In Helen’s Hands

by Nanisi Barrett D'Arnuk

  “Five months?”

  “Yes. Slaves aren’t allowed to talk to anyone outside the house until they prove their worth. I hope I get approved soon. I’d love to call my friend Pam. She’s gotta be wondering how I am.” She waited while I picked up my pile of clothes, then led the way though the hallway and up a flight of stairs. We stopped at a room on the third floor. “This is where the girls stay. You’ll share it with me and Sharon.” She pointed to one of three mats on the floor. “You can have that one.” Other than the mats and three footlockers, there was nothing else in the room, including a door. Even the door to the adjoining bathroom had been removed.

  “Well, this place certainly won’t get a four-star rating,” I joked.

  Julie chuckled. “Oh, Master makes sure we have everything we need. Put your stuff down. Robert’s waiting.”

  I placed my clothes in the locker and followed her downstairs. Robert waited for us in an office. He sat behind a large desk that made him look small, but when he stood, I was amazed at his height. He must have been six foot four or five.

  He dismissed Julie and turned to me. “You’re Helen’s boy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After a moment’s consideration he said, “Sir is the Master. I’m just Robert. I don’t think you’ll get us confused.”

  “No, sir…er…Robert.”

  He laughed. “Well, I guess you’d better sit down.” There wasn’t a chair. That made Robert laugh even harder. “On the floor. Trainees aren’t allowed furniture. Didn’t your mistress tell you that?”

  “I must have missed that.” I sighed as I sank to the floor.

  “Well, what else did you miss?” he said, sitting back down. He pulled out a folder and wrote my name across the top. “I see you’re not shaved. Doesn’t your mistress want that?”

  Shaved? I hadn’t shaved my legs in months. I must have looked bewildered because Robert wrote a few things into the file.

  “We’ll take care of that,” he said looking back at the folder. “Mistress Helen says you’re a masochist?”

  I thought for a moment, then nodded. “I guess I am. There are times I crave the pain.”

  Robert nodded and smiled. “Sounds like it.” He started a long list of questions about what I had or hadn’t been taught. By the end of the afternoon, I was drained, but I didn’t have time to stop. I observed how dinner was served that night. I’d have to start serving tomorrow. Only Master Lawrence and Robert ate dinner at the table. The rest of us had to wait until the table was cleared, and Master had retired for the night.

  As I was drying the dishes, I got a summons to report to the dungeon downstairs. I was to bring one of the girls. I raised my eyebrows at Julie.

  “I’ll go,” Sharon offered. “It’ll be nice to get my hands out of dishwater.”

  So off we went, not knowing what to expect.

  “Lie here,” Robert said, indicating a table.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

  He laughed. “No, my dear, not yet. But we have to take care of that hair on your body.”

  My hand went to my crotch. He laid a dish of soap and what looked to me like a very large razor on the table next to the bench. “Never been shaved before?” he asked as he pointed to the medical table.

  I hoisted myself onto the padded platform. “No. Mistress never mentioned it.”

  “Well, I guess some women like their boys furry, but it will not do around here.”

  I sighed and laid back. What would Helen say when I came back shorn? Well, I’d find out.

  “This looks like quite a job. But I think we can get it taken care of tonight,” he said as he handed the soap to Sharon. “No hair except on your head. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered. “Er…yes, Robert.”

  “Don’t go moving around, or one of us might get unlucky.” He handed Sharon a second razor and began to lather me.

  It took a good hour to get me shaved: armpits, legs, and pubis. Then I had a nice soapy bath. Sharon was with me for every move. I guessed she knew what a traumatic night this was. She hugged me and helped me dry off, and we washed and put Robert’s equipment back in its case.

  “Was that as terrible as you thought it’d be?” she asked when he left.

  “No, I guess not,” I answered. “But…what happens when it starts to grow back?”

  She laughed. “You’ll have to keep it shaved, or you won’t be able to sit still it’ll itch so much.”

  “Every day?”

  “You’ll get used to it. It’ll be like brushing your teeth.”

  I was glad she was so confident. I sure wasn’t. When I got back upstairs, I fell on my mat and didn’t wake until the girls shook me in the morning.

  * * *

  During my time there, I was lowest in status and took instruction from everyone, although Robert told me we were all equal. Except him. He had the same aura Lawrence did, and I had very little interaction with the Master. Robert took my training in hand. When he wasn’t showing me something or explaining some aspect of the lifestyle, I had little time to myself. I served at the meals and was on hand if Master Lawrence or Robert needed something.

  The others were friendly and warm, welcoming me like a member of the family. I could escape into a special safe room where the girls and boys could relax between sessions or when I had a time out. There wasn’t any furniture, but it didn’t seem necessary. At least we weren’t afraid we’d bump into Master or Robert when we went about the house on an errand.

  I witnessed many things that made Helen’s dungeon seem like kindergarten, making me glad I was Helen’s and not Lawrence’s, but some things intrigued me, and I made mental notes to ask Helen. Lawrence and Robert were much more sadistic, and the sessions the other boys and girls had to bear seemed much more intense than I could tolerate, but then, I never knew until I tried. I would never imagine surviving some of those tortures when I was living in Boston.

  The one thing that made my heart pump faster was when I witnessed Master Lawrence’s fire play. Carl, Master Lawrence’s third boy, was chained to the wall, already prepared for the session. I watched sweat run down his body as Master stepped up in front of him. He drew designs on Carl’s chest with alcohol. Before the designs dried, he lit them on fire. In the dim light, the flames were bright as they ate through the designs. One quick flash, and they were gone.

  Carl’s eyes rolled back, and I saw him slipping into that zone where pain and terror didn’t matter. As it continued, I could see how turned-on he was getting. Part of me wanted to be him. As the flames ate through the alcohol, Carl’s masochistic desires were being devoured, too. The flame didn’t linger and didn’t burn, but the scene was so hot, I’d have to ask Helen to flame me, and I’d light up the city.

  On the day I’d return to Helen’s, Robert called me into the office. “What have you learned this week?” he asked as I sank to my knees.

  I had to think about it. “Where to stand in reference to mistresses and masters. How to pour wine. And if anyone has a formal dinner, I know where to put all the forks and spoons.”

  He nodded. “Did you enjoy your week?”

  “Most of it.”

  “You’ll have more of a chance next week. I gather you’ll be with us for another several lessons. Your mistress arrives home at five today. Hurry home and get ready. You want to be clean and fresh. I’ll see you next week.”

  “Certainly, Robert.”

  I learned so much in the short times I was there: a myriad of ways to serve my mistress well. From then on, I didn’t always enjoy staying at Master Lawrence’s house. I had to spend most of the time on my knees, and they began to look bruised, and I was only allowed to join the other subs in the safe room twice a day.

  I’d gotten over any embarrassment about my nakedness, though, and I enjoyed the look on Helen’s face when I showed off my knowledge. She seemed impressed when I set the perfect table for her dinner. And I enjoyed the look in her eyes when I first appeared
shorn. She demanded a full inspection and seemed happy I was dealing with it so well, making her proud, and that pleased my heart most of all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  As I answered the phone one day, a very husky voice asked for Helen. I recognized it, but the name, the face, escaped me. “May I tell her who’s calling?”

  Then came the laugh I’d heard a hundred times on her recordings. “It’s Roz.”

  Of course, Rozalyn Maxwell, one of the greatest jazz vocalists in decades. I turned to Helen, who sat at her desk going over some of the manuscript. I mouthed, “Roz.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” she said, holding out her hand for the phone. “Sir Roz! How was your tour?” Helen’s voice fell into the sexy timbre she only used upstairs.

  Helen and Rozalyn? Friends, yes. But more? As Helen caressed the phone, I realized I was jealous. Helen kept her voice low, whispering in a sultry manner. I went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. When I returned, Helen was hanging up the phone.

  Her eyes lingered on the receiver, then up at me, a strange look on her face. “Roz is coming over tonight…for a drink,” she said, accepting the glass of carrot-celery juice. She sat back pensively as she took a sip. “I haven’t seen her in months.”

  I waited; this was obviously going to be an intimate reunion. “Should I…be out?”

  Helen looked at me thoughtfully, then shook her head. “Oh no. You’ll enjoy her.” I couldn’t make out the look in her eyes, but I had a feeling that enjoy was not the word she wanted to use. I started to go back to work.

  “Hold on a minute.” She sat forward. “Let’s talk. Sit down.”

  I sat on the floor, sipping my coffee.

  “Roz is…well, you know that’s Rozalyn Maxwell.”

  “I recognized the voice.”

  Helen smiled. “Well, Roz is an old friend. We go back a long way. I want you to know how to behave when she’s here. You don’t want to offend her.”

  “Why would I offend her?”

  Helen paused. “Roz is a very…uh, special person. In public, she’s a marvelous singer and one of the premier divas in the world.” She took a breath. She had an odd smile that I couldn’t translate. “However, in private, among her friends, she’s known as Master Roz, a title she takes very seriously. She’s much butcher, more masculine, in private than you’ll ever see on stage. Refer to her only as sir. Don’t make the mistake of calling her ma’am; she detests that. Do you understand?”

  “Definitely.” I took a deep breath.

  Helen sat back and reached for one of her Shermans. I took the lighter from the table and held the flame out to her. “Tonight, dear Little Butch,” she said with a grin, “you must be the most attentive, doting little submissive in the world. It’s important to me. Roz will be so jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Roz and I have had a long-running feud over who has had the best submissive.” She winked. “You’re definitely in the running, so tonight is mine.” She sat back, taking a long drag and smiling.

  “Is there anything special you want me to do?” I wasn’t sure where this was going.

  She thought for a moment. “Yes.” She looked at her watch. “Go and shower. Then meet me upstairs. I’ve something I want you to wear.” She picked up the manuscript and made some quick notes as I left.

  Freshly washed and naked, I waited in the dungeon. Helen entered a few minutes later. She had a white bag under her arm. “I was going to wait to give you this when Lawrence said you’ve earned it. He thinks you’re pretty close, but I think tonight’s a much better time.” She opened the bag and took out a pile of black leather. “I hope these fit.” She handed me a pair of soft, black leather shorts. I looked around for underwear. “No underwear,” she ordered.

  Not believing my eyes, I stepped into the pants and zipped them up. They fit like a soft, buttery glove. The leather hugged my hips, leaving my midriff bear, then stretched tightly across my stomach and ass.

  “Perfect. Now this.” It was a short black vest. It, too, fit me perfectly, coming just below my breasts. “Turn.” I turned slowly, modeling the outfit. She studied me. Then she looked deeply into my eyes. “Are you devoted to me?”

  “Of course. How can you ask?” I felt afraid. “Haven’t I pleased you?”

  Helen ran a hand through my hair. I leaned into her touch, eyes closed, waiting. “You’ve pleased me a great deal. I just wanted to be sure.” She reached into the bottom of the bag. “Kneel.”

  I sank to my knees, feeling the leather around my ass object to bending but aware that this was something special.

  She unbuckled the collar I always wore. “You already know most of your trappings, but I want you to be aware of the significance of what I’m giving you now. The old pieces of leather you’ve been wearing were just beginners’ leathers. It’s time you wore leathers that showed what you’ve learned. The old collar is just a token, a training collar, a constant reminder of your place here. This collar, a black leather collar, signifies that you’ve been trained as my boy, that you’ve learned how to be mine. I don’t collar my submissives lightly. This is a form of commitment. It says I’ll protect you, and you’ll serve me. Do you agree to that?”

  I nodded. She held the collar out.

  “Kiss this and thank it for making you mine,” she whispered.

  I ran my lips over the smooth surface. As I kissed each inch of the collar, caressing it, tears welled in my eyes. I mumbled my thanks, both to the collar and to the heavens.

  She placed the black collar around my neck and buckled it, making sure it was tight but loose enough not to restrict my breathing. She held out a small gold lock. “I have seldom locked a collar. Even Neisy wasn’t locked, although she’d sworn to be my slave, but I want you to know how seriously I consider our relationship as Mistress-owned.” She inserted it into the buckle of my collar. “You belong to me now. Is that what you wish?”

  “Yes, I belong to you. I’ve always belonged to you.” My heart felt like it was swelling many times its size. Yes, I belonged to her. I was owned. I was complete.

  I was used to feeling a collar, but this was different. The stiff, cool leather was a new feeling, not uncomfortable. It would be a constant reminder of my devotion to Helen.

  She took my hand and led me to the mirror. “What do you think?”

  The look shocked me. I’d never seen myself in such a skimpy outfit before, except at the beach. Black leather and flesh. My arms and shoulders bare, as well as my midriff. And then the black strip of leather around my neck and the small gold lock. As I turned to view myself, I spotted part of a red welt across my rear.

  “It’s…incredible,” was all I could utter.

  Helen fingered the collar. “You’ll only take this off to bathe. Or if we have company where it’s inappropriate or if we have to go outside.”

  I stared at myself. I belonged to Helen Robins. I’d just devoted my life to her. Tears escaped my eyes.

  She hugged me from behind. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered as she placed a light kiss on my neck.

  The moment stretched.

  “Now,” she said, breaking the mood, “You need to know how to fix a drink for Roz. And I have to get ready.” She squeezed my shoulders and led me downstairs.

  * * *

  The phone rang at 9:00, Will the doorman. “Miss Maxwell is on her way up.”

  My stomach was doing jumping jacks. I straightened my leather and adjusted the collar as the doorbell rang. When opening the door, I bowed as Robert had instructed. “Welcome, sir,” I murmured, knowing better than to look her in the face.

  She handed me her coat and fedora, then strode into the living room as I closed the door. I hung her coat in the hall closet and set her hat on the table.

  I could see leather trousers and heavy black shoes as she passed. They stopped, then turned. She grasped my chin and tilted my head up. I averted my eyes as she turned my face from side to side as if I was livestock for sale. I almost expected her
to check my teeth.

  Her touch was rougher than Helen’s. “So, you’re Helen’s new boy, eh?” She laughed. “Not bad. A lot better than the last one.” She focused on my collar. I showed it off proudly.

  “He’s not for sale.” Helen’s voice boomed from the staircase as she made her grand entrance. She was dressed in the blue silk dressing gown that shimmered in the light.

  Roz waited at the foot of the stairs as she descended. Helen held her hands out; Roz took them and placed kisses in both palms.

  “Always the gentleman.” Helen smiled as she drew Roz into a warm embrace. “It is so good to see you.” She led her to the couch.

  As instructed, I opened the bar and poured two shots of Kentucky bourbon over ice, then a single shot of vodka over ice and added a little tonic water and a twist of lemon. I offered the bourbon to Roz.

  “Ladies first, boy,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I murmured.

  Apologetically, I offered the vodka to Helen. “I beg your forgiveness, ma’am.” Helen took her glass and nodded before Roz took her drink from the tray. Then I sank down on the floor next to Helen’s feet as they continued their conversation.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as they ignored me and started talking about Roz’s tour of Japan and Hong Kong. Surreptitiously, I tried to observe. Roz was nothing like I’d expected. Her close-cropped hair was the same as the pictures on her albums, heavy doses of gray through the black, short and neatly slicked back. But her attire was different. Heavy black men’s shoes replaced the gold pumps she wore in concert, and the black leather blazer over a starched white shirt was nothing like the beads and sequins of her stage persona. Master Roz was the complete opposite of Diva Rozalyn. As she sat back, her foot crossed lazily across her knee, she still exuded the regality I expected. I was having a hard time reconciling this butch dyke with the queen of jazz who floored audiences wherever she went.

  I watched Helen, aware of each gesture, ready to grab the lighter when she reached for a Sherman. As Roz finished her drink, I jumped to my feet, took the glass, and refilled it. Helen refused a second refill. As they talked, Helen seemed softer, flirting, a side of her I hadn’t seen before. It was a little confusing.