As She's Told (23 page)

"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.

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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?"

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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 144

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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 145

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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.

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>Congratulations! I will withhold all bothersome doubts and
Cassandra mutterings, and offer applause only.

>Mange tak, Karl. But a hundred fatalistic forebears couldn't bring
me down right now. She's mine, she's installed, it's unfolding just as I
planned. That's enough.

>neighbours may wonder

>I doubt it. Fortunately the nearest neighbours are yuppie working
couples. Not the type for coffee klatches. There's no pressure to get involved
here. It's actually harder to find a sense of community in this city than to
avoid one. I've been careful not to interact, or they'll be dropping by asking
me for renovations advice and free help. Not that I would mind, but I'd
rather they don't come to the door. They will start to wonder if they see Maia
go in and then get no answer to their ring.

>there is a couple here who use similar restrictions, but she works
from home (naked and chained to her desk, they tell me).

>Very nice. I thought of that, but this is a good job for her;
challenging but well within her capabilities. The subject matter is
challenging for her also; it will do her no harm to face some reality, maybe
develop a thicker skin. And I think it's better for her to be out of the house on
a regular schedule.

>She is comfortable to be alone and locked?

>Seems to be. Safety looks like being more my worry than hers. SSC

types would take me apart, of course, for leaving her without access to an
emergency key or whatever. I'm all for safety, but let's face it, politically-correct SSC is totally deadening. For me anyway, it's a blanket of wet
cement over anything significant. I'm reducing the risk to the smallest level
possible within the range of what I'm after. Inspecting wiring and sprinkler
systems monthly. Alarms, all that. Statistically, she's probably safer locked
up at home, even without an escape route, than out crossing the street.

>Your German friend is out of town again. His machine says end of
June.

>Shit. No wonder he's not answering emails.

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>I saw Ole's and it was very fine. I think you will find it best to wait
and be patient.

>You're probably right, damn it. I'll have to see what Graham can do
in the meantime.

> the sweetness of her; I can't describe it, even when she is being
punished, especially when she is being punished.

> What do you mean by this? At first it sounded obvious and bland,
but this word sweet seems to have many meanings; it is following my
thoughts.

>I told you, it's hard to describe. In no way bland. Apparently simple,
but in reality complex and flavourful. She changes over time; a kind of
ripening. At the moment, tart and slippery. Like mango.

>She turns and opens to me as if she can't help it. Even though she's
afraid. Even though she doesn't know what I will do to her next, whether it
will be a blow or a caress. She struggles, and sometimes she fails, and I
force and enforce. Still, she tries, using all her will to give up to my will.

>This is a shy, introverted woman, Karl, making a tremendous effort
not to hide or protect herself. I don't mean physically, though naturally she
has to do that, too. I mean trust, and so much vulnerability. Strange, sweet.

It takes an effort to focus on anything else. I can hardly keep my hands off
her. She is under the desk at my feet as I'm typing this. More later.

***

At home, I had no autonomy, none. Everything that took place, everything I did was determined for me, moment by moment. Zero degrees of freedom. But at work I had more responsibility than I'd ever had in my life. Naturally, I'd had summer and weekend jobs, but always in very junior positions. Now I was officially a professional, and although the information centre had plenty of routines and standard practices to follow, I was expected to take care of things. After the first few days, apart from some occasional help from Information Studies students doing the same sorts of routine work I'd done in the past, I was on my own. The contrast to my life with Anders was bewildering. I had to keep reorienting myself, from passive to active and back again. Actually, 'reorienting' is a mild word for the experience. It felt more like a wrenching redirection of the persona. Luckily 148