Fatal Attraction Pt. 03

Again, I feel as if I am some sort of animal - there is no consideration of me as a person at all, as a hand, light but firm on my shoulder, gives me to understand that I am to turn, which I do, in unthinking, docile obedience - and then to lean forward a little - at which point she lightly slaps my buttocks; first left, then right - has she just spanked me? Or is this, too, some investigation? Her comment is shockingly explicit, but does not answer the question;

"Gluteus nice and firm - good shape, too - toning exercises only here, plus some stretches - see what she needs to get to full splits - both front and straddle - rather soon. She must spread well."

'I must 'spread well'? I don't get it, and then suddenly I do - open myself as wide as I can for easy access, is the implication. My blush deepens, but I am too deep in now to object as she beckons to Anya;

"Open her, please - I want to think about the shape of her trim."

Having no idea what this means, really, I just allow it to unfold. Anya turns me back to face the others (me, breathing rapidly now, rather flustered and shaky), then steps in behind me, just off to one side, very close. She puts one hand on my shoulder, steadying me, then bends to lift the leg nearest her, one hand behind my thigh, until I get it - I am to lift the leg - higher, she wants it, higher still, and then she leans backward a little, her pelvis against mine, pushing my crotch forward - just a little, but very obviously, so that my sex is split, wide, displayed, offered up.

I've been opened.

I'm horrified, dazed; want to protest, but somehow cannot bring myself to speak; all that comes out of my opened mouth is a small moan of dismay. Far from protest, it is no more than a clear advertisement of my weakness, my recognition of powerlessness. But even this, it appears, is too much, as Mrs Stratten puts a finger firmly to my lips, speaking to me directly for the first time, with a little smile - almost kindly;

"Shh now, pretty. You've agreed to be silent, and to accept, have you not?"

With her finger still pressing on my mouth, I can only nod, feeling unbelievably pathetic.

"Good girl!"

The smile brightens a little, and, foolishly, I smile back, despite having been talked to as if I am a recalcitrant three year-old.

The younger of the two admin women grins openly, looking directly into my face, making clear her amusement at my discomfiture.

Bizarrely, though, what matters to me most is Mrs Stratten's opinion of my lewdly displayed sex.

I do so want her to like my sex. I am remembering, with intensity now, my doubts about whether my pussy was or was not attractive, feeling desperately needy, desperately vulnerable, so much so that what is said next actually feels like a compliment;

"The labia are actually rather pretty; nice, prominent clitoris, too - he'll approve; but all this hair must go. Normally, he likes a straight landing strip, but I think this one might suit a triangle better, or at least a tapered strip."

She vaguely indicates the younger woman.

"Anya, you have photographs? Good. Get them to Marina, here, will you, so she can prepare some visuals of options? Marina dear, I will need them rather quickly - I must leave in an hour or so and I want to get this right - growing it back for a re-shape is so tedious."

She stands back then, staring directly at my pussy, entirely serious, for several seconds. It would be ridiculous if it wasn't so devastating. Then, decisively, she refocuses, looking up;

"OK, good. Now; as to the hair.. Obvious, I think - it has to be a long bob, just to her shoulders, very precise, no fringe - we'll lighten and colour it a little, too, it must be just obvious that it is not natural."

She speaks directly to me again, and pathetically, it makes me start, so nervy am I;

"He likes it to be clear that you have remodelled yourself for him - and also for that remodelling to be high maintenance. He likes to know you are working for him, and that you're always under pressure - it's impossible to be perfect at all times, you see - but nevertheless, it is required. You do understand?"

I don't really take in what she's saying - know that I'll have to process it later, that it's important information - but right now the only thing that is in my mind is whether this counts as a direct question - whether I am to speak, or not. And when I dare to look up, it's clear that she knows exactly what's going on with me, that she has crafted this dilemma on purpose, wants to see how I'll respond.

Oh, but this is crazy, a voice inside me cries; the voice of normality, of sanity, of self-preservation - this is mind games and they're bang out of order - who does this woman think she is?

And the voice is right, of course; all this is insane, wrong, perverse, dangerous. I'm a fool to have come here, an idiot to have stayed away from work, Karsh is some sort of sick fuck and this Stratten woman is maybe even worse. This situation is fucked up, and I need to leave. There's nothing to stop me - this is London. Normality is just outside the door.

On the other hand, there is the reality that I am more alive, right here, right now, than I have been for years. That the future is more interesting (even if more frightening) than it ever has been; that I so, so want Mrs Stratten to like me, to approve of me, to measure up to her standards, to have Karsh want me...

Also, not instructed to do anything different, Anya still has my right thigh lifted, right out to the side, still pushing my pelvis forward so that I'm in a demeaning, off balance, pornstar pose, and my breathing is a bit panicky, so that my tits jiggle really obviously; I'm having to keep opening my mouth to get enough oxygen, the dryness of the rapid breathing making me lick my lips often, my legs trembling visibly despite my desperate attempt at control.

All of which means that the level of commitment I need to gather to put a stop to this nonsense, to make a move for self-preservation, is rather high, and ..

And I don't want to leave.

What I want is for Mrs Stratten to put her hand between my legs and feel how hot I am there. For her to cut to the chase and make everything simple. To tell Anya to start kissing me, make love to me. Something ..

Something straightforward and direct, something overwhelming, so that I don't have to think, don't have to decide, don't have do what she wants of me now, which is ..

Simple, I realise. She wants me to make my acceptance of her control over me clear, to submit to her. It's easy..

And I do it - open my eyes wide, and soft, raise my eyebrows, part my lips, tilt my head a fraction, use my whole body to make clear to her that I am asking, humbly, needily, for clarity about whether she wants a spoken answer to her little question, or not. That I am eager to do it the way she wants. That I am happy for everyone in the room to know this. That I accept her right to control me.

There.

There it is. Done. Easy.

And she smiles, satisfied, shakes her head a little. There's my answer. No. Don't speak. Accept.

It was easy. It was. I'm released from torment.

But the implications are not easy; they are huge, and hard, and suddenly there are tears gathering in my eyes as she reaches out to pat my cheek, looking deeply into me, face unreadable again.

"Interesting, .. maybe .. We'll see, shan't we, pretty?"

And with this, she's done with me - it's as if I have disappeared. She turns, engages Ms Forbes in some quiet exchange, the latter completely focused, intent, utterly committed. And I suddenly realise something. All of these women, Ms Forbes included, are under her spell. This is at once devastating and .. and also devastating.

On the one hand, I am much, much more frightened - this isn't just me; there's something quite organised about all this, momentum, some social structure, not just personal relationship stuff. I'm caught up in some system that is way bigger than just me and my relationship with Karsh.

And on the other, what initially seems like some comfort - in knowing that these others understand me, that there might be some solidarity, some fellow feeling, is almost immediately turned upside-down as I realise that this is impossible - that witnessing another woman reduced to such pathetic submission might possibly bring on feelings of pity, but if you yourself are equally dominated, then the only connection you have is through whoever is dominating you - that any relation between the women in this room will be on Mrs Stratten's terms.

Just as Anya's and my connection this morning was entirely on the basis of the wishes of the absent Karsh.

A terrible, delicious feeling of vertigo comes over me, and I become calm, soft in Anya's hold, humbled by the immensity of what I have opened myself to, how complete it is, how total, how insignificant my wishes are in the face of it, how magnificent it is to have been invited in, to perhaps be accepted. I feel the inevitability of it all, my powerlessness to avoid this.

The obvious and probably terrible cost of this acceptance is intellectually clear in conceptual terms, but beyond that, there is the certain knowledge that the emotional, the psychological, the spiritual cost is - will be - incalculable. And again, I'm overwhelmed, my knee gives way, and I sink to the floor in some sort of half faint as Mrs Stratten closes her office door behind her.