oft-heralded experience known as “entering sub-space,” well-known to sexual submissives in the throes of their Dominant’s control.

Attendant upon the infliction of pain, ‘sub-space’ is induced by a sudden rush of dopamine, a hormone and neurotransmitter. It isn’t so much the pain itself that is pleasurable, but the aftermath, as the body is flooded with the endorphins which are linked to dopamine, which creates the pleasure, a very specific sort of euphoria, which enables one to feel capable carrying out actions ordinarily impossible — thus does Bobby imagine himself to be an even better servant than he really is. Stress and pain are the two most common factors leading to the release of endorphins. Endorphins interact with the opiate receptors in the brain to reduce our perception of pain.

In addition to decreased feelings of pain, secretion of endorphins leads to feelings of euphoria, modulation of appetite, release of sex hormones, and enhancement of the immune response. With high endorphin levels, we feel less pain and fewer negative effects of stress.





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Footnotes & Commentary
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