As She’s Told

‘So this is the little prize.’ A woman stood, hands on hips, looking down at me with an expression of friendly irony. Anders had never told me what she looked like, but this had to be Val. Something direct and no-shit about her, from the short brown hair to the firmly planted boots.

‘Hey, Val!’ Anders said. ‘Good timing. That blues act should be on in about twenty minutes.’

‘Here?’ She was riffling through her program.

‘No,’ he leaned over to look past her and pointed, ‘that stage down there. But sit down for a minute.’

She settled down cross-legged beside me on the blanket. ‘So,’ she said before I could gather myself to speak, ‘how’s slavery working out for you?’

I gaped and a laugh blurted out of me; my hand went to my mouth.

What was the woman doing, channelling Dr. Phil? All I could think of to say was an inane, ‘Good. Really good,’ while I looked around hastily to see who might be within earshot.

She grinned. ‘Glad to hear it. I notice you said that without looking at the big guy first. That’s a good sign, though I don’t know if he’d agree.’ My eyes went to him then; he was grinning, too.

‘I haven’t actually implanted any recordings yet. She’s still speaking for herself.”

“Are you?’

I tried not to look at my master. He had implanted a couple of other things that morning.

‘Um. Speaking, yes.’

‘But everything else is under orders.’

‘Pretty much. Well, I – I do my own work, you know.’

‘Information girl. Environmental stuff. Hey, can you find out which motorcycles have the cleanest exhaust systems?’

Anders tsked. ‘Val, I thought you were saving for a truck so you could abandon me and take my customers away.’ He held up his hand. ‘Wait, I know – crew of one on the seat behind you, parts and lumber tied to the handlebars – no, sticking out the side car….’ He lay back, snickering away to himself.

‘The truck’ll be first, boss man. The bike will be one of my many rewards from my outstandingly profitable first year in queer renovations.

Once I’m no longer a wage slave.’ Her hazel eyes twinkled in my direction.

‘So, can you find out? I like my fantasies to have a solid basis in fact.’

I nodded, relieved to be on my own turf. ‘Sure. Repair records, too, if you want. Though the information might be out of date by the time you buy.”

“That’s cool; I’ll just get you to do the research all over again.’

There was the sound of fiddles tuning up from the stage. Val looked down at the one she was interested in, shading her eyes. ‘Hey, I think they’re setting up over there. Come and listen to some real music, not this deedle-eedle shit.’

‘Nah, I’ll catch her later on,’ said Anders. ‘Take Maia if you like. She could use the education. All she listened to before I got hold of her was baroque recorder quartets.’ This was a slight exaggeration. I had also listened to baroque string quartets and Medieval dance music.

‘Baroque! Holy shit, she’s worse than you. Come on, girl, let’s introduce you to a later century.’

I turned my eyes to Anders and got a reassuring nod; he was taking his hand out of his pocket. It still felt dangerous moving away from him, even with permission. Up and sauntering toward the distant stage, Val gave me a sideways look – she was taller, but not by a lot – and said, ‘So, it’s all okay with you? Still?’

I knew what she meant, but I had trouble meeting her eye. ‘Yes. It’s still okay. Really; more than okay.’

‘That’s not the brainwashing talking, is it?’ I frowned down at the path in front of me. ‘Or wishful thinking? He’s a good guy, you know, Anders, I’d trust him a long way, but he is a man. They have their limits. Especially with really getting it when it comes to women.’

I didn’t know what to say to that. As master and slave Anders and I were so entwined, so engaged within each other’s heads, that Val’s observations seemed to be coming from some other planet altogether. A planet where men were dumb guys for whom foreplay was big news, and whose height of culinary skill was remembering to take the plastic off the frozen pizza before they put it in the oven.

‘I – don’t see him hitting any limits like that, to be honest with you.’

She laughed. ‘He’s got you good.”

“He does.’

‘But you could get loose if you needed to, right? This isn’t some brainwashed abused woman thing here, I hope, because I’d have to start trying to rescue you and my job might get a little tense. Not that that would matter; just say the word.’

I gaped at her again. Her bluntness was bowling me over. There was no sensitive manoeuvring here with a potentially vulnerable stranger. No matter; I had to appreciate the gesture. This woman was perfectly willing to put her job at risk to pull another woman to safety, should that be required.

Could I get loose if I needed to? Not long ago the question would have been disturbing, might even have given me nightmares. Much as I had avoided entertaining the thought, the possibility had existed. But months of lockstep control, training, obedience and mercilessly swift punishment had tightened the web; each strand had acquired the tensile strength of Kevlar.

The concept of walking away was now so unreal as to be meaningless.

Today it seemed especially inconceivable.

In the abstract I knew it was possible. Not believable, not for me. Not from Anders. But possible for someone else, maybe, in the same situation.

‘Val, I really don’t need that or want that; I swear. But wow! That’s really kind, thank you.’

She eyed me silent and sidelong with an odd smile. Techies were still moving things around at the stage when we arrived. A guitar twanged. An amplified voice said, ‘Check.’ Val took a rug out of her pack and squeezed us into a space in the centre of the audience, already big and getting bigger. She observed the careful way I sat down, and gave me a knowing grin that embarrassed me no end. I wondered how much she knew. But there was no room in that crowd for any more true confessions. We watched the singer and her backup arranging themselves.

‘This is fabulous blues. She’s cool to watch; real gritty and tough. Great guitar picker.’ Val looked around at the cheerful scene, toddlers rolling in the grass. ‘You’d get the idea better in a smoky bar than out in daylight like this.’

The set started, and Val was right. It wasn’t my favourite kind of thing –

I would have preferred the very structured Celtic fiddle tunes Anders was listening to – but it was good and raunchy, and the guitar was amazing.

‘What do you think, is she lesbian?’ Val asked.

‘Um…I don’t know. How would I know? She just sang something about men doing whatever she wanted.”

“So what? Damn, my gaydar’s usually better than this; I can’t tell.’

She gave me a look, and I wondered what her gaydar was telling her about me. Could she tell I was about a Kinsey one? Not a zero, I wasn’t horror-struck by the idea, but it didn’t have a lot of pull for me, either.

‘Shit,’ said Val when the set was over and the cheering died down, ‘I wish I could play like that.’

‘You play guitar?’

‘Yeah, well, I mess around with it, but I’m a whole lot better with power tools, to tell you the truth.’

‘When do you think you’ll be ready to buy a truck and start up on your own?’

‘Six months or so. If I can find the right kind of used one at the right price. Then I get the word out and start making the bucks. Earning my motorcycle. There are a lot of dykes who’d rather hire a woman to do their renos.’

‘Not many women doing it?’

‘Damned few. And I’m good. I was pretty good before I started working for Thygesen, and now I am kick-ass.’ She grinned.

‘From working with him? How come?’

‘The guy is seriously into quality. Did you know that? Meticulous, organized as a fucking physics professor. And manages to insist on all that without pissing us all off.’ I smiled. ‘Sounds familiar.’

‘I’ve learned a lot from him. Young cub though he is.’ She wasn’t that much older than him, I thought; she looked about thirty. ‘He picked up a lot of good stuff from his daddy.”

“What’s he like to work with?’

‘Well, like I told you, organized. High standards. But he doesn’t yell and scream like so many of these assholes. Takes care of his crew; doesn’t skimp on safety equipment or take risky shortcuts. Makes the site comfortable to work in, even when we’re in a building with no windows in January. Take it from me, that alone makes him a fucking saint. And he keeps weekend work to a minimum; you may have noticed.’

I nodded. Anders did plenty of phoning and paperwork on weekends, and some Saturdays he had to spend a couple of hours on a worksite, but most weekends he was with me. It hadn’t occurred to me before that this probably wasn’t standard contractor behaviour.

The crowd was shifting; we got up and Val started to stuff her rug back into her knapsack. ‘He probably sacrifices something in profits, you know;

’cause he isn’t out for the quick buck. It drives him nuts when he promises something and can’t deliver. So his schedules leave room for delays, which there usually are. Suppliers not coming through, that kind of thing.’

‘I wonder if he makes more in the long run that way. Quality work.

Reliability.’ We began walking back.

‘In an ideal world, maybe. In this world, probably not, but he lives longer. Less stress. So what’s he like at home?’ She looked at my face and laughed.

I laughed, too, red-faced. ‘There are similarities. Quality, standards, organization, safety. Same man, different program.’

‘I’ll bet he adds things up in Danish.’

‘Yes!’ I laughed. ‘Anything with numbers is Danish, always.’

‘Does he swear in Danish when he’s pissed off?’

‘Only when he’s banged himself with a hammer or something. When he’s mad it’s just, um, the accent.’ I disguised my shiver as a glance over my shoulder.

‘Oh, yeah, the accent! That is weird. The first time I heard it I thought some very pissed off relative of his had turned up out of nowhere. We were working in an apartment building, and a plumber upstairs completely fucked up, flooded the place and brought down a ceiling we’d just put in. I don’t think the asshole was even licensed; someone was cutting corners. Anders got the message across all right. Funny how that accent sneaks in.’

Something she had said earlier still niggled at me. I didn’t want her to think Anders was some kind of Svengali, seducing innocent girls. ‘That

‘brainwashing’ thing – is it brainwashing, to be this immersed, this totally absorbed when – when this is what I want?’

‘You’re absorbed in the relationship? Or he’s absorbing you?’

‘Well, both. No, he’s not exactly absorbing me. I’m still here, still me.

Just – part of him.’ She blew out a breath and shook her head. ‘Part of him, huh? Digestion tends to change the, uh, object digested, don’t you think?’

‘Digestion?’ How had we got to that point? I shook my head. ‘No, no, it’s not like that. It’s more like –’ My hands circled a little, searching for the right words, ‘ – more like symbiosis. An organism that lives more successfully as – I don’t know, as part of something else. And is changed and developed by it to suit them both.’

‘Meaning, you’ve always thought of yourself as a slave and now you are one. And Anders is turning you into the version that turns his crank.’

She seemed to have a habit of casting aside all circumlocutions whenever it suited her, god damn it. My face went hot. ‘That’s – that about covers it, yes.”

“Does he do any developing himself, or is that all on your side?’

I considered. ‘Not as obviously. But yes, in a way. We’re both getting to be what we are. And he can take that as far as he wants it to go. Which is a kind of growth and self-ctualization, I suppose.’ I looked up at her. ‘And this really is what we are.”

“I get it.’ Her eyes went to something behind me.

I felt a familiar hand take hold of me and tuck me under an arm. The grip was solid, and I relaxed into my niche and sighed. Safe again.

We walked toward another stage, and the two of them had a lively conversation about blues singers I’d never heard of. Eric’s progress also got talked over. As Anders had predicted the relapse had been short, and the kid was back at work, showing some interest in the finer points of the job, which seemed like a good sign. They’d worked out some other way to manage his money, to avoid those lump sums which were such a trigger, and Eric was back in counselling.

Later, while we lined up for food together and then ate dinner, Anders resumed amusing himself with the remote vibrator. It took everything I had to look normal in front of Val, and I doubt I entirely fooled those sharp eyes.

Or perhaps it was her nose; I was swimming in juices by that time.

Anders spotted something amiss with a nearby stage, and I got a break.

‘Look at that,’ he said to Val, frowning. ‘That canopy’s sagging to one side.

I don’t like it. Keep an eye on Maia for a minute, will you?’ I got a momentary buzz as he strode away, and then it stopped.

‘I’m babysitting, am I?’ said Val. ‘How cute. What does he think you’re going to do, hotwire his truck and take off? Set up a booth and give away your favours?’

I blushed and said nothing, not being able to think of anything to say.

‘All right, I’m being mean. Do you panic when you’re alone or something?’

‘No, no. He’s just – he’s –’

‘A controlling son of a bitch; yes, I know.’

‘He likes to know where I am. Without any – leeway, so to speak.’

‘Yeah, he likes to keep track of his tools and equipment, too. None of it is allowed to walk away. That’s one of my jobs.’ She gave a sardonic little laugh. ‘He should be paying me overtime.’

Halfway through the evening concert, Val took her leave. She had decided to check out Casino Rama and play a little poker before she headed back. ‘No sure things for me. I like an element of risk,’ she said to me with a wink. ‘Okay, boss. Sure you can keep track of her without me? Good. See you Monday.’

***

Anders and Maia walked hand in hand through the bumpy darkness toward the truck. No insect noises yet, but the night air was clear and the stars had emerged above them in bunches. ‘How did you like Val?’

‘Wow. She’s really something. She doesn’t pull her punches, does she?”

“What did she say?’

Maia reported their conversations. ‘I don’t know if she’s all that happy with us. She probably doesn’t approve of me, though she seems to think you’re a saint of some kind, at least at work.’

He laughed. ‘Val supports doms doing whatever they like, though she thinks I’m a bit of a head case. At the same time dependency irks her. I think she was just checking to make sure you weren’t in need of rescue. Beyond that I don’t think she gives a shit, really. Except that she’d like to take you home and do whatever it is she does to her girls.’

‘Oh, no. How do you know?’

‘I’ve seen that look in her eye.’

She clutched his hand a little tighter, and he returned the pressure.

‘What’s the matter?’ he teased. ‘She could hardly be meaner than me.’

‘But –’

‘In fact she only has subs, not slaves, so she’s probably a creampuff compared with me.”

“But – .’

‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed. ‘Sexual liaisons with staff, even at one remove, are against company policy.’ Her hand relaxed a little.

They climbed into the truck and as he looked over his shoulder to back up he said, ‘I think my leash worked well, don’t you?’

‘Oh, god,’ she groaned. ‘Yes, master, really well.’

‘Any chafing? Either of them?’

‘No, not really.’

He steered the truck through the parked cars, and joined the lineup heading for the exit.

‘I might shorten the leash tomorrow. I really do prefer keeping you where I can find you. The proverbial short lead.’ She bit her lip. ‘Scared, love?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Just learn to pay attention.’ He braked for a van that was backing out in front of him. ‘I could have used something like that a couple of weeks ago, eh?’ Maia’s head drooped. It was fortunate that he didn’t need to punish her that night, because the rowdies next door had gone on to destroy the peace of some other campground, and despite its uses, loud rock music got on his nerves.

It wasn’t only his slave who’d spent the day in a state of arousal. Anders had several times considered taking his slave to the truck for a quick blow job. Would have, if the music hadn’t been so good.

He tightened Maia’s harness several notches all around, fastened her hands behind her, and put clips on her nipples. Then he used the remote buttons and a word or two to direct and correct her as she serviced him, a kind of game of ‘hot and cold.’ As long as she removed his clothes with her teeth and did it gracefully, kissed his feet with the proper attitude, licked and sucked his body reverently enough in all the right places, he kept his finger on the dildo remote. If she got distracted by her own arousal and strayed from her task, if she was clumsy or imperfect he shocked her. He kept her at it for a long time. She knelt between his legs, then knelt over him on the bed, her soft mouth eager, worshipful. The noises she’d been suppressing all day were to him a delicious auditory accompaniment: soft whimpers, catches of breath, little shrieks. He felt he was running her like a remote-control robot with his buttons: reward, punishment, pleasure, pain.

At last he directed her mouth to his cock. The first come was like a geyser, the pleasure so intense and single-minded that for a while Anders felt emptied of everything but the echo. When he stirred again he was, of course, hungry. He rummaged around naked in the kitchen, rooting out bread and cheese. The naugahyde benches looked uninviting to a naked butt; he climbed back into bed. His slave was kneeling there where he’d left her.

‘Here, lie down. I don’t want to get crumbs in the bed.’ She lay on her back as he directed, and he put the bread and cheese on her body between the straps. There wasn’t much space in between, but her lower belly was largely clear. As he ate he resumed his game with the vibrator. And once he finished and brushed her off, tipping her carefully at the edge of the mattress so that he wouldn’t be sleeping on crumbs, he put his ear to her belly and felt the vibrations for himself.

Then he played with the nipple clips, on and off, pull and twist, and she squirmed and twisted in response. Her legs were splayed wide, the desperate cunt locked to its shield. He turned the vibrator up to high, and watched her strain and shake helplessly. She began to beg.

He smiled down at her.

‘Do you think the shield is coming off tonight? Really?’

She looked ready to cry. ‘No, master.’

Anders was hard again. He sat behind her head, turned off the remote and said, ‘Open up.’ She opened her mouth, puzzled, then slowly arched her back as far as she could to take him in. It was worth the awkward position to see her straining so hard to service him, and when he came he had to use what little consciousness remained to keep from collapsing on top of her.

The next day they got to take their time; no purchases to worry about or hardware to modify, and he was going to make her walk. Just a minor adjustment to the remote. ‘About a metre and a half for the warning, girl.

Two for the stronger one, and four for the punisher.”

“Please, master, can’t you – can’t you just hang onto me?”

“I will sometimes. But it would look a bit odd all day.”

“Doesn’t it look odd – me running to you?’

He chuckled. ‘Probably. If you have to do that, try to make it look natural – like you’ve thought of something you just have to tell me. Don’t leap, whatever you do.’ He took hold of her hair at the nape of her neck.

‘Better yet, try to remember that you’re on a leash, and then the problem won’t arise, will it?’

Anders had his fiddle, as there was going to be a chance to jam in the afternoon. Music on all sides was terrific, but it made him itch to get his own hands on the strings.

Maia was starting to pant, he noticed, and was a step behind. He slowed down, and took her hand again, amused. Unconsciously he’d been challenging her to stay close enough, speeding up to something more like his natural pace. Poor little pup.

Three more performers to talk to this afternoon. They’d gotten a raft of

‘maybes.’ Only the young and local were pretty sure bets. What he’d really like to arrange, he thought, would be a series of workshops, with lots of musicians mixing it up, trying things out, creating something new. He loved getting the chance to play with people he’d never played with before; he always got fresh ideas. Maybe they could do that next year. Or if the teaching series didn’t work out. Her hand was sweating; he slowed a little more. They were almost there. No one would guess, looking at her, how complexly this woman was accessorized. Simple clothes, low heels, no jewellery, not even makeup. Of course she turned heads anyway, though she didn’t seem to notice. In the spring she’d been a able to fly under everyone’s radar. Now she glowed as if the sun was on her wings. Clipped wings. He’d been growing to fit his own skin, and he rather thought that she was doing the same. Reaching out to fit inside his restraints. And hell, she was probably trailing pheromones. No surprise there.

That day Anders held onto Maia whenever he was feeling merciful. And when he wasn’t she tried very hard to stay at his side, much like a dog that has learned to heel. But given the large crowds and the short leash, inevitably she got caught here and there. She was particularly vulnerable when he’d been using the other remote.

At last, teased to distraction, she went the wrong way round a smaller stage. Anders watched her as the warnings hit. Her eyes searched for him, the wrong direction at first, and then he saw her take the shock. She went completely still, a response out of the e-stim training he’d given her. Then she turned, saw him, and made her way through the rigging and past the sound booth, taking the most direct route. There was a sandy area that bogged her down, and when she reached him her sandals were full of it.

Kindly he paused while she took them off and cleared them out. She was breathing a little hard. ‘Did that hurt, sweetheart?’ She pressed her lips together, and nodded.

‘Better be more careful, then.’ She nodded again, and reached a little shakily for his hand. He took it. ‘Come on.’

As the leash was so short and swift to warn her, Anders hardly had to override it at all to keep her where she belonged. He still chose to give her a yank or two amongst the artisan’s booths – the crafts distracted her – but conditioning was starting to tell; she was staying within a metre of his side almost all the time.

After lunch they sat in the grass waiting for a Klezmer band with bluegrass elements, or a bluegrass band with Klezmer elements; he was curious to see how this mix would turn out. The program notes didn’t give him much to go on. Suddenly they were joined on their blanket by a small crawling body clad only in diaper and t-shirt; a single-minded little juggernaut intent on some distant objective. Both parents were in pursuit, but were hampered by having to step around the people and the beach chairs, an inhibition not shared by their offspring. The baby took the direct route over Anders legs with the efficiency of an expert crawler and escape artist, and then decided to use Maia’s shoulder to stand up. Perhaps he was scouting for the posse. She looked, startled, into the round, rather sticky face, suddenly inches from her own. Anders laughed at this odd confluence, and picked the baby up; the little guy seemed quite fearless, and pulled experimentally on his captor’s nose, before being returned to his father’s arms.

‘Bold little bugger,’ Anders said admiringly as he sat down again.

‘Fast, too. He seemed to come out of nowhere.’ She craned her neck, watching the family retreat. ‘You seemed to know how to handle him.’

‘Pick ’em up, hand ’em back; you can count on me anytime.’

She grinned. ‘Did I tell you I’m going to be an aunt again? Luisa emailed. She’s having another one.’

‘How many’s that, two?’ She nodded. ‘Are you missing them at all?

Wanting to see the babies?’

‘I suppose I’ll have to one of these days.’ She looked at him, puzzled.

‘What, do I want to go to baby showers and dandle little relatives on my knee? Not especially, why?’

He gave this a minute’s thought, wondering if he really wanted to pursue the subject. How bizarre to do so now, in the middle of a day spent playing with her like a toy. But then, every day was like that. It had to be faced sooner or later. ‘I just wondered,’ he said carefully, ‘how you feel about them. Actually, what I wonder is whether the urge to reproduce is going to be a spanner in our works some day.’

She looked uncomfortable. ‘I hope not. Why, do you – do you want them?’

‘No. I don’t.’

Her look of relief was a relief to him.

‘Thank god for that,’ she said softly. ‘Neither do I. And imagine me raising children. All that comes to mind is the Old South and mammies.’ He laughed, but she looked serious. ‘Really. I couldn’t bring up kids,’ she said,

‘like – like this.’ She waved her hands toward her body, which gesture he understood to comprise not merely her concealed accoutrements but also her state of subjection. ‘We’re – too extreme. I also don’t want to, but even if I did –.”

“Well, couples do manage it. They have to tone things down, I suppose.

Compromise. Conceal, lock their bedroom doors and so on. They must really want kids.’ It would have to be a hell of a procreative urge, he thought, before he’d make that kind of compromise.

‘Sometimes they have the kids already, before they get into it,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s true.”

“I can’t imagine keeping up that level of pretence, year after year.’

The set started. Anders listened on one level, and on another he was exploring the release of a vague tension he hadn’t been aware he had. As far as he could see, no amount of ownership and control would root out the urge to reproduce, if it was there. In those who had it, it seemed to be as basic and instinctive as the sexual urge which should, biologically speaking, be secondary to it. An urge like that could have been a deal breaker over the long term, but it looked like they’d be spared that complication.

At the jam session he adjusted the remote so that Maia could sit at the front of the audience. The fiddles were fast and furious for a while; he got to throw in some Scandinavian variations that were new to people, and that was fun. One guitar player slowed them down (ballads again), but then Val’s blues guitar picker joined the group. She was phenomenal as it turned out, and the pace picked up again. Anders did some backup, then took the lead on a 30’s jazz violin piece he’d picked up from a Stephane Grapelli CD.

Then he picked up the bodhran when a pennywhistle and banjo needed some percussion.

Through all this Maia kept her eyes almost entirely on him, whether or not he was front and centre. The other musicians received glances and applause from her, but her real focus, he could tell, was only on himself. She gazed at him, mouth a little open, as if he was a rock god and she was a schoolgirl. Lord of the Dance, in fact. He was certainly the lord of her dance, wasn’t he?

He looked again at her face. Those weren’t just schoolgirl-crush eyes.

He was being worshipped.

What an odd feeling. His woman thought he was a god. Larger than life somehow. Perhaps it was inevitable. But weird nonetheless.

And yet wasn’t that how this music made him feel? Senses expanded by all the interplay, by being part of the weave. He became bigger than himself, his mind quicker, his hands more sure. Was that what she saw with those eyes?

He wondered what part of the pantheon she had him pegged for. And whether they’d name a day of the week after him.

The blues guitarist took the lead again, and the group started improvising around her bad luck song, each instrumentalist stepping forward one by one to do their solo. When it was Anders’ turn he made the fiddle wail just like Maia when he locked her down. Would she recognize it? She did; she was blushing. The flute picked up on the sound of frustration and heightened it, and the banjo and mandolin followed suit. Unbeknownst to anyone, the song had turned into the ‘My Daddy Won’t Let Me Come Blues.’

He caught Maia’s eye; like him, she was trying not to laugh. Andersday.

Very nice.

The guitarist packed it in, and the traditional fiddles started playing jigs.

Fun for Anders, and easy. A couple in the audience broke into a dance. Then two more. The tune ended to much applause, and then one of the other fiddlers began one that Anders didn’t know as well. On a wicked impulse he set his fiddle in its case, and stood in front of Maia with hand outstretched, glancing with a smile toward the dancers.

She looked so horrified he had to laugh. Taking her hand in an uncompromising grip, he pulled her toward the dancers She knew how to jig. The fact that she had ever only done so naked under a whip was neither here nor there. The tight harness, the plug in her rear, the dildo and shield held on only by rings in her labia, these were just one bonus after another.

Why be the Lord of the Dance if you can’t make your subject perform at your command?

At first she did a delicate sort of jig opposite him. He gave her a warning glance and tapped his pocket, and she danced harder. But she still wasn’t giving it what he knew she was capable of. So he gave her a medium jolt, and she gave a little cry, shook herself loose, flung out her arms, and danced.

He had never seen her cut loose in public. She laughed and capered with energy and a will, brought her knees up, did her steps with pretty precision, and let her skirt ride halfway up her thighs. The audience clapped and whooped, and she put her hands on her hips and jigged harder. Anders matched her. The two of them kept at it as the fiddles speeded up, challenging each other back and forth till the tune ended. Then she tumbled toward him, laughing and gasping, and he caught her in his arms, falling back on the grass. Her legs straddled one of his, and as they pressed together she shuddered and went rigid, making a high little animal cry that was lost in the general melee. Anders sat up with her on his knee, and hastily checked his pocket to be on the safe side, but no, this wasn’t an inadvertent shock. It was an inadvertent orgasm. A few minutes later they sat on a park bench overlooking the lake. She hadn’t said a word so far, but she looked rather haunted. He put his arm around her. ‘Master, I’m – I’m sorry.’

‘Not your fault.’ He laughed. ‘Mine, in fact. A nice little ironic twist on my lust for power.’

‘Did anyone – did people see?’

‘I don’t think anyone noticed. You’d put so much style into that jig that it looked like you were collapsing in a happy state of exhaustion.’ He hugged her to him. ‘You were magnificent, by the way. Once I persuaded you to get going.’

‘Thank you, master. I learned from a master.’ She giggled a little hysterically. Snickering, he gave her a squeeze. ‘Stop that.’

‘You were amazing yourself. So – so – oh, god, you’re – ‘ She burrowed into his shoulder. He held her, smiling ruefully. ‘I’m what?’ She shook her head, her face hidden. He stroked her hair. ‘Despite appearances to the contrary, I am fallible. Look at what just happened.’ She shuddered.

‘Will I have to be – punished?’

‘No, no. I pushed you a little too far that time. Anyway, it’s the equipment’s job to control you; I stopped expecting you to control yourself some time ago. We’ve obviously found the limits of the shield.’

‘But without the – without all the – ‘

‘Perhaps. But then, I like to use the extras. It was all moving around as you danced, wasn’t it?’

‘Sure. That was what….’

‘And then that final pressure took you over the edge?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Hmm. Shouldn’t have happened.’ He was thoughtful. ‘Oh well. How are you feeling now?’

‘Better.’

‘I’ll bet.’