Perfection-04
Perfecton - Chapter Four
- 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 Four
"Shower. Got to take a shower. Hot water." She was operating on a level only slightly higher than barely conscious. She entered the shower stall and reached for the hot spigot, only to find no handle. "That bastard! He expects me to shower with bar soap in ice cold water and get clean? That absolute bastard!" As she moved, the chain she had been led with rubbed against her clit painfully. She reached up and fumbled with it, unclipping the chain from the collar in front, relieving the pressure on her clit, and reaching around to decipher the clasp. Collar and chain came off as a unit and when they were finally free, she flung them across the room. The noise they made on impact seemed deafening. Now she was awake and aware of her situation. "Screw it!" she swore to no one in particular, and turned on the cold water.
Was it water or ice cubes that hit her skin? She didn't know or care. Grabbing the bar of soap, she made short work of the dirt on her skin, washing herself clean with hard, hurried strokes. Her hair was another matter; for she found that once her long tresses were soapy enough to get clean, they were also almost impossible to rinse. And while the coldness of the water was no longer a shock, the numbing effect it created on her feet and hands was troublesome.
At last she was as clean as possible. Turning off the water, she started to step out of the stall. "Shit, if I do that, I'll get the floor wet. Then where will I sleep?" She returned to the shower and sat down to let herself dry. It was then that she noticed the condition of her body. Her hands ran down each thigh and leg, caressing and soothing the minor hurts, getting a feel for the extent of damage the major hurts had caused. She turned to the wall and huddled up into the fetal position as she waited to dry. The bathroom lights weren't as bright an insult here. Without effort, her eyes closed and she drifted off into a troubled sleep.
She stayed in the same cramped position until consciousness washed over her. Nothing looked familiar. She tried to rise, but found her arms and legs largely uncooperative. Finally gaining a sort of crab position, she scuttled out of the stall. Through the iron door she could see the natural light of dawn filling the room beyond. She moved closer and inadvertently stepped on the pad in front of the door. Not noticing what she had done and unable to see the contents of the room beyond the gate, she returned to the center of the floor and attempted to stretch her body, to regain control of her limbs. She slowly brought her hands up and worked her fingers through her tangled hair. Her fingers caught in the leather strands of the thong, its knots still in place. 'Odd', she thought, 'What ever can this thing be?'
The effort to raise her arms to her hair was almost unbearable, and the pain was very confusing. The specific events of the evening before had been lost in the abyss of sleep, and all she could remember was being first scared, then hurt, then embarrassed. She lay back, eyes tightly closed. lost in her thoughts, trying to regain the missing pieces. Finally she rolled onto her belly to stand up. She sensed more than knew that a person had entered the room. Opening her eyes, she was confronted by a pair of very large, very black boots. With a cry, she slammed her eyes shut and curled into a tight ball. Those feet were all too familiar. All the memories of the night before flashed in front of her. It had definitely not been a dream. Dreams end in the morning, and this nightmare was still going on.
He waited and she gradually uncurled. The end of the chain dropped suddenly into view, swinging lightly above the boots. "Lose something, slave?" his deep voice resonating in the tile room.
"I am not your slave, nor anyone else's and no, I didn't lose anything. I threw that horrible chain as far away as I could," She stated firmly, then her brave words faltered. "Look, don't get me wrong," she began again. "I really, truly appreciate the way you pulled me out of that tight spot last night. But the trouble's over now, and I want to go home. If you would be so kind as to hand me something to wear, I'll be ready to go home shortly." She started to get up but he blocked her and she found herself in a kneeling position at his feet."
"I think before you make such rude and rash statements you'd better take a look at today's paper. You're famous. No, don't speak. Let me read you the headline and a few of the details. `Drug Bust Nets Three.'"
She looked up at him in horror. Surely no. It couldn't be.
"A routine disturbance call last night led police to an unexpected drug raid. Three men were seized and charged with possession of marijuana and cocaine. They confessed to having purchased the drugs from the occupant of the apartment. Police have not released the occupant's name pending an investigation."
"Section B contains stories detailing your description and interviews with your friends and co workers; all of whom have made it clear that you have gone through a personality change in the last few weeks. Then there's the statement by some psychologist that you were in therapy several years ago but, even upon completion, were judged unstable."
"Ma'am, everything you own has been seized by the police as part of this investigation. Unless you come forward and take the responsibility or can proved you were not involved, you face some pretty severe charges. I rather doubt that you are up to that."
Stunned, she shook her head, "No."
"Well, then, do you want to go back into the world with no clothing, job, apartment, or friends? I could start you from scratch, but you'd probably have to hook for a living." He towered over her kneeling form and pulled her head up so she could not avoid his eyes. "Or, have you made another decision?"
She looked into his large, serious eyes for a long moment, her mind racing with alternatives; then, laying her head down onto his boots, she whispered, "Master, may I be your slave and live here with you?"
"My rules?"
"Yes, Master. Please?"
"You may be here as long as you prove yourself worthy of that privilege. Tell me if you have a problem, ask for help. But be forewarned, if you do not obey me, I will send you away without notice. Now, get up and heel. You have much to learn today."
He left the room through the open gate; and, she hurried to follow. The next room was totally empty. The white walls and ceiling were starkly littered with eye hooks, lending an unreal quality to the small room. At first it seemed as though all the walls were the same; but, as she entered the room more completely, she realized that one entire wall was a mirror, from floor to ceiling. The cold, white tile floor was merely a continuation of the tile of the bathroom. A shiny chrome drain in the center of the tile afforded the only relief to the room's sparsity. He made her kneel over that center drain, facing away from the mirror, then moved to face her.
"I'm sure that you are bright enough to realize that your training will be quite extensive. You are one of many being trained here. Because there are so many of you potential slaves, the name 'slave' can be confusing. It is therefore necessary to grant you a name.
"I believe that names should be symbolic of traits that person strives to perfect. If you had little self esteem, I might name you Hope. If you could not learn to trust, I might name you Faith. If you had a cold and unforgiving nature, your name might be Charity. You get the idea.
"You, however, fit none of those names. In fact, I could not come up with an appropriate name for you until I was able to discover the reason you did not call sooner. You have no ability to focus yourself." Her chin sunk onto her chest. "You are perhaps the most inconsistent person I have ever met. One minute you're in tears, then the next, you're as brash as a trucker. You need to be trained to respond consistently to people and situations. Your name, therefore, must be Constance.
"Look up into my eyes. It will be the last time you are allowed to do this for many days." Fearfully, she turned her head upwards. Her body began trembling with the fear of what he might do to her. Her breasts appeared jelly like as they quivered with the rest of her body. She knew he had correctly analyzed her character, and was all the more scared because he had seen through her best defenses so clearly.
"Your name and being are now linked. Your past is gone. You are Constance. When you are being instructed you will be called Slave or Constance. If you do well, you will be rewarded and called Connie. If you do not do well . . . , well, hopefully we won't have to come to that."
"I have many duties here, and you are not at the top of the priority list at the moment. The majority of your early training will be done by those who know what I want but also know how a slave will react to each training lesson. You are to obey anyone I send to train you as if that person were me. At the end of the day, your trainer will report and you will recite. I will decide how best to reward your efforts.. Lessons will be repeated until they are learned. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Master." her voice was soft, completely overwhelmed.
"Constance, you have a lot to learn before you can be integrated into my home with my other slaves. I'm going to give you a very special instructress for your early training. She will move you through these first lessons as quickly as possible. It won't be easy or fun, but it will help you to accomplish much in a short time."
He turned and motioned someone to enter from beyond the room's other door. The woman who entered was at once the most beautiful and the most terrifying woman Constance had ever seen. She was almost as tall as the Master on her high spiked heels, and was dressed in a leather leotard, topped by a fine, silver collar. A many pointed star hung from the collar between her breasts. It swung with her movements, and Constance could see that the silver star held a different colored stone at each point. The woman's long black hair swung sensuously as she moved gracefully into the room. The air seemed charged with sudden power as she passed by Constance and stopped in front of the Master, standing silently, her eyes traveling over Constance's body like fingers.
"Devora is trying to devoid herself of malice and become more sympathetic. Devora is her name as a Mistress. Her slave name is Sympatico. You will refer to her as Mistress Devora. Sympatico, recite."
The raven haired beauty, so haughty and proud, immediately dropped her eyes to the floor and snapped into a pose: standing, legs wide apart, arms up, hands clasped behind her head, instantly a slave to her Master in every respect.
"I have been commanded by my Master to begin the training of this new slave. I am to instruct her today in the proper way to REACT and RESPOND. While I have been instructed to be firm, I am to treat her with the kindness and sensitivity lacking in my own early training. I am to report on her progress at the end of the day."
During Devora's speech, the Master had begun playing with his slave's body. Devora finished speaking, and Constance watched in shock as he unzipped her bodysuit and released the woman's breasts from the leather. He began to roll the nipples between his fingers causing her cheeks to flush. But Devora did not utter a word.
"Good, Sympatico," he commented. His hands found their way down to her thighs. He began stroking her tender inner thighs with his large fingers and she began to move under his touch. Constance watched Devora's face. The only outward sign of the excitement he was causing her was the slight trace of blood between her lips where she had bit them to restrain herself. After a few minutes, his talented fingers then moved lightly across her clit and into her pussy. As he pumped them in and out, Constance watched the slave's face. The mask of servitude had been replaced by one mixed with pleasure and anguish. But Devora still didn't move. Not a muscle. It was as if he had frozen her body and only her face could respond to him.
"Good girl," he stated. His fingers moved more rhythmically now and the woman rocked slightly upward with each thrust. He stopped and repositioned himself, but was unable to gain the purchase he desired. His other hand loosened from the hold he had taken on her breast and shot upward quickly and spread her ass cheeks. "Relax your ass, slave. It's mine, too."
"Yes, Master," the words came out as ragged gasps. The thrusts continued. Devora's face contorted from the strain of restraining herself. At last she cried out, "Please, mercy Master."
"Yes, Sympatico, you may come." The force of her orgasm rocked her very core. She shuddered, bucked and trembled about his hand as he played her body like a fine instrument. When she had finished, he slowly brought his hand away from her. "You may use the bathroom if you wish," he said gently. She fled. From the bathroom came the soft sound of running water. Constance held her breath, trying to make sense of what she had seen. After a few long moments, Devora returned and resumed her spread stance in front of her Master.
"Describe what covers my hands to Constance, my dear," he ordered as he held his hands in front of her face.
"Your hands are covered with pussy juice, Master. May I please get a cloth and clean them?"
"Slave, you have performed admirably. No, you need not clean my hands this time. I would prefer if you began Constance's training. Constance, I hope someday you are half the willing slave this woman has become. I will see you at the end of the day. Learn well and make me proud of you."
He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. As the Master left the room, Devora dropped to a crouching position, clasped her knees with her arms, and hid her face. Her long tresses flowed like water down her back and onto the floor. She began rocking back and forth on her heels, moaning softly to herself.
"Don't you hate it when he does that!" Constance exclaimed. Constance felt moved to pity the woman and leaned forward to touch Devora's shoulder. "I'm sorry he hurt you like that. Are you going to be alright? Is there anything I can do to help?" Constance's voice was soft, almost pleading.
"Take your hands off me," Devora murmured from her crouch. She looked up suddenly. Constance was caught off guard, and she lost her balance, falling heavily onto her side on the hard tile. "I don't need or want sympathy. Don't you understand anything?" Devora raised her head and looked at Constance. "The Master was giving me pleasure as well as himself. I came so hard, I needed to regather my strength before I began with you."
"But, but, he hurt you. I watched your face. He really hurt you." Constance protested. She started to rise from the floor, but the fiery look in Devora's eyes forced her back down.
Devora pulled herself up to her full height, towering over Constance's prostrate form. "No, foolish slave, you've obviously never had a truly intense organism. I only hope you learn your lessons well, because if you are rewarded, so am I. I hate it when he makes me wait too long between orgasms. Because I have learned about obedience, I wait. I may not like it, but I wait."
"But respect, now that's a different story. Do you respect me, slave?" Devora's attitude suddenly changed. She became more brash, much harsher. She leaned down and leered at Constance's naked body. "Well, do you?"
"Ye , yes." How could another woman inspire so much terror in her? She felt as if Devora was raping her with her eyes. Remembering, she added, "Yes, Mistress Devora."
"Get up and stand just like I was, facing away from the mirror." Constance scrambled to her feet and locked her fingers behind her head. Fearfully, she turned her head to peer at Devora. "Eyes front and down. Spread your feet apart more. Straighten your back. Push your tits out. Don't move. Alright, you heard me tell the Master that I was going to instruct you in the proper way to react. Each letter of the word stands for a position you must learn and be able to assume at a moment's notice. You are now in the Recite position." Devora came so close to Constance that their bodies almost touched. She then began a minute examination of Constance's hair and skin.
"You are still muddy! Didn't the Master tell you to be clean? Recite, slave, tell me why you are so dirty."
"Uh, I tried, but . . ." Constance whispered, afraid even to speak.
"Why didn't you follow directions? Should I punish you for your disobedience?"
"Just a minute, here." Constance dropped her stance and turned to face the other woman. "I did try. I did the best I could. I don't know if you know this, but all I had to work with was a bar of soap and cold water. I bet you couldn't do half as well . . . " Constance's voice trailed off into nothingness as she gazed into the mask of fury Devora's face had become. "Uh, I'm sorry?" Her voice was again timid. "Oh, shit," she muttered, and resumed her stance.
"Don't. You. Move." Each word was spoken separately. Constance could feel the disapproval flowing from Devora's eyes."I'll be back in a minute. Oh, and by the way, the mirror behind you is two way. We are always being observed by someone sometimes it is the Master. Think about that the next time you want to be disagreeable."
"You had better come up with some way to make up for speaking disrespectfully to me, or you are in for the beating of your life. I'll be back." Devora's tone was as ominous as her words. After she left the room, Constance was tempted to drop her position, but was unable to overcome her fear of someone watching her. Someone who would tell the Master, or worse, Devora. She stood in total silence, in total terror of what was to come.
Constance had no way of knowing just how appropriate her fear of someone watching her was. Had she been able to see beyond the mirror's surface, she would have seen her Master calming speaking with a short, balding man in a cheaply tailored suit the same man who had caused her flight the night before. He had come to observe her training at the Master's suggestion.
As the Master closed the door behind the two women and turned to walk up the hallway, he was nearly knocked over by a flying sprite of a woman all hair and elbows and motion. She grabbed his coat and began dragging him down the hall. "Oh, Master, you've just got to come quick. There's a man here. None of us knew him, but he came in anyway. Faithful was the only one dressed, and she's in the sitting room with him now, and you know how Faithful can be with any new man, and this one is so scuzzy looking, so, you've just got to come before something bad happens, please!"
"Patience, Patience. I'm sure whatever is happening can wait a minute more while I walk to the front room." His words fell on deaf ears as she continued pulling at his sleeve. His arm snaked out and fastened onto hers with a grip of iron. "Await!" he bellowed and she reacted without thinking, dropping to her knees, her buttocks resting on her heels, hands palm down on her thighs, eyes focused on the floor. "Well," he demanded.
"I'm sorry Master, I didn't listen or obey. I am listening now."
"Get up and heel. I'll deal with this emergency you're so upset about, then I'll deal with you."
"Yes, Master."
Patience got to her feet and followed him down the hall to the parlor. There he found a tall, red haired woman in an old fashioned lace dress flirting with a man he had never met before. He cleared his throat and the woman scrambled to her feet, her face nearly as red as her hair. "Good morning," he addressed the man as he motioned the woman from the room. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
"Yeah, good morning. Nice place you got here, Larry. Nice lady in here with me, too. I sure wouldn't mind getting a piece of her action." The man spoke bluntly and gestured large gestures with his lit cigar, scattering ashes in a wide circle around himself. "You know, I've never actually been allowed inside the house before. I've always picked the dogs up in the back."
"Well, I certainly am glad you appreciate Faithful's charms and the condition of the house. But I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don't believe we've ever met. My name is actually Lawrence. And yours?"
"Lawr rence," the man minced the words, "Well, ain't that cute. Mine's Jim Charles. You have something of mine, or should I say, someone. I was waiting for a friend at her apartment. I found your card on the landing. When she didn't show up, I assumed she was with you. I recognized the address, I buy my dogs from your trainer, but I never thought I'd get an opportunity to actually meet the owner of this spread."
"Anyway, I'd like to see my friend. I know she's here and I won't take no for an answer." The words were polite, but the tone was menacing.
"You were part of that bit of unpleasantness with the police last night?"
"Well, yeah. I was just going to scare her, but when the bitch ran off, and well, I had some friends with me, and, well, one thing led to another. We were just relaxing until she came back. That is, until the cops came. I wonder how they just happened to show up when we were there?" he remarked pointedly as he began tapping his foot impatiently.
Faithful ducked her head into the room, glanced at the look of controlled fury on her Master's face, and quickly left. The man's arm again swept the air, and the ashes again fluttered down like snowflakes. "Well, what do you say, Larry? Do I get to see her or what? I think after all the trouble she's caused me, she owes me something, don't you?"
"I don't know just who you think you are, MR. Charles, but this IS my home and I will not tolerate such belligerent behavior. Yes, I believe your so called friend ran here and I'll give her protection as long as she chooses to live here under my rules. You may observe the girl but only under my supervision and following my guidelines. First, you may only watch and not interrupt the session. Secondly, you must put out that damn cigar. You're making one hell of a mess on the carpet." The Master's eyes flashed and his voice radiated an intensity which caused the shorter man to step back a pace.
"Uh, sure, ok." He ground his cigar out in an ashtray. The Master left the room with the little man obediently at his heels. They entered the room behind the mirror just as Devora left it. Constance was in the Recite position, facing away from them.
"Well," the Master demanded, "is that the girl?"
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