Perfection-13
- PERFECTION
- by Xenarra
Chapter Thirteen
Garrett wandered the streets for over an hour, seeking answers to his impossible questions. What should he do with that person who lay on his bed? How could he help her and still retain a grip on his ethics, morals, and, perhaps more importantly, his job. It wasn't practical or desirable to keep a woman tied up in his apartment for any length of time. And this one didn't really seem to be very good at being untied she either attacked him like a nympho or tried to kill herself.
But who or where could he possibly turn to for help? With his total immersion in work and obsession with watching the mansion, he had managed to lose most of his friends. He had kept in touch with his ex wife. His ex wife? That would be really terrific. He could just imagine that conversation. 'Uh, hi Patricia, I've got a problem. Yes, well, I've got a naked woman tied up in my apartment and I have no idea what to do with her.' Yeah. Right. Sure. As a matter of fact, it didn't really matter much who he turned to if they knew him, they wouldn't believe it. If they didn't know him, they would laugh or turn him in. He really couldn't win.
`His ex wife. Wait a minute', he thought. There were some very faint bells ringing in the back of his brain. `That girl in his apartment called him Master. When was the last time he had heard a woman say that to a man? When was that?'
`Oh, yes,' his brain exploded in the sudden memory. It had been a good five years ago, toward the end of his marriage. He and Patricia had gone to a bar for a happy hour drink and had managed three rounds of an especially vicious argument before being ejected by the bartender. The argument had been about his work; more specifically, about working on free time. The cause of the argument had been seated in front of their table.
The mental image was so clear it could have been happening at that moment. He and Patricia had come to hear the piano man. Patricia had heard wonderful things about what the musician could do with the electric piano and synthesizers. She had bugged Garrett daily until he took time out and brought her to listen to the show.
While they were there, a short, little, nerdy looking guy had come in with three of the most beautiful women Garrett had ever seen. At closer glance, the women were nothing special they were even a little on the plump side. But they way they carried themselves, erect and obviously proud to be with the man they accompanied, transformed them into showpieces. The contrast between the least attractive of the women and his wife was enormous. Somehow the alluring girl he had married had vanished over the years, only to be replaced with a skinny woman with slumped shoulders and casual dress.
What was it about that guy? He certainly was no prize. Average height, bottle bottom thick glasses, even a plastic protector in the pocket of his plain blue shirt. A scruffy blue sweater hung loosely from his shoulders. the slight bulge at his middle probably made buttoning it uncomfortable. Truly, a nerd. But the women he brought, through their unspoken words and actions, paid him honor as though he was a god.
The musician had taken a break, and Garrett was about to use the quiet to remark to his wife about the unlikely quartet seated in front of them when the real show began. A bottle of champagne was brought to the table, opened and sampled by the man. Nothing was extraordinary until it was time for the women to be served. Each glass was filled in turn by the waiter and presented to the man. Each woman came, knelt at the man's feet, and sipped from the glass held out to her. Then each thanked him, took the glass, and returned to her place. And every woman called him Master. By the time they had finished, all eyes were on them.
Garrett smiled at the recollection of the remainder of the entertainment to which he and Patricia had been treated. The music began again, and each woman danced several times with the man referred to as Master. He handled their bodies with a perfect ease borne of absolute familiarity. Garrett got the feeling that they would have obeyed any command the man uttered, and he discovered how correct he was as the evening wore on.
"Ladies," the man intoned after all had danced, "don't you think you should show your appreciation for the beautiful music?"
The women rose en masse and went to the man behind the keyboard. One began massaging his shoulders, the other two each commandeered an ear and began nibbling. Before he knew what was happening, six hands were working over the top half of a very surprised young man. Although he did not stop playing, his cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink under their diligent attentions. When he had finished the set, each woman bestowed a lingering French kiss on the man before returning to the table. As the musician joined the foursome, it was obvious to Garrett from the scarlet flush which colored the man's face from the neck up, that he neither knew the women, nor minded their gestures of appreciation. The women were also slightly flushed, perhaps embarrassed at creating such a show stopping moment for the entire bar. Garrett marveled at the control the Master had women were willing to do his bidding, even before total strangers.
The evening proceeded uneventfully for a time, the quartet drinking moderately and acting as though they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Then Garrett saw one woman whisper something to another, and the second flush crimson and tickle the first. Both women began giggling uncontrollably, until an unfortunate movement by the first caused the wine of the second to be dumped directly into the man's lap.
The entire room held its breath as they waited for the reaction. The man snapped his fingers, then pointed to the offender and to the floor in front of him. The woman arrived at his feet in a fraction of a second and began blotting up the wine from his pants with her napkin. She looked stricken the few times she looked up, her face was filled with remorse for her unthinking actions.
"Master, it's really my fault," the second woman began. The man turned to her and laid a finger across her lips, silencing her.
"What happened?" he inquired of the woman at his feet.
"I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, Master," the woman answered quickly. "I'm very sorry."
"What rule did you violate?" the Master continued.
"If I slow down twenty per cent I will make eighty per cent fewer mistakes."
"Very good." Leaving her at his feet, he gestured the second woman to join her. "What rule did you violate?" he queried.
"Being the oldest, I am to always set an example for my sisters."
"You both knew the answers, you knew the rules, yet you did not follow them. Disobedience . . ." his voice trailed off. Garrett could read the lips of the women finishing the sentence, "must be punished for learning to occur."
"Five each." The man said. "Use the ladies room, then come back and show me the results."
"Master," the women both protested, "to each other?"
"That's seven, now. Any more arguments?"
Glumly the women rose and left the room. The remaining woman turned to her Master. "I wish I could see that," she said.
"Be careful what you ask for," the man replied.
"No, really," the woman continued, "they've both been deserving that for a long time. I'd just like to see them get what they deserve."
Pulling a pen from his pocket, the man scribbled a note on his napkin, folded it twice and handed it to the woman. She blanched, then took it.
"In case you're curious, it asks each of them to grant you ten when they're finished. But, of course, if you hurry back there, you will get to watch them first."
Garrett could see that the woman felt trapped by the slow manner in which she exited. His mind raced with possibilities. He desperately wanted to be back in that ladies room, watching the women disciplining each other. The trio soon returned, however. From Garrett's vantage point, he could see the flaming cheeks the women discreetly displayed to their Master. The women all spent a very uncomfortable half hour sitting quietly on their tender behinds and trying not to fidget while the man enjoyed the music.
Garrett had just begun to become comfortable with the situation before him when the man rose, and quartet made their way to the door, first passing by the musician for one last, lingering thank you. After they had left, Garrett left his wife and went up to the bar.
"Who was that?" he had asked the bartender.
"He left his card," the barkeep had replied, "- here it is. His name is Dr. Robert Robbinson."
Garrett smiled ruefully to himself as he recalled the remainder of the evening. He had left his wife at the bar and chased after Dr. Robbinson. Hoping for a story, he had collared the man. He was given an interview about a very different lifestyle. By the time he remembered his wife and returned to the bar, he had missed the first hour of the argument. He had battled her bravely until they were escorted out. That had been the effective end of their marriage as they had both realized that as long as he was married to his writing, he couldn't be faithful to her.
The article had never been written. The file was still somewhere, probably at the office. Garrett turned in his tracks and sprinted back to his apartment. The answers he was searching for could be with Dr. Robbinson, if only the man was still around.
He tried to take a quick look in on the girl before leaving to search the files, but what he found when he arrived prevented an easy departure. Unaccustomed to civilization, the girl had soiled herself and the bedding. The level of filth didn't seem to bother her, but Garrett fought nausea for the second time that day as he first removed her, then the bedding from the bed. Eyes open and uncomprehending, she stared through him as he led her back to the bathroom.
He fastened her hands to the shower head to prevent her from slipping, then washed her down as she drooped unprotestingly. Garrett left her under the running water while he changed the sheets. Then he dried her off, rigged a sort of diaper around her from an old pillowcase and a trash bag, and led her back to bed. Unwilling to replay the suicide scene, he simply rolled her onto her other side and refastened the webbing.
That chore completed, he beat a path for his file cabinet at the office. He ignored the snide comments from his co workers about unannounced vacations, and dove in to the mound of paper in the cabinet. The folder was buried under five years of accumulated 'great ideas' which composed the bottom two drawers. A smile lighting his face, Garrett opened the file and sifted through the pages of the interview. Nothing. General information about the lifestyle. Information about a club which Dr. Robbinson coordinated. But no address, no phone.
"Goddamn it!" Garrett swore more from frustration than anger, and dashed the folder to the floor. Just the childishness of the act released his emotions, and he felt ashamed that he had let them control his actions. He quickly bent to retrieve the folder. In the process of gathering the contents, a business card dropped out. With a shout, Garrett grabbed the card and turned it over. In black and white was Dr. Robert Robbinson's, name, address, and phone.
Privacy was non existent in the room full of reporters. Garrett grabbed a handful of quarters, kept a tight hold on the card, and made a bee line for the pay phones in the lobby. The number on the card was no longer good, but after several tries he connected.
"This is Dr. Robbinson's answering machine. He's not here, but I am. If you will leave your name and number, he'll get right back with you. Thank you."
While he was waiting for the beep, Garrett quickly shifted through his options, searching for the message which would bring the swiftest response.
"Dr. Robbinson, you may not remember me. My name is Garrett Harris. I'm a reporter and I interviewed you about five years ago. I'm more than a little nervous about contacting you, but frankly, I'm at the end of my rope. I found someone in a pretty bad way. She's at my apartment now and . . " He stopped short as a voice came on the line.
"Sorry about the machine. I have it on during the day to screen out the phone freaks. You have no idea how many people call just to talk and tie up my lines."
Garrett laughed politely, then waited.
"Yes, I remember you, Mr. Harris. I noticed the article you promised was never published."
"That really wasn't my fault, Dr. Robbinson," Garrett said. "I couldn't find a market. No editor would believe that anyone less than a professional athlete or a rock star could manage to have three women at his beck and call. Every magazine I tried was interested in the idea of the Master/slave relationship, but only if there was something illegal or immoral involved. The facts blew them away. They all said that the liberated women of the country would have their heads if they ran a story about a dominant/submissive life style from a positive point of view. I'm sorry, but I did try."
"Yes, well, I know not everyone is ready to listen to some honesty about out of the ordinary relationships. Thanks for trying. Enough on that. What can I do for you today?"
Garrett began to relate the story behind the girl he held captive on his sofa bed. Dr. Robbinson listened for a few minutes, then interrupted abruptly. "Mr. Harris, I want to continue this conversation, preferably with the lady in question present. I suggest we all meet in the bar where you and I first met, in one hour. Are you agreeable?" After further explaining her present condition, Garrett was able to convince the doctor to meet with him alone prior to meeting with the girl.
Garrett arrived early and located a table near the front. At the appointed time, Dr. Robbinson entered, accompanied by the three ladies, each more stunning that Garrett remembered them.
"Get better every year, don't they?" Dr. Robbinson said, gesturing to the women, his face covered in a grin. "Ladies, this is Garrett Harris, he writes for the paper. Mr. Harris, this is Darrien, who has been with me the longest, about twenty years now, isn't it?" The petite woman smiled a yes. Though quick calculation put the woman's age between 36 and 40, Garrett had difficulty believing her to be over 30, so fresh was her face with its peaches and cream complexion. Her clothing was far from the modest garb more common on women her ages, and her strawberry blond hair further belied her age.
"Darrien manages the part of the business which handles the travel arrangements for our guests," the doctor continued. "Lyrrane, here, works primarily coordinating the activities of the club. She's also been around for a while." The statuesque blond Dr. Robbinson indicated also displayed a timeless beauty. Her short dress and upswept hairstyle were extremely becoming, accenting her well proportioned figure.
"And finally there's Sarrena," the doctor gave the brunette woman on his right a quick, reassuring squeeze. "She had just become a member of the team when you and I met five years ago. She's now in charge of handling guests and making sure every visitor has a positive experience." Garrett was awed by the beauty of the woman. A slightly rounded face was all that remained of the plumpish lady he had met five short years ago. The woman who sat across from him now wore a navy blue business cut on classic lines. If it wasn't for the glorious smile which lit her face almost constantly, she could easily have passed as the chairman of a major corporation.
"Mr. Harris," the doctor continued, "I brought these women along primarily to show you the stability of our organization. The average person thinks that people interested in alternate lifestyles are simply after cheap thrills. While the women here will probably all admit to the occasional thrill," all three blushed deep pink, "they have all been working within our club for a number of years to give a good reputation to the Master/slave relationship."
"When you spoke with me earlier today, you mentioned a girl. Would you tell us the whole story now? Perhaps the five of us can solve your problem."
Garrett took his time relating the tale, answering the flood of questions which followed his descriptions, and attempting to create an accurate portrait of the girl for his listeners. When he had finished, he sat back and looked at the stunned faces around him. Darrien was the first to speak.
"This is exactly the kind of abuse we've been fighting. How anyone can treat another human so inhumanely is beyond my comprehension. I'm just glad that the bastard responsible got his in the end," she concluded forcefully.
"Nicely put, my dear, but you haven't solved Mr. Harris' problem. What are we going to do for the girl?" Dr. Robbinson asked the group.
"Well, normally I'd say we could take her on, get her back on the right track," Lyrrane said. "But we're really full up now. Is it ten or eleven people we have sharing the house right now, Master?"
"Ten now, soon to be thirteen. Our friend from the South and one or more of his ladies are due in late tomorrow night. They're planning on staying for the auction." The women at the table smiled at the news.
"Who coming with him this time?" Darrien asked.
"I don't know yet. I guess that will have to be a surprise," the doctor answered. "Regardless, I have to agree with Lyrrane, we're pretty stacked up at the moment. Anybody else?"
"Well," Sarrena began hesitantly, "if Mr. Harris trusts our judgement, maybe someone from the club who's been looking for a submissive could take her on as a special project." The woman spoke more quickly and with more confidence as she warmed to the idea. "There's an auction in two days. Why doesn't Mr. Harris come and put her up. Only instead of just purchasing an hour of her time, the person who bought her would be really buying her."
"What's this about an auction?" Garrett broke in. "Do you actually sell your slaves? Didn't that go out of style with the Civil War?"
The quartet laughed at the reporter's horrified face. "The auction is a game, Mr. Harris," the doctor responded. "We use play money. The dominants put their submissives up for public sale, primarily to boost the slave's morale. The people in attendance are free to bid or not on each slave on the block. What they are buying is an hour of playtime. The rules for the hour are negotiated by the two people before the time begins. If the two can't agree on the rules or on a time before a week has passed, the contract is terminated with no hard feelings. It is entirely for fun, and it works."
"It sure does work," Darrien broke in. "I'm not exactly a spring chicken, but I've been known to bring a good price when the Master puts me up. When I see the man who bought me put all that money into my Master's hands, it makes me really proud." The women around her nodded in agreement.
"But why should this girl be sold in public? Why can't you just find one of your friends who'd like to help her?" the reporter asked.
"Let me ask you a question in return, Mr. Harris," the doctor countered. "Why did you follow me out of this bar five years ago?"
"Quite honestly," Garrett answered, "Because I couldn't believe how these women could follow your commands without acting like robots. I wanted to discover how you could control three beautiful women, make them more beautiful by being controlled, and not diminish their spirits."
"The answer to that question is the same as the answer to your original question," Dr. Robinson responded. "These women are my property. They have at some point come to me and requested my control because some things in their lives weren't working well, and they couldn't change for lack of direction or willpower. They told me what they wanted to become, and I helped them achieve what they desired. In exchange, they listen to me. They do what I ask because they have found it to be to their advantage to do so. By accepting my control, they agree to become my property. As my property, they have an intrinsic value. I value them enough to make time to care for their needs. They are valuable enough to be auctioned off. They have value just being themselves."
"This girl in your apartment currently has no value," the doctor continued. "She has been considered worthless to least one previous owner and knows it. That's why she continually tries to kill herself what does she have to live for? In addition, through the cruelty of others, she has so totally become a robot that she can no longer think clearly for herself. Chances are, from the description of her living quarters, she was treated more like an animal than a person."
"Auctioning her off will provide her with three things vital to her recovery. First, she will gain a Master. She will be purchased in such a way as to leave no doubt in her mind who her Master is. We will screen the people interested before the sale to insure that she is bought only by someone who can help her. Secondly, she will be displayed and sold in the same manner and at the same time as the other submissives. This will show her that she is as good as they are. And trust me, the slaves who go on the block are stunningly presented. Finally, by being bought in front of others, she will gain a sense of personal value. Now, how do you feel about this idea, Mr. Harris?" Dr. Robinson concluded.
"You may be on the right track," Garrett answered. "But how are we going to get this girl to the point where anyone will want to buy her? She's not much to look at right now."
"That's where these ladies come in. How about it, ladies? Do you want to help?"
"Yes, Master," the answer came back quickly.
"Good," Dr. Robbinson said, rubbing his hands together and calculating mentally. "We'll run you in two person, round the clock shifts. Between now and Friday, your job is to toilet train the girl, get her strength up, and pull her out of her shell as much as possible. Mr. Harris," he added, turning to face the reporter, "perhaps when you take the ladies home with you, you should grab some gear and head for a motel for a few days. I think they'll make better progress without distractions, and at some point you made mention of a story which needed to be written."
"I passed by the house on the way down here and there were cops swarming all over the joint. I'm afraid I lost my chance at a scoop," Garrett responded.
"Maybe, but you're probably the only reporter who's seen the place from the inside. If I were you, I'd get my butt into gear as soon as possible," Dr. Robbinson said.
Garrett growled some remarks to himself about the presumptuous nature of certain people, but in the end, nodded his agreement. The doctor rushed on to give more specific instructions to his ladies.
In no time at all, the group had split, Dr. Robbinson and Sarrena to return home to sleep, and Garrett, Darrien and Lyrrane to return to begin the transformation of girl from animal to lady.
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