Dangerous (14 page)

This was more than just a casual story. Millie had actually memorized it, rehearsed it, ready to entertain Val at the right moment.
Like a good doll
, I realized. And I hated her all the more for my own lack of preparation.

“If the guy walks up to you and says, ‘I hear you’re amazing in bed’, that’s
brand recognition
. And if you shout, ‘I’m great in bed!’ with a megaphone in the middle of the dance floor…?” Millie looked at me, expecting me to provide the punchline.

I shrugged, unable to think of a suitable answer.

“It’s
junk mail
,” Val said, providing the correct response. Surprisingly, she put two additional marks under the
M
. Millie’s eyes flashed, though she held her tongue. “Mildly amusing, but I’ve read that email before, dear. More than once. Computer security is my primary responsibility and I see every joke email under the sun. If you’re going to entertain me, I expect better material."

The score stood at 4 to 5, in Millie’s favor.

§

When the time came, I took a risk with Val’s dessert: Molten Chocolate Volcano Cake, served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. Despite the
sake
disaster, I had a strong intuition she loved chocolate, even though I’d never seen her partake of it. And of course her face gave no hint of the accuracy of my choice—neither when I ordered, nor when it arrived.

But Val had a way of focusing on a thing, be it a painting, a doll, or a dessert, and I saw that concentration on her face as she savored the first bites. I’d chosen well.

Despite this small triumph I was so disheartened by my five marks (to Millie’s four) that the meal held little joy for me. And I barely sipped at my
sake
. I didn’t dare become even a tiny bit drunk.

It is difficult to engage in cheerful banter when one fears harsh punishment. But I did manage to avoid any further marks.

Finally Millie handled the paying of the bill with Val’s credit card. Val put the notebook away, and we left.

That’s when disaster struck.

I couldn’t find the ticket for the car. It wasn’t in my purse. I ran back inside to see if I’d left it on the table, but found nothing. By the time I gave up in defeat, I was nearly in tears. Val grew distant, implacable.

“My girl seems to have gotten drunk and misplaced our ticket,” she told the valet with disappointment. After a brief discussion and display of identification the man went to fetch our car.

Val regarded us sternly. “Even
simple
tasks are apparently beyond your capacity. Follow, and be quiet.” She tapped her thigh, and Millie and I took our positions on either side, slightly behind.

It was a quiet, stomach-knotting ride back.

§

Of course Val knew I wasn’t drunk; the fact that she’d lied to save face meant I was in deep trouble. It is hard to cry silently, but I tried, so as not to add to Millie’s complete victory this evening.

I was trapped. Every bend in the road leading to Val’s house filled me with rising terror. I imagined myself getting out of the car and saying
frogspawn
, telling Val I wasn’t her doll anymore, and driving home. Home, and a return to…what? Defeat? Solitude? As much as I feared punishment, I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to my boring, lonely life before Val.
If only I hadn’t lost that stupid ticket
, I lamented,
things would be completely different. This was all my fault
. All I had to do was ride out the rest of the night, and never make that kind of mistake again…

When the car stopped in Val’s garage I got out, feeling numb, not knowing whether to flee or brave Val’s wrath.
I can stop any time I want
, I reminded myself, hollowly.

But if Val was furious—as I knew she must be—it did not show in her features, or her voice. In the foyer she put down her purse and turned to face us, as Millie and I knelt with bowed heads. My eyes were drawn to the accidental calligraphy of my purse strap as it curved artfully on the floor beside me. I saw that it was beginning to fray where it joined the body of the purse. Funny, what one notices on the edge of doom.

“What am I?” she asked bemusedly, as she removed her jacket.

“The Keeper,” Millie and I said in near-unison.

“And what are you?” This was a familiar exchange.

“Your dolls,” I said.

“Your doll,” was Millie’s answer. I had included us both in my reply; she had not.
Bitch.

“What are a doll’s responsibilities? Number two.” By
number two
she meant me, as Millie had seniority.

“Um, uh,” I stammered, “Obey and learn. Trust the Keeper. Take care of itself. A doll must…” I struggled to remember the litany.

“Number one?"

Millie knew I was the one in the hot seat, so her reply was much more confident. “A doll must anticipate the Keeper’s will. A doll must be graceful, courteous, and intelli—“

“And what was my will tonight? Number one.”

“To enjoy your dinner, Ma’am. To be entertained by your dolls and have your needs attended to."

Val bent to take Millie’s purse and rifled through it, then dropped it back to the floor. “Then explain what you are doing with
this
,” Val hissed with volcanic intensity.

I could not resist the temptation to look at what Val held in her hand. I nearly fell over in disbelief.

It was the valet ticket.

Millie did not answer, nor did she look up. She only lowered her head further.

“
Whip
,” Val growled. Millie dropped to hands and knees and crawled out of the room to fetch it, as quickly as she could.

I can scarcely describe my roller-coaster emotions at that moment. I was elated. Furious. And terrified. I now realized a bigger game had been played tonight, invisible to me until this turn.

Millie returned promptly, still on hands and knees, with the red whip between her teeth and a lock of hair over one eye. Her expression was difficult to read. There was fear, oh yes, but also a flush of anticipation I couldn’t fathom.

Val took the whip and stood over Millie. “Clothes.” She undressed without rising and prostrated herself before Val. “Number one comes with me,” Val said. “Number two will clean itself up before joining us.” She led Millie out of the foyer by a handful of hair, as if on a leash.

I studied myself in the hallway mirror. My eyeliner and mascara had run during the ride home, and it looked dreadful. I hurried upstairs to Val’s dressing room, where she kept tissue and cleansers.

That done, I fearfully descended the staircase again, followed the sounds coming from the still-open door to the dungeon. By the time I arrived, Val had fastened Millie to the big upright X, her arms and legs splayed, back exposed.

“Close the door and fetch that flogger, there,” Val said, and I complied. But when she pushed the flogger’s handle back into my hand, I could only stare at her in disbelief. “Ma’am?”

“Is there a problem?”

She actually wanted
me
to punish Millie. “I…I don’t know how to use this, Ma’am. What if I injure her?”

Val chuckled darkly. “Extremely unlikely. The flogger is really just a warm-up. A doll can take so much more if you build up to it, as you’ll see.”

I moved the flogger experimentally. It was fairly heavy, and each move of my hand caused its dozen leather straps to wriggle as if eager to strike. There seemed little risk of hurting myself with it, unlike a whip.

Mentally, however, I was wholly unprepared for this turn of events. My training had been entirely concerned with the submission of my will, not its projection. As much as I enjoyed the
idea
of punishing Millie, the prospect was frightening. I looked to Val pleadingly.

“Do it,” Val said, with menace.

“But Ma’am—”

“Do not vex me further,” she hissed.

I turned back to Millie, who adjusted her position slightly. Muscles moved under her smooth pink skin, the dagger-tattoo rippled. She projected an attitude of impatience which annoyed me greatly.

My first tentative blow, on her right buttock, landed with a strappy thud but elicited no reaction.

“Again,” Val said.

Left buttock, better-aimed, more force. Still nothing.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, put some
back
into it, unless you want to trade places.”

I swung harder and harder, ranging over her shoulders and back. With each stroke, the amber pendant bounced lightly against my sternum. Though her skin reddened beneath my blows, Millie mocked me with her silence.

“The inner thighs are a good deal more sensitive,” said Val, pointing to the area in question. “Try there.”

I did, and after many hits was rewarded by a slight moan. Then a musky scent rose from her which broadcast, incredibly, that Millie was
aroused
. It infuriated me to think she
enjoyed
this at some level, and even now used me for her own twisted pleasure.

Well, no longer.

I laid a volley of heavy blows over her entire body. I began to vocalize the blows, grunting as if pushing a heavy object. What I
wanted
was to extract a completely unrestrained cry from the wretched girl. She owed me at that at least, for all the pain she’d caused. But in the end, the flogger was not sufficient to break her.

“Enough,” Val said, and I stopped, panting from the workout. “She’s warming up, but we need something stronger now. Try the wooden paddle, over there. The black one with the holes.”

I switched implements.

“This paddle gives more of a sting, because of the holes. Less air resistance, less surface area.” Val extended her hand to trace an ellipse just above the fullest part of Millie’s rump. “The kidneys are here. Stay below this line to avoid serious injury, but don’t strike the tail bone.”

The paddle was indeed more effective. It left distinct marks from the solid part between the holes. Eventually I began to wrest different sounds from Millie: little squeaks and yelps rather than the soft moans I’d gotten with the flogger. Yet it was still not the complete surrender I craved.

In a bored voice Val said, “I wonder if you’re taking this exercise seriously, Koi.”

“I am!” I said, forgetting protocol in my indignation.

“Convince me. Now.”

This was all wrong.
Millie
was in trouble, not me.
Val
was responsible for my lack of experience with floggers and paddles and punishments, not me. I had always done everything Val asked—and still it was not enough. Now she expected me to unlearn everything and act like a Keeper? I hated her. Hated them both.

My anger flared. I struck Millie in the same spot several times, very hard. She gave a rising cry and tried to twist out of the way.

And then something dark and powerful stirred within me, at once frightening and seductive. I
savored
Millie’s reaction to my smacks with the paddle, watching her twist, hearing her yelp.

I win, dammit.

“Enough,” Val said. “Well done.”

It was hard to stop. I wanted
more
. But I lowered the paddle and stood gasping, partly from the effort, but mostly from the psychological power of the act.

Val told me to return the paddle to its hook. When that was done, she pointed to a spot about eight feet away, where I knelt.

“Now that you are properly warmed up, I believe you still have some demerits to account for,” Val said to Millie, who by now was perspiring freely. “Both yours
and
number two’s. Prepare.”

Millie shifted slightly, but it did no good. First, Val swung the whip in loud swooshing arcs that missed, close enough to move Millie’s hair by wind alone. Next she unleashed a volley of explosive whip cracks into the empty air, gunshot-loud despite the room’s thick acoustic panels. I flinched, but the effect on Millie was even more devastating. Her entire body quaked with fear, and she mewed like a kitten. If I was terrified, I could scarcely imagine what she felt.

Val knew exactly where, and how hard, to place each cut for maximum effect. These were far nastier blows than I’d dealt, and they ripped raw animal screams from the poor girl. After five strokes I cried out and begged Val to stop. But her stabbing gaze froze me into silence. I did not wish to anger her, not now.

Soon there were nine new lines across her back and thighs as Millie hung sobbing upon the cross. My own face was wet with tears. Val’s attack had been merciless, harsher by far than my own experience.

Val waved me closer and gave me the coiled red whip, still warm from her hand. “Put this away,” she said. As I did so, Val gripped Millie by the hair and whispered something in her ear, to which the girl nodded feebly. I couldn’t make out Val’s words, but I saw her lick a tear from Millie’s cheek as I returned to my earlier place. She carefully undid Millie’s bonds and helped her down.

“You may thank me now,” Val said. Millie offered a tearful profusion of thanks while kissing Val’s shoes. When she was satisfied, Val said, “Now apologize to number two.”

Millie crawled to me and made herself very low. Her hair stuck to her face, damp with sweat and tears, but she didn’t brush it aside. Her expression was childlike in its purity, like a wounded angel. I stroked her cheek in sympathy and awe, despite my earlier anger.

“Koishi, I’ve been horrible to you. I beg your forgiveness.” No guile in her words now, nothing but complete surrender.

“Yes,” I said, quavering. She kissed my hand tenderly several times, and I was deeply moved.

Val snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor in front of her. We took our places. “I trust this has this been instructive,” she demanded, and we assured her that it had.

She commanded me to run a bath for Millie—not too warm—and gave the girl a thorough check for lasting harm.

§

Later, I sat on the rug by Val’s feet as she and a bathrobed Millie cuddled on the leather couch, the girl’s head in her lap. Millie was crying again, but this time her tears were cleansing, like spring rain.