As She's Told (41 page)

256

As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob

When I emerged, arms across my chest, he looked away politely. "I'd give you a blanket or something, but Anders said not to. Said we'd both survive." I shook my head, wiped a hand across my face and blurted a little laugh. He gave me a glance and joined in. Then he turned to the kitchen. "I –

would you mind if I waited – I can't eat right now – "

Graham looked at me with concern. I was still shaky with adrenaline.

"Sit down," he said. I sat on the rug. He went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. "Drink this." Slowly I sipped, and began feeling a little better.

I was turned a bit away from him, using my knees to hide my breasts.

At least his shield was providing a tiny bit of decency. Should I be trying to make conversation? Making him coffee? I huddled where I was; the poor man was probably turned on enough by my helplessly extravagant display.

"Have – have you eaten?"

"Oh, yes. I was just finishing when Anders called."

"How bad is the truck?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen it."

"But – his keys – how did you…?"

"Oh, I had those already," he explained. "That's what took me so long; I had to go back to the shop to get them. Anders gave them to me back in May, in case something like this happened. He's, um, got me in his wallet as his emergency number. So, you know, I'd be notified if…. I'd know to look after you, just in case." Tears came to my eyes at the bare thought of Anders making these arrangements: gratitude, and a vivid imagined grief. How close we'd come. "You didn't know?" I shook my head, and hurriedly wiped my eyes.

My colour apparently looked better; Graham began rummaging through the fridge, looking through the Tupperware. Resignedly I saw he had the red bowl out; instructions had evidently been detailed. Apparently he could also survive the way I ate. He even locked my wrists behind me and put the bowl down in the usual corner. To my infinite relief he didn't watch me; he went back into the living room and sat down.

By the time I'd finished it was eight-ten by the oven clock. Graham approached me cloth in hand, looking hesitant, but swabbed my face competently enough, like a parent with a toddler. Something told me he had kids.

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I was helped up with a hand on my arm, my wrists still locked, and taken back to the living room. No more huddling for me, evidently.

Mortified, my eyes tried to drop to the floor, but instead were caught by my tits bulging through their harness, nipple rings glinting. I gave up; there was nowhere to hide, literally or figuratively. My glance flicked to the man holding my arm. He tore his eyes away from my breasts and moved them to my face, looking flushed.

"He wants me to lock you up again, to some ring under the rug…?"

Wordlessly I pointed my toe at the spot, and knelt by it on the floor. Graham unlocked the chain from the hall bench and didn't fumble this time; a locksmith, after all. Though the bulge in his pants was visible, he made no move that wasn't required for the job. But once back in Anders' chair he looked me over, frankly now. "Anders said you'd feel better this way; is that true?"

I thought a minute, feeling the weight of the chain on my collar. "Yes. I feel safer in a way. I know it's crazy."

He smiled. "That's okay. It's a crazy night."

I felt some compunction for putting him through all this. Like any good, card-carrying heterosexual male, the sight of a naked woman turned him on; that didn't mean he cared to see her in chains and leather with welts on her ass. "For you, too." He laughed. "A night to remember."

"I'm sorry – this must be – " I turned my head away. "I hope it's not horribly – ridiculous and offensive."

Graham shook his head. "No, no. I'm sorry if you're embarrassed, but really I don't – um – mind. Not at all." His head was down, but I caught a little glint in his eye.

He was into it; now I was sure. I really wasn't a disgusting object, thank god. "You do this too?"

His laugh had a bitter edge to it. "Only in my head. I'm married, and it's a good marriage. But my wife is…"

"Not interested?"

"No." He put his feet casually on the coffee table. "She used to let me play around a little, just for fun. But since the kids…no way." I sat silent.

Poor man. At last I said, "Is that why you're a locksmith?"

He blew out an amused breath, and his eyes crinkled up. "Aren't you the clever one? That's right." He told me how his original fascination with locks 258

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had translated into a trade, about the work he did on the side for the local fetish scene, and how he and Anders had worked out the designs for the metal I was locked in. He questioned me about the cuffs' comfort and fit, and had a little look to see how their lining was wearing. I could see he felt safer on his own professional ground; a familiar feeling. Something in his glance told me he would have been happy to have me review the chastity shield if he'd been able to think of a decent way to approach the subject. But I was thankful to be spared that one.

Graham looked at his watch, went into the kitchen and, turning his back, had a brief phone conversation; he said he'd have the repairs finished before long and he'd be home. There was a pause, and then he was saying good night to someone very young.

When he sat down again he focused rather fixedly on the books on the coffee table. There was a large illustrated volume on prehistoric flint tools that he opened and stared at for a while, without turning a page. The silence started to press on my ears; I dipped my head a little just to hear the soft drag of my chain against the rug. Abruptly, Graham shook his head and clapped the book shut.

"Anders should be here soon. Might as well enjoy looking at you while I can." Evidently his guilty conscience had been dealt with. He stood up, and his stare made me shrink. "Don't worry, I won't touch," he said with a grim smile. "Look at what a loyal husband I am. Besides, you don't belong to me.

If you did, believe me, you'd know it." He circled me, pausing to take in the view from different angles. Slowly I breathed and looked straight ahead, trying not to shiver, hoping he knew the cameras were there.

"That chain's too short for you to stand, but you can kneel up, right?" I nodded. "Would you mind doing that, please? Just as a favour."

Some favour. Ought I to be obeying this man, displaying myself?

Would my master be angry? Would he be angry if I didn't? Well, Graham wouldn't be seeing anything he hadn't already seen, with my master's prior consent. I knelt up.

He circled and gazed even longer this time. From behind me he said,

"That must have hurt. What was it?"

"A razor strop," I whispered.

"And that harness – he's got it very tight – it must be hard to breathe.”

“I'm used to it." I love it.

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He sat back down in the chair, adjusted himself surreptitiously and made a sound that was more groan than chuckle. "It's a good thing we're on camera. You're not the easiest thing to resist." I settled back down on my heels, but was unable to do anything else to reduce his temptation. "I'd better read more about banging rocks together," he said, "and see if I can calm down." He didn't pick up the book, however. Time to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

"How old are your kids?"

The eyes shifted away from me at last. "Three and a half and one.”

“Maybe once they're older, your wife will be more – "

"Maybe." The flat voice had a tone more like 'yeah, right.' "I don't ask for much. Some play on weekends, maybe. I'd never go as far as this. Day and night, it's kind of over the top, isn't it?"

"Kind of," I smiled. Damn. So much for distracting him.

He sat forward, elbows on knees. "I'm curious. What if I'd just told you what happened and unlocked you and gone away again? You'd have survived, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course. I would have been more worried, probably, but I'd have been all right. But he doesn't want me – just loose, you know. Or looking after myself."

"You don't want to be just loose either. Or you wouldn't feel safer locked up with a horny wannabe."

"That – doesn't feel all that safe," I said carefully. "But being locked up and controlled is – normal for me, and so when I'm stressed it feels safer.

Anders knew I'd be upset." I studied the pattern of the rug in front of me.

"Being controlled by him, even by proxy, means – means he's there to do it, you know?" The pattern blurred.

He looked at me for a while, considering. "He's making you good and dependent on him."

I nodded.

"Kind of risky, isn't it?"

"Not until tonight." Suddenly I could see a car racing through traffic, hear brakes squealing, that deadly bang of metal on metal. A chill squeezed my spine. Chance, chaos, randomness… Anders' anathema. That entropy against which he marshalled so many of his forces. He wasn't immune, Superman fantasies notwithstanding. "Things are what they are," I 260

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whispered. I wasn't sure if I was referring to the hazards of life or our symbiotic relationship. Neither was about to change its nature to accommodate the other.

A step in the hallway, and there at long last was my master. Long and rangy, weary and grease-stained. I'd never seen anything so beautiful. He was loaded down with various toolboxes and his laptop, all of which he dumped down so that he could come to me and hold my head hard against his thigh. Graham went out to bring in more stuff, and Anders squatted down, examined my face and kissed my eyes, which were streaming again.

"It's okay, baby," he said quietly. "It's all right."

I sniffed, and shook my head a little, trying to jostle some sense into it.

"Sorry, master. I was okay a minute ago. You're not hurt?"

"A few bruises; nothing. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

He stroked down my arms, took out his keys and unlocked my wrists. I flexed my shoulders forward. Graham came in lugging a radial arm saw.

"My pal left your hands locked behind you, I see. You bugger," he grinned.

"You wanted a better look, eh?”

“Hey, I just followed instructions." The man's eyes twinkled.

"I assumed you'd figure it was while she was eating. That's okay, fair deal. I owe you one.”

“Not any more. Fair deal, as you say, to get such an eyeful. You are one lucky bastard." That night, after a shower, Anders held me in his lap for a long time, deep in the bedroom armchair. I looked at his face, half lit by one bedside lamp; the rest of the house was in darkness. He had his robe on and looked just as usual. But I kept seeing his body as he'd undressed, his left arm covered in huge bruises where it had been flung against the door, his hip marked by the seatbelt. He'd shrugged it off. I stirred in his lap. "What happened to the guy who hit you?"

"The police were consulting with him. I think he would have absconded from the scene if his bumper hadn't gotten in his way."

"God. Was he drunk?"

"Probably." The voice was offhand, only a little grim, but Anders loved that pickup. Knowing him, he'd kept his temper through the whole thing, but he must be furious.

"How bad is the truck?"

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"Bad enough. Still fixable. Could be worse. It's all on the right side, toward the back. I tried to speed up to get out of the bastard's way. Body work, back wheel, axle, god knows what else. The cover's toast. At least a week in the shop. Good thing my truck was a lot heavier than his car or I'd have been shoved over into the oncoming lane." I shuddered and his arms tightened around me. "I couldn't get a decent rental till tomorrow; I'll have to get over there early to pick it up.”

“Your arm's going to be stiff in the morning."

"Yeah; I'll supervise more and do less. Don't worry." He stroked my back. "Were you scared when I was late?"

I nodded against his shoulder. "Not at first, but then – I kept seeing you

– hurt or dead. A car accident being one of the visions." I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. "The curse of a visual imagination."

He caressed me in long, unhurried strokes. "It would take a lot to get through that truck. And I'm mister safety at work. Don't let this shake you.

I'll be here." Slowly I nodded.

"But I have to admit, things can happen. I don't manage to control everything. Much as I'd prefer it otherwise."

"I was thinking the same thing." I looked up at him. He was staring bleakly into the shadows. "Master?"

"Mm?"

"What was it? What happened? That you didn't control?"

He looked at me, startled, and then his agate eyes went flat. "I'll tell you sometime. Not tonight."

"Okay." We sat close and silent for a while.

"What did you think when Graham came in?" he asked.

"God. I was terrified. I wish – master, I wish you'd told me – "

"I should have. I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you with the idea that something might happen to me, but that was stupid as it turned out, wasn't it?"

"It wouldn't have been quite so bad if it had been Val, say. At least I would have known her. Though – " I imagined Val coming through the door, sizing me up with a sardonic hazel eye. No, that would have been worse, much worse.

"She has a set of keys, too; she's first on the list but I couldn't get hold of her. So it had to be Graham. He's a bit more predictable about being home 262

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after work. And he has a pager." Val had keys, too. This was a revelation.

How many people knew how I was kept?

His eye flickered over my face, reading me. "Just the two of them so far.

If I decide to add to that I'll let you know. Was Graham okay with you?"

I described the evening. Anders didn't seem to think any of it had been a problem. So apparently it was okay for his friends to see me in full slave mode, at least in emergencies. I didn't know how to feel or what to think about this, except that it was unsettling in the extreme. I huddled into his chest again and closed my eyes.