Third Day
My eyes flutter open to a sound in the hall. For a moment I'm in stasis, oblivion. I'm not sure of where I am or who I am. Then the sensation comes, a sting at my back and I remember. I relive it.
Day One
"Do you want to learn how to properly present?" she asks me. "Not the way you've done it before, the way I want you to do it."
I blink ascent. I've been given leave to rage on the eve of the party, so I have raged, and while I'm addled rarely these days by the stuff I admit to a bit of a handicap, balance-wise. I am however lithe with conversation and want and so again I nod and slink up to her.
"With your hand up, like this. You may need to occasionally cup them, but they should be as flat as possible. Now, head down, I want your ass on your heels, and don't look up until I tell you." She says this, just as I'm raising my eyes to see if I've done it right.
Foolish, impatient, eager me...
I fall asleep with, or rather on, one of Miss's best friends. Her shoulder is soft and I sleep with the buzz of the night in my ears and the satisfaction that I'm one of the last ones awake.
Day of
We've been shown off, some. Mine and I. We're a novelty, and a catching one. I wonder to myself what we'll be when we can move in unison, react as one? We are shown Positions One through Four, and drilled briefly. After a few times we find one anothers rhythm and begin to match it, almost naturally. It pleases Miss, it pleases Sir, and Mine giggles like a little girl with a new boyfriend, a bend of the back, hands locked behind head, she is enjoying the newness of it and how well her body reacts. I notice that I can't help giggle too, that I'm slowly becomming in touch again with what I can stand, that the reaquaintance with myself has not gone at all like I'd expected, and instead of an old friend I'm greeted with by a stranger.
But a kind one.
I blow fire to amuse, and before long we're called. Mine and I. To kneel, Second Position in front of the fire-place and wait. I'm eager for repentance, for reckoning. We've made an awful mess of things, finding the list they'd given us harder to procure than we'd thought. Arriving late. (I've never quite accustomed myself to California traffic.) Now, it would hurt. I'd be striped, and know if my skin still cried back as much in agony in it's removal as it's application.
And it does, oh but it does.
I have not said I trust her five minutes ago when she tells me that she's lied. I am not angry, and she knows it. She told the lie as a favor, after all.
The single-tail is an amazing intstrument. As is the cane and all such exquisite forms of torture. I can take a beating blow stoicly, but the acute pain, the lash that comes with the promise of split skin and white-hot flashes of electricity that rob the breath. How I love and loathe them. Miss has just lashed me with it, and in fact my skin has split, but each time I write with it I recover, and arch back. Miss sees this, I have recieved my two lashes as promised though, so she relents-
-long enough to whisper "I lied." My grin is clenched teeth wild-eyed want.
She satisfies us, her hand on my heart occasionally to check it's timing. We communicate this way too, far too accurately to be accident. She whispers words, blown away in the gail of sensation and lust and deliverance and I whisper back. She moves me...
My god, how she moves me.
But these long limbs have not bent in time, and I'm clumsy. She draws me to turn and I tense, she says something and the years at the turntables work against me, dulling my hearing so I don't move at all when I should.
Clumsy, foolish, deaf... child.
When we are done she cradles me and we watch Mine and Hers, as she spins in the air. I immediately go mad with jealousy and admiration.
Both are sweet.
Mine dangles from the ceiling, Hers spins her and bends her to his whim I'm transfixed and alive. I'm confused and timid and love being both, my eyes get wide again, I watch memorizing the movements and the exchange of electricity. It flows from the Girl to the chain, to the hook to the ceiling beam, across the house and the floor and meets us in front of the fire. I pass it to Miss and she looks up passing it to Sir. Thus is our link, thus is our dream.
Mine is let down and we retire upward to the deck, which is awash in it's own crazy ebb and flow that I can barely comprehend. I'm sub-spaced out, a shell waiting to be filled still. But Miss and Sir do not let us tarry long, and before long her smooth face turns the corner of the doorway and becons us in.
Now there are some things my friends which are just for me. I covet them and enjoy playing them back for myself in the middle of the night and so I do not share them, and the moments that passed next were such. Note simply that we attended as we were asked, and we were asked nothing we weren't dying to attend to. In the aftermath though, there are two memories of note. One, that some chemicals wet the mouth and still everything else until seeing the slave in the one you love being utilized blows blood back through the veins like a flood. Two, that when all was done I cleaned Miss in a way I have done for no one else nor likely ever will. In the act the whole world was born again for me, and in that moment all that knelt was a stupid, clumsy, curious, eager, nieve, fierce slave, who shudders at the dark and the cold and looks up on the sky with new eyes, waiting to be commanded, waiting to be called.
Sir and Miss went to their amusements, and we to ours. But that, my friends, is for next time.
Day After
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