As She's Told (67 page)

***

It had been a cool day of hard wind and rapid clouds that had the edge of approaching autumn. Anders had spent the day getting in the last of the vegetables, including baskets of green tomatoes that he hoped to ripen at home, or failing that, make into chutney. The house was cold and drafty; that evening everyone was happy to congregate in the living room and feed the fire. No point in getting the central heating going for one night; Anders wasn't even sure it was operational.

Over dinner they argued about overpopulation. In the living room the conversation meandered through immigration and xenophobia, to the loss of community inherent in bad housing policy. While he talked, Anders plugged his slave thoroughly, and dressed her in the tight lycra top with the breasts cut out. She crawled about on the points of knees and elbows, Ria having on a whim wrapped each doubled-up limb tightly in strips of soft cotton.

Anders had added the padding to protect her joints from the hard floor. He watched, amused, as his pet made her awkward way from hand to hand, taking a tidbit here, a squeeze there.

One more evening to enjoy her in company, and then he would have her all to himself again. It was time. He wanted that little body back in his bed.

Maybe he'd do that tonight, what the hell. Keep them both warm.

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She had settled down like a cat by the fire, bound knees and elbows tucked under her. But she was up in an instant at a finger snap, scuttling over to Val, head down and bottom up, whimpering and straining for the piece of apple held out of her very limited reach. Anders smiled, proud of her. That self-conscious intellect was tucked completely away. What he'd made her she was – the whole product, juicy and undivided.

Karl, a newspaper on the floor between his feet, was dangling a piece of chicken left over from dinner and saying "Up!" The slave responded to the few Danish commands Anders had figured she would learn, and probably a few more. With difficulty she managed to balance herself on knees alone, little arms waving, and then she wobbled and fell forward onto the newspaper. "Come on, up!" Karl said again. On the third try she managed to get the chicken in her teeth. She dropped it on the newspaper and began to eat it.

The night before, they had jammed for hours on every instrument they owned. Including, of course, his bell holder. He'd experimented with heavier bells and some interesting woody noisemakers, adding in the rattle of seeds and the swish of sand to their improvisations. It was sometimes hard to distinguish his slave's wail from the fiddle's.

"Here, girl." Rapidly the little limbs tottered toward him. He lifted her by the elbows, propped them on his knees and examined her, touched her here and there. She looked up at him out of big eyes, aroused to desperation already, no doubt by this new binding. A lovely idea; he already had plans to use it at home. Anders pulled the swollen nipples toward him and just held them for a minute or so, glancing at her face while he described the London East End relocations in the fifties. Then he set her elbows back on the floor, went off and returned with nipple stretchers. Just the sight of them agitated her; once they were on she was frantic. The five of them made themselves hot chocolate and mulled some red wine, read, and argued about the causes of the U.S. subprime mortgage crisis. Val could cite chapter and verse on institutionalized corporate greed. Anders insisted that a good half of the foreclosures had been due to homeowners being bankrupted by uninsured health care costs; for this reason the world financial crisis was the fallout of the lack of universal health care in the U.S. As they moved into the politics of health care, they snapped fingers at the hunhund, tweaked and squeezed and pushed her aside when they'd had enough. They kept the living room 424

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door closed as they went in and out, in order to keep the heat in and the creature on the floor from wandering.

As usual Svend was the first to unzip. But everyone used that eager mouth more than once in the course of the evening. It was the last night, and they were saying goodbye to this strange and enjoyable fellowship. Who knew when they'd ever be able to do this again?

When it happened that no one had used his slave for ten minutes or so, Anders looked into the shadows next to the fireplace where she huddled.

There she squirmed helplessly, lost to all shame. He snapped his fingers, and when she was before him he muzzled her firmly. Then he took out his keys, and opened up the chastity belt.

Released from belt and plugs she turned and stared at him, baffled. He smiled. "Go on," he said in Danish. Her confused brow didn't smooth. She tottered away a few steps and then turned and looked back at him again, exactly like a dog that's been let into a room that's normally off limits.

"Naked cunt at 12 o'clock!" Svend called out. "What the hell?"

"Yes, what are you doing, Mr. Thygessen?" demanded Ria. "Since when do you let the dog out?"

"It's the last night. She's been a good dog. And a fine pony, too. A little reward for good behaviour. Just ignore that end of her for now; let's see what she does."

The whole exchange had been in Danish. Val observed it all, guessing shrewdly at what was going on. She could see the slave shaking, all the way from the other side of the room, standing on her four little points. The conversation resumed. Slowly, the bound limbs moved; the girl made her halting way around the company, receiving an absent pat or stroke along the way. As Ria talked she pulled the slave's folded arms onto her lap, rearranged some of the binding, and flicked casually at the nipple stretchers.

Then she looked down with a cold eye on the attempt to hump her leg and pushed the girl along.

Whimpering, the slave crawled from one pair of legs to the next, backing herself against them and getting pushed away. Karl had her prop herself on the arm of the couch so that he could torment the stretched nipples. Inexorably her crotch inched inward. By the time he released her, her belly was plastered against the couch and she was squirming against the rough weave. "Down, girl!" he said sternly, but he couldn't help laughing.

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Too late. She howled ecstatically behind her muzzle, howled and howled. Eventually Karl pushed her off and she collapsed on the floor, moaning. Within a minute the muscles of her buttocks had begun to clench again. In two minutes she'd lurched up and wobbled toward her master, whining. He stroked her back and ass, made her roll over so he could rub her belly, rolled her back and sent her off with a little push. Again she went round the company, rubbing herself against anyone who was the least bit receptive. Val gave her only a brief second on her boot before shoving her off. At last Svend took pity and let her hump his leg. This took a little longer than the first time, but not much. After that she lay panting happily on the floor.

Anders' phone rang. "Mr. Thygessen? Cooper here." This was their landlord.

"Cooper? I've been trying to get hold of you all week."

"Yeah, I got your message. Sorry, I've been on vacation. Touring Scottish castles with the wife."

"Uh huh. So where do you want me to leave the keys?" He took the opportunity to provide an update on the state of repairs, and to ask about renting again next year. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the slave in another dark corner, clinging insecurely to an old standing lamp they never used. She was rubbing against it desperately, about to bring it over with a crash.

"Hold on," he said hurriedly into the phone, and caught the lamp just before it toppled. The slave got an admonitory smack. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Yeah, I don't know about next summer. If I can rent it year-round – "

Anders felt a warmth at the side of his leg and looked down. The slave, eyes glazed, was trying to prop herself up against him.

"No! Down!"

"What's the matter?" Cooper asked.

"Nothing. Just my dog."

"A young one, huh? Still jumping up?"

"Just tonight. She's a little excited."

"You've got to train them. It's no use having a dog that doesn't know who's boss.”

“Oh, I agree with you."

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When he put the phone away his pet was still whimpering at his feet.

But Anders decided to save a few for himself. He took her into his bed just as she was. Even muzzled, she kept the house awake for some time.

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Chapter Thirty-Three
No end

I listened to the reassuring thump of my master's heart against my ear, savoured the long, firm stroke of his hand.

Second night at home, cradled in the armchair, lights dim.

"Maia."

I hadn't spoken yet. But knew that soon I'd have to. Still, my head pressed his chest a little harder. Long fingers lifted my jaw; I looked up. Into those clear, aware, kind eyes, that I'd loved from the first.

And that intense sparkle lurking. Some extra energy coming off him.

His mouth fighting a smile.

I'd spent most of the day before in the cage, straight from the packing crate and right in; muzzle, mitts and all. From there I'd watched my master shifting boxes, making phone calls, his long legs crossing the floor, in and out of sight. After a lunch from my bowl I'd held out my paws obediently to have the mitts taken off, watched my hands emerge, and found it fascinating to see such a multitude of wiggly pink things at the ends of my arms. I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling with my fingers, exercising my opposable thumb by grasping the bars: a primate once more.

Again I'd slept in his arms, fitting together with him like a token rejoined; pure bliss. That day I'd used my opposable thumbs to unpack and clean things. He'd needed to give me a lot of direction, but gradually I was remembering how to polish chains, clean leather, even which knobs to push on the washing machine. I'd been free of the muzzle, but nothing he'd said had required answers, till now.

"Maia."

I took a breath. "Mm?"

"Try again."

That was an order; no more indulgence for spaceheads. I cleared my throat and nodded.

Whispered, "Yes…Yes, master."

"That's better. How are you doing?"

I ran my hand down his chest. What a pleasure to feel the texture of his skin, the small wiry hoops of chest hair, glinting, burnished, a slightly darker 428

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gold than his hair. I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute, opened them again, tried to reorient myself. Whatever he wanted. What did he need to know?

"Uh – I'm – getting there."

"Good." He took my fingers and kissed them, the palm side, one by one while he searched my eyes. "We'll start slow. Family names first."

Slowly he led me through the preschool stuff, then kindergarten, up the verbal ladder. My other life, the one before the farm, began to reconstruct itself around me. There was more to consciousness than the present moment.

I'd had a job. He made me describe it to him. I was going back to my job, day after tomorrow.

Day after tomorrow?! I retreated into a tight ball in his lap, arms over my head. My reemerging vocabulary deserted me, leaving behind a dry mouth and the portion of my brain that knew how to panic. An animal brain; a body for others' use; nothing more. Patiently he unwound the ball.

"Come on, sweetheart. You can do it. Gather up those 'I' statements."

"Come on, sweetheart. You can do it. Gather up those 'I' statements."

The whirling slowed. A small, sudden laugh blurted from me, taking me by surprise. My face lifted. He smiled down at me. "Pitch your voice low but firm; you read the book."

I laughed outright. "Uh, I don't think the – the manuals had quite this –

situation in mind."

"Never mind. You've got the skills."

I thought back. A year and a half maintaining two personas; splitting my consciousness so I could function like a professional no matter what was under my clothes or in my orifices. No matter what I'd had to do or have done to me the night before. Yes, I had the skills.

I'd have to watch myself like a hawk for a while, not to go off into subspace when my harness pulled. Not to drop to the floor if I heard the word 'Down.' Not to show the exquisite stab of humiliation when I flashed on the crawling thing I'd been. But then, I was what I was. I'd manage.

Anders pushed the hair off my face. "Guess what?"

I straightened, my brain clearing. "What?" Here it was; I'd felt it. That texture of joy coming off him.

"The homeless housing project. It's happening."

He kissed me then, again and again, and I kissed him back and tried to get my breath, and laughed, and crowed, "You did it! You did it! Master, 429

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how…?"

"You did it, my brilliant, invaluable possession. Your idea."

Confused, distracted, I shook my head.

"Remember you said to find someone who could play the game? A fundraiser? I found one through Habitat. And he's found a couple of backers.

Someone with a factory building in south Etobicoke who's willing to see it converted to low-income apartments. It's not big, we'll get maybe twenty units, but it's a start. And someone else who's donating the funds. We're signing the contracts next week."

***

Anders held his woman's face in his hands and kissed her again, an exultant, celebratory kiss that loosened the anchors of fatalism and cast him off into a hopeful sea.

The tips of his fingers followed the outlines of the face that mirrored his delight. He traced the brows, and the smooth places where someday the lines would be, full of character and beauty. Yet another thing to look forward to.

No end to the possibilities.

No end.

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