Occasionally, she’d play old tapes for me…old scratchy tapes recorded years ago on recorders of low quality, when she’d been on the road as part of a band that toured the “chitlin’ circuit,” going from town to town playing one-night stands in townhalls or speakeasies, making just enough money to keep food in their mouths and shoes on their feet. The sounds from those tapes filled me with wonder. There was exquisite joy in the dances and such misery in the blues. I could almost see the laughter and tears they’d felt as they played. I’d never in my life thought I’d be so totally immersed in the music.
In those days she’d managed to keep her sanity from the racism that flowed through the country, both north and south, and avoided the drugs that flowed in the back rooms, in alleys, and on buses. It had been a hard time for musicians like her. Her eyes bored into me one day, and she warned me to stay away from drugs.
I knew my eyes betrayed me.
“Have you tried drugs?” she asked.
“In college. But nothing hard. Just pot.”
“Stay away from that, too. It’s sneaky. It’ll catch you just as hard as the others, and you’ll never know it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And there were times she introduced me to recordings of other jazz musicians, some of whom were her friends. I grew to know the music of Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, Marian McPartland, and many others. My musical education was growing.
And my sexual life was changing. It was as if my whole world had been turned inside out. Things I’d thought I’d never do were now things I longed for. There were days that my back was so sore I couldn’t sit against the couch. I couldn’t sleep on my stomach because my breasts hurt so much. And I was in heaven. Anything Helen wanted to do, I’d gladly accept.
I had really fallen hard. My whole being was wrapped in her. I knew she loved me, even though she never said it. I saw it in her eyes and felt it in her touch. She brought me little presents, a teddy bear that had a leather collar or a keychain with a black leather buckle that snapped over my belt; small things, but things that said she’d been thinking of me.
We spent our evenings either listening to music or watching TV or in hot sessions upstairs. I was learning to make my mistress happy and more than not, our sessions ended with, “You please me, boy.”
My pain tolerance had soared higher than I ever thought it would. I welcomed the feelings. Usually, I wanted more. My mind didn’t flinch from new sensations. And there were some I even dreamed of, some I asked for, others I could only hope were on Helen’s list. She never repeated anything, always adding some new twist that would startle me, make me stop in fear. I never knew what to expect. And that was what excited me most. I was in love with the challenge, pushing myself past new limits.
Not all the sessions were filled with pain. Some were on how to stand, where to sit, how to serve Helen and her guests, what was expected of me in every situation within this new community, anything that would bring honor to my mistress.
Other sessions were filled with a type of psychological fear that was like living in a horror movie, the kind where I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen even though my heart was running at a thousand beats a minute. Helen knew where all my buttons were and what type of threat would make me sweat. Yet I always ended up wanting to scream, “Scare me again! Scare me again!” And so Helen played with my fears, making me go down into the bug-filled storage rooms in the basement to look for something or blindfolding me during a scene and making me think there were spiders walking over me. She played with knives until my curiosity overcame my fear, and I begged her to shave the wax off me with a straight razor. The look on her face as she scraped the wax made it all worthwhile, even though I almost passed out from holding my breath.
The days Helen was away on tour stretched so very long. I’d work on her music; I’d work on mine. I’d listen to the radio or read. I’d wander around the neighborhood. And I’d sleep. Hours seemed to creep by. I did everything I could think of to fill up the time, waiting to see her taxi pull up out front and get the call from the doorman. And once Helen was home, there were wonderful nights upstairs.
One night, I stood, legs spread, hands on the horse, leaning forward and trying not to fall as Helen’s flogger splayed its tails across my back. Flogging had become a favorite warm-up for both of us, usually leading to stronger things. Once warmed, I was ready for anything, and Helen was usually more than willing to take whatever she wanted from me. I gave it all without hesitation.
This time, I fell into the cadence of Helen’s strokes, lulled by the rhythm. I almost didn’t feel the fall of the leather against my skin. The pulse of the flogger spoke to something deeper inside me. Suddenly, I started to giggle.
Helen’s strokes stopped. “You find this funny?”
“No, ma’am,” I answered, trying to stifle my laughter but not doing a very good job of it. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s going through that crazed mind of yours?”
“You skipped a measure,” I answered, not doing well at stopping the laughter that seemed to ooze out of my every pore.
“I…skipped a measure? Of what?”
“Miles Davis. It felt like you were playing one of his songs.” There was silence, and I grew afraid that I’d said just the wrong thing.
Helen burst into laughter. With relief, I joined her, and for a few minutes, we were both overwhelmed. Helen’s dissolved into the deep coughing that I’d heard quite a bit lately. I felt her step away and heard her sipping the glass of water that was always within reach.
“Davis…” she whispered, stepping back to me. “Just wait till I play some Coltrane on you.” And with that, she started flogging me harder and faster, the thuds becoming stings. The strikes became overwhelmingly swift. One upon another upon another until there was no division between them.
I was sinking into that space far outside of consciousness, soaring into that nothing zone, not even aware of Helen or the room or if I was standing or sitting or floating. Time and space ceased to exist.
Then I was in Helen’s arms. She held me tightly to her soft breasts. I sank against her, letting my head fall against her shoulder. How long she’d held me, I couldn’t begin to measure. When I was able to stand, she moved away with the warning, “Don’t move. I’ve got something for you.”
I waited as I heard her searching the armoire. As I felt something around my waist, I looked down. She was fitting a dildo harness around me, a hard-on bigger than I’d ever imagined.
“Uh…”
“Be my big boy tonight,” she whispered. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” One hand on my ass, she stroked the dildo sensuously with her other. “Such a good strong dick,” she said, moving the shaft so that the base rubbed my clit. “You know how to use it, don’t you? It’s time my little boy grew up and learned to please his ma’am.”
I waited as she caressed my ass and the dick. At first, I didn’t know what to do. The hard shaft extending from my crotch looked so foreign. But as Helen continued, I felt the movement of her hand through its length as if it really was me. As I closed my eyes, I felt it becoming a part of me. I wanted to be her boy more than anything else.
“Come on, my Little Butch.” Her voice was soft and smoky, deep with passion. Still wrapped in her arms, I went to the padded bench, which had been spread with a thick quilt. I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming; my mind was still somewhere in outer space. She laid me down on the bench and reached to kick off her shoes and remove her panties. She left on her skirt and the sleeveless shell that covered her wonderful breasts.
I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t form the words. I knew this was something wondrous. I wanted to make Helen happy no matter what it took, no matter how long. Was I really going to make love to Helen Robins? Or was I hallucinating something from my zone state? It seemed so unbelievable, as if I’d suddenly walked into another dimension. Would I wake up under the bench?
Helen stretched her bo
dy along mine. She caressed my breasts, down my stomach, and onto the staff above my mound. I moaned as her teeth sank into my neck. Not knowing what I was doing, I reached for her, grasping her shoulder. Her soft skin against my fingers felt hot and moist with perspiration.
She whispered as she moved over me. “Service me well.”
She lowered onto the shaft, steadying herself with her hands on my shoulders. Slowly, she eased up and then back down. As she moved above me, the base of the shaft beat against my clit, and soon, I was pushing up into her, both of us in rhythm, our breathing becoming ragged. Helen flew harder and faster. I worked to keep up, marveling at her passion and stamina. She pumped up and down as I thrust into her until we were both writhing harder and harder. I heard her moans but was too engulfed in all the sensations. I couldn’t control it anymore. I moaned loudly as I came, my body driving into her.
Her breath stopped as her body stiffened. I felt her wetness oozing over me and her body grinding down onto me.
“Oh, my boy, so good. So very good,” she said as she lowered herself onto the bench and pulled me on top of her. As she stroked my face, she whispered, “You do please me so very much, Little Butch, you really do.”
I leaned into her, holding her close. Those were the words I wanted to hear. Yes, that was my mission in life.
The next morning, I awoke under the bench, a place which had become as comforting as the bed downstairs. I folded the quilt and the harness and started to clean the dildo. I still felt Helen’s warmth and power radiating from it. I brought it close to my nose, smelling her sweetness. Closing my eyes, I brought it to my tongue and tasted her. Last night roared through my mind again, and weakness attacked my legs, making it difficult to keep my balance. The taste of the stiff shaft was Helen. It was wonderful.
I laughed. The absurdness of what I was doing raced through my mind. Was I really standing here getting high sucking my own dick? Was that as outrageous as it seemed at that moment? What was happening to me?
I cleaned and oiled the harness and dildo, a smile on my face. Life was very good.
* * *
As I sat at the piano, I couldn’t help but stare while she sat at her desk, editing my work or rewriting her own. Her beauty glowed. I could see what most people never saw. There were days when she looked older, when gray hair peeked through, and the lines hadn’t been hidden by creams and makeup. But the beauty in her heart radiated through her smile and her eyes. When she read something she liked, joy lit up her face brighter than any light bulb. Those were the moments I lived for.
There were mornings when she sat and coughed a smoky hack which she drowned with glass after glass of carrot and celery juice. Yet she still lit up inch after inch of Shermans. She’d leave them to burn out in the glass ashtray, relighting them when she rose out of her concentration. There were times when she played piano with a cigarette wedged between the middle and ring fingers of her left hand. I laughed because she seemed to forget it was there, playing long after it burned out. I’d collect half cigarettes from every ashtray in the apartment, some only lit and left.
We joked about it from time to time, but I’d learned not to push her about anything. She did what pleased her. The blasted carrot juice, which I’d grown to hate the taste of, was open for teasing as long as she was in the mood. When she was tired, I held my tongue, trying to not be Mickey Mouth. I’d learned when and if I could joke around.
But when I watched her play, everything seemed to melt away. She glowed, and the years faded from her face. Her smile became animated, and her eyes were like a child’s. Her sound kept getting brighter and brighter; the speed of her fingers, faster and faster. But then, it may have just been me.
I fell deeper in love with her. I lived from one night to the next, waiting for the touch upon my neck or the whip upon my back. I wanted to hear “8:13” or “7:53,” hoping it would lead to, “You please me, boy.” She’d been prophetic when she’d said, “You will feel pain because it pleases me to give you pain. And you will be grateful that I have allowed you to please me.” I craved her pain, and I was so very grateful that I belonged to her, that she allowed me into her life. Boston, the Arts Center, Andrew, and Ann faded into a past when I didn’t belong to Helen.
Chapter Thirteen
One afternoon, I came downstairs from cleaning the dungeon to find a man sitting and talking to Helen. He was a large white man, not fat, with a well-trimmed beard. He wore black jeans and a starched shirt with a beautiful black leather vest. He emanated an aura of power I’d never experienced. Helen seemed in awe of him, acting with a deference I’d never seen before. He sat in her black leather chair while she sat on the couch. I’d never known her to do that. I’d never seen anyone sit in that chair but Helen. It seemed forbidden.
“Is that him?” he asked in a bass voice.
I didn’t hear Helen’s answer or the conversation that followed, but soon Helen called me from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am?” I was unsure how to act. Was this a casual friend or someone from the lifestyle? Helen never called me boy in front of anyone. She snapped and pointed to the floor the same way she did in the dungeon when she wanted me to kneel. I sank to my knees, hands clasped behind my back, not knowing where to look. I chose the floor just to be safe. There was silence as I stared at Helen’s shoes.
“He seems very trainable,” the man said.
“He’s been very good for me.”
The man stood and paced the way Helen did in the dungeon. “Yes, I think I could work with this one.”
My stomach rolled. Was Helen trading me? I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, but she was watching him.
“Thank you, Master Lawrence,” Helen said as she stood. “I’ll have him to you next Wednesday.”
“I have to go now, but stay in touch so we can finalize the details,” he said. Helen moved to give him a hug. “And you be good for your mistress, boy.” He patted my head and left.
I looked up, panicked.
“Don’t be so scared, Little Butch,” she said as she sank onto the black chair. “That was Lawrence, one of the masters in the lifestyle.”
“Are you trading me?” I couldn’t keep my fear from rushing out.
She smiled as she reached for a cigarette. I dove for the lighter and held it for her. She leaned back in her chair and let out a cloud of smoke. “No, boy. I’d never trade you unless you requested it.” Her eyes were warm and loving. “But there are some things you need to know that I can’t teach you. When I’m away on tour next week, you’ll go and live with Lawrence and his family and learn some of the protocols of this life.”
“I’ll go live with him?” I asked, still fearful and sinking to the floor, sitting cross-legged.
“Just while I’m away. But it’s time you earned your leathers. You should have more than that collar, but I’m not sure when to give it to you. Lawrence will decide if you learn your lessons well.”
“Will he…” How do I ask this? “Will I have to let him…”
Helen laughed. “Only if you’re a very good boy!” She chuckled. “No, Master Lawrence—and you will call him master or sir—and his top boy will teach you how to serve better and tell you more about the lifestyle.” She ran her hand down my face. “I’m still your mistress, the one who’s in control. You’ll just observe and learn from him.”
“But…will I have to be naked?” I felt all right with that with Helen, even in front of Neisy, but with others, strangers, around?
“Yes, while you’re in training. But all the others will be, too.”
“Others?”
Helen chuckled. “Yes,” she said, running her hand along my cheek. “Master Lawrence has several slaves in his family, just like when Neisy was here. There’s a pecking order within each family. Just like Neisy was my first, although you were first boy. You will learn the etiquette for dealing with each one.”
I must have still had a panicked look on my face.
“There’s so much to l
earn,” she continued. “And if you want to continue, maybe even have your own submissive someday, you have to know the rules. You’ve been very good for me, but if we were to go out into the leather community, there are things that would be expected of you. I want you to know it all. Does that scare you?”
I took a deep breath. “Will I be there long?”
“No, but I’ll be away on tour, a week or so at a time, for the next few months. You’ll be with Lawrence whenever I’m away. Are you okay with that?”
“If it’s what you want, and you think I need it,” was my answer as I swallowed to relieve the dry feeling in my mouth.
“Just think of this as going to grad school.” Helen smiled. “And this will be the classical course. I know how much you like the classics!”
* * *
When Helen left to play her concerts and club dates, I went to stay in the Village with Master Lawrence and his family. Besides Robert, who was First Boy, the most important of Master Lawrence’s submissives, there were two other boys and two girls.
When I arrived, a young woman opened the door and introduced herself as Julie. As she closed the door behind me, she took off her simple cotton robe and hung it on the hook beside the door so she was naked. “You have to take off your clothes,” she said “Master doesn’t allow any in the house.”
I sighed loudly. “What if someone comes to the door?”
“That’s what this robe is for. If you’re allowed to answer the door, you’ll put this on. You get used to it. Everyone here’s naked except Master and Robert.” She smiled. “I hear you’re owned by Mistress Helen.”
Owned? Yes, I guess I was. I knew she owned my heart and the rest of me by extension. “Yes,” I said as I pulled my shirt up over my head. “Do you know her?”
“I’ve seen her,” she said as she helped me fold my clothes. “But I haven’t been allowed to talk with her. I’ve only been here five months.”
In Helen’s Hands Page 11
