Tales From Subspace

"You scare the hell out of them, Annie!" We all laughed, even me. I was thinking about it, though. We had laughter, friendship. Yet I was as much of an outsider here as anywhere else. It was disconcerting. We quipped, blew off a couple of the bolder men daring to approach our little Bitch group. We had the same kind of generic good time that we always had. About as satisfying as a meal at Denny's on Christmas Eve. I went home that night to my sterile little world, and thought about what they had said for most of the night. I could see what they were saying about me, but why would they suddenly say it now? What was different about me? Why would I scare anyone?

LAST DAY

Friday- At last. When I had gotten home last night the message machine had been flashing, but I hadn't listened to it until today. It was Traci's voice. `Six o'clock Sharp.' That was a mean thing to do to me. Not real good for my staff either. I kept everyone so busy that they almost hated me by the end of the day. I wanted time to fly. Bob, my boss, came over to my area surveying my little industrious group for several long moments. He observed me, and the way I was working, saying loudly.

"This company hires more psychiatric patients, all women, than anyplace else that I've worked." I looked up over my glasses at him, coldly, bitchily. "You ladies, are out of your minds to work like this on a Friday." My staff didn't say anything, but I'm sure they agreed. I had to respond, just this once to his male-related, macho bullshit. “Bob, have you ever once thought, that maybe working within this bunch of sub-moronic, medieval cretins day-after-day, simply takes a mentally healthy woman and drives her batshit after a couple of years?" The others around me howled and passed the exchange down the line. Bob was visibly stumped, unable to muster a suitable reply. He tried to chuckle, but it had that sickly sound that some men make when they barely get a joke and it pisses them off. I knew his look and it was; "I owe you one." All that meant was that I would have to watch my back. That was okay. I'm a fucking barracuda at work. It's part of my charm.

The day drew nearer to its close and I felt my pulse slowly going up in anticipation. At 4:46 PM I wanted to rip my hair out by the roots. This was agony. Being boss when I wanted to be... [Upside down and taking orders?] God, I hated that little voice in my head. I know everyone has one, but I always seemed to be arguing with mine. Telling it, that it was right, but to please shut-up. [I want-what-I-want-and-thank-you-so-much-fuck-off-now.] That kind of thing.

I had told everyone that asked about my plans that I was going out of town for two days and could not be reached. Implying death to anyone that bothered me on my much-needed retreat from the world-at-large. I felt my attitude starting to change the later it got and I went over my preparations in my head one more time. All my `toys' were in duffel bag in the car. I had followed the `rules' for the week. I had memorized the rule packet; Jon had given me, in my copious spare time. I had filled out all the paperwork, they had included. Most of it fairly mundane. I had been `good.'

I didn't like the fact that I would have to go there straight from work. Dirty clothes and work-stained body. Unfortunately, if I wanted to be there by six sharp, (I did.) I would have no choice against rush-hour traffic in the city.

5:00 PM- I noticed the time with a shock and trying to walk sedately to my car was deliberately agonizing. The sanctuary of my car no real help for my situation. I drove fairly fast for me. Especially in the parking lot-like conditions, but I made it with five whole minutes to spare. I wanted desperately to be there on time, shivering at the thought of punishment for tardiness. Taking my bag from the backseat, I went to the door. Standing in front of it for the last three minutes, then at 6:00 PM sharp. I found myself ringing the bell. Someone I did not know answered it.

THE HANDLER

"I'm here to see Jon and Traci." I stammered quickly, going beet-red. Not meeting the cold green eyes that looked down from above me. Thick, shaggy dark-hair. I hoped to God, I had the right house.

"Come in." He ordered and I did so immediately. Standing in the foyer with my bag. The broad wooden door was pushed shut behind me and a big hand closed on the back of my neck. I fell to my knees quickly, bowing my head. "When that door closes from now on, you're `property,' and property is never on its feet without special permission."

"Good thing I'm not the Avon lady." I quipped over my shoulder sarcastically, hearing a soft chuckle behind me.

"That's five for insubordination." I bit my lip. `Shit.' I thought. "Any other amusing comments?" He said in a low purposeful voice.

"No. Sir." I said through tightly clenched teeth. Unsure of his title. Who was this guy?

"I am your Handler and you can address me as such."

"Yes, Handler." Handler? Horses had handlers but wait, I had read about them in that packet and Jon had said something about assigning someone to me to groom me last week at our little vanilla playtime. Someone to bathe me and such. It couldn't be him, could it? Not this gorgeous specimen of male flesh. Tall, broad. Big. I damn near fainted at the sudden lack of air in my lungs.

"Follow me. They are waiting for you in the study. I don't have to remind you to do it on your knees, do I?"

"No, Handler." I said and put the duffel bag handle between my teeth, trying desperately to keep up with him. Down the long, dark hallway. The marble tile harsh under my hands and knees. So much for my panty hose. At least, I knew where I was going. I had been to the study last weekend. It was the other rooms of the house, which the mere thought of, turned my body into drenching quivering submission.

The Handler stood in front of the door and knocked softly. I heard Jon say. "Bring her in."

<<<<<>>>>>

The door opened before me and I followed Adam into the study. Same soft carpet that I had felt before. Traci, dressed in a blue leather mini-dress, sitting on the sofa in relaxation. Jon standing by the fireplace in soft black leather pants that were molded to his body like he wore them a lot. Soft white billowy shirt open at the throat. They were smiling as though anticipating my arrival. They probably had, but not as much as I did. The low buzz of sexual tension in my body went up a notch. Traci stood and came to stand before us. Looking down at me coldly. I felt my heart triple its rate in my chest. She was so much more frightening than Jon was. Colder, more calculating. She was just more. I kept my eyes down looking at very expensive thigh high boots of black patent encasing her strong calves. I kissed the boot quickly, just because it was close enough to do so without falling on my face. Nothing outlandish, just a quick peck on the toe to show my respect.

"Did you bring back the things I gave you last week?" I dropped the duffel bag from my teeth to the floor to answer her, quickly. Urgently speaking in a low and hopefully respectful voice.

"Yes, Mistress." I opened the duffel bag taking out the folder that I had put everything into. Putting it into my mouth before gently giving it to her.

"Did you memorize the page of rules?" I saw her pick up the folder, hearing it being opened over my head.

"Yes, mistress." She asked me to kneel up and hold my head straight to recite the rules. I did it letter perfect, I thought. Keeping my eyes below the level of their chest. They read while I did this. My voice clear in the quiet room. Traci held the list of options that they had given me. Her eyes narrowing and she drew a sharp intake of breath. When she spoke, her voice was clinically hard.

"You marked several items, No, on this list. I will go over them one-by-one, asking your reasons. If they are valid they may be considered. However the wishes of those above you will come first." She looked down at the list before her. I answered her respectfully. "Age play?" Was the first item on the alphabetical list.

"I have no interest in being with, or being considered, a child. I am a consenting adult and feel any activity that uses me as a child is perverted." Jon chuckled, repeating the word, perverted, under his breath. I tried not to laugh at the amusement in his tone. It was kind of funny.

"Daddy/girl?" That was the only thing on the list that actually made me queasy. Yuck.

"If you had met my daddy, Mistress. You wouldn't have to ask." I quipped lightly feeling a rough hand on the back of my neck. Forcing my head to the floor harshly. Adam's flinty voice over my head.

"That's five more, Annie, for disrespect. Keep it up." The Handler sounded pissed and I groveled quickly. Not wanting to spend the rest of the night on any one of the big punishment crosses I saw in the basement last weekend.

"Forgive me, Mistress. I meant no disrespect to you, Mistress." She read the last of the items. Public Sex. (What would the guys at the office say?) Shaving. (I like the hair between my legs. It's an old friend.) Tickling. (Too much like vanilla sex for me, thank you very much.) I heard her speaking to Jon in a low voice.

"Your discussion list will be handled as it comes up. Any items that you do not recognize will be explained to you. The house doctor has been contacted, and Adam will take you on Thursday night." She paused and composed her words carefully for full effect. "For this next month, you will consider yourself the property of Jon." I felt an unknown tension fall from my shoulders with relief. A feeling of dread that I had not even known I felt leave me quickly. I lay my head against the carpet for a moment. [Thank you, Traci.] I thought. "All initial training and tasks will be assigned by him and for his pleasure. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." She laughed softly. As though my relief had been a tangible thing in the air. She ordered Adam to clean me up and get me out of the work-stained clothes that I was in. Her voice filled with a mild disgust that a slave would dare be in her presence in clothing. I again picked up the duffel bag with my teeth.

"I'll have her in the training class in an hour, Traci." Adam turned abruptly and I kept up with difficulty. Staying to his left side at heel. Standard `Pet' behavior. I would have no higher reason until I earned it. I tried to let my thoughts go blank, but I could not. What the hell was the training class? I kept looking for calmness. Trying to leave the smart-ass work attitude outside. It was going to be difficult.

THE BATH CHAMBER

On the way up the stairs as I began to tire. I felt my body starting to heat up. Slowly warming to above normal temperature as my imagination took me into `training class.' My head seemed to reach a new efficiency for dealing with thoughts of sex. I was just getting into it when Adam abruptly stopped and opened the door to a bath chamber. This was not a bathroom. Bathrooms are typically small and cramped. Mostly cold tile. This room was palatial. Gold-shot black wallpaper and black marble tile.

Soft black carpet on the floor. Indirect lighting. Straight across from the door was a sunken tub with air jets bubbling cheerfully. Tropical plants hanging over it. To the left, was a thick marble column with handles at shoulder height. Whips and paddles made of rubber hanging on the wall next to it. Almost behind the door was a black toilet and bidet. Hidden behind a low wall of glass block. Spigots on the wall and a shower. Two black vinyl massage tables. A black marble block in the very center with a basket on it. The outside walls covered with the inevitable bank of cupboards and everywhere there were piles of thick, fluffy, black towels. The temperature was warm and welcoming.

"Come inside and go to the block. Remove your clothes and place them neatly in the basket with all your personal items." It was an order not a question, so I just did it. Taking my journal out of my duffel bag to lay it in the basket. "What is that book?," came Adam's cold voice.

"It is my journal, Handler." I said. "I write in it every night, Handler. It goes everywhere with me." It was the truth. It did come everywhere with me. Everywhere important anyways. Like here for instance. I felt crimson color creeping up my neck slowly. I never stopped taking off my clothes, however. Even if disrobing in front of a stranger was new to me. I just did it. He'd seen it before I was sure. I didn't know if bringing my journal in was a good idea, but I couldn't leave it at home there was too much in it. I also did not want it in the bag with the toys. Dumping it in bleach with the gadgets, wouldn't have done it any good either. Just a small breach of slave etiquette. I heard the soft ringing of a phone. Adam answered it, as I finished taking off my work clothes, noticing that my pantyhose were ruined. I'd never wear them here again. He didn't look at me, but I stood stock-still before the basket afraid to move.

"Right away, Jon." He said as he hung up, and he walked towards me taking the journal from the top of the basket then walking out the door. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I didn't move, but I freaked. My own private soul had just walked out the door and I had allowed it, foolishly bringing enough psychological dynamite with me to blow my character wide open to view. Thoughts, feelings, fears and fantasies. All my personal philosophy was in those hand-written pages, I struggled to remain composed. Suddenly, I just let it go.

"Oh well, what the Hell." Better to have all the cards on the table. I expected to be revealed, but not quite as much as the journal would expose me to scrutiny. It was all a head game, right? That's what I thought until Adam came back.

"5 More, Why?" I sighed, realizing quickly that the room was bugged, or under surveillance. Probably the big mirror behind the column. Part of training class? "For speaking without being spoken too and profanity, Handler." He nodded in assent. Fifteen already and I hadn't even been here thirty minutes. I was trying so hard too.

"What have you learned from this?" `Heavy duty, now he wanted me to think. Was this allowed?' I answered respectfully, voice quaking a little with fear.

"I am never alone, Handler. My every action is witnessed and judged for whether or not it pleases my master." That seemed to be the correct clarification. I was kind of surprised that it fell so easily from my tongue. Voice training had been another lifetime ago, but Rob was very particular about how I said what I did say. The slave mentality taking over my thoughts, easily mutating me to servitude. I wanted to make them happy, when they were happy. They would in turn satisfy the fire burning through my own body. That was the object, and it was a reward and punishment sort of deal. I understood that. I was awfully glad that I had memorized the rules, before I got here. It made it easier to recognize when I broke one. `Face it, it made it easier to formulate glib explanations for my fuck-ups.'

Adam stood before me, as I stood by the pedestal-like block. Moving closer to me with deliberate intensity. An intense look on his handsome face. He bent me at the waist and I opened my thighs quickly. Never ever close your legs, or your mouth. Always ready for access. I heard him doing something when he moved behind me. I didn't turn to him though. I merely waited. Wondering what was coming, but not too much. I had earned the strap, and that was what I expected from him.

When his organ slipped into me it was a complete surprise. I was pushed further over to feel the cold marble under my breasts. My belly pressed downwards. He put his hands on the small of my back, heavy and cruel. His big body restricting mine against the hard unyielding surface. He did not care about my comfort. Adam merely clutched my hips, crudely, and rammed his organ into me, seeking only his own release. He was practically raping me. Ignoring the gasps and cries that his sudden assault tore from me. That I was getting some small pleasure from his body in mine was just enough to shame me into not struggling against him.

My thoughts were a litany. `Accept, accept, accept,' but it was so hard! I clenched my hands into tight fists, gritting my teeth against the use being of made of me. So hard to do that though, because at the first deep thrust, the inferno inside me came to vibrant, vivid life. One small touch between my legs would have boiled the orgasms over me in a excess of untimely discharge. There was nothing else for me to do. Grabbing tightly to the edge of the block and holding myself up close to the coolness was all I could do. I knew somehow that my own release was not the purpose of what he was doing. Some instinct told me that if I came at this moment I would be denied release for the rest of the weekend. This purposeless brutality was merely discharge for him, so he could touch me without wanting me. I heard him speaking, as he leaned over my back.

"Tighten those cunt muscles for me, slave. I want it tighter than this. Squeeze me harder. I want it so tight it hurts." His big hand cradled the back of my neck as I clenched with the deeper muscles between my legs. Exerting myself desperately. New sensation traveling through the damp fullness of my wet cleft. Taut fingers in my hair, pulling it painfully. A low snarl from my Handler. "You cum, bitch, and I'll see you don't for the rest of the month. Your night hasn't started yet." I clenched the strong muscles in my thighs and gritted my teeth for control. Pulling the moist air into my lungs in short bursts. My back arching to give him access, praying that he finished quickly. Hoping to stem the pleasure trying to wash over me. `I was so close!'

Adam seemed to take forever but finally I felt his thick organ jerking rhythmically inside me as he boiled over. His weight pressing into my back. His wet lips on the back of my neck where it meets my shoulders, making me shiver. Big hands on my arms holding me down as he went soft within me. I had done it. Holding it back and keeping myself focused on Jon, and his designs for me tonight.

"Stay there." He said and moved away. Taking care of his organ and cleaning himself. I heard the condom come off with a thick rubber sound. I could see him in the periphery of my sight. Doing something. "Don't move." I hadn't moved, why would he say that? I heard a whistle through the air and the cruel snap of flexible leather bit into the underside of my buttocks. The instantaneous pain took my breath away and I wanted to put my hands over my buttocks to protect them. The soft whistle coming again and forcing me to concentrate. `Catch a hold of the lip of the marble. Pull yourself taut. Fight the urge to run, to flee.' Instinct trying to supplant will, as pain became my world. I realized with some remaining thought processes that Adam was good with the strap. I could feel the welts forming on my unmarked flesh, but knew I did not bleed. Blood was rushing to the offended area in a vain effort by my body to put out the fire there, but none of it leaked out of me. That took some skill and no small amount of practice. If it hadn't of hurt as bad as it did. I might have appreciated it more. As it was the beating came so quickly and so surely. All I could concentrate on was the flow of pain from my backside into my dripping sex. Deliciously swift, inescapable blows with none of the finesse that I was used too. Unmerciful, unrelenting blasts of undiluted agony. Punishment. This was not pleasure, it was educational. This torment had one purpose, to teach me not to do whatever it was that I had done. `I would try, please stop.'

By five strokes of the thick leather strap, I was raw. At ten, I could feel the air on my swollen flesh bruising me. By fifteen, I was unable to stop the moans from escaping my clenched teeth. Tears flowing with reckless abandon from my eyes. Rob had never, ever, beaten me this raw. Even the night he broke the riding crop before he took me. I managed to remain where I was, but I don't know how I did it. I was a suffering, miserable wreck by the end of my ordeal. Sobbing unto my arms on the marble. Gasping for air and trying to control my shuddering body.