As She's Told

by Anneke Jacob

  "Garbage goes in here," he said, setting down a recycling bin, "and I'll store the rest away."

  It wasn't quite the introduction I'd expected, but he had always believed in work before pleasure. Still, the fact that I was chained to the floor had me panting. Was this what normal life was going to be like? He'd said he'd keep me on a short tether…. Gingerly I shifted to the far box and the furthest length of the chain, just to test the extent of my freedom. The solid tug of the collar against my throat was revelatory; this was no joke.

  The room was as different as possible from the dark-joisted space I'd been in before. White walls, furniture in warm, smooth wood and some bright blocks of colour in the upholstery and rugs. Uncluttered, a little bare.

  The varnished wood grain around doorways and windows glowed. Still no fireplace; apparently that mantelpiece had continued elusive. My presence felt completely anomalous, naked and chained in all that cheerful, mundane daylight. I realized that I'd been associating bondage with nighttime hours, dark shadows, drama. Not this everyday world.

  119

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  An everyday world that was out of my reach. I couldn't try the couch in my new home or even touch it to feel the texture of the upholstery. I couldn't go from room to room exploring what he'd done with the place. Instead I sorted away as instructed, shivering a little when the door opened, feeling the collar and chain and wrist cuffs with every move, while he went up and down stairs with the rest of my stuff.

  He spent some time at a big desk by the front window, fiddling with my laptop and then with the computer on his desk; he told me that he'd added my data to his hard drive, and then he put the laptop away. I saw it go with a bit of a pang. For so long it had been my gateway, the tunnel through which I'd peered at the world. But now it was just a tool, like any other. I had a different kind of interface now.

  I expected to do more unpacking once I'd done. There had been a lot of books, personal files, dishes, all that stuff. There were glimpses of things going by: a coat going into the closet, my one good pot, a few toiletries. He set up my bookcase and rapidly filled it, organizing it according to his own methods without consulting me. My files went into his drawer. Then he sat down on the couch and emptied out my knapsack, which I'd used as both briefcase and purse all through school. Wordlessly he handed me the papers remaining in there from my last few weeks, and I filed them. Anders sorted through a mess of pens, notebooks, scraps, tampons, hairbrush, wallet, chequebook. I watched him go through the last two in detail. He took the money and debit card from my wallet, and set them aside.

  "Here's how the money is going to go," he said. "We'll arrange for your paycheque to go into an account by itself, a joint one that will need both our signatures. What money you have now will go into it, too. You won't need it.

  I can look after you on my own income for now. If at some point you decide to leave, the money will be there for you. If you stay, after a year we'll switch it over to my account. Clear?"

  I hadn't even thought about money. Provider of power, instrument of autonomy and mobility. He was right. I nodded.

  "You don't need to carry cash any more. Or a debit card. I'll give you tokens for the streetcar when you start work on Monday." This was a startling and scary idea. No cash at all? Not even a couple of bucks for coffee? But I hardly ever drank coffee. Lunch, then? But I was going to be coming home for lunch. Hell, what about a couple of quarters for an 120

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  emergency phone call? But of course I had my cellphone….

  Anders quickly disposed of the piles on the couch and floor: filing cabinet, back porch, basement. Then he stood and looked down at me, a little smile playing over his lips. "Well, little girl, good." He unlocked the chain from the floor, wrapped some of it around his wrist and sat down. "Come here." I knelt up in front of him, and at his direction put my hands behind my neck. He examined me for several minutes, weighing my breasts in his hands, stroking my belly and pubic hair. He opened my mouth and turned my head this way and that, apparently to examine my teeth.

  "Turn around. Hands and knees." I obeyed. "Lift your ass to me. Legs wide. That's better." He squeezed my rump, pinched my cunt lips, fingered my asshole. Was there anything he was discovering that he didn't already know? A little yank on my collar, clink of metal on metal. My body turned toward the pull; he stopped me halfway, sat back with the chain in his hand to examine me from the side. I stared in front of me, feeling like a prize dog in front of the judges. A prize dog that couldn't stop panting.

  A hand stroked my hair, stroked down my back and legs, and I sighed with pleasure. "Stay." I stayed.

  Then he was back, taking the chain up short and signalling me up. I started to obey, but the slash of a whip on my thigh made me fall forward again with a whimper. The chain yanked harder on my throat. "Up! You don't stop obeying me when I hit you. More gracefully this time." I was halfway up when the whip landed again. This time I kept moving. When I was upright, my head tipped back to accommodate the tight chain, he said,

  "You're going to learn to display your body better when you move. Back down, let's try again."

  I tried to move more carefully, but got another flick of the whip on the way down and one more on the way back up. "Slower," he said. "Head up." I tried again, keeping my weight over my centre of gravity so I wouldn't shift from side to side. "Better," he said. The whip stung the underside of my breasts and I cried out. "Tits out." I arched my back. This went on for a while, till I was sweating and on the verge of tears. I did improve enough to be spared the whip on the last couple of attempts. But then he had me precede him up the stairs, and corrected my walking as we went.

  I'd been in his bedroom and bathroom upstairs; the other two bedrooms I'd viewed only in passing, weeks ago. The one at the back, which had been 121

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  full of lumber and a table saw, was finished now and full of light, like the rest of the house, if somewhat bare. There was a rather nice, thick Indian rug over most of the floor, a deep chest of drawers, a wooden chair and a large mirror on a stand. A wooden beam ran the length of the room, suspended a couple of feet below the ceiling on metal rods; it carried a few track lights. It looked innocuous enough until Anders positioned me beneath it, linked my wrist cuffs with another chain and fastened my hands just above my head.

  Glancing up, I saw the hook recessed into the beam. Come to think of it, there had been a similar beam in the living room.

  My belly was trembling worse than ever. I tried an experimental tug; nothing gave. The beam might as well have been set in concrete. The cuffs'

  padding gave only so much and no further.

  Anders took a ring of keys from his pocket. "Time for this to go," he said, and unlocked the little padlock at my waist. I opened my eyes in surprise and a vague sense of loss; I'd invested a lot in that chain in the way of emotion and symbolism. It had been something to hang on to in my lonely bed. I'm going to let you sleep in my bed for now if you're good. I guessed I didn't need it anymore. I hoped.

  I watched in the mirror as he came up behind me, something black in his hands. "Black leather, just as genetically determined," he murmured as he opened the thing up and passed it around my middle. A corset, strong and stiff. An enveloping smell of leather. He fiddled to get it sitting right, kissed my shoulder while he was at it. "You have a gorgeous little body. Just right for a very –" tugging "– tiny waist." Unlike the waist cincher he'd made me wear before, which had covered only six inches or so, this went from just below my breasts to just over my hips. The lower edge followed my belly down almost to my pubis, and curved up to cradle the underside of each breast. Anders began to pull on the laces, tightening in a steady rhythm toward the small of my back until my breath was huffing out of me at every pull. Then he looked at me carefully, and measured my waist with his hands.

  "Nope, not enough." He started again. I began to whimper as the air
was forced from my lungs.

  "Well?" he said when he'd tied it off.

  "I can hardly breathe," I whispered.

  "Does anything hurt?"

  I explored myself internally. "No."

  122

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  "Are you feeling faint?"

  "No."

  He felt between my legs and laughed, forced his wet fingers into my mouth. I sucked them avidly. "You'll get used to it," he said. "And then I'll make it tighter." He fiddled around some more behind me. "You'll be wearing this a fair amount, I think," he said conversationally. "And there might be times you'd rather have it off. So we'll just make sure there's no tampering." There were those ubiquitous clicks again – a ratcheting sound this time. I looked over my shoulder but couldn't see the mechanism, or whatever it was. "This covers the knot, little one," he murmured. "You're not going to be able to untie it." More tugs and more clicks at top and at bottom.

  He turned my back to the mirror. "See?" I couldn't twist much, but I could just see that there were three straps going into something metallic at top, middle and bottom, the middle strap indeed covering the knot; there was no sign of it.

  Between the straps I could see that the corset had some space to go before it would be completely closed. I felt so utterly compressed that I couldn't believe he thought it could be any tighter.

  His hand ran over my ass. "You'll notice that it's good and high in back.

  I wouldn't want you to think that you had any protection there." He unfastened my wrists and had me walk around him in a circle at the end of a longish chain. The sensation was strange and wonderful; I felt terribly hampered and restricted, and yet my arms and legs were free. I walked around him feeling like an inadequately-schooled circus horse, or like that show dog again: a prize poodle tricked out with ruffs and collar.

  After two circuits Anders locked my hands behind my back and had me continue. I was afraid he'd pick up the whip again, I was walking so awkwardly, but apparently he was letting me get the feel of the thing. Each step was an experiment in how to move, with so much of me immobilized.

  Then he drew me in by the chain and held and squeezed my breasts above the corset. "God, you're beautiful," he said feelingly. "Look at yourself." He turned me around to the mirror and held me against him. I saw a creature with an incredible, sexy hourglass figure, the waist ridiculously small. My hips, never very big, now looked downright womanly in contrast.

  I glanced higher at the face above mine, the intent agate gaze, looked at the broad shoulders and the long hands on my breasts, and felt weak at the 123

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  knees.

  Fingers slipped into my nipple rings and tugged, pulling and turning them gently. My breathing grew even more ragged. "I think these are ready for me," Anders said. He'd been toughening them up gradually for several weeks on his visits, and making me do so also. It seemed to be effective, because I felt no worry when he pulled on them, only more lust. I watched, slightly alarmed, as he pried open the rings and slid them gently from their holes. I'd never had them out; I hadn't opened them at all since they'd gone in. He opened a little box and took out two shiny new bits of hardware, curved on one side, thick and straight on the other. I thought for a second that they were barbells with loops, but it was the curved parts that went through my nipples; the straight bars swivelled and pushed into place over the ends, like tiny attenuated padlocks. Anders located a miniscule screwdriver hanging from his key ring and inserted it deep into the side of each one. "These have specially shaped screws holding them closed," he said. "This tool is designed for them. They won't come off without it." He kissed me and put the keys back in his pocket. Then he slipped a finger through each ring and smiled; they were an exact fit.

  He went back to the chest of drawers and drew out a decorative little chain, with two small locks at either end. This he fastened in a lovely curve between the rings. The weight tipped me deeper; I groaned. He made me walk some more at the end of the chain, and then he released my hands and made me crawl. And this time he did use the whip. His voice husked, "You'll have to learn to crawl better than that."

  The next thing I knew he was behind me, a tight grip on the chain holding me still. Then he was sliding into me, huge, and I gasped, and tried not to howl, and bit my lip, hoping he'd let me come. Guessing he wouldn't, from the slow, deliberate way he was moving: a diver in no hurry. I felt held down all right, by the chain and corset, and by every swing of the chain off my new hardware. But he was leaving my clit alone. I would have been breathing deep and hard by now, but had to go high and shallow because that's all there was room for. Every breath against bondage…it was too much, not enough…. More, a little more…. The hands on my hips tightened their grip and he dove deeper into me, and came hard. And held me still.

  Twenty seconds more and I would have come. When he withdrew I could hear my whimpering, wordless voice.

  124

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  I looked up through my miasma, to the tall figure now sitting in a chair, the line of chain running between us. Felt the tug drawing me to him, put my head in his lap. A big hand settled on my head and rested there; a still, heavy hand weighted with calm and repletion.

  My own unstill hand wanted to sidle down and slide one finger over my neglected, slippery clit…. No. I didn't want to imagine the consequences.

  ***

  Anders rested, his eyes half closed. He was still resonating, like a dozen instruments all finely tuned. It was an experience akin to that in the unfinished kitchen weeks ago: a moment of wholeness, unity, profound content.

  He kept still and let this strange music pervade and occupy him, play in all his corners. All thought suspended, Anders occupied his body, and took in the texture of the dark head on his lap.

  Not for long, though. Soon his analytical brain chimed in with some irony, noting that his most joyful moments occurred when he had just had an orgasm and left his slave on the edge and suffering.

  He'd barely begun. He had created the setting for his exquisite little bonsai girl, and was just beginning the fine work involved in bending and shaping her according to his own aesthetic, honing and refining and nurturing so that she could flourish. So much more to do, so much to look forward to.

  Anders brushed the thick hair aside so that he could rest his hand on the nape of her neck. That familiar, vibrant stalk now locked in metal, just as it should be. The slender wrist, too, resting on his knee in its shiny new cuff.

  He felt more pleasure, in a good, well executed piece of design. The setting, the binding, had to be just right, just like his bonsai wires. A locksmith friend with metalworking skills had produced the cuffs, collaborating with Anders on the design, including the integrated snap locks. The idea was efficiency and fewer little padlocks. Less fiddly. And too much hardware hanging off her would spoil her pretty lines.

  He took a deeper breath, roused, looked at his watch. Picked up chain and whip, and headed downstairs, aware of Maia's still tentative gait. In the kitchen, with shafts of late afternoon sun lighting up her skin, he drew her along from cupboard to cupboard, showing her where everything was kept, how the appliances worked and how to make coffee. Her lip trembled a 125

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  little. "Master?”

  “Yes?”

  “You – you know what I'm like in the kitchen – "

  His eyes twinkled. The girl had a history of woeful incompetence when it came to food preparation, and giving her a recipe only made her worse.

  "Oh, yes. Never fear, I'm still cooking. It's our good luck that I happen to like it. But you'll be doing the boring prep. Scrubbing vegetables and so on.

  Cleaning up after me, washing pots, scrubbing the floor. And I'm pretty sure you can manage a coffee maker."

  She looked relieved. Anders doubted she'd feel that way when she learned his standards regarding the cleanliness of vegetables and
floors. He drew her down to her knees and made her crawl around the kitchen, looking into low cupboards: onion bins, large pots, roasting pans. Maia knelt shivering at the fridge, trying to identify large lumpy root vegetables, the nipple chain clanging against the bottom bin.

  "That's celeriac," he told her.

  "Okay," she said doubtfully, rolling the hairy thing back into place.

  He had her put her head under the sink and tell him the names of all the cleaning products she found there. Standing back, he observed her vulva on display, dark and swollen. Poor baby. He smiled.

  After a complete circuit he took off the chain leash and sprung a surprise quiz on her, naming items and watching as she scurried or crawled to locate them, giving her a moderate smack of the whip whenever she made a mistake or hesitated too long. She gave a little shriek at one that caught the inside of her thigh.

  "Please!" she cried.

  "Whole wheat flour," he repeated.

  Maia turned frantically from one cupboard to another, cried out at another blow. "I don't remember! I'm sorry, master. Ow!" She tried to evade the next blow by twisting out of its path.

  In half a second he had her face down over the table with her arm up behind her back.

  "You do not try to run away from me," he growled low in his throat.

  "Not. Ever." He whipped her ass in earnest now, and she blubbered apologies, legs kicking helplessly. After the last blow he held her in place, and bent his head to her ear. "Let's get this straight, girl," his voice quiet and 126

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  hard. "Let's just be sure we're clear. Who owns this?" He took a handful of striped ass flesh and squeezed hard.

  She wailed at the fresh pain. "You do, master…"

  "Do you get to decide what happens to it?"

  "No, master."

  "Is it up to you how much punishment you'll take?"

  "No, master."

  "Just how much punishment do you have to take?"

  "Whatever punishment you want to give me, master."