by Anneke Jacob
The early period had been dominated by arousal. Then beatings, pain and the loneliness on my side of the door. But gradually I'd drifted and detached, begun to visualize myself as two distinct types of matter: The part of me that he wanted to use, or play with, or hurt, and the unimportant remainder. That portion was on hold until called for. If he had no use for my parts, they would be stored away out of sight until he did. It was a lesson in 166
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objectification that I'd been left to soak in, like a piece of meat in one of his marinades.
Each afternoon spent chained and waiting was a similar lesson, of course. And the harness that sectioned me off. I really got it now.
The car reached my stop and I got out, raising the umbrella that my master had kindly handed me when I left the house. There was a rumble of thunder somewhere over the lake. My steps were measured, despite the rain; there were people hurrying past me. This was going to be hard, and strange.
Part of me hadn't left the house. Part of me was still safely on a chain. All at once the harness wasn't enough; I wanted to be back where I belonged. Why did he want me out of the house and working? I didn't belong out here. The pretence suddenly seemed too much. But the phone was ringing when I got through the door, and my helpful, professional voice turned on like a switch.
The junior high kids got there and kept me so busy it was noon before I noticed the time. I even managed a stern voice when I found a couple of them messing with the photocopier. Of course they were undismayed, but that was more about their age than my stature as an authority figure. I swapped internet resources with their teacher and chatted about the development of the teenaged social conscience. She took me for a normal human being, and for all intents and purposes, I seemed to inhabit the role without much difficulty. On the way home, it occurred to me to wonder whether I'd be able to take such constant subjection at home if I didn't have some kind of life and a modicum of autonomy somewhere else. Maybe, maybe not. All part of my master's master plan? Probably.
I thought ahead to the weekend; two entire days in his company without a break, and bit my lip to stifle any sounds that might escape. Deep in the convolutions of my fervid brain, hands, mouths, genitals made contact, one set bound, the other free. I hoped intensely that he'd let me come. I hadn't come the night before, had really been beyond it by the end of the night.
Although he hadn't been hanging me out on the edge before work, he'd been teasing me increasingly at home. My forbidden pelvic activity of the night before, shameful as it was, had been almost unconscious. One of these days I was going to come in my sleep, or get caught in the act; it was increasingly hard to get my mind out of my crotch. Bad girl! I heard at the back of my mind, and my heart began to race. Sooner or later I was afraid I was going to be a very bad girl indeed.
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Chapter Twelve
Into The Adagio
Anders was reading the Sunday paper after breakfast with Maia as his footstool when the doorbell rang. "Sit up," he said. She sat back on her heels. The person he expected was on his doorstep, spiked white hair, seven facial piercings, equipment in hand. "Hi, Zoë. Come in," he said. "I really appreciate this."
"No problem. Scenes a speciality." She caught sight of the naked woman and grinned. "Oh, yeah. This is what I like; no formalities, no delays." Maia was wearing collar and cuffs, the wrists linked in front, and a very tight waist cincher in black leather, but nothing else. She had also flushed her brightest red. Anders took her by the leash and led her toward their guest. "I've got things set up upstairs. Do you want anything before we start?”
“Nah, I'm fine. Nice place."
"Thanks. Go ahead." He ignored his slave's questioning and terrified looks, and followed Zoë, leash in hand. "The door at the end of the hall."
He'd raised an old exercise bench to waist height and placed it in the middle of the room, with a few modifications and a small table on one side for equipment. "Will this work?"
"Yeah, this is good." Zoë put her bag down by the table, shook out a folded white cloth and began to lay things out. Anders drew his slave forward by the collar and watched her face as she took in the packages of what appeared to be medical paraphernalia.
Zoë drew paper and a pen out of her case and glanced at Maia, then back at Anders. "She still has to sign the consent; I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
"I know. Here, girl." He put the page on the bench in front of her, but thought it unlikely she was taking it in. Her hands were cold and her eyes weren't moving. No matter. She looked up into his face, and he nodded toward the pen. She picked it up, twisted her wrists around until she'd found a way to hold the pen effectively, and signed.
Anders took out a ball gag, one with plenty of holes in the hollow ball, and held it up as Zoë came back from washing her hands. "Do you mind if I 169
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gag her?"
The woman looked doubtful for a minute, and then shrugged. "Oh, well.
Why not?"
Maia opened her mouth, not quite wide enough; he had to hold the back of her neck and shove the ball in with his thumb, murmuring, "Come on, girl." She was shaking. He lifted her onto the table and locked her wrists to the bar behind her head. Then he fastened her ankles to the weight rack, high on either side. As good as stirrups. The waist cincher had rings, which he used to strap her down. "I'll get her shaved while you finish setting up."
The whole process took a while: three 10-gauge holes through each labia majora, widely spaced. The piercer consulted with Anders on placement, and was very good; she hardly spoke to the bound creature on the table except to tell her when to take a deep breath. Maia let out some sharp yelps, and panted through a couple of piercings and ring insertions; evidently some hurt more than others. She hardly bled at all.
But when Zoë stood over the gagged face and began examining the septum, Anders could see the whites all round the girl's eyes; she was panic-stricken. Anders stroked her hair and said, "Relax. I'm not making you go to work with a nose ring. Not that kind. We're using a retainer. It's going to be hidden." Zoë showed her the U-shaped piece, and some of Maia's colour returned, though she lost it again when the needle went through.
When that was done, Anders brought Zoë a drink and they cleaned up and talked about aftercare, Maia still on the table.
She examined Maia's nipple rings. "These kind of lock, don't they? I've seen them before.”
“Yes." Anders showed her the little tool on his key ring that opened them, and she fit it into one of the locks as an experiment before she gave it back. "What are you going to do with the labia piercings, can I ask?"
"I'm going to lock up her cunt."
"Cool!" She glanced at Maia's face. "And I take it she didn't know that until this minute."
"Nope."
"I also take it she's got no choice about it."
"None at all. But don't worry. It will make her very, very horny. Won't it, little girl?" Maia groaned, a bleat of distress and frustration that made them both laugh.
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***
"Are you really going to – lock me – like you said?"
"Yes. After they heal, of course; you heard Zoë. A couple of months, probably."
She was kneeling with her head against his thigh. He'd already put her in a warm salty bath. She'd been on a lead on her hands and knees for an hour since Zoë had left; he figured it was easier to keep her legs apart that way.
Anders ran gentle fingers down the muscles of her back and shoulders, feeling for the tension and anxiety that sometimes gathered there. He found some, but not the frozen feel of panic, or even the hard lines of real fear. Her small, warm movements suggested curiosity, like a dog held back by the command to sit, but watching for permission to investigate. She glanced
up at him. "Locked – with, like, padlocks?"
"Mm. You'll see when the time comes." He smoothed her hair. "I wanted to get the punishment for the nipple rings out of the way first, you see. Before the next set."
"I thought you'd forgotten that."
"No."
"And – it's so weird to have no hair, master – are you going to keep me shaved?"
"Yes, I think so. Maybe a little bit in front. I'll play around with it and see.”
“She said, she said no sex for two weeks…."
"No penetrative sex. And I think to be on the safe side we won't touch that area at all for that time. Apart from looking after your new holes. We don't want any infections." Anders stroked her head and smiled; she was whimpering again. Another plea from the null side of the power differential.
How he loved that sound! Wordless, needy; the language of abjection. In that one little plaint, the distilled quintessence of helplessness. He could close his eyes and bask in that music, were it not for the straining erection it gave him.
"Fortunately your cocksucking skills are improving, so there's no problem.”
“Yes, master, thank you," she murmured submissively into his leg.
"And as we're on the subject – " He unzipped. Her throat opened now 171
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with barely a hesitation, though tears trickled by the time he finished; a physiological reaction on her part rather than an emotional one. He sat back and basked for a few minutes, his slave's head back on his thigh.
"Master – " She looked up at him.
"What, girl?"
"It's going to be so hard – not coming. I'm – I'm thinking about it all the time already." She whispered, "I can't help it."
He stroked the hair back from her face. "I know. You have no idea how gorgeous you are when you're all hot and wet."
"But – master – "
He lowered his brows and slowly shook his head at her. "Aren't you learning anything, girl? What just happened this morning?"
She looked down. "I got – you had me – pierced." She took a deep breath, let it out. "And I guess you – laid claim?"
He was amused. "So to speak. Not that I haven't been perfectly clear on that; I hope you haven't forgotten."
She shook her head.
"I thought you understood the other night. Try to get it through your head." He took a handful of dark hair in his fist, and centred her face beneath his gaze. "You have the nerves and synapses that connect that pretty body to its brain. A sense of ownership because of that, naturally. But get over it.
This property is mine." He gave her head a little shake. "I own the body, and the nerves, and the brain, too. So I decide what the feelings will be." He clenched his fist a little tighter. "I'll make you feel whatever gives me pleasure. Me, not you." He leaned in, half an inch closer. "Have you got that now?" Only her lips moved: a small, whispered, "Yes, master."
He released her. "Have you really got it, or were you just hoping I'd let go?"
She kissed his leg. "No – yes – I think so. Master, you mean that when I feel – when you make me feel – frustrated – I'm giving you pleasure?
Serving you?"
"Yes. Exactly. You are. The operative words being I make you." He stroked a finger along her jaw. "Just make sure you understand who's doing what to whom." He watched her eyes reflect and respond, taking that in.
This would take some time. But they had plenty.
***
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To my relief I could walk normally by the next day, and if I sat very little at work I could get the rings out of my mind for whole minutes at a time. The bare nakedness of my crotch actually took almost as long to get used to. That uncovering made me feel so naked I kept having weird moments of terror out in public, like those dreams in which you're searching, late, for the elusive location of your last final exam, and it occurs to you that you've neglected to get dressed. I'd look down in a panic, momentarily sure I'd forgotten my clothes.
When Anders saw me trying to peer at my crotch, he let me get a good look in a mirror. What he'd had planted in me were fixed bead rings, fairly thick, small in circumference, and relatively deep. I wasn't sure what, if anything, was standard, but these weren't the kind that hung down visibly; they almost hugged the edges of my labia. Whatever he was planning with regard to locking me up, it looked like it was going to be a close fit.
I kept forgetting about the metal in my nose; I'd scratch an itch and give myself a jolt. The retainer was black and virtually invisible, but I could imagine what an actual ring would look like, and had visions of potential uses that were truly scary
The days rolled on, spring into summer, and the strange, impossible pattern continued, becoming a little more 'normal' with each passing day.
Those odd, anomalous questions – now down to once a month – got asked again. I had no idea how to answer them. Anything vital he'd missed? Well, were orgasms vital? Obviously not. Anything beyond what I could handle?
Daily, it seemed, but so what? Did I need to walk away from this?
Unimaginable. My mind shied away from the very phrase 'walk away,' as if the mere words could lure me to perdition.
There were a few variations in the routine. Anders let me meet Nikki for lunch, for instance. By that time, I rather dreaded it, based on her phone calls; fending her off in person was going to be even more difficult than on the phone. But it turned out better than I'd expected. She took a long look at me when we sat down, and then said, "All right, Maia, I'm not going to give you a hard time."
Politely I pretended that such a thing had never occurred to me. "Sorry?
What do you mean?"
"Leda said I was being too pushy. Instead of being supportive. Which you need more than lectures."
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"Well…" I smiled, and handed over one of the menus. What form was this support going to take? "Thanks. I know it all seems pretty weird."
"I've been asking around, and looking it up. And all right, TPE does exist; people actually do it."
I'd never liked the term 'Total Power Exchange.' The first two words were fine; it was the "exchange' part that never felt right. As if it was a seesaw that tipped both ways. But I wasn't going to quibble. "They do," I agreed.
"Though the only websites I saw were people who'd been married for years, and they wrote as much about their kids and their jobs as their kink.
And they went to play parties, lots of them." She eyed me meaningfully. I had heard multiple times that she didn't like my isolation.
"Mm. Keep in mind that the ones on the net are the exhibitionist types.
Kind of by definition."
"And you're not?"
"No."
"And Anders isn't either?"
"Not so far."
He'd been moody that morning. One of his street acquaintances had been assaulted and was in hospital. A debate on public housing in the legislature had gone nowhere as usual. And as a minor but irritating bonus, the mantelpiece he'd tracked down had turned out to be the wrong one. I had listened from the floor and shared his frustration, and wished I could do something, anything to help. My harness got yanked extra tight, so perhaps I provided some distraction, if nothing else. Not much room for lunch today as a result. I looked at the menu, which was basically burgers and beer –
Nikki's choice, not mine. There had to be a salad somewhere. I was actually going to eat at a table for the first time in weeks. I hoped I remembered how to use cutlery.
"But you could show up. I mean, you wouldn't have to scene if you didn't want to."
She was still on about the play parties. "I know." It's not up to me, Nikki, I wanted to tell her, but why start a fight?
She sighed. "I told Leda you were clamming up on me. She said it was because I was judging you, of course you'd stop talking."
I shrugged apologetically.
"You were just worried about me. It's okay.” 174
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“Oh, stop it! Stop being so nice and just spit it out!"
I winced. "Sorry. Ms. Nice Guy strikes again." I stared at my plate for a minute, trying to marshal my assertive forces, such as they were. "Okay, when we've been talking, I have been feeling – kind of bossed, a bit. And judged."
"Finally. Well, kinda. In the politest possible way. Girl, you are absolutely turning me into a switch. I never knew I had a dom side until I met you. Do you have this effect on everybody?”
“Hey, maybe." I opened my eyes wide. "That would explain a few things." She laughed, and I laughed, and the atmosphere lightened up. When the food arrived, I picked up my knife and fork and began on my Caesar like a lady, making frequent use of my napkin. Bottled dressing; Anders did it much better.
"Okay," said Nikki, spearing a fry, "I'm accepting that you're safe and happy, like you keep telling me. And I'll stop bugging you about the play parties. I guess you don't get to decide anyway."
Hah! I thought.
"Though you could always ask … sorry." She waved the impaled fry at the end of her fork. "Forget I said that. But what's he doing to you?"
She wanted details. I knew what Nikki wanted to hear, and I owed it to her, after her most kind surrender. So I told her about the Island picnic, not the conversation but the teasing on the way home. She loved it. I told her about the piercing scene, leaving out the long-term use he'd threatened for the rings. She gasped and exclaimed and empathized in a most satisfactory way, and had heard of Zoë and approved of her, which was reassuring. I agreed that this had, in fact, been a scene of sorts, and tolerated the smug look on her face. She asked why I wasn't wearing a collar, and I explained that I only wore one at home. I didn't get around to mentioning the rest of my accoutrements, including the tight web of harness hidden beneath my dress. In short, I gave her a quarter-inch-deep version of the truth that wouldn't upset her. We whispered and giggled, and she reciprocated with descriptions of her most recent play party. It was fun. But Nikki may have intuited a little deeper past the surface than she let on. Pulling back from our goodbye hug she gave me a careful look, and reminded me that if I was ever in trouble I only needed to call. Though I appreciated the girl talk more, it was nice of her to make the offer.