Authors: Denise Hall
Judgment (18 page)
As the first blow fell, Mouse let out an ear-piercing shriek.
Her automatic kick hit Tane's right leg and she halfway broke out of Deaton's hold just enough to knock over a neighboring desk.
I positively shook with fear for her as, grim-faced, Boyden lay his ledger down and went to help.
"Hold her still," Tane ordered.
"I'd like to," Deaton said through gritted teeth. "She's biting my arm."
Tane laughed at that, but the sound was angry and dark and had me catching my breath nervously.
Thhh-whack!
His cane bit into the soft underside of her buttocks, driving them upwards and eliciting another scream from Mouse. He 160
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gave her six total, all low, creating a single, thick, plum-colored welt that had me squirming in sympathy.
Mouse sobbed miserably when it was over and I could hear Tane's breathing, heavy with anger rather than exertion, alongside her.
"I haven't seen such a disgraceful performance in years,"
he growled. "Master Hutch, I want Mouse on the Assembly Block this afternoon. Three dozen with the birch, and three more with the martinet."
"As you say," Hutch replied, just as grimly. "Resisting chastisement is worth at least that much."
"And lest mutiny be a common theme among the Lessers in this row," Tane gestured down the line with his cane. "Give them all a Demerit. Six of your best and work them low."
"I'm going to be a very busy man tonight," Hutch remarked, clasping the broken birch behind his back and looking at each of the doomed females in turn.
"I've half a mind to order the strap taken to every Lesser in this room." Tane started back to the dais. "Mischief!"
I jumped as he barked my name.
"Does a female ever resist her master?"
Eyes wide, I jerked my head from side to side. "N-no, Master!"
Tane came slowly to me. He hunkered down beside me, and I closed my eyes in utter dismay. I knew—just knew—he was about to give me a turn with Deaton's savage cane. But instead, his tone once more soft and gentle, he said, "You left Judgment last night."
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I felt Gansel stiffen beneath me. Behind Tane, Master Deaton looked first surprised and then quickly and chillingly angry.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Why did you come back?"
"I-I don't know, Master."
"You were beyond the door." He cupped my chin, tilting back my head and giving me no choice but to look at him.
"You could have kept going, but didn't. I want to know why.
Did you see me behind you?"
"N-no, Master." I shook in the cradle of his palm. My eyes teared. For the life of me I couldn't think of a single clear, definite reason for coming back, other than I didn't really want to go. Out of desperation, I told him the only thing that came to mind. "This one loves her Master, heart and soul."
Tane smiled. "Ah."
"I simply do not understand your fascination with that one," Master Deaton said, shaking his head again. "You have a hundred quiet, obedient things to choose from—"
"Like Desire?" Tane asked.
Deaton frowned. "I was going to say like Shadow or Pixie.
Even Ember if you can stand her snoring."
"Quiet and obedient are a dime a dozen." Tane stood up.
He bent to deliver the briefest of kisses to my trembling lips.
"What can I say? There's a fondness in me for the naughty ones. Take Mischief to my quarters, Gansel, and wait until I get there. I have one more skill room to visit and four more suitable candidates to find, before I can devote the rest of the night to bringing my Mischief to heel. Put her to bed and let 162
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her sleep. She'll need all the rest she can get to endure what I have planned for tonight."
I never got to wear the soft pink uniform of a Midpoint, or the short, yellow skirt and high heels of an Elite. That was the day Tane took me for his Personal, and I was removed from life in the Pit.
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The doctor rubbed my arm after giving me a sedative.
Already I could feel the calming effects soothing through me,
inserting short pauses between the panicked moans that still
found their way from a throat screamed raw.
I lay facing the back of the couch in Captain's office,
despondently staring out the window, blue sky and fluffy,
white clouds drifting along far above me. I was never going to
see my Master again. I was lost in the Outside, abandoned to
a world that made no sense to me and to the unpredictable
male and female masters that dwelt in it. I would never be
loved or cared for again. I closed my eyes against a fresh
rush of tears.
With a final pat to my shoulder, the doctor went to stand
with the three detectives. "Hospitalization would be my first
recommendation. She needs to be under immediate twenty-four hour observation. In all likelihood, she's going to require
extensive professional care for a long time."
"You want to commit her," the nice detective said.
"Yes," the doctor affirmed. "I want to commit her."
"I don't want her put in a nuthouse," the Detective
protested. "She's not crazy."
The doctor didn't argue, but said, "A hospital is the best
place for her. I've never seen conditioning this severe before.
Granted, I'm not an expert, but I can't even think where to
begin undoing the damage. In all probability, she'll never fully
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recover. Someone will need to supervise and care for her the
rest of her life."
The Detective came to squat next to the couch and me. He
reached out to touch my cheek, but feeling betrayed, I turned
my face away.
"She's not a puppy, Mac," Jim said. "You can't keep her.
We just do our job and hope everything else works out for the
best."
"Our job." The Detective's mouth became a hard, thin line.
"We saved her from one bad situation and threw her head
first into another."
The nice detective slipped his hands in his back jeans
pockets. "At least in the hospital she won't be beaten."
"No, they'll just drug her up to the gills, wrap her into a
straight jacket, and lock her up until she either recovers or
dies. What an improvement."
The door opened again and somewhere in the increasingly
foggy recesses of my awareness, I heard Captain say, "Pack
her up, gentlemen. Mischief's going home."
"Home?" The Detective stood up. "I thought her folks lived
on the east coast. They can't have come for her ... Who is
he?"
"This is Ambassador Daymon Tane. He's on a business
trip, visiting our fair city from Europe."
"You've got to be kidding me," Jim said.
The gentle, beloved tones of my Master floated down
through the fog, music to my ears. "There's my beautiful little
mischief-maker." Fingertips trailed lightly across my brow,
and I fought groggily to peel my eyelids open so I could see
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him. "Wake up, Infant. Time to go home. It's been two days
since I last had you across my knee. You should have no
trouble taking the punishment you've earned this time."
"You son of bitch!" the Detective snapped, and sounds of a
very brief scuffle broke out around me.
* * * *
The ugly blue-gray Primary uniform was stripped from my skin and replaced with the hard-as-bone black corset and soft, white uniform of a Personal. The gossamer, bib-like skirt barely covered my pubis in front and revealed the lower curve of my bottom cheeks behind. There was no bodice to it at all, which left my breasts completely bare. But the top inch or so of the corset turned up and out like a kind of shelf that lifted and cradled each one as though offering them up for my Master's delight.
My navel was pierced, as was my labia and the hood just over my clit. Because I was permitted to do nothing for myself, Tane took great care to keep these wounds clean and clear of infection.
I was fitted with a special harness, made just for me. The halter of it slid over my shoulders, cris-crossed my bare breasts, wrapped around my ribs and buckled at the back. My 166
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leather collar was exchanged for a gold one that had velvet padding along the inside so as not to chafe my skin. My restraints were replaced with permanent ankle and wrist cuffs that matched my new collar, and all were linked by a thin gold chain via my harness and the series of rings set in the leather to keep the chain from tangling up. On each cuff hung a tiny bell that jingled when I moved. And though movement brought punishment, I learned to love the sound of those little betrayers. Once my blindfold was tied into place, sound was all I had.
Well, that and my Master, who treated me as though I were the most precious of treasures. He took great care to care for me.
He bathed and shaved me, adorned my body with select pieces of jewelry, and lightly perfumed me when the mood struck him. I was allowed to do nothing for myself; my Master did it all. He brushed my teeth. He gently dressed me every morning and removed my uniform again at night. He even raised the blankets for me before I was permitted to take my place in his bed.
My falcon's perch was a cushion by the hearth where I was required to kneel, although at first, because my body still hadn't recovered from Tane's hook, he made for me a make-shift bed of pillows. Each morning after breakfast, he would lay me down and I was expected to stay motionless throughout the day. If I wiggled, twitched or fidgeted, anything aside from the regular rise and fall of my chest as I breathed, the bells on my halter jingled and I was punished.
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It was a simple enough task—how hard is it to hold still, after all—but I could never do it. Never. The first hour felt like an age and after that my body would tense and I'd find myself wondering if perhaps I had been forgotten.
By the time the intercom chimed the lunch hour, I would be a shivering, nervous wreck. And though I calmed within minutes of his first soothing touch, I was never able to conquer the dread that overwhelmed me at his absence. It was such a silly fear, I know. Completely unfounded. My Master never forgot me, not even once. In the beginning, I don't think he even really left me alone. There were times when I heard movement around me, but it was those other times, with those frighteningly long stretches of silence, that conspired to make me disobedient, to fill me with fear and make the bells sing out.
And later, when I know he did leave me, a guard was posted within the room so despite the emptiness and loneliness, I was still not alone. With my blindfold in place, it just felt that way. When Tane returned he'd ask, "Did you hear the bells?" And the guard would answer either yes or no.
'Yes' was much more common than 'no' was.
Towards the end of my 'Falcon' days, the guard disappeared and then I truly was left alone. Darkness swallowed me, panic that I might be left like this forever consumed me. But always my Master returned to soothe me with a touch from his hand, and he'd ask, "Did you move, Mischief?"
There were many times when I told him 'yes' just so I could feel the reassurance of being pinned across his strong 168
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thighs while a seemingly endless explosion of pain rained down across my bottom and thighs as he spanked me. It was a comfort to know he still wanted me enough to bother with punishing me. And I liked it when he held me afterward and kissed the tears from my face.
It was a rare occasion when I made it through the day as still as a statue of stone, but when I did I was rewarded with tender touches and praise. Gentle hands would caress their way to my breasts, squeezing and lifting them to his mouth, plucking and suckling at the nipples until they tightened for him. His body would come into mine, and he would satisfy himself with me. If I was very good, and if he felt I deserved it, then sometimes he would allow me pleasure as well, but it wasn't necessary. Just the feel of him sliding inside me, hard and thick, his desire for me driving him to love me with breath-taking vigor, left me as satisfied as any orgasm.
Impossible though it may be to believe, I was coming to think of my Master as my savior and not my tormenter. And in these early days of training, his gentle touches were the only light in my darkened world. I cherished them. They kept me alive when isolation and darkness consumed all else and I could no longer remember a time when I hadn't worn a collar and restraints or welts and bruises constantly upon me. All I knew was my Master rescued me from my seclusion and fears when I was good. And when I wasn't, he took me to the absolute depths of despair.
He was the air I breathed, his scent filling me as I filled my lungs. When I ate, it was always from his hand. When I drank, he held the cup. What words were spoken, were in his 169
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voice; my every moment of pleasure derived from his touch.
With all my heart, I knew he was the only reason that I lived.
Chained, blindfolded and alone, I was convinced that I would die without him.
