As She’s Told
: Chapter 20

Nothing was said the next day, though the light in my master’s eye was sharp again. That evening he made it clear that whatever limitations he’d acknowledged in his control over the rest of the world, his sovereignty over me remained absolute.

He informed me that my posture and moves were getting sloppy, and made me spend some sweaty, painful and exhausting hours being trained back up to standard. First basic floor moves like sitting to kneeling, getting to my feet with and without my hands behind me; up and down, with multiple repeats. Then display postures. Then graceful crawling, leashed walking, hobbled walking and so on. All of this in full bridle and bit, making it hard to silence the whimpers, impossible not to drool. I’d thought I’d had these moves down long since, but my master used his whip to point out all my errors and lack of precision, and impressed these on me up, down and sideways till I shaped up.

And under the chastity shield were two thick plugs which extended his control from the mere surface of my body into the profound and pervasive depths. Naturally, if I reacted to these, or showed any autonomous responses whatsoever I was instantly punished. I’d thought that the self-absorption had been trained out of me, but when he pushed me harder it emerged again, subtle and insidious and disgraceful.

He let me have some water and fifteen minutes chained in a corner nursing stinging flesh, sore muscles and chagrin. I was glad that he was feeling better, and grateful that he was giving me his full attention again.

Still, the evening was coming under the heading of ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

And then it was aerobics. Apparently my postures had been slipping there, too. Anders hooked my bridle to the wall, and pushed me through endless, endless repetitions and corrections. In between the lunges and the jumping squats I was begging for a respite, wordlessly of course, basically praying to the god of my world, or in other words my master. My prayers, naturally, went unanswered.

After a while my world was reduced to nothing but the deep, hard voice and the whip that together activated my muscles, that operated and directed my limbs. These orders bypassed all higher brain functions; my body simply sweated, suffered and strained to obey.

Finally it was over, and my shaky form was stretched and washed down.

Frantic arousal would have emerged and shown itself, had I any energy left to show it. The outer layer of my body remained as the merest casing for the pulsating soft cream filling that was the rest of me. My mouth was freed, used, bridled again. I followed my chain down the stairs, watched dimly as my master reached beneath the couch just where he usually sat, and folded something down from its underside almost to the floor. Inset a few inches from the front edge of the couch was now a wide square plank with a circle cut out of it. At a word I crouched there on knees and elbows, and saw the bottom half of the plank tilt and drop. A nudge sent me forward, like a cow into its stall, and I felt the wood below my throat move back into place. A snap by my ear. Shifting weight above my head; a sigh of couch springs.

And then the heavy and familiar weight of long legs on my back and ass.

My field of vision was the dim brown of floorboards; a little lighter in my peripheral vision to one side, a little darker in the other. The television went on behind me, and I could hear newscaster voices. Words and phrases floated by without significance. I crouched. My jaws and tongue worked briefly around the bit in my mouth. The other orifices shuddered around their plugs. My core was molten, soft, slippery, suspended in immobility. I was still. I had a function, and I served it.

***

>heard about your accident from my mother, who heard it from your mother, who discovered it in two lines of a weeks-old email to your father which he could not recall reading.

>What a family. My mother called the other day to get the details, quite miffed at the way she found out, though she didn’t come out and say so.

At the time I was busy dealing with the mess and not feeling like discussing it. But I should have told her and gotten it over with. It was no big deal, more an aggravation than anything else.

>still going deeper?

>Yes, all the time. She keeps surprising me; there is always more to her than I expect. And all of it at my service. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck.

>I am checking out this Chicago scene, but must balance this with my research time. Indeed my choice of thesis is ironic, and highly relevant to myself, as I am hardly regular in my sleep patterns and likely to become less so this year, with teaching and time zones and scenes that go from 10 to 4

a.m. Do you remember when we were out all night and then off on that day trip to Dragør, with Mormor demanding to know why we could not keep our bicycles to a straight line?

>Sure. And not just that time, either. You would even go back out the next night. I always drew the line at one. Remember the time you keeled over with your face in your sandwich and no one could wake you? I also remember paying Svend to get lost one evening. I think he followed us anyway.

>What I have seen so far is disappointing. A couple of decent dungeons but there are not so many events as I expected. Not many wearing fetish gear.

>Well, at least your lack of leather won’t stand out.

***

Habitat for Humanity was throwing a Halloween Ball fundraiser. Nikki bemoaned our missed opportunities; there were at least three play parties within an hour’s drive; her problem was which to choose. She grumbled at our stubbornness, and promised to regale me with juicy details as soon as she recovered.

After dinner that evening I sat naked on the bedroom floor chained to the footboard, waiting, not without some trepidation, to see what I would have to wear. My master didn’t seem to go in for outright public humiliation, but in the case of Halloween who knew? Was this going to be the night he took me out on a leash in public, supposedly all in fun? I felt my whole body shrink; in my stomach was a ball of lead. Private exposure to friends was disturbing but liveable; the thought of anything public made me feel sick.

Loud footsteps thumped in the hall.

‘Heed, woman!’ a voice resounded. ‘Observe and cower!’ There he was, filling the doorway. Thor, the God of Thunder, complete with horned helmet, huge red beard, and massive hammer. I stared up at him and then fell about laughing. The horns were blackened and twisted at comical angles, as if by an explosion, and the beard was singed. The whole thing was a sendup on the god theme. He grinned down at me, his teeth gleaming white through the beard, and I knew with a flood of delight that he was entirely back to normal.

Despite the send-up, the costume was marvellously authentic-looking: a genuine leather tunic, gauntlets, big studded belt. Boots wound round with thongs. I was impressed. ‘Now,’ he said, unlocking my collar and pulling me up, ‘similarly picturesque but in a different pantheon, we have the Minoan snake goddess.’ A large quantity of stiff and colourful material emerged from the closet. A goddess!? I rejoiced. Not a harem girl or a dog or something? Wow! I couldn’t believe my luck. No way a goddess was going out on a leash. Wait. There had to be a catch somewhere. I suddenly remembered what a Minoan snake goddess looked like. Wasp-waisted, with a big layered skirt, and bare breasts. Oh-oh. I scanned the piles of bright multi-coloured material thrown over the bed. The bodice looked very tiny.

Anders looked over at me, his helmet askew, and winked. ‘We will not tempt the furies of the law. Your fertility goddess breasts will be concealed, if barely.’ He grabbed and squeezed them fondly. ‘Fortunately we already have your corset to provide the foundation garment.’ He fetched this and laced me up to within an inch of my life.

‘Lie back.’ Off came the chastity shield, in went the plugs, over moans and whimpers. Plugs are far more intense in a corset. He locked me back up again.

I whispered, ‘Same as at the festival, master?’

‘Almost. Not on automatic, though. Completely on my own initiative.’

He was humming. He pulled me in another couple of millimetres to get the bodice on, ignoring tiny urgent pants and creaks from me. By the time the corset locks snapped closed I could have climbed him like a gearshift.

The skirt hung down in heavy layers to my feet, thick but not very wide, with a kind of apron in front in a crosshatched pattern. The colours were bright but a little faded, as if baked into clay. A thin, pale form-fitting layer covered my breasts, which were supported on three sides by the corset and short-sleeved bodice and so fortunately would not bounce. Much. Then there was the broad hat with a small sacred cat as its crown. The cat shape was painted to looked like old ceramic, but turned out to be cunningly managed in cloth and foam. Anders let me look in the mirror. ‘Wow! So elaborate!

It’s beautiful!’

‘You are gorgeous, goddess.’ He wound some snake jewellery around my arms in spirals, and handed me a couple of stiff, sinuous snakes in cloth and wire. ‘Here. One for each hand.’ I held them out to each side as in the images. ‘You’ll be the belle of the ball. I’ll have to supervise you closely to make sure no other gods come before me.’

I snorted, then peered a bit more closely. Nipples pressed visibly through the clingy material, but not the nipple rings. It was going to be embarrassing, but not a nightmare. I glanced at my face, which paled in the midst of all this splendour. ‘Master, what about some makeup?’ He cocked his head, considered me and agreed.

I took off the hat so I could lean, panting for breath, into the mirror above the sink. This was going to be a first for me, wearing a corset in public. ‘I don’t – think I’ll be able to dance, master,’ I breathed.

He smiled. ‘Sure you will. Of course; we don’t want your naughty bits getting too overstimulated. Only over-stimulated enough. You see I have the remote concealed in my Belt of Power.’ So he did.

By the time I was finished with my makeup I looked like a terracotta figurine.

We did indeed wow them at the ball. I was unused to so much attention, and clung close to Anders, confused by all the noise and the loud music, and a bit oppressed by the mob. Fortunately there were many sexy costumes to share the libidinous attentions of the crowd, including, to my amusement, a harem girl, and some fabulous gay pirates. Still, we had barely walked in when a middle-aged Elvis widened his eyes at me, all paunch and pompadour. ‘Hello there! What are you supposed to be?’ He stared at my breasts. ‘A Minoan snake goddess.’ Anders squeezed my hand.

The next minute it was the same thing. Every toga and trekkie and tin woodsman wanted to know what I was, and couldn’t keep his eyes on my face to hear the answer. A few actually got so far as to ask what a Minoan snake goddess was, and I told them what little I knew. The jokes about fertility goddesses were pretty predictable.

Anders had less explaining to do. His pantheon was a couple of millennia closer to the present day, and thus was more familiar. The horned helmet was a dead giveaway. And of course Thor turned up in role playing games, and cartoons and god knows what else. His admirers (the gay pirates included) mainly wanted to get up close and feel the tunic, or so it seemed. I could relate.

And there went the vaginal plug, on, off, high, low. I took tiny shallow breaths and hoped my makeup covered the flush.

We saw friends, who looked, too, but were less obvious about it.

Graham turned up, very elegant in a top hat and tails, obtained second hand in Kensington at Courage My Love. He was accompanied by his wife Kristin, gowned from the same source a là Ginger Rogers, who eyed him eying me, and then stared in annoyed disbelief at my waist. There were some surreptitious glances of her own at Anders’ chest and shoulders. Kristin turned out to be very nice, actually, if a little obsessed with her son’s progress at daycare. I missed a milestone or two when the vibrator turned up a notch. Seeing me sweating, Graham handed me a drink with the same kindly look of concern with which he’d brought me a glass of water so recently. We talked when the loud band allowed, sticking to safe subjects, like the pets we’d had as kids and why Kristin didn’t want a dog. I noted that Graham was careful to orient himself companionably beside me looking elsewhere, rather than in front where his eyes might get him into trouble.

Anders and I danced. I was so hampered by the corset and heavy skirt that I had an excuse not to set my tits bobbling. Still, I could tell by the glances I got that they sometimes took on a life of their own.

Claude and Pam arrived, garbed respectively in Voyageur outfit and kilt, which apparently they’d worn at every costume party since 1982. We were joined by the Black Knight from Monty Python, missing an arm. To my embarrassment, sans helmet he turned out to be one of my customers at the information centre. I’d been hoping not to run into anyone from work. I saw one of our board members in the distance, but fortunately she didn’t spot me.

‘And what are you meant to be?’ asked Pam. She’d startled me, coming at me out of the noise when I was turned the other way. I quailed a bit under her critical gaze, reminded more than ever of my sixth-grade teacher.

‘Um – a Minoan snake goddess,’ I faltered. I could hear that long-ago voice: Speak up, girl!

‘Ah, yes,’ she said, eyeing me up and down. ‘The representation rather than the goddess herself, I see. A porcelain figurine,’ she said bitingly.

‘Very decorative.’

‘Terracotta,’ I muttered resentfully, but she’d already turned away.

Damn it, if Anders had dressed me as a collectible, it was as a museum-quality one-off, not some Royal Doulton shepherdess.

A Wookie and a young guy in yellow makeup and Bart Simpson hair stopped by to exchange views with Anders about the merits of various brew pubs, and to express disgust with the standard Molson’s ‘piss water’ in their plastic cups. Bart requested a dance, calling me ‘dude;’ I couldn’t tell if he was staying in character or this was really how he talked. I declined with thanks. Everyone ate and drank. I took tiny sips, microscopic nibbles, and informed the curious that I was a Minoan snake goddess.

‘You’re rather meek for a goddess,’ said Pam. ‘Don’t you agree, Claude?’ The two of them flanked me as we watched Bart and the Wookie, who had consumed more than their share of the despised piss water and were having a little duel with my snakes.

Claude turned his head to examine me. ‘You could be right. Maia, why don’t you go and demand worship? Or your snakes back. They’ll fall at your feet.’

‘The snakes or the – um – combatants?’ I asked.

‘No doubt both.’

The Black Knight’s other arm came off in the mêlée. We all doubled up laughing. Well, I tried to double up.

‘Women need to claim their own,’ said Pam, in a voice that carried.

‘Especially goddesses. No need to play second fiddle, even to brawny superheroes with sledgehammers.’ Suddenly everyone was looking at us.

Pam was standing with crossed arms, looking at me as if she’d caught me copying off of someone else’s test. I glanced up at my personal superhero, who looked amused and kept his thoughts to himself. Well, I could hardly expect him to swoop down and rescue me from this one.

‘What if I don’t play fiddle at all?’ I said, suddenly fed up with her judgments. I’d managed to get down just enough wine to loosen my tongue.

‘Why would I compete with him on his own ground?’ Pam shook her head and the grooves around her mouth deepened. I ploughed on. ‘I have my own role to play. Who says I have to fill the room? He can have the thunder and lightning. I provide – what I have is quieter – in the background – it’s – “

“If it’s fertility, don’t send any our way, we have enough,’ said Graham.

Everyone laughed except Pam, whose disapproving expression was weighty enough to crush small children. Anders picked the snakes up off the floor, wound one of them tightly around his hammer and held it up for all to see.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ asked Claude. ‘Oh, the Midgard serpent.’

‘Consumption,’ Kristen suggested. ‘She’s actually eating him.’ She went off into giggles, her face pink against Graham’s shoulder.

‘Clinging vine.’ Pam’s enunciation clanged, in phonemes pure Edinburgh. His eyebrows raised, Claude laid a cautionary hand on her shoulder and murmured in her ear. She shrugged.

‘Symbiosis,’ Graham offered. I gave him a goddess-gracious smile.

‘Take it any way you want,’ said Anders. He and I danced a little more.

‘Well done,’ he said.

‘Thank you. You too. I’m sure I’ll think of something better to say to her after we leave.”

“She means well. I think. You wouldn’t think so, but she’s not quite sober. Another one who can’t stand dependency. Don’t let it get to you.’

The music had descended to sixties pop, which made me wince, but which was at least not as loud as the band’s previous efforts. These had been nothing but noise to me. (Oh, for a Telemann gavotte!) I spotted Graham and Kristin managing some kind of ballroom dance in spite of the music, making their costumes fly.

A visit to the Ladies was not a simple matter; the thick narrow skirt took some lifting, and no matter how moisture-proof you’re assured electrical equipment is, it’s always a bit nerveracking to let one’s bladder go. In the course of repairing my makeup, I got into a conversation with two other California transplants. One was the harem girl and the other had gotten herself up as the Roxie Hart character from Chicago. We were trading Canadian midwinter deep-freeze stories when I felt a powerful buzz in my rear. Not a warning; more of a Get back here! It was all I could do not to leap and scuttle for the door. I contained myself, and brought the girls back with me as evidence of my bona fides, but as soon as they saw Anders’

hands on me they drifted off. Later I saw the Wookie chasing the harem girl.

During a slow dance Anders turned the vibrator up a notch. I risked my renewed makeup against his tunic, he hugged me close, and we moved slowly around the dance floor. ‘Having fun?’

I nodded. He squeezed me a little tighter and turned the vibrator up full.

I groaned and he hushed me.

The music stopped and a microphone squealed. Up on stage someone started a little speech, welcoming, thanking and alluding to the work of Habitat for Humanity. I caught maybe thirty seconds of this before Anders had us backed through the crowd and right out the door. The cool air of the corridor would have been welcome, had it not been full of cigarette smoke blowing in from the group that was clustered around the outside door.

‘Prizes yet?’ asked the Tin Woodsman, peering in.

‘No. Speeches,’ grumbled Anders. I looked up at his disgusted face and laughed. He glowered at me, though there was an answering twinkle in his eye. ‘Well, I know what he’s going to say. Everyone does. What the hell is the point?’

‘Um, let’s see,’ I said. He’d turned off the vibrator and my brain was firing more or less normally. ‘Inspire the crowd. Rally the troops. Create –

what’s the word? Cohesion and – um – collective will and purpose. Twang the donation guilt strings.’

His snort had a laugh lurking in it somewhere. ‘Preaching to the converted. It’s not this crowd that needs to hear it; it’s the goddamned housing ministry.’

He turned the vibrator back on again when I won the Most Exotic Costume prize. Did his batteries ever run down? I had to go up onto the stage in front of everyone, vibrating away, and be ogled in order to collect my prize, which was a $50 gift certificate for Home Depot. Very appropriate. I gave it to my master, who tucked it into his belt for safekeeping. Anders didn’t win anything, to my disappointment. Best costume went to a walking breathalyzer, who had been circulating the crowd giving readings to those willing to blow into the tube at his shoulder. I hoped the prize had been worth being basically confined in a cardboard box all night. Although I was hardly the one to talk. The guy turned out to be an alcohol researcher who’d incorporated his actual equipment into his costume.

Many avoided him like the plague, but some (Bart and the Wookie included) seemed to be vying with each other to produce the highest readings. At last we said our goodnights.

In the truck Anders parted my jacket and squeezed my breasts through their thin coverings. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that all night,’ he said, ‘like everyone else.’ Carefully, with a ripping Velcro sound, he pulled the edge of the cloth out from under the edge of the bodice until he had it removed entirely. I shivered, kept my hands at my sides, and watched his beautiful long head, sans beard and helmet, half shadowed by the streetlight. He kissed and fondled my naked breasts, his mouth warming the shrinking skin.

Then he clipped a leash onto the rings, closed my jacket up a little and did up my seatbelt. I saw the handle over his wrist as he drove, and when he turned a corner I felt the pull. The leash stayed on beneath my jacket as he led me up the dark walk.

***

The next day Val, looking hung over, regaled Anders with the story of her own Halloween. Her intro sounded like the beginning of a joke: ‘A baby butch, a granola dyke and a smurf came into the bar….’ The story kept him entertained all the way to Mississauga. He had no idea what was true, what was wild embellishment and what was completely invented for her own amusement.

Then when his guard was down Val managed to lever out of him some portion of what he had been doing to Maia, both at the folk festival and at the ball. She laughed her guts out. ‘You and your hardware fetish! Did you replace that at Home Depot? No wonder the girl looked like she was on a skewer.’

‘Pretty, wasn’t it?’

‘Very. What a lucky little subbie she is.’

‘Slave. You think so?’

‘Sure. She’s happy as a clam. Well, more of a barnacle. Is there such a thing as a sentient shellfish? Guess not. She’s happy as one, whatever it is.’

‘Good to have independent corroboration; thanks.’

‘I hope you’re making enough off these jobs to keep her in the manner to which you’ve made her accustomed. You must be spending a fortune on this little hobby of yours.’ She folded back a building supply catalogue she was holding and waved it. ‘The soundproofing alone didn’t come cheap.

Even if it was just the materials.”

“Don’t start channelling my grandmother now.’

‘Sorry. I’ve got money on the brain. By all means, spend away. Go to it.

An honest workman deserves to enjoy himself.’

‘Val – ‘

‘Hey, that money was earned by the sweat of your brow – and that of several others, I might add. It should be used for fetish equipment; why not?

Our sweat to make her sweat.”

“Val, is this a manifesto about the decadent bourgeoisie and the exploitation of labour, or do you need a loan?’

‘Ah, shit, boss man.’ She sat back grumpily, crossed her arms and stared out the windshield. ‘Fine. I happened to see the truck I want and I can’t afford it yet and I’m pissed. And no, I don’t want a fucking loan.’

Anders bit back a word or two and drove in silence. Val had been getting more and more prickly as their working relationship drew to a close.

He shrugged inwardly, and in a growly voice began to sing an old Jimmy Reed song, ‘Big Boss Man,’ about the boss not being so big after all.

‘Oh, shut up!’ said Val. But she was fighting a smile. ‘You think this is about you? Egocentric bastard.’

‘No, I think it’s about you worrying about money and whether you’ll make it all right.”

“Can’t you save your mind reading for your little barnacle at home?”

“You admit I’m right, then.’

Val ground her teeth, and after a minute said, ‘All right, I’m a little tense about the whole thing. What’s it to you?’

‘Waste of energy. You’ll do great. Your plan’s well thought out and I can think of any number of people who’ll be glad to hire you. You should be worrying about leaving my sorry ass with the likes of Mike and Eric. And whether I’ll survive without your so patient and diplomatic assistance.’ She snorted.

Anders took the Trafalgar exit and drove up through dull subdivision sprawl. Not a spark of visible creativity for miles. How could North American developers have taken this dreary turn? Greed and mindless expedience. A lingering cultural belief that land was infinite and every rugged individualist had the right to stake his claim. It infuriated him.

Val was silent the rest of the way, but when it came to negotiating the job she took charge, as they had agreed. She was unusually patient and diplomatic; in fact, she thoroughly charmed the owner, who acceded to the need for greener materials with hardly a protest. Anders watched her, amused, and then sighed and wondered how the hell he was going to replace her.