As She's Told (59 page)

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

"Yes. I couldn't – I'm sorry, master, I couldn't possibly obey without the belt, but with it..."

"All safe?"

She shuddered a little. "Yes." She kissed his stroking hand. "Thank you.

For making me obey. Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," he smiled. "You came through those weeks with my guests very well. A little balking, easily handled. Otherwise, sweet and graceful obedience.”

“Thank you, master. I'm sorry about the balking – I – "

"You were punished for it at the time; don't take it on again. You did me proud, you know."

She thanked him again, eyes swimming, and he leaned down and explored her mouth with his own, thoroughly and at length.

Then he pulled back to look at her, licking his lips. "Nothing else?"

She shook her head once more.

"Then there's another thing. That vacation you have coming. They're giving you three weeks. Find out if you can get more."

"How much more?"

"Another three weeks if you can get it."

"Wow." Her brow furrowed. "Maybe. I think they might let me. At the last meeting they were talking about cutting hours over the summer. One of the donors pulled out.”

“Oh, yes? Good. Well, bad, but good for us, as long as it gets no worse.

You ask them. All of July and August if they really want to save money. I know you're necessary at that place, and I know you enjoy the job, but a break won't hurt." He could feel her curiosity, though she contained it through long practice. He settled her more comfortably on his lap.

"I've found a farm to rent over the summer, out near Picton. We're going to spend as much of July and August out there as we can."

"A farm?"

"Yes. Nice old farmhouse, a barn, some outbuildings. The fields haven't been worked for a while; pretty overgrown. But there's a big garden plot that's workable. Rather an isolated place, out at the end of a road, but not so far out that I can't get in to work when I need to.”

“You can take time off?"

"Some. I've been limiting the jobs I book. Val is going to take a couple 372

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things on for me. Rizal's very steady. I've got it all worked out."

"Oh, wait, I know – those pictures."

"Yes, that was the farm. I'll show you." He put her off onto the floor, went downstairs and came back with the photos. Back in the chair, they looked at them together. "Here's the house. There's the barn and the road that goes back to a stream. One of the fields and a nice bit of woods. Here's the stable. Which is where I'll keep you."

Her eyes slid from the photograph to his face, and stayed there. He ran one finger down the side of her face, down her neck and between her breasts.

"I'm going to train you to go in harness, and pull a cart. The place needs a pony. Plenty of jobs for one. And there's the stable for when you aren't needed." Anders watched her chest rise and fall rapidly. The big eyes were fixed on him, pupils dilated.

"Mind you, the house also needs a dog. We'll see." She leaned into his chest, and Anders felt rather than heard a little moan. He took hold of one breast, and she gasped and shook. Anders felt her arousal bloom, like a flower in fast forward, watched her face suffuse with blood, her breathing grow ragged. He held her firm against him, forbidding movement, and gradually she calmed down.

When he thought she could listen, he went on. "I don't see any need for you to pretend to be human when you're at the farm. No need for you to speak at all." Fear flashed behind her eyes. "What is it?"

"Master, if you have to work and I'm – like that – how long am I alone out there?"

"Not much. Svend and Karl and Ria are all in on this; they'll be there, too. Svend can write from there, Karl will work on his thesis, and Ria will be in and out. Val is going to come on weekends, some of them. You might be alone if we all go into town for a movie or something. And of course you'll be by yourself in the stable a good deal."

He watched her absorb this. The panicky look was gone, but the fading flush returned redoubled. "We don't need a servant,' he went on. "There are enough of us to share the housework. They argued about it; it looks so convenient to have a slave to do the drudgework and scrub the pots. But they gave in." He hadn't given them a choice. He wanted her immersed, an animal 24/7, and compromise wasn't on his agenda. "I don't want you using these –

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" he picked up her hands by their thumbs – "any more than I want you speaking. Is that clear?”

“Yes, master." He wanted more than simple compliance now. "Is it?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. "Master, I've only been human when you allow it. Not otherwise. It's – its always been up to you where I am on the continuum. Animal to human. I know which – to which end I belong."

"Good. Now that you know my plans, back to question time. It has been a year. Tomorrow is the day we go to the bank and shift all your money into my account. And arrange that for all your future paycheques, too. That's pretty major. I'm also changing the question time intervals from three months to six. Yes, I know you hate this, but listen! One last chance. If you have any doubts at all about any of this, say so now."

She burst into tears and pressed herself into his chest. "No, master! No doubts! Please!”

“All right." He squeezed her tight. "It's all right. Shh. I didn't really think there would be, sweetheart. But I had to ask."

"Please, no more," she sobbed. "Please no more question time. I don't decide. I'm a thing; you own me. Please don't tell me I have choices."

He pressed her to him, tucking her head hard under his chin, feeling her sobs against his throat. "I have to know – have to know I'm not harming you

– " His voice shook a little. Her shaking, or his own?

"No, never," she said. "You must – must know by now – "

He grimaced, staring into space above her head. "I've been wrong before."

She pulled back and searched his face. "That was different," she whispered. "Not everything is – is controllable. Even you can't …." She closed her eyes and propped her forehead against his shoulder. "But me –

I'm getting – master, I need this. This is what I am. Please, no more question time…"

He pulled her back against him, and laughed a little, ruefully. "Do you think you get a choice about that, slave, any more than you do about anything else?" There was a tiny groan below his chin. "No, master."

"There's your paradox, then. Our never-quite-ending dilemma." She looked up again, sniffling. "But it's over for the time being, sweetheart, at least until November. I'll think about making it next May instead. If I see 374

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fit." He tipped her head back and kissed her wet eyes. "Not exactly orange blossom and crossed whips, is it?"

She blurted a thick laugh, snuffled again, and scrubbed at the last of her tears. "You never did like formalities."

He reached a long arm for a tissue and handed it to her; she blew her nose. "The bank account is a bit of a formality," he said, "and a pretty major commitment on a practical level. If a bit cold."

Maia gave her head the hard little shake that meant she was back to normal. "Is it much?" she asked. "I've lost track. Anyway, it's yours, master.

Not much more than symbolic, I suppose, compared with what you make."

"Are you kidding? A year's part-time income, untouched. Very useful, believe me."

Anders sat for a while in silence, his hand slowly circling on Maia's back and shoulders and hips, gently smoothing her hair. Enfolding the skin, nerves, blood, bone and heart that belonged to him. Reading the thoughts behind the eyes so well now, sometimes better than he read his own. And how well did she read his?

His hands stilled. "I've been thinking about Saturday. What I said at the hospital. And it occurred to me that we'd had a conversation like that before.

When I told you about Sam." She nodded.

"You noticed that, did you? The egotism on my part. To think I'm the one in charge. That just because I set out to do something, I necessarily have the power to do it. Alone and unaided.”

“That's because you usually do. Have the power to do things."

"Maybe. And the responsibility. But I should be able to recognize my limitations. Because otherwise, when things don't go my way, I see myself as a – how did you put it back then? – as a god screwing up on the job."

"Yes."

"And then I'll stick to the plan in my head, even if it's a dead end.

Tunnel vision. Trying to be the hero."

"And disappoint yourself."

"Oh, yeah. Big time."

She ran a gentle hand over his arm. "It's odd," she said. "You're very creative." She mirrored his half smile, and went on, "I don't just mean with me. A creative problem-solver; I've seen it. Patient, too. And you don't work alone."

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He considered this, then shrugged. "When it's easy, sure. When I'm calling the shots. Patience, creativity, all that goes down the tubes when I find out I'm not in charge. Especially when it's people's lives and I feel responsible."

She nodded. "You've been taking it on."

"Yes. As a personal failure."

"Instead of a national disgrace," she said solemnly. "Involving three levels of government and decades of societal neglect, indifference and scapegoating. Obviously all your fault.”

“Shit. Some ego, huh?"

She drew his long head down to her own and kissed it. "My Superman.

Maybe you're just Batman. No super powers, exactly, but one hell of a utility belt."

Anders' laugh exploded out of nowhere, from nothingness to nova in a picosecond like the Big Bang. There was no stopping it. He laughed until his stomach hurt and he'd collapsed over Maia's shaking shoulders.

At last he took a breath, said, "Wow," and wiped his eyes. "Just Batman, huh?" His still laughing slave got a stern look; he pinched her ass till she squealed. Then, smiling, he sat back and sighed. "Not enough tools on my belt for this particular job, as it turns out. I think it's getting through my head, not to treat everything like a nail just because I've got a hammer, but whatever the right tool is, I haven't got it. But like you said, maybe someone else does.”

“Like who?"

"I don't know yet. But I've more or less come round to the possibility. It doesn't seem so terrible now, for some reason." Slowly his palm circled on her left breast, and then her right. "Never mind, sweetheart. This is an anniversary; enough soul-searching for now. We should mark the occasion."

He dumped her off his lap, went to the dresser and picked up a small brown paper bag. "I won't mark that beautiful skin. Well, not permanently. But I did get Graham to make these up." He tipped out four jingling bits of metal, two small and round, the other two long ovals, somewhat curved, and held them out to her.

She examined the engraving. One circle and one oval said, 'This slave property of Anders Thygesen' and their Toronto address. 'If lost contact' and his phone number. The other two were the same, but with a rural route 376

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address. She held these up. "The farm?"

"Yes. The round ones are for your collar, of course. The others are to set into your chastity belt." He yawned. "I'll do that tomorrow."

She ran her fingers over the engraving and looked up, smiling. "I'm touched."

He laughed. "So you should be, moppet. You can wear this one to bed."

He got the pliers.

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"All right. Lift."

Anders and Svend hefted the crate between them. There was very little shifting of the contents, which was a good sign. Out in the cool of a July dawn, they slid the crate into the truck bed and anchored it to the eyebolts on either side. Anders rechecked his own anchors and then checked Svend's.

Svend yawned until his jaws cracked, and rubbed his face. "Obsessive bastard. Jesus. Quarter to six. Wake me when we get there."

They loaded the last couple of bags and a cooler, tied a white canvas tarp over the load, and got on their way. It was a Sunday, too early for the cottage traffic, and the roads were practically empty, which was the reason for Anders forcing his brother up at the crack of dawn. Less chance of accidents, less likelihood of his cargo overheating.

Svend was asleep again before they hit the highway. Maia had sat in that seat the summer before, heading up to Orillia. Trading memories and laughing, human because he had allowed it. But not this year. He'd miss that, but there were compensations. Other kinds of exchanges. And there were years before him, to listen to her human conversation whenever he chose.

What was this force in him to construct, this urge to actualize the blueprint in his head? Builder's hands, builder's gut. Force, preoccupation, perversion.

Hard sometimes, to be so driven.

Anders had a vision of his Lutheran forebears praying to their harsh god over him, appalled at the waste of his energies on bizarre lusts. He'd compel them to roll over in their graves if he could, with pleasure. But such flexibility was out of the question; those characters weren't about to change their positions for anything short of Ragnarök.

He had needed a lot more servicing from his slave in the last few weeks, just anticipating the summer. And Maia had been swimming in a remarkable state of aroused apprehension. That submissive DNA in full juice and flower. Her anticipation vibrated just below the surface of his own senses.

Whatever had made them like this, the pleasures to be had were extraordinary. A tractor-trailer loomed ahead, its huge load vibrating.

Anders eased his pickup past it. Safety. The webbing held her safely down 378

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on her knees and elbows in the centre of the crate, so that even in a collision she would not be thrown against the sides. The whole inside was cushioned in crash-absorbing materials. Plenty of ventilation. The straps were cinched outside the crate so she couldn't trip a release with her little mitts. She'd be fine.