by Anneke Jacob
Riding high across his lap, right arm cranked behind me. Crying even in anticipation. A blow seared across sore flesh, and made me shriek into the gag. Pain communicated, consumed. In the space of a single blow I became utterly an object: a receptacle for anguish. A thing held between thighs and arms as unyielding as oak, under that relentless hand. Trapped between my slave's nature and his ruthless will. Submission, agony without options, seemingly without end. Eons later I was sobbing between his knees, gag released from the bridle. Taking him into my mouth with the most abject, eager, yearning desire to please that had ever consumed me. His blows still existed, resounding and echoing through my flesh. Pain circled, communicating through me and back to him, distilled into the most concentrated, exquisite pleasure I could offer.
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His orgasm was quiet, but so intense it shook us both. He slumped and held my head, and time and the universe were outside; we were suspended in a galaxy of our own. Music played out there, guitar and harmonica, coming from some other time, some distant dimension. At last my master stirred, zipped, took me by the jaw, pushed the gag back in and engaged it in the bridle. Dismissal: a directing push. He picked up his fiddle. "Anyone know
'Sweet Mistreater?'" His bow was already scraping over the strings as he followed me, pushed the cage door closed with his foot, and went back to his friends.
***
Out for lunch with Nikki the next day, I confessed to being barely able to sit through a meal. She pried the juicy details out of me, including the cast of characters, and was far more entertained than I was. I shifted in my seat and winced.
"Oh, man, do I know the feeling!" she said. "I didn't sit or wear underwear for three days after that Valentine's party. Jesus, I thought Victor could use a paddle, but Lady Kate is something else."
"Mm."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Come on; what?"
"Doesn't it matter to you – who it is?"
"Tell you the truth, honey, I'm a bit of a slut that way. As long as they listen up front and know what they're doing, I'm happy. The right voice helps, too. Why?"
"I just – I don't know – I'm not…" Sudden words leapt out of me. "I don't want her telling me what to do!" My hand flew up, too late to stop the words that had already escaped my barn door of a mouth.
Nikki lowered her fork and stared at me, and then said ironically, "Well, what do you know!"
My appetite was gone. Cutlery suddenly looked as if it was beyond me, as intimidating as a chain saw.
"I thought what you wanted wasn't supposed to matter," she said flatly.
"Its – it's not," I said, surprised and uneasy. I'd expected her to push support and submissive rights on me. Instead she looked pissed off. At what? Me? "It doesn't. But – "
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"But what? Are you going to walk out on him for this?"
The absurdity made me go blank for several seconds, trying to make this question compute. It was like trying to divide by zero. Then I laughed.
"That's not even … don't you see…? He owns me, Nikki. We're so entangled, that's – it's not conceivable. I might as well rip myself in two and lie there bleeding as even imagine it."
She snorted, gave me a pitying look. "Well then. It's not like you have a choice, is it? You'll have to take orders from her if he tells you to. It won't kill you."
"Mm."
Don't tell me what to do, Nikki.
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Chapter Twenty-Six
Light On Shadow
Maia was overwhelmed, Anders thought. Like a nervous dog made fearful by a crowd of visitors, too many feet going in all directions; afraid of being stepped on. But also like a well-disciplined animal that obeys its conditioning. Was the rapid breathing due to anxiety or the tight corset?
Though her hands shook, she served smoothly and well: taking jackets, bringing drinks, kneeling at attention when not required. He glanced at the small figure in her place by the wall, bars of afternoon sunlight turning her skin to honey. She was listening to the impenetrable flood of Danish, alert for an English command.
"So on Monday we'll start out for the festival in Halifax, and see if Ria wins a prize." Karl hugged Ria to him fondly, not that they'd had any space between them before. They were obviously still making up for past deprivation, and looking rather smug and pleased with themselves. "What do you think, three days driving? Four if we stop to look at scenery?”
“Please, darling, no side trips," said Ria. "We can do that on the way back. I must meet with Biruta and others before the festival." She turned to Anders and Svend. "They were crazy about Woman Fish. I think it might be picked up by Doctober, and Amsterdam is taking it for sure. Two of the captains I filmed are going to sail into Amsterdam for it; they are asking whether they should pretty themselves up or go in oilskins."
Ria had a new colour scheme since the last time Anders had seen her; hair blue-black, a dramatic look against white skin, and eyes a startling and artificial green. He saw his slave blink, startled, as a wineglass passed from her fingers to Ria's.
Karl, who looked just as gaunt as usual, but happier, nodded at Ria's glass. "Your own vintage?" He and Svend were sticking to beer.
Anders was amused. "From that little arbour? No. In fact they were table grapes, and sour at that. I threw a few into my stewed pork, but they were hardly worth the trouble. I probably pruned the vines too late." He looked at the bags by Ria's side. "Did you enjoy your downtown walk?"
"Some good shops," said Ria. "I'd been looking forward to Northbound; not bad." She held up a thin, slinky leather dress, waved a flogger. "But it's 342
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very dirty, your city."
"Yonge Street is rather grim," Karl agreed, frowning. "And so many begging. I was expecting it to be better than Chicago but it is not. I don't understand how it's permitted, to leave people on the street in this way, in such a wealthy country."
"Complacency,' Svend said. "No one sees what they don't want to see."
"People see plenty," his brother objected. "It's failure and lack of impetus at the government level. Poverty has to be dealt with systemically –
a national strategy – look at what Ireland did – ." This was an old argument.
Svend shook his head. "You can kiss any real national strategy goodbye.
Look how many benefit from the status quo – ."
"Why do you not have the votes to put the left wing into office? There is responsibility at all levels here, not just at the top," Karl said.
When they had gone round the bases, Anders caught Ria up on the local housing issues. The others, knowing the topic all too well, took themselves off into the kitchen for more beer.
"Practically no funding to build anything," he said. "There were some hopeful messages in November, but it's come to nothing. Sixty-seven thousand families on the waiting list for lowincome housing. The money's been legislated but it's never actually allocated.”
“You think it is hopeless, then?" said Ria.
"Possibly." Anders felt the usual grinding frustration in his chest, now reaching into his gut, transforming into something he could hardly stand to recognize: failure.
"Well, you must fight. All your groups must fight. Get together and keep up the pressure. Do you lead this kind of thing? You'd be good at it.
You speak so clearly, and that deep voice carries conviction."
He laughed. "Good at it? I can't stand it being around it. Coalitions, rallies, speeches? Committee meetings, ye gods! Give me something to build with my hands and I'll build it. All the political manoeuvring is beyond my patience."
"So, what then? You wait for others and get nowhere?" She looked at him with slender brows furrowed.
Russ, Beemer, Jo-Jo, still on the street. Wendy, Keswick, Ti-Jean.
Anders took a deep breath. "I do what I can for people, Ria."
"Individuals, you mean? A one-man charity concern?"
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His lips tightened. "No. There are community workers and so on.
Volunteers, others. If I help anyone it's not in isolation."
Svend called from the kitchen, "Ria, tell him he should be offering beds himself; he has plenty of room."
Anders' smile was pained; he shook his head.
His brother came in and sat down. "Good thing he's got a secret life to protect, or he'd be running a hostel here for sure."
Ria laughed. "I would understand that. It is very hard to pass those faces. I have supplied myself with – what are they called again?" She reached into her purse.
Karl, settling next to her with his beer, glanced and smiled. "Loonies and toonies, I believe."
"Yes, why on earth? Explain, please."
Svend pointed out the loon on the dollar coin. "It would have been much cooler to call the two dollar coin the doubloon, but toonie is what caught on."
Anders noticed the flicker on Maia's face; she had caught the familiar words in the sea of Danish. He sensed her, neglected in her corner, shifting imperceptibly from knee to knee, held a hand out to her and clicked his tongue. She crawled rapidly to his side and settled on her heels where he placed her, snug against his leg. The others eyed her with some expectation, but he just gripped the hair at the base of her neck and went back to the subject at hand.
"A dollar here and there – we're left with no choice, but what does it solve? But if you give one person enough help to get back on their feet; at least one life is improved."
"No, look, charity is only dragging out the agony," Karl objected. "The more the reliance on voluntary handouts, the less responsibility your government has to take."
Ria made a face. "You may be right, but these are human beings, and they are miserable; it is wrong to pass them by."
"You talked about public responsibility, Karl," said Anders. "That's the level it's at. There's a program now to get individuals back into the system and housed one by one, which has the kind of benefits I mentioned. Helping individuals is important. But they've only got existing housing stock to place people in, and for low income that stock is appalling. The underlying causes 344
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– you have to understand the careful manipulation behind the public attitudes that prevent any kind of focused effort to address poverty – Ria, do you need more wine?"
His slave was quickly up and serving. Ria, holding up her wineglass, wrapped the other hand around the breast of the leaning figure. The bottleneck rang very slightly on the rim of the glass, but nothing spilled.
Maia froze; only her hand moved, bringing the bottle upright.
The seated woman sipped, her fingertips stroking the flesh pressed high by the corset. "Pretty," she commented. She set her wine down, felt over the corset, turned the girl and looked over the locking arrangement at the back.
In English she said, "This slave must have naughty fingers, with so many locks needed."
The frozen quality persisted in Maia's face and neck. A long slender hand, with fingernails a green to match the eyes, was now lightly pinching a buttock. Anders could see thigh muscles outlined that were normally only visible when the girl was exercised. She gave him a haunted look, which was also an instinctive check for any sign from him, then turned obediently enough, and spread her legs for an examination of the belt.
"Fine quality," Ria commented. "Go stand there, girl." She pointed at a spot a few feet away. "She stands well, but why barefoot? Heels would be a great improvement, no?" she said to Karl, still in English.
"Absolutely. And some strong makeup. Even a mask. Here is a little girl showing rather too much emotion."
"Oh, please," said Anders, "not one of those kinky display mannequins.
One just like another. What is this fetish for soulless fashion models in inch-thick makeup?"
Svend laughed. "My brother's fetishes are of course superior."
Anders smiled. "Naturally. But look, what's the fun of forcing the body to do my bidding if I can't watch what it does to the soul?"
"The point is objectification, obviously," said Karl. "But of course if you prefer it otherwise…."
"And I hate heels."
"But those legs, if she was up on her toes…"
"She's up on her toes often enough. Look at those beautiful feet. Do you know what the toes would look like in a month if they were shoved into high heels?"
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"Il faut souffrir pour être beau," smiled Ria.
"Oh, she knows that. Don't you, girl?"
"Yes, master," Maia whispered.
"Come here," Karl said. "Do you suffer for that tiny waist?" He braced his long hands around it, fingertips just touching.
"Not much – any more – " She hesitated.
"Sir."
"Not much now, sir. It was hard at first."
"I see. And in this belt do you suffer?"
Anders watched her eyes flicker; a just-perceptible cringe. But the rigidity had passed from her muscles. "Yes, sir," she said, in a voice coming muted from back in her throat somewhere.
"How long is it since you have been allowed to orgasm?"
A shamefaced glance at Anders. "Not since Christmas, sir."
"My, my. What a little sufferer you must be." Karl took hold of her nipples in front of the rings, and rolled and twisted, watching her face. "And why are you not allowed; are you being punished?"
Her slightly creaky voice responded, "No, sir, I don't think so. My – my master likes me better this way."
"What way?" He squeezed harder, and her eyes lost their focus.
"Ah – always aroused, sir. He says it – improves me."
"Oh, yes? How?"
The dark eyes glistened with unshed tears. Karl's fingers gave a little yank, and she bit her lip and said, in a throaty voice, "I'm a – I'm a juicier product, sir." Her face was a study in humiliation and arousal.
"See what I mean?" Anders asked. "Still want to cover that up with a mask?"
"I admit it is lovely." Karl released the nipples. "Very personal and rather amateur, if you don't mind my saying so. 24/7 slaves usually show more self-control. But it is all a matter of taste." He turned Maia around and began to go over the marks on her ass and thighs. "These are good. Did you use a crop?"
"Dog whip. Amateur is right, my friend, at least in one sense. You're handling something I developed for my own personal enjoyment, not some staged bondage circus."
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been." He said over his shoulder to Ria. "No clubs at all, no play parties, nothing."
"No wonder she is so nervous; not enough experience with public display." Ria ran an assessing eye over the slave. "Don't you want to show her off? Even a little affligée, she appears well-trained and very pretty."
"I'm doing that now. Select audience."
"Ah."
"Come here, girl."
Maia stepped lightly to Anders and knelt down at his side. He could feel her trembling against him. Neck and shoulders shuddered and relaxed beneath his touch, while the rest of her stayed as still as discipline required.
Even the out-thrust breasts barely quivered.
Ria looked at the warm and intimate embrace of hand and collared neck, and smiled a little. "Well. A happy household, I think, however Anders likes to arrange it. Are you going to show us your dungeon?"
His mouth twitched. "Pick a room."
"I thought so," said Karl. "Your track lighting is suggestive."
These experts perused, examined the paraphernalia with all its trappings and trimmings, appreciated the arrangements, tried out the appurtenances of the house. They left Maia kneeling in cor
ners until wanted, then firmly applied bridles and blows before dismissing her into corners again.
Ria spent a while perusing the cabinet with all the jewellery. Then she turned, holding the nipple stretchers. In the time it took to reach the beckoning hand, the girl had gone completely scarlet. Ria clipped the thrust-out, barbaric points to a twin leash, and when the tour continued she held onto it. Anders saw with some surprise that his slave got subtly out of step more than once, and suffered the consequences. This was revealing; by this time Maia knew very well how to make her body obey minutely, whatever she was feeling.
They all headed for the stairs. Karl and Ria were off to meet with a sleep researcher that Karl had been corresponding with. Svend had things to do. Maia got it right this time, matching steps with care. Anders took the leash at the bottom of the stairs, and helped Ria into her jacket. "See you later, everyone. Dinner at seven."
The door closed. Suddenly there was silence. Two of them alone again in the soundproof house.
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Anders turned to the small creature beside him. "All right, slave. Come here." He drew her over to the couch and set her on her knees facing him.
"What is it?"
She looked at him apprehensively. "Master?"
"You tighten up every time Ria touches you. And you were actually resisting the leash. You know better than that. What's going on?"
The small body drew itself in a little. "I'm sorry, master. I'm not sure ….
I just don't – I mean my body, it doesn't – seem to – want – "
"Want what?"
"Want her to – to tell me what to do."
Her and Val, too. He nodded, not unduly surprised, and said, "Go on."
She was struggling to articulate something. Finally there was a tiny, resentful shrug. "Women are always – bossing me," she muttered.
"What?" he laughed incredulously. "And that bothers you?" He looked more closely at her face. "It does."
She nodded.
"Why?"
"Oh," she sighed. "It'll sound – stupid." She paused and shifted her weight back and forth, just once. "My sister was always telling me what to do. My mom, too. They kept pushing me to be – well, like them, you know what I mean. But I wasn't mouthy and assertive enough. Or at all. Never came close to their standards. I couldn't fight them so I just – hid. As much as I could.”