Part 6: Epilogue
He handed down a bit of fruit, Jane slurped the cool, sweet morsel, licked his fingers, drew them into her mouth. He looked down at her and smiled. She whimpered. If she'd had a tail she would have wagged.
"Surprised to see you here," Jane said hugging her friend.
"Yeah, well, Cindy's gonna come down in a couple of weeks, do the whole Florida thing, Disney, Sea World, the keys, you know."
"Mm."
"What about you? I thought you were firmly under his spell."
Jane frowned, nodded, shrugged.
"I don't know. It was time to go so I went. Seems silly to leave mid-semester anyway."
"Did he say anything?"
"He said that he'd keep in touch."
"Ouch. That doesn't sound promising."
"Mm."
They announced the flight, the girls boarded, the plane backed away from the gate, Marge took Jane's hand. She always did. Not that they'd flown often, but when they did Marge would hold Jane's hand the whole time. Said she was a nervous flier. But after the revelations this week that Marge was a lesbian, that she had a crush on Jane, and the fact that they'd made love ... well.
And what about when they got home? Would they share a bed? While Marge was her girlfriend, Jane really didn't want a "girlfriend." Besides, Marge belonged to Cindy - had the collar to prove it.
A couple of hours later during a layover in Atlanta, they were sitting in the lounge, cells in hand. Marge because she was addicted to the damn thing; Jane because she hadn't used it all week. Not that she missed it, but she needed to check her messages.
She had left the phone off, so there weren't all that many. Besides she had changed her message to say she was on vacation and incommunicado. That didn't seem to stop some people, though.
After listening to the voice messages, she checked the texts. One caught her eye. It was a phone number with a 503 area code. She didn't recognize it, but it was followed by a single letter: G. Jane's heart skipped a beat.
"'Scuze me."
Jane stood and stepped over to the corner, punched dial.
"J"
"Uh, hello, uh, Sir."
"I'm glad you called. As I said I'd like to keep in touch."
"Uh, yeah, me, too, Sir. Me, too."
"Good. Then I'll be calling you Monday and Thursday night at, say, ten. Would that be convenient?"
"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, yes, Sir. I'd like that."
"Well then, talk to you Monday. Have a safe trip."
"Uh Sir? How did you get my number."
"I called myself using your phone."
Well, duh!
"Oh. Oh, okay. Monday. Bye."
Jane's hands were shaking. Marge noticed.
"What?
"It was him, Geoffrey."
"That's a good thing, right? I mean usually 'keep in touch' is a blow-off line."
"Yeah. He's going to call me. We set up a schedule."
And he did call her. At first it was awkward, but he had a way of drawing her out. He didn't say much, mostly listened as Jane told him about her day, her week, her life.
The weeks dragged by, but bright and early on a June morning Jane was airborne headed northwest. She had packed her things and Marge said she'd send them along if things 'worked out'.
He met her at the airport. When she saw him she had to resist the urge to leap into his arms. Turns out she didn't have to. His embrace swept her off her feet - literally. And he kissed her and, well, he'd never kissed her like that before.
"What happened to the fishbowl?"
It was the first thing she noticed when she stepped into the den. It was gone. In its place was a small version of one of those Japanese sand gardens.
"I had a feeling I wouldn't be needing it anymore."
There was a long silence, the elephant in the room snorted.
He took her hand.
"I'd like to try this, make it an engagement, as it were. I mean, it may not work out."
Jane was trembling, didn't dare speak, wasn't even sure she'd be able to get the words out.
She nodded.
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes, Sir," she whispered.
He took her in his arms, held her, that's all, just held her for a long time.
He turned and retrieved the yellow cuffs and gag from a draw in the end table.
Jane held out her wrists to be cuffed, opened her mouth to be gagged.
"Strip."
Jane stripped.
"As I said, this is an engagement. We'll just take it day by day and see how things work out. Okay?"
Jane frowned, shook her head.
"No?"
She pointed at her gag. He popped it free.
"Sir, I ... I don't want to act as if I belong to you. I want to belong to you, completely. I want you to own me. For real."
He held her gaze until Jane could stand it no longer. She lowered her eyes.
"Please, Sir. Own me."
Geoffrey tugged on the yellow ball, Jane opened her mouth.
"Do you remember what Cindy told your friend that day? The day of her collaring?"
Jane nodded.
"Well, my rules are similar, but a bit different. Hmm. May as well take it from square one."
"As of this moment you are my property, literally. You are a thing, some thing that I own. You are not a slave. You can think of slave as a higher function, a role I may ask you to play. And I may very well do that, but not now. You aren't even a person. A female human, yes, but that's a biological description. Do you understand?"
Jane nodded.
"It's very much like what Cindy called 'service mode'. You do not speak unless spoken to. You do nothing without direct orders from me. If I'm sitting you kneel at my feet. If I'm standing, you stand by my side."
"You do not have a name, and, as far as you're concerned, neither do I."
"Your core function is to be decorative, something pretty I keep because it pleases me. Your core behavior is obedience."
"That's it. That's the totality of your existence at this moment. Do you understand?"
Jane processed that. When she had asked to be owned she had meant it as a synonym for slave. But this? To be one more thing, an actual thing in Geoffrey's possession? The totality of it shook her to her core.
"Well?"
Jane closed her eyes and nodded.
"Very well."
For two weeks it was just as Geoffrey had described. They were joined at the hip, she knelt at his feet, spoke only when spoken too, did only what she was told. Her emotions ran the gamut from confusion, to boredom, to rage, to, ultimately, acceptance. But it wasn't so much acceptance as acknowledgement. This was her reality. She belonged to Geoffrey. It was as simple as that. She gave herself over completely to the experience.
One bright spot was that he let her share his bed. He fucked her every night. Didn't make love to her. Fucked her. In the morning she woke him with her mouth. It was the one thing he allowed her to do where she could take the initiative - and she took it. Boy did she ever.
It was a Thursday evening. Jane had just finished the dishes when Geoffrey said, " Come."
Jane followed him into the dungeon. It was both strange and familiar. She hadn't been in there for months, and even then it was as a spectator.
He removed her yellow cuffs, replaced them with the heavy, wide, black leather ones. He buckled the heavy collar around her neck. She still wore the chain with the little heart-shaped lock, had worn it now for over three months.
Jane had had an epiphany a couple of days ago. She had expected something more ceremonial when she gave herself to him, expected something, some thing to symbolize the relationship. Then she realized she had that thing. That when he had given her the chain, and she had accepted it, that was the moment she had given herself to him. No words had been spoken, but then again, none were necessary. Since that day she belonged to him, completely. It was why, in spite of her fears when he spoke of owning her, she had nodded. She knew deep in her heart that this is where she was meant to be.
Geoffrey added a set of ankle cuffs. He gagged her, a harness gag with a large, black ball.
He fastened her to the X-frame, adjusted the anchor points until she was stretched tight.
He flogged her. She recognized it. She was holding it that day when he caught her snooping in the dungeon.
As if reading her mind - "You seemed curious about this."
The weight it terrified her. Geoffrey tempered the blows, but, still, when the thing landed her whole body shook.
He flogged her - breasts, belly, and thighs. The first blows came as a shock, but then she got the measure of the thing, her brain switched gears, and she found herself anticipating each lash.
It hurt, yes, but not enough to make her scream, not even enough to raise a tear, well, maybe a couple. In spite of the gag, she could hear her grunting gasps echo in the room.
Geoffrey set the flogger aside and opened a draw. He came back with a violet wand, plugged it in. Jane tensed.
The touch, when it came, was all gentle and tingly. He worked the thing over her breasts, across her nipples, tickled her belly a bit. He rested it on her clit hood. Jane arched her back, grunted - a long throaty growl. He played the thing over her labia for a while. Jane squirmed and whimpered. Then he pulled back, made an adjustment. Jane's stomach knotted.
It felt like someone was snapping a rubber band at her breast. It was painful. Painful enough to make Jane squeal. Touch, touch, touch, snap, snap, snap. He worked his way over first one breast then the other. Jane gritted her teeth. Geoffrey was taking his time, but she knew it was coming. And when it did she shrieked. Snap! Her right nipple. And snap! Her left. He worked his way back and forth, a couple of touches here, a couple there. How could something wielded so delicately bring so much pain?
And then the snapping stopped. Jane opened her eyes.
No!
He was holding the wand an inch from her clit. Frantic, Jane panicked, wrenched at her bonds.
O God! God! Please no!
But God wasn't listening. The wand descended. Jane was already in pre-scream mode. And then there it was and - it tingled. Jane stared down at her mound, then up at Geoffrey.
What the ...
Jane lay panting trying to decide if she was relieved or disappointed, pissed.
Bastard!
He spread her lips, slid the wand between them. Jane thought he was trying to make her come and she tried to oblige him, but it was not to be. She just wanted it too badly.
He unplugged the thing and set it aside. He rolled the frame away from the wall and reached beneath it. Jane's world went horizontal.
She watched him step over to the table. When he turned he had a candle in his hand. Jane had seen the candles there when she came in, but it hadn't registered. She thought they were just for 'atmosphere'.
He lay his hand on her belly, dribbled a few drops on to it to get the measure of the heat. He removed his hand. He didn't drip it on her, he ran a thin stream up over her breasts and back to her belly. Jane twisted on the frame. It was like stepping into a really hot bath. You grit your teeth and just hang on. Her reaction was very much like an orgasm - a long grinding grunt and a gasp of release at the end. She had felt hotter wax, but the flogging had made her skin oh so sensitive.
He swapped candles and ran a bead over her breasts, finally splashing some on her nipples. Jane squealed. With a fresh candle or two he drizzled hot wax over her until her breasts were completely covered.
Another candle in hand Geoffrey turned his attention to Jane's crotch. He lay beads of wax around her bush, up and down her inner thighs, slowly working back and forth, edging closer and closer to her sex.
When he returned with yet another candle Jane knew she was in deep shit. And she was.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. OH FUCK!
The stream found her clit, ran down between her pussy lips. Geoffrey paused, then added a few more drops, paused again, more wax. Jane could feel each burning drop. It wasn't a searing pain, but it wasn't pleasant. Each drop brought a gasp and a lurch.
Oh please, stop! Oh please. Oh please. Sir? Master? Please!
And then she couldn't feel the wax any more. Somewhere in her brain she realized her lips must be completely covered, sealed in a layer of wax. The pain was replaced by a throbbing warmth. It would have been deliciously sexual if it hadn't been for the pain that came before.
He let her lay there for several minutes, then he peeled off the wax. She tensed when he went to work on her mound, but the wax came away from her nest pretty well. She had a feeling, though, that there was still more in there and was dreading the prospect of trying to remove it all. Maybe she'd just shave it. If Geoffrey's into the wax thing maybe she SHOULD shave it!
When he finished he released Jane from the X. Her knees were wobbly. He led her over to the columns. He fastened her wrists and ankle, spread wide. He removed the gag.
Geoffrey whipped her.
He lashed her back hard, then harder, searching for the upper level of Jane's tolerance. When he found it he backed off a bit - but just a bit.
Jane writhed, gasped, grunted, made noises that could only be called animal-like, even other-worldly. Gagged she had silently begged him to stop. Now she didn't dare.
But, eventually, the whipping did stop. Geoffrey appeared with a glass in his hand and sat on the couch. If Jane hadn't been hanging by her wrists, she'd be on the floor. She was gasping, her whole body trembled. She could feel the sweat running over her skin.
She flashed on the birthday party where the woman was between the columns, remembered how it reminded her of the Story of O, of O freshly whipped, hanging by her wrists, sweat drenched. And she remembered the vision she had - that it had been her, Jane, not O. And, now, here she was.
And then she remembered the cameras. She had watched him when he edited the birthday images. Would he let her see this tape? Did she even want to see herself reduced to - what? She didn't know.
He allowed her a bath. Not a shower, a real bath. He gave her some oil that he said would sooth her skin. She looked at herself in the mirror. God! She looked awful. She had second thoughts about those pics.
Her front was pink, not sunburn pink, but still pink. She hesitated to look at her back. Expecting blood, she found none. Welts, yes, but no blood. She filled the bath on the cool side of warm, added the oil and stepped it.
Later, by the fire, Jane knelt at his feet. Not kneeling really. She was mostly draped over his thigh (a rare indulgence) and he was stroking her hair.
"I've decided to keep you as a pet."
There was a long silence. Jane waited.
"You'll have different levels of freedom, similar to Cindy's public, slave, and service modes. Yours will be no leash, leash, and heel."
There was another pause.
"An example might be easier than trying to define them."
"You have a dog, she's a well-trained pet. You take her to the park. The edge of the park is mostly open space and you let her run free. She pretty much does what dogs do, but she never strays too far, always keeps an eye on her owner, comes when called."
"Further into the park there are people. People having a picnic, kids playing frisbee, that kind of thing. So you attach a leash. It's one of those extendable things that gives her a certain range of motion, but not much. She can still do dog things, within limitations."
"Then you come to the center of the park and there's a pond and a promenade. People are walking, pushing strollers, roller blading. Now you shorten the leash and your pet heels. Walks when you walk, sits when you stop."
"Does that make sense so far?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now we'll combine it with Cindy's modes."
"Short leash mode is like her service mode. It's the mode you've been in for the past couple of weeks. I think you've figured it out well enough, so no explanation is necessary."
"Okay. Yes, you're a pet, but this is real life. That whole slave kneeling at her master's feet gazing up at him adoringly gets old pretty fast. It's boring for the slave and tedious for the master to have to micromanage her. So you will have a slave mode. And, yes, I will call you slave. It's not a name, it's a description. You still have no name and never will."
"As Cindy explained, you'll be free to come and go as you please, do what you want - but only with permission. And that includes using the bathroom. In slave mode I don't expect you to ask for frivolous things, so I don't see me denying permission often. Got that?"
"Yes, Sir."
"The third mode, no leash mode, is like Cindy's public mode, or it could be called wife mode."
Wife?
"You can come and go as you please, do what you want. As long as you keep me apprised. If I expect you to be here and you have to go there, let me know. That's just being polite. Otherwise, if I don't need to know, I don't want to know."
He gave her a little smile.
"Of course, I always have veto power."
"Yes, Sir."
"Since you don't have a name, and I don't plan to give you a private, slave name, you'll spend your time in wife-mode unless I tell you otherwise. If I call you slave, you're in slave mode. If I snap my fingers and point at the floor, you're in heel mode. If I say 'All right, pet' then you're back in no-leash, wife mode."
"You're off the leash unless I want you leashed. If you're in any kind of bondage, even just wearing your yellow cuffs, you can assume leash mode. If we're in the dungeon or at a scene, leash mode. Okay?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Okay. Then, all right, pet, you are officially in no-leash mode. You don't have to call me Sir if you don't want to. If you want to, that's fine. But I'd rather keep the slave/Sir thing for the leashed modes. But it's your call."
Jane's head swam. Five minutes ago she was an object, something barely human. Now ...?
"Okay. As for practical matters. You're my property and as my property you can't have property of your own. All your stuff goes to Good Will tomorrow. You can keep a few mementos, but everything else goes. Yes, even your favorite jeans."
Jane smiled.
How the hell did he know that?
"Your accounts are frozen, but you'll have access to money. I have a spare bank card you can use. You have a $200, personal limit. If you want to buy something that costs more, you have to tell me. I keep track of things on-line, so I'll keep tabs on things, but that's just me."
"As for division of labor. There are things I like to do - cook for instance - and things I don't. You'll do the things I don't. It won't be 50/50, but it'll be close. Anita, the cleaning lady, comes in Wednesdays. She does a lot of stuff."
"Oh, sorry, should have covered this before. You're free to do whatever you want AFTER you've taken care of me. You'll find me a low-maintenance owner and I don't like being doted on. I think you know me well enough by now that that shouldn't be a problem."
"Yes, S - uh, okay."
"Good."
"Uh, I have a question?"
"Shoot."
"If I have no name, how do I deal with strangers?"
"I can't imagine a time when you'd need a name. Maybe someone will see the name on my card and call you Mrs., but unless you get stopped for speeding, uh uh. To my friends I will simply introduce you as my pet. To strangers, you just shake their hand, smile and say hello. That may get you strange looks, but I don't think they'll push it."
"Mm."
He took her to bed that night, didn't use her, just held her. She was glad because, while the oil helped, she still ached all over. She did slide under the covers the next morning, though.
Hello, Sir, it's your wakeup call.
"Hey there."
"Jane! What the fuck! Where are you?"
"With him."
"Him? Who?"
"You know who. Who else? We don't use names. Well, I don't have a name. He does, but I'm not allowed to use it."
"Geoffrey?'
"Yeah."
"You okay? I've been worried sick."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I belong to him now and he's been keeping me on a very short leash."
"You sound okay."
"Yeah. Things are good. I gave myself to him and he kept me in what you know as service mode for a couple of weeks, so I couldn't call. Then yesterday he rearranged things. I'm in what you call public mode pretty much all the time with a little bit of service mode thrown in. There's a slave mode but we haven't been there yet."
"Mm."
"How are you doing?"
The girls chatted for a bit then -
"About my stuff."
"You want me to send it?"
"Since he owns me, I can't own anything, so I have to get rid of it."
"You want me to dump it?'
"No! No, I get to keep some things, keepsakes, my good jewelry, and what not. I can walk you through it. Is now a good time?"
"Sure. Cindy's out house shopping. She decided she liked Florida. She's been living here, but she wants a real house. Hold on, just let me go into your room. Okay, shoot."
The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Geoffrey took her to the mall, led her into a store, called over a shopping assistant, and handed her the list they'd come up with. They did it in one lap. She'd choose an item, he would approve, and the assistant would cart it over to the service desk, and they'd check it off the list. Not the most fun way shop, but it was efficient. And it had the benefit of creating a wardrobe that actually looked like some thought had been put into it, unlike her own gypsy leanings. Ooh! Pretty! Want it! Still, he allowed her a bit of whimsy.
The place catered to an older crowd, not the blue-tint crowd, but not The Gap either. She decided she liked the look. It was classy, sophisticated. She knew she'd miss her old jeans, though. But jeans, even new ones, were out of the question. It was all skirts and dresses. The only exception was for her workout clothes. He allowed her a couple pair of shorts.
Underwear as limited, too. Practical stuff for her gym bag, a few pretty things for special 'dates', but otherwise she went commando.
Jane squealed, literally, when the total came up on the keypad. Took her two tries to enter the p.i.n. Yea gods and little fishies! She may be kept, but, damn, she was well kept.
"What color is your hair?"
"My natural color?"
"Well yeah. I'm looking at the unnatural color. Duh!"
Jane laughed. Geoffrey, when he wasn't in total Dom mode, had a killer sense of humor. He leaned more toward wit than slapstick. But he could turn to her and say something dead serious, straight to her face that would have her rolling on the floor - literally.
"Kind of brown."
"Kind of?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen it for a while."
"As long as you're coloring it, I'd prefer something in dark brown, maybe auburn. And shorter. Not real short, but not too far past your shoulders."
It was an order. He gave orders that sounded like suggestions, but she knew an order when she heard it.
So now Jane had short, dark hair and, speaking of hair, was bald down there. Well not bald, but she went to the spa (another, ahem, suggestion) and had them laser off her hair. From back beyond her anus up to her clit hood she was bald. They neatened up her bush a bit, did a bit on her inner thighs, kind of like a permanent bikini waxing.
And then came the body art.
She had ambivalent feelings about body art. Some of it looked kind of cute, but most looked down right horrible. What? Were they drunk? Yeah, probably.
He had asked her about it and she had said she always wanted a rose tattoo down on her belly, just above her bush. She had one now. A couple of inches long, kind of flatish s-shape, a yellow rose (yellow was his color, no surprise) complete with tiny thorns and the letter G tucked into one of the curves.
Her septum is pierced. Nothing says 'owned' like a nose ring. Although she doesn't wear the ring all the time, usually just to scenes. Mostly she wears a curved bar bell. When she's in public she just tucks the ends up into her nostrils. She has a cute little diamond (yes, diamond) dangle in her navel, and a triangle piercing, a ring. She doesn't remember getting them. The doctor gave her some happy juice. Who knew doctors did piercings? Well, Jane was glad. That triangle thing is supposed to be a real bitch.
"All right, pet."
Jane grinned and crawled into Geoffrey's lap.
"So have you picked a date."
"No, I prefer apples."
Jane stuck her tongue out.
"I thought we agreed to leave that up to you."
"I know, but I can't decide."
"Slave."
Jane lowered her eyes.
"Yes, Sir."
"I told you to pick the date."
"Yes, Sir."
"All right, pet."
"But I want it to be special for both of us."
He slipped a finger though the chain around Jane's neck, pulled her in for a kiss.
"Any day I take you as my wife will be special."
"Ooh, suave, sensitive, gallant even. Close, but no cigar. Seriously, it's important."
"March 12."
"Why March 12?"
"Jeez Louise. That's the day we met."
"Yeah, I know. I just wanted to see if you remembered."
"You know the dungeon is right over there."
"Ooh! Spank me, spank me!"
"No."
"Sadist."
She snuggled against him.
"I'll still be owned, right?"
"Yes."
He tugged at her collar.
"As long as you wear this, you're owned."
"Thank you, Sir."
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08.10.12
story continues in Jane's Story 7: Transition
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