Perfection-03
Perfecton - Chapter Three
- by xenaRRa
To Kelley without whom this would have remained only a dream.
All characters in this work are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author.
Copyright 1989 by K. Xenarra Brown.
PERFECTION
- by Xenarra
- Chapter Three
Heavy scents, masculine scents. She slowly came into awareness and stretched her arms up, legs out. Her muscles were strangely tired and her eyes had the gritty feel of misplaced sleep. Not wanting to check the time, she closed her eyes tightly and reached out in a larger stretch to banish the exhaustion she felt. As soon as her hand touched him, she recoiled; and the force of her reaction dumped her onto the floor.
Contacting the cold floor brought her to sudden and complete awareness. As she remembered the events of the night before, she glanced furtively at the bed. HE was still asleep, thank goodness. God, what an experience last night had been! It was already late. How could she get showered, dressed and away to work before he woke up?
Silently she moved into a crouch and began crawling toward the bathroom. Five feet. Two feet. She glanced back for a moment to check on him, only to find him leaning insolently against the wall behind her.
"Going somewhere?" he remarked casually. "I would have thought your poor little knees would be sore from last night."
His sudden appearance startled her. She drew a quick breath and tried to collect her thoughts and focus her emotions. "Uh, I didn't want to wake you," she began lamely. Inner resolve and years of struggling through life alone kicked in. She stood up and began again. "Anyway, its time to get to work. Gotta keep the boss happy, you know." She strode purposefully toward the shower, only to be detained by his hands on her shoulders.
"And what about last night? I suppose you intend to deny that anything earthshaking happened. Just another fun night." He reached for her arm and pulled her around to face him; the words stinging bitterly. She looked up to protest and became lost in his eyes. She couldn't breath. Panic washed over her and the tears flowed down her cheeks of their own accord.
"Why don't you admit it? Once you have experienced your proper place in life, you cannot go back. But you don't really know that yet, do you? You will find out that you can go through the motions of your former life, but something will always be missing. You want to go back, don't you?"
Still crying, she nodded.
He reached for his jeans and found the key to the lock on her collar. He unlocked the padlock and removed the collar. "Alright, you may go to work today, if that is what you really want. I'll leave a phone number on the kitchen table when I leave. If you find that I am correct, call. This collar will be mine until then. But be ready when you call to take up your true place in life." He removed the thong from the collar and knotted it about her throat, trailing the laces down her back. "Let this remind you of the decision you must make. But do not delay too long there are other women . . ." He reached for and found her hands. Bringing them together, he kissed her fingers, then gathered her to him. He pulled her tightly against his warm body, his tongue darting and probing at her mouth and lips. His penis started to rise against her belly, but he thrust her away and returned to the bed. "Keep quiet, woman, I'm trying to sleep," he commanded as he pulled the sheets over his dark head.
"Yes, Master," she barely breathed back as she turned toward the bathroom and her responsibilities.
For the first few days, she found herself bathed in an afterglow that caused her to walk taller, to smile more. But after a time, his essence gradually slipped away and left behind a aching gap in her being. She went through the days that followed in a deep haze, barely participating in the activities of daily living, only doing and being as much as was absolutely necessary. During the day, her mind frequently turned to that night. She wore the leather thong under her clothing, much to her chagrin, afraid somehow to take it off. At night she was frequently sleepless. She was unable to concentrate enough to read. Nothing on television seemed as alive and vital as her memories of that night. Increasingly, she found herself roaming through her apartment, turning and returning to the card on the table.
Even though her decision occupied her thoughts continually, in moments of strength or desperation she sought answers elsewhere. She accepted dates, went to dinner, saw movies, even tried to make love with some. But they seemed cardboard, lifeless; and the slam bam thank you style of intimacy they offered was so far from memories burning in her mind that she found that the comparisons were ludicrous . The men sensed that somehow they hadn't measured up. Some were angry, others apologetic. But none called back.
She didn't feel comfortable sharing her frustrations with her female friends. What she had experienced was too wonderful and too frightening. She doubted they would understand. Her friends could not understand the silence and apparent cold shoulders they received. They gradually slipped away.
At one point she even found herself attending Mass. The familiarity of the routines learned in childhood relaxed her to the point of actually listening to the priest. In his spotless robes he seemed so good, so pure. She could, she felt at that moment, throw away that card and forget. But as the man in front droned on about ice cream socials, newsletter deadlines, and donations for outreach missions, she felt lost in the maze of bureaucracy that was organized religion. She left before the service was over, angry at God for not providing answers and at herself for looking for them there.
After weeks of this turmoil, she had reached her breaking point one Saturday night when the phone rang. She dashed for it from the shower, catching it on the fourth ring.
"Hello?" her voice was tentative.
"Hey, baby, what's happening? Do you know who this is?"
The voice was almost familiar, but not quite. "Uh, no." The disappointment was evident in her voice. The warm water dripping from her hair began to cool. She shivered slightly and her nipples hardened. The rivulet running from the forgotten leather thong raced down her back, between her buttocks and into a small puddle on the floor.
"This is Jim."
It had been several years since she had heard that voice, but it was amazing that she hadn't recognized it immediately. Long hours of therapy had put him firmly into that past. And now, hearing his voice, she felt as though the clock had run backwards and she was still under his control. Her mind flashed back on a memory she had pushed into the furthest corner of her mind.
She had been on her own for a few years after school and had managed to accumulate some rather impressive credit card bills. They had met at a bar. He listened to her troubles and paid for her drinks with fifty dollar bills. They dated a few weeks, dates which never seemed to work out as she had planned. She was never given quite enough information to make good decisions, but somehow always forced to accept the blame for the mistakes. Soon she was unable to accomplish the simplest of tasks. Then he moved in and took over her bills because she had "so much trouble managing money." In a matter of months he had reduced her to almost robot like actions: go to work, come home, wait on him. She was totally powerless because she believed him right. She truly was as useless as he said.
Then a problem kept her away from the phone and late at work one night. The sight of his face as she came through the door would be imprinted forever in her mind. She had never seen anything so terrifyingly calm in her life. He didn't ask for an explanation, just began gathering his clothes together, preparing to pack. She cried and begged him not to go and finally he relented. But he did have to go on business and would be gone a week. She was to come home directly after work and wait for his call. If he didn't reach her every night without fail, there would be hell to pay. To lend force to his argument, he slapped her cheek hard. Tearfully she agreed and they parted.
But work kept her late the next night, and she must have missed his call, for the phone never rang. The second night, she decided to go shopping instead of coming home. She felt wonderfully naughty and free. By the third night she realized that she had been miserable and close to suicide. She knew he would be back and things would return to normal. She also knew that she couldn't face him and make him leave. So she left. She withdrew her money, took her clothes and drove. She kept driving until she had passed several large cities before settling in one. She didn't change her name, but she didn't forward her mail or even say goodbye. No one knew where she had gone. She got a job and began seeing a therapist. The scars were too deep to heal, but she managed to bury them deep enough to allow herself to carry on a normal life. Until now.
"Where are you calling from?" she said weakly. She began to tremble. "Why are you calling me?" The chill she felt now was from more than the cold air passing over her bare body.
"I'm at a bar down the street from you. I'm going to be at your house in about twenty minutes. We have some talking to do. And you owe me more than just an explanation."
"Uh, Uh." All she could do was stammer. The thought of that short, overweight grease ball in her apartment was horrifying. Involuntarily she looked about for something with which to cover her nakedness. Finding nothing within reach she moved one arm across her breasts and dropped a hand to cover her new short, itchy crop of pubic hair. "Listen, I've got to go now. I was in the shower when you called and I need to go back and finish."
"I'll bet you're just standing there in your birthday suit, looking cute, aren't you? That makes my dick hard just thinking about your slutty body all naked. I know you ran away because you were whoring it up all over town and I found out.
"That's, that's not true," she forced the words out, her teeth chattering.
"You know, I made some friends here at the bar that are probably just your type. Hey fellas, how would you like to spend the night getting some fantastic pussy?" Whistles and catcalls reached out of the phone like fingers. "I'm glad I got you the first time I called. If I hadn't, I would have been mad. I'm not mad now, but I will be if you're not there when we show up. And I do mean we. I want to see you suck off every guy here. I want them to fuck your pussy and ass until you beg me to stop them."
She imagined for a moment that thing and his friends, running their hands over her body and forcing their sex upon her. By now she was shaking so hard it was hard to hang onto the receiver. She had dropped into a crouch to protect herself; her skin filled with tiny goose bumps at the thought of those men fondling her nipples, caressing her crotch, inserting fingers, penises and God knows what else into her vagina. "No, No!" she cried, "I'm going out. Actually, I'm leaving town tonight and I won't be back for at least a month."
"Aw, that's too bad, baby." His voice had lost the slippery tone and was now coarse with an undercurrent of violence. "We were really counting on squeezing those beautiful boobs of yours. Fucking you still sounds like a good idea, baby. Hey guys, the bitch says she's leaving town. Can you believe that?"
"No!" The shout seemed next door.
"But I am," she began crying.
"Well, I think we'll come over anyway, just in case you change your mind. See ya soon." His laughter echoed in her ears as the line went dead. Her mind raced desperately for a place to go, to get away. "Get help!" her mind screamed and she began dialing every phone number she could think of. Answering machine after answering machine described in cute detail how to leave a message. Hang up, dial another. Long rings, no reply. "Saturday night, shit, nobody's home, shit, shit, shit," panic brought the words out loud as she crouched by the phone, grabbing for alternatives, her precious time slipping away.
"Police, call the police." Numbly, her fingers pounded out the 911. A cold impersonal voice took her information, then informed her that since there was no immediate threat, there wasn't anything they could do. But she could call back if something happened. She hung up and called back, the desperation in her voice at last arousing the desk clerk from lethargy.
"Well, I really shouldn't be doing this . . "
"Do it, do it," she wanted to scream.
"Listen, I'll send an officer around in about an hour. I'll write it up as a disturbing the peace call. Of course, the officer won't know you called. But if there's trouble, he'll help you."
"But that's not soon enough." her voice was demanding.
"Listen, lady, that's the best I can do. Goodbye." The voice was firm, offered no recourse.
"It'll be too late!" she wailed at the dead receiver. She stood up and her eye jumped to the card he had left, still in the middle of the table. "Can't. Won't. Shit, what else?" She grabbed for the phone, dialing so quickly that she made mistake after mistake. She finally got through and sank to the floor in relief as a familiar voice reached out to her.
"Hello." The deep voice was calm. Her inner resolve crumbled and she began to sob hysterically into the phone. "Hello. I know who you are. I want you to concentrate on the sound of my voice. Slow down. Slow down. Take your five breaths and let them out slowly. One, two, three, four, five. Now, tell me what's wrong."
"Oh. Oh." Her mind was blank. He counted for her again and she began to breath normally. Then the words spilled out. "I gotta get out of here now. Something's going to happen to me if I don't. I don't have anyone else to turn to. Help me, get me out of here. Now!" Her voice had started to rise again and her breathing speeded up. The tears began again.
"Alright. Put your coat on, turn out the lights, lock your apartment door and come to the sign in front of the building. I'll be there soon. You are planning to spend some time with me? And play by my rules?"
"Uh, uh, I guess so. No. Uh. Yes. Oh, I don't know. Just tonight. Please let me stay with you for just tonight." She dissolved into tears. "I'm not wearing anything. I was showering. What do I wear?" "Alright, tonight for now. We'll talk about tomorrow later. Just dry off and slip on a coat and shoes. I have everything you'll need here. Meet me in front of the building sign," he repeated.
"But I can't come to the sign. It's lighted. They'll see me. What do I do?" The panic was rising again.
"There is a dumpster on the back side of your building. Wait behind it and I'll be there very soon. No more arguments. Go!"
"Yes, Master," she whispered and hung up the phone as though it were glass. She toweled her hair for a minute, slipped into the first pair of shoes in the closet and a coat which would keep her covered and warm, and started for the door. Grabbing her purse, fumbling with the keys in the door, locking the door, running down the stairs and toward the back, she didn't notice the card, which had become entangled with the jumble in her purse, fall to the ground as she struggled to close the clasp as she ran. As she stood alone, peering around the side of the large metal box, it started to rain.
She could only stand and watch helplessly as the men arrived as promised. After knocking and receiving no answer, they jimmied the lock. From her hiding place she could see them through the apartment windows as they trashed her place, then settled down with the contents of the refrigerator in front of the television to wait for her return, the sickly sweet smell of marijuana drifting from the open window. The tears began again as she realized there was no going back that night. And no point in calling the police back. Who would believe a naked woman in a winter coat and sneakers in July?
An eerie sensation pulled her attention away. She looked down and saw a parade of roaches crossing in front of her and entering the dumpster. One ran over her shoe; she screamed and fell back. His arms were around her. She tried to get away but he held her more tightly. She twisted and saw that it was indeed deliverance, then began shaking without control. He turned her around and pulled her closer. Her face pressed into his shirt and she smelled the fragrance she had been dreaming of for the past weeks. Her will left her and she slumped. Catching her legs, he swung her up and carried her to his limousine. The last thing she remembered was the feel of the cool leather seat against her flushed face.
It seemed as though she had always been in his arms. She tried fight her growing awareness and snuggle deeper; but the motion of the car brought her closer and closer to reality. Finally she gave up her pretense of sleep and began to focus on where she was. In a flash the entire horrid scene came back to her and she turned, crying, trying to bury herself in his chest, to deny the world she had so recently left.
"I don't want you to tell me what happened just yet. Just answer a few questions. Are you still in danger?" She shook her head no. "Do you want to go back home?" Again the response was no. "Are you willing to do as I say when you are with me, even if it means doing something you may not like?" She didn't move. Her heart had stopped. His voice, calming, reassuring, continued, "I cannot promise you much but I will promise you that while you are with me you will be safe from whatever danger you ran away from. In return you must do exactly as I command you. Do you agree?" She began to laugh as the magnitude of his statement sank in. She would have to become one man's slave to escape another man's abuse.
"Pull the car over," he commanded the driver. As it coasted to a stop, he pushed her away from him and forced her to look deeply into his eyes. "There is no room for jokes in this matter. I am deadly serious. Without this basic commitment I have no time for you. As far as I'm concerned, without this agreement, you do not exist. You must either agree with me fully and completely without reservation or leave this car now! Do I make myself abundantly clear?" She nodded. "Well, what is you decision?"
"I want to go with you. I'll do whatever you want." Her voice sounded distant to her. The words had come without a conscious effort on her part. It was as if her unconscious mind recognized what her conscious mind tried to refuse: She had no other choice.
"I think you know exactly what I am asking." He waited for her to speak and the air groaned from the weight of the tension. His eyes probed her, at once demanding an answer and denying her the power to voice it. Finally she pushed the words past her leaden voice box.
"Yes, I'll be your slave." The words began to rush out. "I am already your slave. I have been since I read the first note you sent me. I have tried to get away from you for weeks but you were always there. On my mind. It was almost like you never really left me alone the entire time we were apart. Oh, shit, it's impossible to explain. Just, just, tell me what you want and I'll do it. Only please, please hold me." Unbidden the tears began to flow again.
"Stop crying," he commanded. "And take off that ridiculous coat and those awful sneakers. You're soaking wet and will probably catch the plague if we don't get you warm." Her sniffles subsided as he removed her shoes and coat. "We'll give these to some poorly dressed bag lady with no sense of taste," he said, folding and placing the coat with the shoes on the floor. She smiled a small, sad smile at his joke. "There, see, things aren't nearly as bad as you thought, are they?"
"I guess not."
"Well, and here we are, home. Everybody out of the pool." He turned to go but her hand shot out and grabbed his sleeve as he started to leave the car. "I'm not wearing any clothes," she whispered.
"I know," he whispered back, "but I promise not to tell anyone if you don't." He started to leave again, only to be pulled back once more.
"No, I'm serious," she whispered. "I can't get out of the car. I'm naked. Someone could see me. I can't."
"You made an agreement. I notice you are still wearing your thong. Good. Why don't you remind me and yourself of your lessons which are still, and quite obviously I may add, yet unlearned."
"I think I'll get out of the car now," she said quickly and pushed past him in her haste. Once outside the car she got a good look at the mansion she was about to enter. There seemed to be a light in every single window of the large, two story house. The front yard was formally landscaped but the rest of the lot seemed surrounded by dense forest. As she looked about she could not even get a glimpse of the road they had left before turning up the drive. Turning full circle in wonderment at the size of the estate, she found herself suddenly face to face with the Master.
"By not leaving the car when ordered, you have disobeyed me and must be punished," he said as he reached behind her and gave her five rapid swats on her tender ass. He then reached for the leather and moved it around so it hung between her breasts. "While I certainly appreciate your sudden enthusiasm for my requests, I still want to hear about your KNOTS." The word had the impact of a freight train. Dredging her memory, she began the recitation, picking up speed as she regained confidence. After she had finished, he stared at her a long moment, gauging her willingness to learn, then beckoned her to follow him as he began walking toward the house. She leapt to catch up with him and in the process, stepped on the heel of his shoe, pulling it off his foot and causing him to stumble. He turned around and noticed that she had fallen, scraped her knee bloody and regained her feet without so much as a whimper.
"I'm sorry. Please forgive me," she pleaded.
At the sight of her abject surrender to him, he ignored her apology as well as her clumsiness. "Whew," he breathed a long breath, "We certainly do have our work cut out for us, don't we?"
"Yes, Master," came the reply from a bent head.
"Maybe training should begin right here and now, at least for safety's sake. Have you ever heard the expression, to heel? Well, you see, in this application it means that you will always be exactly two paces behind and one pace to the left of me. Always. If you're that far behind me, you'll find it harder to run over me," his voice was full of gentle laughter.
"We're going to practice this right now until you are able to maintain the heeling position no matter where I walk." He positioned her properly, then moved forward. She tried to catch up to him. He stopped. "You're not listening. Stay at that distance from me," he said as he repositioned her. This time as he walked, she followed at heel. He left the drive and moved off down a gravel path. The way was not wide enough to maintain her position so she was forced to walk in the grass which was wet from the previous rain. As he strode purposefully away, she had to run to keep up. Soon she was running at a slow pace and enjoying the freedom of movement without clothes. She became so lost in herself, she didn't notice his abrupt stop and ran past him and headlong into a bush.
"You're heeling quite well, but you're not paying any attention to what I am doing," he said as she pulled herself out of the mud puddle she had fallen into after she extricated herself from the bush. " Your eyes should be constantly checking my position. Remember, you are heeling to a Master, not jogging. Do you understand, slave?"
"Yeah, sure, right," she said sullenly as she attempted to scrape some of the filth from her skin and hair. The evening air was cool as a breeze left over from the rain blew across their path. Droplets of mud clung to the tips of her nipples, each like a chocolate chip upon a mound of ice cream. As she moved, the drops were shaken free, only to fall on her unprotected thighs. From where they landed, they traveled slowly down her legs, each one a finger of cold which brought chills to her skin.
"Well, if you were trying to piss me off, it worked," He stated. "I had hoped you were smart enough to learn under less controlled situations. It is obvious from your attitude that the only training that will work with you begins with this." From a pocket he pulled a three inch high leather collar and a long chain. "Kneel." he commanded.
After one look at his face, she dropped immediately to her knees. He fastened the collar around her throat. Then he attached a chain to the back of the collar.
"Stand, slave," he ordered as he pulled on the chain. She was on her feet before she had a chance to respond. The chain pulled on the leather of the collar, putting a surprising amount of pressure on her throat. He released the pressure a bit; and, she brought herself under control. He ran the length of chain down her back and between her legs, and up between her breasts. He pulled the chain taut, then clipped it again to the front of the collar. The chain pressed on the delicate folds of skin, putting indirect pressure on her clit. The result was both erotic and terrifying as she realized the extent of his control over her.
"Heel, slave," he said and moved back along the path. Watching for exposed roots and rocks at the side of the path, she stumbled along in an attempt to follow his orders. She never had a chance to slacken the pace. By the time they reached the door she was muddy and exhausted.
"You're too filthy to come into my home. Stand still." As he spoke, he took a garden hose and turned it on her. The stream of water stung as it struck her scratched legs. The entire situation proved to be too overwhelming and she sank to her knees, whimpering. As he turned off the water, he tugged her chain again, and again she was brought to her feet. She followed him down a long hallway and through a door. Inside the candlelit room was a single short pedestal with a pair of leather handcuffs suspended from a bar above it. He motioned her forward and she stepped up. He pulled her hands above her head and fastened them in the cuffs. The height of the cuffs forced her to stand on tiptoe to avoid the pain of her wrists.
"Think," he commanded. Without another word, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. The light was so dim that she could not make out a thing. It seemed as though she had been alone for hours in the total quiet when suddenly the entire room lit up. The blinding light assaulted her eyes; she squinted and tried to shield them. She could not duck her head to hide from the brightness doing so caused the high collar to assault her already sore neck. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a hideous creature looking at her. It was female and about her size, but the creature's hair was stringy and matted. It had scratches and bruises all over its body. It was incredibly dirty. She moved to get a better look and found herself staring into her own eyes. The mirror in front of her reflected only the ugly monster she had become. With a scream, she tried to turn away, only to find herself surrounded by mirrors. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the ordeal ended as the lights went out. Her master's words, all of them, came rushing back from the recesses of her brain. As she hung there in the darkness, there was little she could do but think.
After what seemed an eternity of trying to rationalize her feelings and actions, she felt as though her brain had turned to jelly. When He came back and released her arms, they dropped to her sides lifelessly. He steadied her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. "What did you see in the mirrors?"
"It was me," she answered, "but am I really like that?"
"Do mirrors usually lie?" She shook her head dumbly. "Did you like what you saw?"
"No!" she replied, the revulsion at her image still fresh.
"Do you want to change, look differently, act differently, be a different person?"
"Yes. Yes, Master. Yes, I want to change. I don't like that person in the mirror. She's dirty and scary. Can I change?"
"That's what we're going to find out. Come with me. He took up her collar and led her from the room. She dragged her feet, at once not wanting whatever was to come next but also not yet able to care. She couldn't replace the awful mental picture of her dirty body turning and twisting to avoid the scrutiny of her own eyes.
He led her back down the hall to and through one of the doors she had passed earlier into the most beautiful bedroom she had ever seen. He did not allow her to touch anything; but instead led her through a side opening into a full bathroom. The tile floor felt like ice to her bare feet. The bathroom had a second opening, but it was blocked by a iron gate.
"We will start tomorrow. For now, get some sleep," he ordered. She turned in time to see him leave the room and close a gate over the original entry.
"Master, may I use the bathroom and shower?" she cried, hoping to prevent his leaving her alone again.
"Slave, you were wise to ask me. Yes, you may shower and use the bathroom. Then go to sleep. You'll notice you are missing little extras such as shampoo, towels and a bed. You'll have to earn those by doing your training exercises well. This is also the way you will earn your meals. When you are ready to begin, kneel on the pad at the other door. Someone will come when it is convenient. Make sure you are very clean and well rested before you attempt a training session.
"By the way, you will have many more sessions in the mirror room. It is the only place here where you can see for yourself just exactly how you appear to the outside world. It was in that room that you caught a glimpse of how you are right now. Before your training is over we will have shaped you into something more beautiful than you can possibly imagine. But now you truly are as your reflection showed. Think about that tonight and prepare to learn to become something better."
At that he turned on his heel and left her alone.
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