by Anneke Jacob
"What do you think, is she lesbian?" Val asked.
"Um…I don't know. How would I know? She just sang something about men doing whatever she wanted.”
“So what? Damn, my gaydar's usually better than this; I can't tell."
She gave me a look, and I wondered what her gaydar was telling her about me. Could she tell I was about a Kinsey one? Not a zero, I wasn't horror-struck by the idea, but it didn't have a lot of pull for me, either.
"Shit," said Val when the set was over and the cheering died down, "I wish I could play like that."
"You play guitar?"
"Yeah, well, I mess around with it, but I'm a whole lot better with power tools, to tell you the truth."
"When do you think you'll be ready to buy a truck and start up on your own?"
"Six months or so. If I can find the right kind of used one at the right price. Then I get the word out and start making the bucks. Earning my motorcycle. There are a lot of dykes who'd rather hire a woman to do their renos."
"Not many women doing it?"
"Damned few. And I'm good. I was pretty good before I started working for Thygesen, and now I am kick-ass." She grinned.
"From working with him? How come?"
"The guy is seriously into quality. Did you know that? Meticulous, organized as a fucking physics professor. And manages to insist on all that without pissing us all off." I smiled. "Sounds familiar."
"I've learned a lot from him. Young cub though he is." She wasn't that much older than him, I thought; she looked about thirty. "He picked up a lot of good stuff from his daddy.”
“What's he like to work with?"
"Well, like I told you, organized. High standards. But he doesn't yell and scream like so many of these assholes. Takes care of his crew; doesn't skimp on safety equipment or take risky shortcuts. Makes the site comfortable to work in, even when we're in a building with no windows in January. Take it from me, that alone makes him a fucking saint. And he keeps weekend work to a minimum; you may have noticed."
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I nodded. Anders did plenty of phoning and paperwork on weekends, and some Saturdays he had to spend a couple of hours on a worksite, but most weekends he was with me. It hadn't occurred to me before that this probably wasn't standard contractor behaviour.
The crowd was shifting; we got up and Val started to stuff her rug back into her knapsack. "He probably sacrifices something in profits, you know;
'cause he isn't out for the quick buck. It drives him nuts when he promises something and can't deliver. So his schedules leave room for delays, which there usually are. Suppliers not coming through, that kind of thing."
"I wonder if he makes more in the long run that way. Quality work.
Reliability." We began walking back.
"In an ideal world, maybe. In this world, probably not, but he lives longer. Less stress. So what's he like at home?" She looked at my face and laughed.
I laughed, too, red-faced. "There are similarities. Quality, standards, organization, safety. Same man, different program."
"I'll bet he adds things up in Danish."
"Yes!" I laughed. "Anything with numbers is Danish, always."
"Does he swear in Danish when he's pissed off?"
"Only when he's banged himself with a hammer or something. When he's mad it's just, um, the accent." I disguised my shiver as a glance over my shoulder.
"Oh, yeah, the accent! That is weird. The first time I heard it I thought some very pissed off relative of his had turned up out of nowhere. We were working in an apartment building, and a plumber upstairs completely fucked up, flooded the place and brought down a ceiling we'd just put in. I don't think the asshole was even licensed; someone was cutting corners. Anders got the message across all right. Funny how that accent sneaks in."
Something she had said earlier still niggled at me. I didn't want her to think Anders was some kind of Svengali, seducing innocent girls. "That
'brainwashing' thing – is it brainwashing, to be this immersed, this totally absorbed when – when this is what I want?"
"You're absorbed in the relationship? Or he's absorbing you?"
"Well, both. No, he's not exactly absorbing me. I'm still here, still me.
Just – part of him." She blew out a breath and shook her head. "Part of him, huh? Digestion tends to change the, uh, object digested, don't you think?"
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"Digestion?" How had we got to that point? I shook my head. "No, no, it's not like that. It's more like –" My hands circled a little, searching for the right words, " – more like symbiosis. An organism that lives more successfully as – I don't know, as part of something else. And is changed and developed by it to suit them both."
"Meaning, you've always thought of yourself as a slave and now you are one. And Anders is turning you into the version that turns his crank."
She seemed to have a habit of casting aside all circumlocutions whenever it suited her, god damn it. My face went hot. "That's – that about covers it, yes.”
“Does he do any developing himself, or is that all on your side?"
I considered. "Not as obviously. But yes, in a way. We're both getting to be what we are. And he can take that as far as he wants it to go. Which is a kind of growth and self-ctualization, I suppose." I looked up at her. "And this really is what we are.”
“I get it." Her eyes went to something behind me.
I felt a familiar hand take hold of me and tuck me under an arm. The grip was solid, and I relaxed into my niche and sighed. Safe again.
We walked toward another stage, and the two of them had a lively conversation about blues singers I'd never heard of. Eric's progress also got talked over. As Anders had predicted the relapse had been short, and the kid was back at work, showing some interest in the finer points of the job, which seemed like a good sign. They'd worked out some other way to manage his money, to avoid those lump sums which were such a trigger, and Eric was back in counselling.
Later, while we lined up for food together and then ate dinner, Anders resumed amusing himself with the remote vibrator. It took everything I had to look normal in front of Val, and I doubt I entirely fooled those sharp eyes.
Or perhaps it was her nose; I was swimming in juices by that time.
Anders spotted something amiss with a nearby stage, and I got a break.
"Look at that," he said to Val, frowning. "That canopy's sagging to one side.
I don't like it. Keep an eye on Maia for a minute, will you?" I got a momentary buzz as he strode away, and then it stopped.
"I'm babysitting, am I?" said Val. "How cute. What does he think you're going to do, hotwire his truck and take off? Set up a booth and give away your favours?"
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I blushed and said nothing, not being able to think of anything to say.
"All right, I'm being mean. Do you panic when you're alone or something?"
"No, no. He's just – he's –"
"A controlling son of a bitch; yes, I know."
"He likes to know where I am. Without any – leeway, so to speak."
"Yeah, he likes to keep track of his tools and equipment, too. None of it is allowed to walk away. That's one of my jobs." She gave a sardonic little laugh. "He should be paying me overtime."
Halfway through the evening concert, Val took her leave. She had decided to check out Casino Rama and play a little poker before she headed back. "No sure things for me. I like an element of risk," she said to me with a wink. "Okay, boss. Sure you can keep track of her without me? Good. See you Monday."
***
Anders and Maia walked hand in hand through the bumpy darkness toward the truck. No insect noises yet, but the night air was clear and the stars had emerged above them in bunches. "How did you like Val?"
"Wow. She's really something. She doesn't pull her punches, does she?
”
“What did she say?"
Maia reported their conversations. "I don't know if she's all that happy with us. She probably doesn't approve of me, though she seems to think you're a saint of some kind, at least at work."
He laughed. "Val supports doms doing whatever they like, though she thinks I'm a bit of a head case. At the same time dependency irks her. I think she was just checking to make sure you weren't in need of rescue. Beyond that I don't think she gives a shit, really. Except that she'd like to take you home and do whatever it is she does to her girls."
"Oh, no. How do you know?"
"I've seen that look in her eye."
She clutched his hand a little tighter, and he returned the pressure.
"What's the matter?" he teased. "She could hardly be meaner than me."
"But –"
"In fact she only has subs, not slaves, so she's probably a creampuff compared with me.”
“But – ."
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"Don't worry," he laughed. "Sexual liaisons with staff, even at one remove, are against company policy." Her hand relaxed a little.
They climbed into the truck and as he looked over his shoulder to back up he said, "I think my leash worked well, don't you?"
"Oh, god," she groaned. "Yes, master, really well."
"Any chafing? Either of them?"
"No, not really."
He steered the truck through the parked cars, and joined the lineup heading for the exit.
"I might shorten the leash tomorrow. I really do prefer keeping you where I can find you. The proverbial short lead." She bit her lip. "Scared, love?"
"Yes."
"Good. Just learn to pay attention." He braked for a van that was backing out in front of him. "I could have used something like that a couple of weeks ago, eh?" Maia's head drooped. It was fortunate that he didn't need to punish her that night, because the rowdies next door had gone on to destroy the peace of some other campground, and despite its uses, loud rock music got on his nerves.
It wasn't only his slave who'd spent the day in a state of arousal. Anders had several times considered taking his slave to the truck for a quick blow job. Would have, if the music hadn't been so good.
He tightened Maia's harness several notches all around, fastened her hands behind her, and put clips on her nipples. Then he used the remote buttons and a word or two to direct and correct her as she serviced him, a kind of game of 'hot and cold.' As long as she removed his clothes with her teeth and did it gracefully, kissed his feet with the proper attitude, licked and sucked his body reverently enough in all the right places, he kept his finger on the dildo remote. If she got distracted by her own arousal and strayed from her task, if she was clumsy or imperfect he shocked her. He kept her at it for a long time. She knelt between his legs, then knelt over him on the bed, her soft mouth eager, worshipful. The noises she'd been suppressing all day were to him a delicious auditory accompaniment: soft whimpers, catches of breath, little shrieks. He felt he was running her like a remote-control robot with his buttons: reward, punishment, pleasure, pain.
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geyser, the pleasure so intense and single-minded that for a while Anders felt emptied of everything but the echo. When he stirred again he was, of course, hungry. He rummaged around naked in the kitchen, rooting out bread and cheese. The naugahyde benches looked uninviting to a naked butt; he climbed back into bed. His slave was kneeling there where he'd left her.
"Here, lie down. I don't want to get crumbs in the bed." She lay on her back as he directed, and he put the bread and cheese on her body between the straps. There wasn't much space in between, but her lower belly was largely clear. As he ate he resumed his game with the vibrator. And once he finished and brushed her off, tipping her carefully at the edge of the mattress so that he wouldn't be sleeping on crumbs, he put his ear to her belly and felt the vibrations for himself.
Then he played with the nipple clips, on and off, pull and twist, and she squirmed and twisted in response. Her legs were splayed wide, the desperate cunt locked to its shield. He turned the vibrator up to high, and watched her strain and shake helplessly. She began to beg.
He smiled down at her.
"Do you think the shield is coming off tonight? Really?"
She looked ready to cry. "No, master."
Anders was hard again. He sat behind her head, turned off the remote and said, "Open up." She opened her mouth, puzzled, then slowly arched her back as far as she could to take him in. It was worth the awkward position to see her straining so hard to service him, and when he came he had to use what little consciousness remained to keep from collapsing on top of her.
The next day they got to take their time; no purchases to worry about or hardware to modify, and he was going to make her walk. Just a minor adjustment to the remote. "About a metre and a half for the warning, girl.
Two for the stronger one, and four for the punisher.”
“Please, master, can't you – can't you just hang onto me?”
“I will sometimes. But it would look a bit odd all day.”
“Doesn't it look odd – me running to you?"
He chuckled. "Probably. If you have to do that, try to make it look natural – like you've thought of something you just have to tell me. Don't leap, whatever you do." He took hold of her hair at the nape of her neck.
"Better yet, try to remember that you're on a leash, and then the problem won't arise, will it?"
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Anders had his fiddle, as there was going to be a chance to jam in the afternoon. Music on all sides was terrific, but it made him itch to get his own hands on the strings.
Maia was starting to pant, he noticed, and was a step behind. He slowed down, and took her hand again, amused. Unconsciously he'd been challenging her to stay close enough, speeding up to something more like his natural pace. Poor little pup.
Three more performers to talk to this afternoon. They'd gotten a raft of
"maybes." Only the young and local were pretty sure bets. What he'd really like to arrange, he thought, would be a series of workshops, with lots of musicians mixing it up, trying things out, creating something new. He loved getting the chance to play with people he'd never played with before; he always got fresh ideas. Maybe they could do that next year. Or if the teaching series didn't work out. Her hand was sweating; he slowed a little more. They were almost there. No one would guess, looking at her, how complexly this woman was accessorized. Simple clothes, low heels, no jewellery, not even makeup. Of course she turned heads anyway, though she didn't seem to notice. In the spring she'd been a able to fly under everyone's radar. Now she glowed as if the sun was on her wings. Clipped wings. He'd been growing to fit his own skin, and he rather thought that she was doing the same. Reaching out to fit inside his restraints. And hell, she was probably trailing pheromones. No surprise there.
That day Anders held onto Maia whenever he was feeling merciful. And when he wasn't she tried very hard to stay at his side, much like a dog that has learned to heel. But given the large crowds and the short leash, inevitably she got caught here and there. She was particularly vulnerable when he'd been using the other remote.
At last, teased to distraction, she went the wrong way round a smaller stage. Anders watched her as the warnings hit. Her eyes searched for him, the wrong direction at first, and then he saw her take the shock. She went completely still, a response out of the e-stim training he'd given her. Then she turned, saw him, and made her way through the rigging and past the sound booth, taking the most direct route. There was a sandy area that bogged her down, and when she reached him her sandals were full of it.
Kindly he paused while she took them off and cleared them out. She was breathing a little hard. "Did that hurt, sweetheart?" She pressed her lips 239
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together, and nodded.
"Better be more careful, then." She nodded again, and reached a little shakily for his hand. He took it. "Come on."
As the leash was so short and swift to warn her, Anders hardly had to override it at all to keep her where she belonged. He still chose to give her a yank or two amongst the artisan's booths – the crafts distracted her – but conditioning was starting to tell; she was staying within a metre of his side almost all the time.
After lunch they sat in the grass waiting for a Klezmer band with bluegrass elements, or a bluegrass band with Klezmer elements; he was curious to see how this mix would turn out. The program notes didn't give him much to go on. Suddenly they were joined on their blanket by a small crawling body clad only in diaper and t-shirt; a single-minded little juggernaut intent on some distant objective. Both parents were in pursuit, but were hampered by having to step around the people and the beach chairs, an inhibition not shared by their offspring. The baby took the direct route over Anders legs with the efficiency of an expert crawler and escape artist, and then decided to use Maia's shoulder to stand up. Perhaps he was scouting for the posse. She looked, startled, into the round, rather sticky face, suddenly inches from her own. Anders laughed at this odd confluence, and picked the baby up; the little guy seemed quite fearless, and pulled experimentally on his captor's nose, before being returned to his father's arms.
"Bold little bugger," Anders said admiringly as he sat down again.
"Fast, too. He seemed to come out of nowhere." She craned her neck, watching the family retreat. "You seemed to know how to handle him."
"Pick 'em up, hand 'em back; you can count on me anytime."
She grinned. "Did I tell you I'm going to be an aunt again? Luisa emailed. She's having another one."
"How many's that, two?" She nodded. "Are you missing them at all?
Wanting to see the babies?"
"I suppose I'll have to one of these days." She looked at him, puzzled.
"What, do I want to go to baby showers and dandle little relatives on my knee? Not especially, why?"
He gave this a minute's thought, wondering if he really wanted to pursue the subject. How bizarre to do so now, in the middle of a day spent playing with her like a toy. But then, every day was like that. It had to be faced 240