As She's Told Read online

  "Just a step? What are you waiting for, some other shade of green?"

  Anders went out to the truck. When he came back in with a toolbox, Val stopped her drill and said, "I thought she was panting for it. She's probably chewing her fingernails to the bone waiting."

  "Then she can wait."

  "Oh, I get it. This is the joke about torturing the masochist by not hitting her."

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  Anders laughed again. "No." He thought. "Wait. Maybe." He considered. "It's a powerful thing, withholding. Even withholding pain. I'm the one setting the pace. And that is what she needs." He got out his measuring tape and began marking the locations for new studs for the inner wall. "Though I did hit her. We're past that threshold at least."

  "Hey, congratulations! At least the poor girl's not waiting for that shoe to drop."

  His measuring tape snapped back into its case. "Val. I told you what she's like."

  "Yeah, I know." She snapped in a screwdriver attachment. "Can't you tell when I'm pulling your chain? This girl's so scared she couldn't stand living in California, for god's sake.”

  “Exactly. She has to feel safe. She has to know she can trust me."

  "Mm." Val pulled a handful of screws out of her pocket. "But it's going to take a fucking long time to get where you want to go, at that rate."

  "I don't think so," he smiled. He began on the next wall. "Anyway, it's worth it."

  "I'd never have the patience."

  "Is it patience? I thought you just liked variety."

  She drove in three screws in quick succession. "Fun's fun," she said. "I hate it when they go all needy. Just because I steer the ship doesn't mean I want the barnacles to latch on to me." One or two of Val's past lovers had shown up at work sites searching for her and looking plaintive.

  Anders got the ladder to mark the ceilings. "Your technique is obviously attracting the wrong type. Janice would have been good for you. If she hadn't been straight. Kept her head through the whole thing. Walked away without a qualm."

  "Never accepted you as her personal saviour, huh?" Val said slyly.

  Anders ignored this. "Yeah, she would have been good for me. Cute, too.

  Too bad. I need subs and I keep finding slavey-types. You kept hoping you could turn a sub into a slave."

  "I know." He climbed down, moved the ladder to a new spot. "I should have known then. All those limits. Hard, soft. Everything negotiated, everything on the table. I thought it might change, but no."

  "That's easier than this is going to be. This is guesswork and fucking mind reading."

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  "Educated guesswork. Damned good mind reading, if I say so myself.

  Anyway, as my grandfather would have said, Gennem anstrengelser når man stjernerne.”

  “Say what?"

  "Bust your ass and you'll reach the stars. More or less. Per aspera ad astra in Danish.”

  “Oh, brother. The stars are in your head, buddy boy. Big cartoon ones.

  Or rocks, more likely."

  ***

  At the end of the day Anders opened the door to Maia's apartment with the key he'd had made, and found her naked and kneeling up in the middle of the living room floor exactly as ordered. His breath still caught at the sight of her: those eyes, the luminous olive skin, fine round breasts on the small frame, smooth, succulent little haunches. He set his grocery bag down and circled, examining her in silence for several minutes, thinking over next steps. Checking on her day or her schoolwork could wait; for the moment he had no interest in conversation. All day long his body had been waiting for this; waiting just to own and command. He sat down on the couch.

  "Crawl over here." The supple sway of the breasts between her arms was entrancing. "Kneel up." Maia's breathing was shallow, her tense body offering itself. Anders took a good look at the chain for any sign of distortion of the links, and at the lock for any sign of picking. It was a good solid little padlock, and would not be easy for an amateur to pick. Both were in perfect condition. He gave the breasts a squeeze, then traced the diagonal of birthmarks and navel, bisected by the chain, and felt her belly tremble. So eager; it was tempting just to take her as she was. But the paraphernalia of power was more tempting still.

  Anders rolled her nipples between his fingers and watched her react.

  When her eyes glazed he yanked a little to get her attention. "Ah-ah. Focus, girl." He took a narrow leather cord from his pocket. "Let's see if this helps."

  Her eyes locked on the cord, and he shook his head. "I'm not tying you to anything today, Maia. Nothing to keep you from walking away." He tied the cord to the waist chain in front. "Turn around." When she had shuffled round he pulled it sharply up from behind. She gasped and stretched her thighs up as high as she could, gasped again when he tied it off. He pushed her forward onto her hands and knees, and explored her cunt from behind.

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  Already the cord was wet. How sweetly she responded.

  Then he gave her another lesson on how to suck his cock. She was allowed to direct her own movements at first, but by the end she was able to keep her throat open, albeit briefly, even when he controlled that sweet round head, the thick curls spiraling around his fingers. She moved obediently, trying so hard to please him even while she choked on the semen he sprayed down her throat.

  Anders cooked dinner then, browning meat on the stove, grumbling about electric burners, otherwise speaking only to give orders. He sent Maia to fetch things from the bottom of the fridge so he could watch her shiver, her bisected bottom on display. As she was setting the table he slipped his fingers under the juncture between chain and cord and tugged. She let out a noise like a squeaky toy, making him smile. "One plate, girl."

  Hastily, blushing, she picked up the second plate. Anders tugged a little more and judged that she had acclimatized to the tight cord. He drew it down even further in front, and pulled it up in back so hard she was up on her toes whimpering before he tied it off. The chain was in a deep V front and back, the links digging into her hips. He ran his hands slowly over the taut combination of chain and flesh, then leaned down and planted a kiss on one hip.

  Maia put away the plate, fetched and carried and reached on command.

  "Girl, the floor by the fridge is sticky. Wipe it up." Out of the corner of his eye he watched her on hands and knees, wincing and flushed.

  She knelt beside him as he ate, and opened her mouth obediently when he put a fork in front of it.

  "Did you send those job applications like I told you?"

  She swallowed. "Three of them."

  "Why not all four?" She looked up apprehensively at his tone.

  "The fourth still hasn't been posted; I don't know who to write to."

  "All right. Keep checking for the posting. What do you need to get done tomorrow?"

  "Finish the water quality paper. Fix the database errors. Do my laundry."

  "Type up your notes from today also."

  "Yes, sorry."

  "What about Friday's lecture notes?"

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  She looked blank for a moment, then scared. "I forgot – we went out –"

  He frowned. "You should have done them today, Maia."

  "I'm sorry…"

  "Do them now."

  She sat in front of her laptop, naked but for the tight cord and chain, and typed. Anders checked it all carefully, made her expand on something she'd abbreviated, and at last let her kneel again next to him at the table. The food he'd kept for her was cold; he thrust it into her mouth and was thoughtful.

  She was hanging her head between bites. Good. He thought about how to punish her. The people downstairs would hear anything louder than a groan. Anders made up his mind, and turned his chair toward her.

  "All right, girl," he said, reaching into his pocket. "I was goin
g to start you off gently with these, but I'm going to use them to punish you instead."

  Her eyes went wide, staring at the nipple clips in his palm. Anders pulled on her already erect nipples to make them swell larger. The rings were right at the base, out of the way; he avoided them. The initial pinch he made relatively gentle, but then he tightened slowly, listened to her groan and whine and then squeak with pain. Her hand made an attenuated motion toward her breast, and then she caught herself. "Hands behind your back."

  She obeyed. The second clip on and tightened, he watched her eyes brim briefly with tears before she blinked them away. "What do you say now, do you know?"

  She looked up and opened her mouth, and then stopped, and shook her head.

  "No, you don't. This is your first punishment; I haven't told you yet."

  She was beginning to hunch forward, unconsciously curling around the pain.

  He took hold of her shoulders and pushed them back. "Keep those where I can see them. All right. First of all it's time for a respectful form of address.

  From now on misbehaviour gets punished, so you'd better show some deference in your language, particularly at times like this. It's too soon for

  'master;' 'sir' will do fine. "

  "Yes, sir."

  A flicker of relief crossed her face. She'd been waiting for this. He'd noticed how she'd avoided using his name.

  "Second, when I punish you I want you to learn from it. You'll apologize for what you did wrong, naming it quite specifically, tell me what 66

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  you'll do next time, and thank me for disciplining you." He pulled on the nipple clips, and her eyes filled again. "Do that now."

  She bit her lip and then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, sir, that I forgot to type up my notes – my lecture notes this morning. I'll try to remember next time. And thank you – thank you for punishing me."

  "What do you mean, you'll try to remember? That's not good enough."

  "I – I'll type them right after – I'll type them as soon as I can after the class?"

  "How will you remember?"

  "I'll put a reminder on my laptop. A daily one."

  "Better. It hurts, girl, doesn't it?"

  "Yes, sir," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  "Do you deserve it?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How did you do your work before I came along?"

  "I was… disorganized and lazy."

  "Yes, you were. All right. Get up and wash the dishes now."

  She hurried to her feet and winced as the cord bit into her crotch. Not graceful enough; he'd have to work on that, but not just yet. For that he'd want a whip in his hand.

  Anders picked up something called Digital Access: Designing Electronic Descriptive Tools, and rapidly gave that up for Issues in Communication Technologies. Neither could come close to engaging his attention; the vision at the sink was far too compelling.

  After the dishes he made her wash down all the counters and wipe up the floor under the table. At last, glancing at his watch, he allowed her to kneel between his feet with her back to the couch. With one hand firmly over her mouth, her head pulled back against his shoulder, he removed the first clip. She keened and panted into his hand as the blood returned, keened again as the next one came off. He leaned over her and sucked and soothed her nipples, soaking in the music of her pain and grateful pleasure.

  "Stay there." He went into her bedroom and came back with one of her dresses. Her eyes went wide again. She obeyed his gesture to rise, and he gathered the dress and pulled it down over her head. "Go put some stockings and shoes on. We're going out."

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  nipples thrust lewdly against the cotton jersey fabric. "But – sir –"

  "Maia."

  She looked up, frightened. He took her head between his hands and held it angled toward him. Stared down into scared eyes. "What's the first rule?"

  "Do as I'm told," she whispered.

  "Are you questioning me?"

  She shrank a little, and whispered, "No, sir."

  "Do you want the clips back on?"

  "No, sir."

  "Then do as you're told."

  She obeyed. The pure beauty of it made an intensely pleasurable ache in Anders, like a surpassingly perfect chord, or the most gorgeous of sunsets.

  This woman slipped into obedience like a seal into water. He watched from the doorway, watched the body inside the dress, the submissive being inside the body. There were fibres within his own body shaking loose, unfolding and reaching out for places not yet explored. As if all his life he had been confined to one small space inside his body, and was only now stretching himself to fit the full extent of his frame.

  At Harbourfront he let her keep her jacket on; it wasn't a very warm room, right on the lake with the door opening and closing all the time. They listened to the jazz and talked between sets about what they'd heard, like any couple. Except that he kept stroking the small of her back. Then they took a walk along the pier. In a quiet spot, against a wall over the lake he murmured, "Tell me how it feels to be out like this, semi-naked with a strap through your crotch.”

  “I – I don't know. I don't think I can explain…sir."

  He raised his eyebrows. "You don't?" he asked gently.

  He saw the whites of her eyes flash fear. God, how aware she was, how exquisitely responsive to handling. Untrained, a little clumsy, but so sensitive.

  She bit her lip. "Ah…" She thought a minute. "Scared of something happening, someone noticing. Cold under my dress, but so – so hot and wet." She whispered. "It slides when I walk and I want more…."

  He smiled, and put an arm around her. "Do your nipples still hurt?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. What else?"

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  "I – honestly?"

  "Of course honestly."

  "Honestly, I wonder what would happen if I – if I just said no to you. If I walked away. I don't want to, not at all, but I probably could."

  "Yes. That bothers you, doesn't it?"

  "Yes. To have a choice. You know. But – I'm also – afraid."

  "Of what?"

  "You."

  "You're afraid of what I would do to you if you said no and didn't really mean it.”

  “Yes, sir."

  "Good. Smart of you. You'll have more and more reason to fear me.

  And less and less choice about all this."

  He hugged her to his side, stroked her hair and looked out at the dim lights across the harbour, reflected on the rippling lake. There was no moon.

  The dark water below them sloshed and slapped gently against the pier. "I've been leaving you on your honour to obey me. Not my preference. That's not enough control for me, not by a long shot. So hang on, Maia. I won't keep you like this for long."

  He stood behind her and pressed her body to the wall, hiding her from view. As she looked out at the lake he slipped his hand between them, and his fingers took hold of the chain through the material of her dress. He hushed her quietly when her voice caught. Gently he pulled, and pulled again, and pulled again.

  A boat went by, its lights bright in the darkness, and they saw figures on board. On the wall close to them a seagull came to a flapping standstill and looked at them with one eye, and then the other. A saxophone blared out through a briefly opened door somewhere behind them. Still Anders drew on the tight chain, until he felt Maia tremble and go rigid, heard her tiny, agonized panting. He held her there as she relaxed and sagged against him.

  At last he turned her around and wrapped her in his arms.

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  Chapter Seven

  Random acts of kindness

  "Maia!" Arms waved me to a table, through a room thick with students, trays of food, music, knaps
acks and loud conversation. I squeezed between two chair backs, nearly got the back of someone's head with my bag, gripped my tray with one hand and pushed my dress down nervously over my stocking tops with the other, and came close to spilling my tea down some guy's neck. Gratefully I collapsed at the table. Po Ling pulled a notebook out of the way to make a little space for me. Heather efficiently unloaded my food and shoved the tray down next to the wall. She was listening to Isadore on the topic of software mega-giants as threats to individual freedom. This was a subject he worked into all his papers, even the ones on Medieval manuscripts.

  "It's no joke," he said. "Do you realize how much of our lives they control? That's why I'm designing my own operating system. How can you let those guys take over, watch you, manipulate everything you do?" Heather looked impatient and resigned, both. Po Ling was going over pages of charts and making notes.

  I kept my mouth shut, except to put food in it. At last, working a folded page out of my bag, I interrupted. "Isadore."

  He kept talking and eating, output and input, until I waved the paper directly between him and his plate.

  "What?" he said.

  "You said you needed a contact for those archives in Prague."

  "How did you hear about that? Brilliant!"

  Heather leapt into Isidore's gloating pause. "Maia," she said, whipping open a notebook, "we need those journals catalogued by Friday at the latest; can you do it?”

  “It's done. I'll send it to you tonight."

  "Wow! Great! How did you do that? I thought you had to do the water quality thing first.”

  “That's done too."

  They stared at me. Isadore spoke first. "Can this be Maia the haphazard?

  Hey, you're on a roll. You can help me write up my references."

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  Both the other women protested, and I smiled uncomfortably. "No, afraid not."

  "Oh, come on, it'll only take you an hour or so, you're so good at it. If you leave it to me, Heather won't get my stats for ages." Heather was looking irritable again. I felt the stirrings of incipient guilt, stuffed it down and shook my head. Thought about that conversation with Anders, our first day. Bake voice until low but firm.