The Slave (20 page)

Robin concentrated on doing things like
offering submissive gestures before being asked for them, and found
that Maria was generally pleased by her efforts. She also took
comfort in the fact that Maria didn’t stop playing with her; she
was still being tied up and she still got some beatings and some
sessions with all sorts of toys. They still went to meetings and
parties where Robin got to wear her collar and sit on the floor. As
long as these things continued to happen, Robin decided, everything
else was just great. She should be grateful and happy with what she
got, and she should be glad that she had the opportunity to show
off just how submissive she could be.

It was when Maria suggested that they begin
to live together that matters got too entangled for Robin to be
able to neatly compartmentalize. Suddenly, conversations shifted
from the world of romance and fantasy into real world things like
apartment size and location and budgets and the possibility of a
domestic partnership agreement.

“
Why don’t we just do this?” Robin had
suggested one night, her stomach and chest full of butterflies that
threatened to strangle the sounds coming out of her. “I’ll start to
turn my paychecks over to you. I’ll put my savings into your
accounts. You find a place you like, wherever you want it. And,
and, when we do this, I’ll become your real, full-time slave. You
can decide how much to spend. I’ll agree with anything you
want.”

Maria had looked at Robin as though the
younger woman had taken leave of her senses. Robin sunk into her
chair and felt her throat and mouth dry out.

“
What the hell are you talking about,
Robin?” Maria had demanded. “What, do you think you don’t have
anything to say in this relationship? Do you think I’m some kind of
mommy figure who’s going to take over all the responsibilities for
you? We’re a partnership here! Or are you just trying to get out of
my suggestion? Is it that you really don’t want to live with
me?”

It was a long night, stretching into a
longer day. Before it ended, they had both cried and been comforted
and shared their ambivalences over their relationship and what to
do and where they were going. And they agreed to give it another
try and to trust each other.

The second time they had such a discussion,
the ending wasn’t so congenial. Robin still stung at the
accusations that Maria had flung at her in the heat of their most
painful shouting match.

“
You’re still a child, trying to find
someone to run your life for you! Well, real people who do that
aren’t into SM, sweetie! They’re pimps and pushers and abusers who
would love to have someone who wants someone else to run their
lives for them! And you’re walking right into their arms! Because
you can’t handle the responsibility of your own fucking life!” She
had tears in her eyes when she tore those words from her throat,
and her fists had been curled so tightly that the knuckles were
white.

Robin took her collar off and left it on the
table before leaving the house, hot tears of her own streaking her
face.

Now, the collar was at home, wrapped in
tissue paper and tucked away in a box. Months after that final
confrontation, it had arrived at Robin’s door, with a brief note
inside.

I’m so sorry about the cruel things I said
to you. You know they weren’t true. But I knew that I was going to
lose you eventually and I hated knowing that I couldn’t be the
person you need in your life.

Please forgive me.

This really belongs to you. No one else
could come close to earning something like it from me, and you
deserve a better remembrance of our years together than my bitter
words.

It was signed simply, with an “M.”

And that had been almost a year ago. And
since then, there had been no one else. Or rather, Robin reflected,
no one else who lasted more than one date.

Feeling uncomfortable at WISE, in
desperation Robin had turned to the mixed-gender groups in town for
entertainment. She found little entertainment and a lot of
desperation. In one group, the men seemed so intimidating,
especially those who had seen her in public submission to Maria and
who spotted her uncollared throat at once. And even the male slaves
seemed a little overwhelming. Several of them tried to convince her
that her real destiny lay in becoming a mistress―specifically,
their mistress. At least that was better than the male “slaves” who
told her they would be the best possible master for her.

The women there seemed to think of her
either as a rival, or insignificant.

In the other organization, she found the
situation somewhat less oppressive, but stupefyingly dull and
dominated by quasi-charismatic leaders who had their own
sycophantic followers. She was eagerly welcomed and pressured to
join, and prodded to all sorts of volunteer work on projects that
she had no interest in. The rest of her time was taken up by
meetings where whatever the ruling council wanted was done and
whatever they wanted to discuss was discussed. She felt alternately
patronized and used, to no specific purpose.

Between the two organizations, Robin began
to feel a genuine longing for a capacity for suicide. If this was
what the future of her sexuality was dependent upon, she was
heading for a destiny filled with trivia, shallow thinking, and the
endless struggle between the more manipulative members of groups of
people whose only real purpose in organizing was to create a space
in which people could meet and get laid.

She did her best to ignore the pettiness and
the senseless power-plays, and tried to gravitate toward those
individuals who seemed to at least radiate a core of
responsibility, balanced with the capacity to take the whole SM
“lifestyle” with a grain of seriousness and dignity. But
eventually, she realized that there, too, she was lacking the
crucial element to her satisfaction. It was one thing to treat SM
as an enjoyable way for lovers to expand their sensual repertoire.
It was something entirely different to contemplate living a life
based on a dominant and submissive relationship.

In time, she stopped going to the endless
meetings and discussion groups and panels and seminars. The lives
and goals of these mostly closeted men and women were nowhere
beyond what she had with Maria, and, in the end, much less
interesting.

Out of her closet came her old box of
personal toys, and into her life came a new collection of terribly
written pornography. She even called the old phone sex line again,
and picked up a few voices who seemed promising, only to discover
that she couldn’t go back again. The limitations of phone sex just
couldn’t recreate the majesty and the rapture of the real thing.
And when she heard Bob’s familiar call for submissive ladies one
night, she hung up the phone with a solid click and never called
the number again.

Thank goodness she had such a big project to
oversee. It kept her traveling, it kept her occupied, and it kept
her mind off of her loneliness. It didn’t stop her from visiting
clubs in Europe that catered to the SM and fetish scene. But it did
stop her from establishing any regular contacts with people, which
probably saved her from even more heartache.

And now, her project was done. She had
almost a full month of vacation time coming due, and no doubt there
were proposals and assignments being stacked on her secretary’s
desk even while she waited in the line to get her coat. Maybe she
could just dive into them when she got back to the office and start
something else that would be time consuming and thought
devouring.

“
I didn’t know there was such a market
for fake pieces of art,” a strange voice said behind her. “And I
wouldn’t have guessed that you were the type to collect
them.”

She turned and looked up into the face of
the man in the tan jacket. A moment of recognition struck her. She
had seen him somewhere before. His warm, hazel eyes were dancing in
some kind of private amusement.

“
That’s an enigmatic statement,” she said
finally. “Why wouldn’t you suppose that I collect art
forgeries?”

“
Because I know that you’re the real
thing,” he said, leaning slightly forward. “Something our mutual
acquaintances at the EC would never realize.”

The EC―the Equivocal Coalition. One of the
SM organizations. Robin took another look at him. Yes, she had seen
him there. A few times, not regularly. She had never spoken to
him.

“
Your coat, madam,” the man behind the
counter said. She turned away from her new almost acquaintance and
took it, and then turned back, her heart pounding.

“
I was about to go to lunch,” she
said, astounded at the casual sound of her voice. “Perhaps you
would care to join me and tell me about your theories about real
things?”

“
It would be my pleasure,” he said,
nodding his head a little forward. “But if we’re going to lunch,
we’d better be introduced. I’m Troy.”

“
I’m Robin.”

He smiled. “I know.”

Compared to Maria, Troy was pure lightning.
Where she was exotic on the outside and warm and cozy and
comforting inside, Troy looked like a slightly absent-minded
mathematician whose friendly eyes and carelessly groomed hair
guarded a steel-trap mind with a strong appetite for misdirection
and games of torment.

Over lunch, they laughed and talked about
themselves like any two people discovering a common interest. They
shared their disappointments with the scene in the city and some of
their experiences at the clubs. They compared lists of mutual
friends. By the time they were dawdling over the third serving of
coffee and lunchtime was long over, Troy captured Robin’s gaze with
his and said, “I’m strongly attracted to you. Would you like to
take the rest of the afternoon off and get to know me better?”

“
Yes,” Robin answered, embarrassed by
her too-quick response. “I think I’d better call in and let them
know I’m going to be out.”

“
Good. And while you’re up, you can
decide something.” A flash danced across his eyes. It was a look
that she was to become very familiar with.

“
Oh? What’s that?”

“
After you suck my cock, I’m going to
beat your ass until it’s bright red and tender. What I want you to
decide is whether you will then bend over and pull your own ass
cheeks apart so I can fuck that tight hole, or whether I should tie
you securely down and gag you before I do it. Think about
it.”

All this was said in the same slightly
amused but calm and friendly voice he had chatted with all during
the meal. He raised his eyebrows as she sat shock still in her
seat, breath quickening, color rising into her cheeks.

“
Do you need change for the phone?” he
asked, reaching into his pocket.

Robin shook her head and almost leapt from
the table. The phone banks were far away, thank God, and she strode
right past them into the corridor leading to the ladies room and
locked herself in a stall to think.

She was so needy it was almost ridiculous.
Her pussy was already moist with excitement, her nipples erect
under the blouse and jacket. A million thoughts cascaded, and
questions. How could she trust him? She didn’t even know him! No
one would know where she was or who she went with!

But wait. People did know him. He did go to
these silly clubs with their oh-so-serious meetings and
agendas.

And he was so... compelling. For such a
plain-looking man, with his soft eyes and broad forehead and
clean-shaven cheeks, still he was one of the most charismatic men
she had ever spoken to about these things. And he knew something
about her; he sensed that she needed something strong and
direct.

You’re reading too much into
this
, she
cautioned herself.
You’re so damn horny you can’t think straight. You haven’t
even discussed safe sex with him for crying out loud. You can’t be
thinking about just going home and having sex with him on a
moment’s notice!

Oh yes I can. Even if it turns out to be
another date with a guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women and
doesn’t have the imagination of a planarian worm, it’ll be
something.

And with that pessimistic but rational
attitude, she returned to the table, cool and confident. She slid
into her seat and smiled comfortably at him. “I guess I just have
one point to discuss with you,” she said, opening her purse with
one hand. “This being the age of safety concerns...”

Of course we’ll use safer sex,” he
interrupted, with another grin. “So with that out of the way, which
of the two scenarios did you prefer?”

Robin froze for a second. Well, that had
been her biggest concern, right? So, she broke free of the
stillness that settled inside her and blushed and lowered her head
just a little bit.

“
I like the bondage idea better,” she
said softly.

“
Nope. Wrong answer.” Troy stood up
and scooped up the check. “You should have said, ‘Whatever would
please you most.’” He leaned over her, whispering hotly into her
ear. “Just for that, you’ll be holding those red cheeks open for
me, begging me to fuck your asshole.”

And, three hours later, that was precisely
what happened.

* * * *

She was much more cautious with Troy than
she had been with Maria. After the initial thrill of their first
three or four meetings, Robin deliberately pulled back and began a
more controlled approach. Troy turned out to be perfectly agreeable
to this; in fact, he seemed to think more of her for it.

“
I hate people who can start calling
themselves slaves after the first date,” he said one night, while
they waited in line for a movie. “You see them hopping from
relationship to relationship, always sure that this one is more
real than the last one. And I guess it makes me feel like the words
get cheapened. If everyone who plays bottom is a slave and everyone
who plays top is a master or a mistress, then where’s the romance
of the titles? Where’s the element of the
extraordinary?”