Perfection-16
- PERFECTION
- by Xenarra
Chapter Sixteen
Her knees hurt. These days it seemed her knees always hurt. But nobody hurt her here, at this place. She had a job, a routine, and nobody hurt her. Every morning she got up, made her bed, showered, dressed and sat on her bed with her eyes closed. One of the sweet smelling ladies would come in after a while and put a blindfold on her.
The lady would lead her to the first room, place some supplies into her hands, and close the door. Constance would remove the blindfold after the lady left and clean the room. When she was finished, she would replace the blindfold and sit down just outside the room she had finished until someone took her to the next room. She was on her hands and knees a lot, waxing floors, but the position was familiar, the routine was safe, and nobody bothered her.
In the afternoons she would lie very still on a couch in a dark room and listen to two different men. One she could call Wayne. He seemed very nice. He made her relax. Sometimes it felt like she was dreaming. The other she called Master. She couldn't remember why, but he wanted her to, so she did. The Master would frequently hold her. She felt safest then. Sometimes she had to try to remember bad things. She didn't like to do that, but her Master always held her, even though he was the one making her remember.
Gradually, as her memories came back, Constance became Constance again. The blindfold was removed more and more frequently as she proved ready to see the world. She began to ask questions, to talk to the other women, and to read the books and newspapers which were strategically placed in her room. Her daily work gradually became less and less menial. Over a period of months, her mental and physical health improved to the point where her Master could consider her recovered every area but one.
That changed in one night.
Constance had already bathed and retired when there was a knock on her door. She had no robe or nightclothes, and therefore only opened it a crack, calling "Who's there?"
"Your Master. Please let me in."
She opened the door and the tall man entered the room. Except for the times he had held her safely during the painful afternoon sessions, she had no recollection of seeing him or hearing his voice. She wasn't even really sure who exactly he was, other than that he made her feel safe and protected. She walked over to her bed, the only furniture in the room, and sat down. He sat next to her, very close, and took her hands in his.
"What is your name?" he began the familiar ritual.
"My name is Constance. I am a slave. My Master's name is Lawrence. He is my protector and provider. I belong to my Master, and I am his, all of me, all of the time." All of this was rote, familiar, easy now.
"Constance, you say the words, but I don't think you understand them. When you say you belong to your Master, what do you mean?" he queried, rubbing her hands lightly.
Constance was very still. She held her breath, afraid to answer his question. What if she answered incorrectly? Would he send her away? Would he hurt her? If she didn't answer, what would happen? This had never happened before, he had never asked her a question she couldn't answer. She had no sense of right or wrong in this situation, only intuition.
She moved from the bed to a kneeling position on the floor in front of the man known only as Master. "I, I, I. . ." she stammered.
"It's ok," Lawrence said, pulling her head next to his belly. "Just say it."
"I want to please you. But I don't know the answer to your question." The words came out in a rush.
He stroked her head. "Do you want to learn?" She nodded. He pulled her even closer, bringing her arms up to hold his waist. They sat there silently, reaching out to each other, their minds crossing the physical barriers. At last he took her hands from his waist and pressed them together tightly in front of her.
"You are an attractive, intelligent woman," he began, "with a great deal of potential which is basically untapped. When I bought you, and bonded you to me, I accepted responsibility for you, without your consent, because you did not have the power of rational thought. You do now. Stand up," he said, patting her on the buttocks and standing himself.
She stood before him, naked save for the ribbon she still wore tied at her throat. He slipped a finger under the ribbon and slid it back and forth, lightly stroking her neck as he pulled the fabric slightly away from her body. "This ribbon was originally put on your neck to tell the others at the auction that you had no Master. Do you still wish to wear it?"
"No," she answered quietly, "I don't."
He removed the ribbon and wadded it into a ball in his hand, then tossed it away. "What would you like to ask me?" he said as if reading her mind.
"May I be your slave? Would you be my Master?" she asked, not daring to meet his eyes.
"Yes. Kneel. Hold your hands out." She knelt and a heavy metal band was placed into her hands. "Feel this. This is my collar. I don't pass these out to everyone that asks. If you choose to wear this, you choose to be my slave, to call me Master, and to listen to what I say. This will mean that sometimes you will be required to do things against your wishes. It also means that you will yield your body to me. You may hand the collar back to me now." Constance handed the band she hand been fingering back to Lawrence. "If you really want this collar and all of its responsibilities, place your hands behind your back and tilt your head toward me. If you do not want this collar, or even if you have to think about this decision, stand up."
There was no moment of doubt, Constance's reaction was immediate. This man was offering a permanent safety net, permanent security. Wrists behind her back, she leaned forward to accept the collar. Lawrence fastened it about her neck, then pushed her shoulders back so that she again knelt upright.
"That is your license to live," he stated. "Just like a driver's license has rights and responsibilities, so does that collar. Or, as one of your slave sisters puts it, the collar is an outward manifestation of an inward state of being. While you wear it, you carry the love and support of all your sisters, and my protection. Nothing can hurt you with that bunch of outlaws behind you." He laughed at his joke. But you must act like the slave you are and be a credit to myself and your sisters.
"Who are you? You are no longer Constance, though we've been calling you that to try to help bring back your memory. Constance died when you left Seth's. A lot of things have happened to you, terrible things which you are beginning to deal with, yet you survived. Like the Phoenix bird rising from its ashes, you have begun a new life."
"Bend over," he commanded. She took a position on all fours in front of him. "Normally, slaves are named in the presence of others," he said as he went to the door and ushered in Lyrrane, Darrien, Sarrena, and Devora. They stood in a half circle in front of the bed. "Slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," she responded, and suddenly she remembered another time, another place. She remembered the man who stood in front of her. She remembered all that had passed before she had come back to her Master again. The painstaking work in the afternoon sessions paid off in that single moment when everything became clear again. "Yes, Master," she said again, her voice heavy with emotion.
"All things are done for a reason. Because you have risen up from the ashes of your past and chosen a new life, your name is now Phoenix. P,H,O,E,N,I,X." Each syllable was marked by a light tap on her backside. "Normally we spank with a little more force, but I think this is sufficient. Do you like your new name?" he asked.
"Yes, Master, I like it very much."
"Whenever you hear it, you can think of the rebirth of your life, moving on to the new and not dwelling on the past. Stand up and hug your slave sisters."
Phoenix came to her feet and hugged each in turn. When she reached Devora, she fell to her knees and began apologizing. "I'm so sorry for what I said about you," she said quickly, but the tall woman reached down without a word, brought her to her feet, and held her close.
"The past is past," the woman said simply. "Here, now, we are equals. We are sisters." Phoenix relaxed suddenly as though a great weight had lifted from her shoulders.
"Scat," Lawrence said to the women and all moved to leave. "Not you," he said catching Phoenix's hand. "We're only half finished."
The door closed behind the women while Lawrence stripped and walked into the bathroom. Phoenix could hear him start the water in the shower as she stood quietly, unsure of what to do. The warm water misted in the shower, fog rising up from the bottom where the warmth met the chill of the tiles.
He came to her, bound her hands quickly in front of her, and gagged her with a simple handkerchief tied around her head. It amazed her to find that she needed no directions she had somehow tuned to his desires well enough to know to follow him into the bathroom and step into the mist.
He followed her in. Taking up the loose end of the cord, he looped it over the towel bar and fastened it there. Her hands were now unable to fall lower than her shoulders.
He took up the soap, worked a thick lather up between his hands, and began applying it to her body, not roughly, but not gently either more the way one would wash a much loved pet.
"I think, as rites of passage, every slave should experience a slave shower," he said evenly. The cloth securing her mouth prevented any response. She looked at him, eyes wide, attempting to understand.
He turned off the water and began washing her body, covering her skin, inch by inch, with the dense froth. He kneaded the soap into her shoulder, locating and testing those spots which generated immediate pain. Just enough pressure for her to recognize his dominance. As he worked his way down her body, rubbing, massaging, and pinching her breasts, the belly, he gradually backed her against the cold tile of the shower wall.
The shock of the sudden cold forced her breath out in tight, ragged gasps. His hands stayed attached to her body one working a nipple, the other sliding between her legs and taking possession of her sex.
Just as she had become accustomed to the temperature of the tiles on her back and buttocks, he pulled her away and turned her to face the wall. Her hands were palm open toward the tile as his presence, both physical and spiritual, brought her breasts and belly in contact with the tiles.
In spite of herself, she gasped for air again and her nipples hardened of their own accord. His hands began lathering and exploring her back, butt and legs. He tapped the inside of her knee with his foot, and she obediently spread her legs further apart, opening herself to him. His firm hands continued their job. She felt his eyes on her. Aware of her body in ways she hadn't thought possible, she was proud that such a powerful man would want to touch her, to wash her, to possess her.
He turned her around again, backing her into the wall with his body, running his soapy hands down her sides. She felt one finger penetrate her anus and its unexpected entrance felt both violating and stimulating. Then the hand changed position and he began touching her clit, rubbing its tiny button at first delicately, then more and more firmly.
He continued to massage her clit as he spoke directly into her ear. "Your Master's time is valuable, wouldn't you say?" Phoenix nodded. "It would be a good thing to be able to climax upon command to please your Master, wouldn't it?" She nodded again, unable to do anything else, unable to disagree. "I'm going to count backwards. You may not come until I reach zero, but you must come then. Do you understand?" Again she nodded in answer to his question, her mind a whirl.
"Twenty," he whispered.
"God, no," she thought. I don't want to. But I do want to. Oh God."
"Nineteen," he continued, his hands performing musically. Her body began to reach for his hand, her legs spreading, pelvis thrusting up and toward him.
"Eighteen."
"Slow down. Oh. How does he do that?" Her body trembled.
"Fifteen. Fourteen."
Time stood still as her body jerked to his magic, his fingers now penetrating her deepest spaces.
"Seven, Six."
She allowed herself to let down a tiny bit of the forces which had been so long stored in her body and strained toward him, the cord holding her back.
"Four, Three."
From deep within her past, the animal leapt out and took control. She bit and tore with her tongue and teeth trying to free her mouth, her body against his tightly now, her head flung far back.
"Two, One, Zero."
She danced on the end of the cord, his hands deep within her, her womb open. She pushed so hard as she came that it seemed as though her very insides were coming out, would just hang in space below her crotch were he to remove his hands.
Then it was finally over and she hung, head dangling, wrists, limp, supported only by the pull of the cord and the closeness of his body. He removed her gag, then started the water over her soapy body. Every pore had opened; the water seemed to wash through her.
"Welcome to the family," he said, pulling her to him with his strong arms. The smile on her face could have lit the universe.
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