Anders stood over his girl where he had placed her, curled on her side, her hands before her face, wrists linked to the headboard. His hands ran over the skin that was fine taut silk, over the marks from the corset, the day’s welts. He felt the body respond: a cat-like curl, a flinch; closing in, opening again. She was his. Really his. His own thing.
His own thing. A very old ballad with those words began playing solemnly in his head, and he hummed along. Lyrics of a man in love, wishing for the woman to be his ‘ain thing.’ Given gender relations in the sixteenth century, once he’d got her she would have become more or less his property. The chains less literal than the ones he used, but much more legal.
Like that first hour in which he had explored Maia’s flesh, Anders was once again the proprietor, the squire. Lord of the manor, in fact. His hands touched intimately over his terrain. He’d had an impact since then, he thought wryly. Ploughed up some furrows, changed the locks on some of the landmarks. Mastery.
But there was something mysterious still about the warm, silent flesh, this body that was quiescent, but vibrating from its core. He thought about the entity beneath his hands, the strange intellect that lived beneath the thick dark curls, inaccessible, separated by bone and flesh and a system of nerves and synapses with no physical link to his own. No matter how he dominated this being beneath his hands, no matter how thoroughly he invaded and occupied, that separation would not be bridged. He would know her by words and signs; maybe pheromones: guesswork. Anders suddenly wanted nothing less than telepathy. He wanted to infiltrate the mind beneath the curls, link to it nerve by nerve, and take her over from within.
How much more at peace they would be, if only he could do this! For he sensed that not only would he feel his ownership more secure, but some of her fears would be assuaged, if only he could reassure her in some way that was beyond doubt.
But they weren’t inhabiting some science fiction tale; no minds conjoining. They were doomed to be always reaching, but never quite there.
Perhaps in time they would know each other so well that mind reading would be what it felt like. If they were lucky. For now he had to know her by words and signals, by vibrations and responses. He stood, and saw her watching his face. Searching for signals.
Light out, he snuggled in behind her and took a breast in his hand. After a minute he murmured, ‘Tell me what happened when I fed you.’ He didn’t mean a recitation of events.
She turned her face further from him, and after a pause whispered, ‘I’m sorry – Master – I don’t know…. Just so scared….”
“Of what?’
She shivered, and after a long moment said something indistinguishable.
‘What?’
He counted five long breaths before he heard the almost inaudible whisper. ‘That you’d despise me.’
He tightened his hold on her, kissed her shoulder, her hair. ‘Little one, people don’t despise their pets; why should I despise you?’ She groaned and snuffled a little, her face buried in the pillow. A sound part protest, part frightened animal. Anders propped himself onto an elbow and turned her face toward him, searching it in the dim light. The dark eyes were shadowy pools, two anxious sparks shimmering. Gently, he stroked a brow with his thumb.
‘You’re afraid I’ll go too far. That I’ll end up with contempt for my own creation.’
Her mouth twisted. Eyes closed, opened, stared at him.
‘You’ll have to trust me. That won’t happen.’
She whispered again. ‘Even if I’m an animal…’ Her lids fell, the sparks were hidden.
‘Crawling… grovelling… filthy…?’
He smiled. ‘I’ll keep you reasonably clean, don’t worry.’
The eyes went wide. Her breath was ragged, her eyes still dark with fear, and with something else. Suddenly he scented her like an animal in the dark; his own body urgently oriented itself to the source. At a touch he felt a ripple deep in her belly, and then another. Her whisper came thickly to him out of the dark, begging reassurance. ‘You do want me – like that?”
“Yes.’ His grip tightened. ‘That’s exactly how I want you.’ His cock found her, pushed into her from behind. ‘No human rights, no dignity. Get used to it, girl. Or not; it doesn’t much matter. That’s the way it’s going to be.’
He nudged her to elbows and knees, and held her nipples hard against the sheet, keeping her in place as his hips shoved her forward, impinging on welted flesh. Her struggles against his belly and chest incited primal urges, urges to bite and thrust. Teeth on her shoulder, he plunged the soft, slippery, convulsing depths of her, felt her shudder and spasm. The chain’s rattle and yank in his ears provided a counterpoint to her repressed, irrepressible cries.
***
Despite the chain, the soreness, the cataclysmic nature of the day, I dropped into sleep like a rock falling off the end of a pier. And I didn’t dream at all. At some point in the night I half woke, tried to turn over, and found myself hampered by an apparent inability to move my hands, and by a big arm over me, my breast held in its grip. I subsided again.
When I surfaced the next time I was conscious enough to be afraid of disturbing him, but managed to wriggle onto my other side, stopping at every rattle of the chain. His sleepy arm gathered me in again, the hand this time grasping a sore buttock. Snuggling, I slept until light edged the windows. When I opened my eyes, Anders was lying face up beside me, his head thrown back a little.
I examined his profile in the growing light. The gleaming hair was muted in shadows, and the eyes with their agate depths were hidden. It was a powerful face stripped to its basics, like the last portrait of a king rendered in stone on his sarcophagus. A primitive kind of awe stirred in me. What was he? Something beyond me. Harder than flesh and blood; some other order of being.
Then the eyes rolled beneath their lids and the chest rose to take a deeper breath, breaking the stony spell. A live hand beneath the blanket found my thigh, and the body rolled toward me. The other hand fumbled the fallen covers up over my shoulder and took a proprietorial grip on my arm.
Suddenly the eyes with their depths were open and searching. His hand moved to test the chain and feel over the cuffs, and when these met with approval he fingered my shoulders. I was a little stiff from the restriction, and sighed as his fingers eased them. He sat up, pulled the covers off and looked me over for a minute or so. Then he went off to the bathroom.
Shivering a bit, I wriggled over onto my other side, and wondered what Sunday morning in a slave-owning household would be like. Would we read the paper, him at the table reading the political news, me with the comics on the floor? I grinned. Croissants? I was hungry. There’d been croissants in Story of O, and, come to think of it, Carrie and Jonathan had devoured them in Safe Word. But this wasn’t Paris, or even Montréal; there was no boulangerie just round the corner. Damn.
Anders returned and trundled me off to the bathroom. The tub was a big, squarish enclosure with more than enough room for both of us. A piece of nylon rope hung from the ceiling and I submitted meekly as he fastened my wrists above my head. Then I watched, biting my lip, as the soap slid down his long body. Down between muscle and muscle, bone and tendon, belly and thigh. He was humming the same tune as the night before. It had been new to me, but sounded old; something slow and solemn. The occasional ricochet of water got me in the face; I wiped my eyes as best I could on my upper arms. When he was done with himself he turned to me, and I submitted blissfully to being soaped and stroked and handled. His song had words now. ‘An thou were my ain thing, I would love thee, I would love thee…’
I’d never heard the words from him before; there’d been no need, really, because despite all my fears I’d never had a doubt of it. It figured, though, that he’d use a piece of music to put words to it. In response I kissed all the places I could reach.
Then the first part of the phrase sank in and I looked up in astonishment.
He stopped singing. ‘What?’ he said.
‘Your own thing?’
‘Yes, indeed. Don’t tell me this is news to you.’ His arms slipped around my waist and pulled me hard against him, his tight skin warm and slippery. His mouth was stern, but his eyes looked happy.
‘Of course not, Master, but – ‘ I sucked in a steamy breath, and said into his chest, ‘it’s odd, because – I’ve been thinking about the same – words like that for weeks. You know the tale of Patient Griselda?’
He leaned back and wiped some water from his face. ‘I know roughly, but I don’t think I ever read it. Chaucer, isn’t it? Why?’
I told him the words Patient Griselda used: ‘I am thine owen thing, werketh after thy will.’ We both looked at each other, a little bemused, the water drumming around us.
Finally he said, ‘It’s weird enough, you know, that we both have anything in our heads that dates before 1800. 1950 would be the limit for most people. That we both hit on that phrase….’
‘Spooky.’
He kissed my forehead, and for a moment pressed his head to mine, temple to temple, as if trying to listen to my thoughts. At that moment they had something to do with my desire to lick him from his toes to his eyelids.
He might have read my mind on that one, but I doubt he had to.
Straightening up, there was that dancing light in his eye; something had amused him. Then he unhooked the rope from the ceiling and held it while he pushed me to my knees. I sucked his huge, water-tasting cock with my bound hands high against him, my eyes closed against errant spray. Trying to give him every sweetness of suction, every delicacy of tongue and lips.
And then I opened my throat and gave up any vestige of self-will. That was my purpose in that moment – to be an adjunct to his body, a vessel, a kind of utensil. A thing. And I wanted more than anything to be a good one. Perhaps it was just the bathroom acoustics, but I think by the sound of his orgasm I did well.
This time I accepted the humiliation of the dog dish with barely a whimper. I was still mortified at what I was doing, but I wasn’t quite so afraid of his contempt. My fear had taken another direction. The cane was still propped in the corner near my head, its threat anything but idle. Its tracks were still painfully livid on my behind, each one swelling much wider than the cane’s slim profile. The night before I had wanted desperately to obey him, to exercise a choice to do what would please him, and that motive wasn’t gone. But this morning there was no choice. The inescapable physical compulsion made my decision for me.
I felt the chain slide cool and heavy across my back as I crouched before the dish. The cane hovered in my peripheral vision. The house was soundproof. My master, who loved me, also did exactly what he liked with me. He outweighed me by a factor of two, and in strength by far more. He held all the implements and all the keys. I pulled gently at my locked wrists, settled, despite my fear, into a sense of security as reassuring as gravity, and lowered my face into my scrambled eggs.
***
The lengths of strap beyond the locks would have to go, Anders decided. The extra leather was raising the profile too high. But how much of them? ‘Does your size change at all through your cycle?’ he asked her, tugging at a loose end. Maia stood with arms above her head, swaying slightly at the end of her chain. The luminous dark eyes startled a little and regained some focus. A network of dark straps enclosed her lush little torso; they pressed wide and hard into waist and chest, surrounded breasts and buttocks. Her vulva swelled between the straps that outlined it. She hadn’t uttered more than faint groans since the process began.
She swallowed. ‘Not much. If at all. I don’t notice any. But – ‘ She looked down at herself, swayed her hips experimentally. ‘— I don’t normally have to deal with such small tolerances.’ She smiled faintly.
‘Well, we’ll leave a notch or two of leeway for now. You’re about mid-cycle, yes?’
A pause for thought, an attempt at a deep breath that was cut short by the harness. ‘Yes.’ Anders marked straps, removed, cut, refinished, replaced, tightened, adjusted. Pressed the locks home. He snapped thin formed leather into place over her breasts, making a bra of sorts. Then he released her and tried dresses on her, one by one; stood back to examine the effect, had her walk and stoop and shift the piles of books he’d brought in for the purpose. He frowned as he set aside one of his favourites, the russet one that she’d been wearing when they met. It was too thin and soft to conceal the harness. So was the blue jersey. Another had too wide a neck, and a fourth was too short for safety. They’d need to do some shopping. As he adjusted the shoulders of the last dress, their eyes met in the mirror. He raised his right hand solemnly. ‘I swear I never played with Barbie dolls.’
A grin flickered at the corner of her mouth, and she opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You might as well say it; go on.’
Her expression in the mirror was both sly and apprehensive. ‘Just thinking perhaps you were making up for lost time.’
He ran his hand up beneath the back of the dress and pinched her, making her yelp. ‘Yup, no question about it. Lego was never like this.’ He stroked her ass and the straps that demarcated ass from thigh. ‘Not like this,’
he said again, stroking the deep curves between the straps. Skin like hot, welted satin. Stroking it was nearly a hypnotic experience. ‘Tha’s got an arse,’ he rumbled, attempting a rural English accent, ‘as a man loves in ‘is guts. Especially in harness. I feel like a perverted D.H. Lawrence.’
She laughed, and then sighed and flinched and sighed again. He ran a light hand across the hair of her cunt and watched her eyes start to glaze over again.
‘No, now, that’s enough. Let’s see you move.’ She worked at his command, and he watched for harness showing through, accompanied her up and down stairs, and at last was satisfied.
‘Okay, we’re going to do a dry run downtown, the route you’ll take to work. Let’s go.’ He rapidly unlocked her collar and cuffs, had her put on sandals and shepherded her out the door. On the doorstep he felt her hand anxiously gripping his. He didn’t need to look at her face to know how scared she was at the sudden transition. They stopped on the porch and he gave her a minute to adjust.
The sun shone through gaps in the clouds that covered most of the sky and reflected in the windows opposite. Pale leaves were flickering in the breeze. Anders looked down at Maia’s tense face.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘No one will know.’
‘How about…’
‘What?’
‘Wind under my skirt?’
‘Too narrow.’
She ran her hand carefully down her narrow dress. ‘Someone brushing up against me on the streetcar?’
‘They’d have to be feeling you up before they’d know anything.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. No one will know.’
She bit her lip. ‘I’ll know.’
‘Yes, you will, won’t you?’
‘Will I wear this – every day?’
‘Probably. Or something worse.’ He smiled benignly at her. He loved watching her adjust to his inflictions.
‘What if I – can’t concentrate?’
‘You’ll have to learn. You’ll manage.’ He ran his fingers over one cheek, then gave her ear a little tug. ‘I’m not letting you out the door without it. So I’m afraid you’ll just have to figure out how to deal with it.’
She murmured acquiescence in accepted form: ‘Yes, master,’ and lowered her eyes, but her hand didn’t relax its grip.
They walked down toward the streetcar stop. Half a block away they heard the rumble of the approaching car, and he pulled her into a run. Not much of a run; more of a light scurry in her case. Still, she was panting when he steered her into a seat at the back. She gave him a look more plaintive than reproachful.
He smiled blandly at her. ‘It’s Sunday. Not many streetcars. Grab ’em while you can.’ He put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Anything hurt?’
Maia took a few quick breaths. ‘No, just – really – tight.’ She wriggled slightly, and arched her back just a little, trying the limits of her bondage.
Quickly she gave up the attempt, placed a trembling, tentative hand on his thigh, and gave him a sidelong look. He immediately took possession of the hand.
He had been looking forward to this from the first moment of their acquaintance. Sending her out into the world apparently free, but in fact thoroughly harnessed and restrained. Locked up, yet vulnerably naked beneath her dress. Demure on the surface, utterly, wantonly packaged beneath. And having to cope with it all.
A quick glance around assured him there was no one within earshot if he kept his voice down. ‘I expect you to go straight to that stop each morning, and straight to work; no side trips. Same in the other direction. If you think you need to do anything else, you’ll have to get permission from me beforehand. Preferably well in advance. If something urgent comes up you can call me for permission, but it’d better be important.’
She nodded acquiescence. Usually once she knew the rules there was some release of tension, but not this time.
‘Something’s worrying you.’
‘I – yes. I’ll have to use a computer at work. Is that – okay?’
‘Of course. How else could you do your job?’
‘What about e-mail?’
‘Yes, you can access your e-mail at work. Home also; I’m not cutting you off. I was going to let you check it this evening. I think every other day is enough. And I’m not giving you more than fifteen minutes.’
‘That’s plenty. I just don’t want to lose touch with Po Ling and Heather.’ She relaxed, and he ran a finger back and forth across the inside of her wrist.
‘Nikki’s calling you at work tomorrow?’
She nodded. ‘I told her you said it was okay to call us at home, but she
– thinks it’s better….’
‘She thinks it’s better to talk to you when you’re not directly under my thumb. That’s all right. Though I doubt you’ll have a lot of time for personal calls. At least of her variety. You might have to cut her short.’
She looked up at him a little shyly. ‘I’m glad that you’re not worried about – about my talking to people.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m a possessive, controlling son of a bitch, but I’m not crazy. You can talk to whoever you like.’ He smiled a little. ‘What you do and where you go is a different story.’
They were at Parliament now, and new passengers were walking down the aisle toward them. He stroked firmly down her side, feeling the straps, pulling her close. They got off a couple of stops past the university, and walked up the street to the Healthy Environments Coalition Information Centre. This occupied a house converted for the purpose, and had funding insufficient to remain open on weekends. Part-time staff was a tradition, a convenience for staff with school-age children, and a convenience also for the administration, which in this way avoided paying benefits. Maia had expressed guilt about depriving some working mother of an ideal job, a scruple that Anders had firmly quashed.
He looked at his watch. ‘You should be able to make it home by one-thirty. One-forty-five if the streetcar’s delayed or something. How does it feel now?’
The calm expression she’d assumed for public consumption wavered slightly. ‘Almost as scary as before.’
‘Almost but not quite? That’s good. And physically?’
‘Still tight. I see what you meant when you said I – wouldn’t draw a free breath.’ She exhaled what air she had through a wry smile.
‘You got it,’ he said cheerily ‘Any chafing?’
‘Maybe. Inside thigh, on the right. Feels a little tighter than the left.’
‘I’ll check it when we get home.’ They headed back.
The streetcar back was long in coming, and fairly full, so they had to stand until Yonge Street. Anders took a few steps back and took in his slave from a little distance. She looked composed: a small, pretty, high-breasted girl in a green dress and sandals. No sign of the turmoil, the intense arousal, the fear he knew roiled beneath the surface; none that a stranger would notice, anyway. Just a faint shifting from side to side, easily explained by tired feet or the motion of the streetcar. A very slight sheen of perspiration on the slender neck.
Further instructions were murmured as they approached the house arm in arm. ‘Kneel as soon as the door is closed and locked behind you.’ Anders watched carefully as she obeyed. ‘Take off everything that can be taken off, fold it neatly and put it in here.’ He opened the narrow hall closet, pointed at the low shelves he’d installed.
Maia removed her sandals and dress and put them away. ‘These also,’
he said. He pointed to the thin leather breast coverings, which she unsnapped from the surrounding straps with some difficulty, and set on a shelf. He stood and feasted his eyes for a long moment. ‘Good. Close the closet door.
Make sure you hear a click.’ She pressed it home. ‘It’s locked now. All your clothes will be locked up, do you understand?’ He saw the significance of this sink in and reflect in the glance she gave him.
‘All right, come forward now.’ He pointed to the floor in front of the built-in bench, and she crawled forward a few feet, past the open inner door.
‘You’ll find your collar and cuffs on the bench. Put them on before you do anything else.’
As she fumbled with the unfamiliar hardware, he added, ‘You’ll put on everything else I lay out here as well. And I’ll leave instructions for you to follow.’
The collar clicked. She looked up.
‘You don’t move from this spot until you’ve followed the instructions.
Most of what I lay out you’ll put on right away, and lock. There might be some things you’ll come back and put on later. Understand?’
‘Yes… I think so, master, but how will I know … when to come back?’
‘It’ll be quite clear in the instructions. After you’ve finished certain chores, for instance, or at a specific time.’ He nodded toward the next ankle, and she worked away at the cuffs. When they were all in place, he squatted down next to her. ‘Now, in case you’re wondering how I’m going to enforce all this, let me point something out to you.’ He turned her face up toward the juncture of wall and ceiling and pointed at a pale little object there. ‘See what that is?’ It took her a moment. ‘A webcam?’
‘That’s right.’ He watched her face. ‘I’ll know the time you walk in the door, and what you do when you get here. There are several more throughout the house.’
Her chest was heaving rapidly against the harness. ‘I won’t disobey you.
Honestly, master.’
He got to his feet, and slipped a finger through the ring at her throat.
‘I’m sure you’ll try to be good, little one. This will help. And I’ll feel much happier knowing that you’re where I expect you to be, safe and secure.’
He felt her nuzzle forward to kiss his palm.
She wasn’t objecting. She was grateful.
