As She's Told

by Anneke Jacob

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  sooner or later. "I just wondered," he said carefully, "how you feel about them. Actually, what I wonder is whether the urge to reproduce is going to be a spanner in our works some day."

  She looked uncomfortable. "I hope not. Why, do you – do you want them?"

  "No. I don't."

  Her look of relief was a relief to him.

  "Thank god for that," she said softly. "Neither do I. And imagine me raising children. All that comes to mind is the Old South and mammies." He laughed, but she looked serious. "Really. I couldn't bring up kids," she said,

  "like – like this." She waved her hands toward her body, which gesture he understood to comprise not merely her concealed accoutrements but also her state of subjection. "We're – too extreme. I also don't want to, but even if I did –.”

  “Well, couples do manage it. They have to tone things down, I suppose.

  Compromise. Conceal, lock their bedroom doors and so on. They must really want kids." It would have to be a hell of a procreative urge, he thought, before he'd make that kind of compromise.

  "Sometimes they have the kids already, before they get into it," she reminded him. "That's true.”

  “I can't imagine keeping up that level of pretence, year after year."

  The set started. Anders listened on one level, and on another he was exploring the release of a vague tension he hadn't been aware he had. As far as he could see, no amount of ownership and control would root out the urge to reproduce, if it was there. In those who had it, it seemed to be as basic and instinctive as the sexual urge which should, biologically speaking, be secondary to it. An urge like that could have been a deal breaker over the long term, but it looked like they'd be spared that complication.

  At the jam session he adjusted the remote so that Maia could sit at the front of the audience. The fiddles were fast and furious for a while; he got to throw in some Scandinavian variations that were new to people, and that was fun. One guitar player slowed them down (ballads again), but then Val's blues guitar picker joined the group. She was phenomenal as it turned out, and the pace picked up again. Anders did some backup, then took the lead on a 30's jazz violin piece he'd picked up from a Stephane Grapelli CD.

  Then he picked up the bodhran when a pennywhistle and banjo needed some 241

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  percussion.

  Through all this Maia kept her eyes almost entirely on him, whether or not he was front and centre. The other musicians received glances and applause from her, but her real focus, he could tell, was only on himself. She gazed at him, mouth a little open, as if he was a rock god and she was a schoolgirl. Lord of the Dance, in fact. He was certainly the lord of her dance, wasn't he?

  He looked again at her face. Those weren't just schoolgirl-crush eyes.

  He was being worshipped.

  What an odd feeling. His woman thought he was a god. Larger than life somehow. Perhaps it was inevitable. But weird nonetheless.

  And yet wasn't that how this music made him feel? Senses expanded by all the interplay, by being part of the weave. He became bigger than himself, his mind quicker, his hands more sure. Was that what she saw with those eyes?

  He wondered what part of the pantheon she had him pegged for. And whether they'd name a day of the week after him.

  The blues guitarist took the lead again, and the group started improvising around her bad luck song, each instrumentalist stepping forward one by one to do their solo. When it was Anders' turn he made the fiddle wail just like Maia when he locked her down. Would she recognize it? She did; she was blushing. The flute picked up on the sound of frustration and heightened it, and the banjo and mandolin followed suit. Unbeknownst to anyone, the song had turned into the 'My Daddy Won't Let Me Come Blues.'

  He caught Maia's eye; like him, she was trying not to laugh. Andersday.

  Very nice.

  The guitarist packed it in, and the traditional fiddles started playing jigs.

  Fun for Anders, and easy. A couple in the audience broke into a dance. Then two more. The tune ended to much applause, and then one of the other fiddlers began one that Anders didn't know as well. On a wicked impulse he set his fiddle in its case, and stood in front of Maia with hand outstretched, glancing with a smile toward the dancers.

  She looked so horrified he had to laugh. Taking her hand in an uncompromising grip, he pulled her toward the dancers She knew how to jig. The fact that she had ever only done so naked under a whip was neither here nor there. The tight harness, the plug in her rear, the dildo and shield 242

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  held on only by rings in her labia, these were just one bonus after another.

  Why be the Lord of the Dance if you can't make your subject perform at your command?

  At first she did a delicate sort of jig opposite him. He gave her a warning glance and tapped his pocket, and she danced harder. But she still wasn't giving it what he knew she was capable of. So he gave her a medium jolt, and she gave a little cry, shook herself loose, flung out her arms, and danced.

  He had never seen her cut loose in public. She laughed and capered with energy and a will, brought her knees up, did her steps with pretty precision, and let her skirt ride halfway up her thighs. The audience clapped and whooped, and she put her hands on her hips and jigged harder. Anders matched her. The two of them kept at it as the fiddles speeded up, challenging each other back and forth till the tune ended. Then she tumbled toward him, laughing and gasping, and he caught her in his arms, falling back on the grass. Her legs straddled one of his, and as they pressed together she shuddered and went rigid, making a high little animal cry that was lost in the general melee. Anders sat up with her on his knee, and hastily checked his pocket to be on the safe side, but no, this wasn't an inadvertent shock. It was an inadvertent orgasm. A few minutes later they sat on a park bench overlooking the lake. She hadn't said a word so far, but she looked rather haunted. He put his arm around her. "Master, I'm – I'm sorry."

  "Not your fault." He laughed. "Mine, in fact. A nice little ironic twist on my lust for power."

  "Did anyone – did people see?"

  "I don't think anyone noticed. You'd put so much style into that jig that it looked like you were collapsing in a happy state of exhaustion." He hugged her to him. "You were magnificent, by the way. Once I persuaded you to get going."

  "Thank you, master. I learned from a master." She giggled a little hysterically. Snickering, he gave her a squeeze. "Stop that."

  "You were amazing yourself. So – so – oh, god, you're – " She burrowed into his shoulder. He held her, smiling ruefully. "I'm what?" She shook her head, her face hidden. He stroked her hair. "Despite appearances to the contrary, I am fallible. Look at what just happened." She shuddered.

  "Will I have to be – punished?"

  243

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  "No, no. I pushed you a little too far that time. Anyway, it's the equipment's job to control you; I stopped expecting you to control yourself some time ago. We've obviously found the limits of the shield."

  "But without the – without all the – "

  "Perhaps. But then, I like to use the extras. It was all moving around as you danced, wasn't it?"

  "Sure. That was what…."

  "And then that final pressure took you over the edge?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Hmm. Shouldn't have happened." He was thoughtful. "Oh well. How are you feeling now?"

  "Better."

  "I'll bet."

  244

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  Chapter Eighteen

  An amphibian in its native swamp

  >Yes, I am arrived, though with no thanks to U.S. Customs which was deeply mistrustful of my student visa and suspected me of conspiracies to steal the job of an honest American.

  >You have a lean and hungry look, Cassius. Just be glad they didn't take you for
a terrorist.

  >The apartment is not bad, on third floor of a walk-up building near campus, and if the furniture was not so execrable I would be quite pleased. I must find something to spread over this couch of much too cheerful orange before I vomit.

  >May I suggest you seek permission before you paint everything black and bruised purple?

  >supervisor is still a thorny fellow, but this is just his way with everyone, I am told. His accent is easier to understand when we are face to face. So all is well so far. I am sorry I could not visit you and see your ménage on my way, but this must wait for spring; then I hope that Ria and I can come together.

  >I'm looking into a couple of possibilities for next summer. I'll keep you posted. Svend may be interested also, but that depends on what he's up to by then.

  >fixed the webcam setup. Ria is already planning scenes with me, but the time difference is awkward for all concerned. It is good to see her even if I cannot touch her, in spite of this delayed and jerky style. But even with us directing each other's hands it is not very satisfying.

  >There must be a major scene in Chicago; have you checked yet? I think you were wise to leave the leather with Ria; just imagine what Customs would have made of it.

  ***

  I went to work without the 'extras' on Monday, starting out at a comparatively manageable level of arousal. That one bizarre orgasm in the middle of a crowd had temporarily relieved a little of my endless horniness.

  Unfortunately the memory of it kept recurring in the course of the morning in fantastic little jolts, and on balance I ended up hornier than I'd started. I 245

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  was trying to concentrate on getting through my cataloguing project before the summer ended, because in September everything was supposed to get a lot busier. By then I'd thought I was pretty good at dealing with internal distractions, having had plenty of practice. But I was having trouble moving past the weekend. The orgasm alone seemed to have so much weight that its gravity was sending my mind's orbit out of kilter.

  That evening Anders decided that the septum piercing was more than ready to use. I knelt as high as I could at his feet, arms strapped tightly behind me, my attention shifting anxiously back and forth between his face and the hand that held my new nose ring in a tight grip. "Tell me," he said conversationally, "have you been, shall we say, experimenting with your chastity shield? Maybe in the bathroom at work?"

  "Ah – experimenting?" I muttered. He gave the ring the tiniest twist, and I squeaked.

  "Yes, girl, experimenting. Trying to use it to get off."

  "I – no, not exactly – ow –"

  "What, then? Exactly?"

  "Just – sometimes – pressing it against me – "

  "And?" He tweaked me again.

  "Ah! I – twisted it sometimes, pulled a little – tried to rub it against me

  – just for a few seconds – "

  "And? What happened?"

  "Nothing, master. Ow! Really, I was just kind of – desperate and it just made me – hornier – ."

  "Did you try it today?"

  "Please!" I whimpered, stretching higher.

  "Did you?"

  "Oh, please! Yes, I tried it today!"

  "Any luck?"

  "No."

  "Do you think you might ever have any luck?"

  "N-no – may- Aah!" My head was tipped back as high as it could go, and my thighs were trembling. "I don't know, master, maybe if I had more time!"

  "Hmm. Thought so." He relaxed his hand, and I sank onto my haunches, breathing a sigh of relief. Naturally this was short-lived. "I'm not punishing 246

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  you for the other times," he said, in his sudden, scary, pissed-accent voice.

  "Frustrated wrestling with your restraints is one thing. An amusement. For me. But today you knew you might get somewhere."

  I got a very thorough spanking that reignited the recent cane strokes and left me bawling. Then I had to stand in the corner with my nose ring clipped high to the wall for what felt like hours.

  The ring got used a lot in the next little while. He'd actually had one made with a fixed bead that could be snapped shut, but could only be opened with a tiny screwdriver, like the locking mechanism on the nipple rings.

  'Micro-micro management,' he called it. One more example of his leaving absolutely nothing to chance, or to any discretion on my part. But at least it meant I didn't have to wear the ring to work.

  I did have to lock it through my nose myself, however, when I got home from work. Among all the other accoutrements. I frequently found myself staring into the hall mirror, slipping the retainer out, easing the ring through, clicking it shut, and then locking a chain to it. I stared at myself, noting my shameful bovine resemblance, and tried to imagine what the next item was going to be on my master's agenda.

  Nose ring alternated with nipples as the attachment points for tugging me around the house, morning and evening. The electronic leash, scary as it had been, was benign in retrospect. At least with that one I had been up on my feet. With the nose or nipple leashes I was usually crawling, and let me tell you, the motivation to learn to heel was intense. He made me crawl through the house, and one dark night he led me through the yard by the nose ring lead, gagged and bridled and harnessed, the grass springy and damp beneath my naked knees.

  On the other hand the sexual torments had abated a little. My master was doing some construction on the house in the evenings, and didn't have as much time to keep me quivering on the edge. Not the fireplace; he was beginning to think that the mantelpiece was nowhere to be found. Eventually he'd have to cave and make one to match, but as he disapproved of such patchwork inauthenticity, he was putting it off as long as possible. What he was doing was converting a storage closet under the main staircase to a small bathroom. A powder room, as the real estate ads would say – just a toilet and a sink. I figured this was for my benefit, when the restraints restricted my range to the ground floor. I wouldn't mind giving up the 247

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  humiliating chamber pot, I thought, both using it and emptying and cleaning it.

  Did I make any more experiments with the chastity shield? No, I did not. He interrogated me daily, I was incapable of lying to him, and now that it had been expressly forbidden, it wasn't worth the heavy consequences, especially since such attempts got me nowhere without the 'extras.'

  Something told me he was going to find a way to use those again. In my experience Anders never gave up on anything he wanted; setbacks only made him more creative. Hot, humid weather continued into early September. The bathroom was finished at last on a sultry, wet Saturday morning. Given its location, it was of necessity a narrow room shaped like a right triangle up on one edge, now tiled and painted, with the sink at the high point and the toilet in the lower space, as far back as it could be without making the user duck. My master cleared away the last of his tools and had me wipe up the drywall dust and scrub drops of grout from the tiles. I had been locked by the nose ring to the wall opposite his desk, out of the way while he worked, and in the course of the morning had had to make use of the chamber pot more than once. Now I emptied it in the new toilet and washed it out in the new sink, I hoped for the last time.

  I worked my way through the salad and cheese in my red bowl, crouched and bound as usual. The kitchen windows were open to what little breeze there was. My nose ring, ridiculously, got food on it, and I couldn't get it off, little head flips doing nothing but rattling it against the side of the bowl. When I glanced up guiltily my master was frowning at me; I wasn't supposed to make any noise at meals. I put my face back into my dish.

  Anders kept me crawling that afternoon, fetching whips from the hall cabinet with my mouth for him to beat me with, fetching weights for him to hang from my nipple rings, fetching his newspaper and being smacked for bringing the wrong section and for getting it wet. I polished his shoes with my tongu
e, and I sucked his cock. Then he seemed to be done with my mouth, because he locked it up in a bit and bridle.

  When I signalled a need to pee he nodded, clicked a leash to my collar and had me crawl to the new bathroom. I put my hand on the toilet; one foot under me to stand. "No."

  Surprised, I looked up, and watched him lean over me and push on the low wall behind the toilet. It wasn't a wall at all but a little folding door. As 248

  As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

  it moved aside, I saw the litter box. My body went hot all over, then cold.

  There was a singing in my head. My limbs were trying to back up. I felt the nudge of his foot and I groaned a protest, frozen in place. Hands and knees took one step forward, half another one.

  My childhood cat Amaranth had been very dignified using her litter box. Sitting up calm and straight. Sniffing afterwards; no, I didn't think I'd imitate her there. I couldn't sit up as it turned out; the ceiling sloped down too low, meeting the floor not six inches from the back of the box. The only way to get there was to back in. Head down, I squatted with my feet apart.

  Camping trips, peeing in the woods behind a tree, I thought encouragingly.

  My bladder obligingly emptied itself. I managed only the briefest, most humiliated glance up at my master for instructions.

  "Cover it," he said. There was no cover; he meant with kitty litter. I shifted to one side, turned, pushed some dry litter over the wet with my foot.

  "You'll do that even if your hands are tied, you hear me?" I was still for a moment, imagining this, and then I nodded. "All right, get out now. Wipe yourself on that towel. There was a damp towel folded in a shallow rectangular pan next to the litter box. I knelt over it and blotted myself, wiping the last drops of pee from my shield. I didn't use my hands. The setup had clearly been arranged so that I wouldn't need them.

  "Close the folding door. Come out along that piece of carpet; make sure you don't track any litter. I don't want to find any outside this bathroom, is that clear?" He gave my ear a little yank. Head down, I nodded again.