by D. A. Maddox
“Stand her,” Tabitha said to her lackeys.
“What … what happens now?” Savannah asked, fighting down dizziness as they straightened her on her feet.
“Keep holding her,” said Tabitha. She was sweating.
“Tabitha, please, just talk to me. I won’t—”
“All yours, Ronnie. Bind her quick. This bitch is strong.”
Savannah hardly felt so, at the moment, and she didn’t take it as a compliment. Much as she kept trying, she simply could not move, not while being held at a stretch by four people at once. In any case, her breath left her for a few seconds when Veronica came to her—Veronica of the Tawse, the Lady of Pain, the Madwoman of The Select so far off the charts that her fellow caste members feared and hated her.
Veronica folded a manacle over her left wrist until it clicked.
“Good fit,” she said.
Tabitha let that arm go and ran a hand along it, giving it a squeeze. Was she trying to console her?
Veronica folded a manacle over her right wrist, and Brandy let her go. Her upper body was a perfect T with very little room to bend at the elbow joints. “How does that feel?” Veronica asked.
Savannah was scared. No, she was terrified. But in that moment, the stupidity of the question infuriated her. “Oh, I don’t know. Like a hundred-foot-tall gorilla’s gonna break in here any second and climb up the fucking clock tower with me. Asshole.”
The Ballroom erupted with laughter. Applause, too, some even from the Old Bones and Profs. But however emboldened Savannah might have felt getting those words out, the terror set right back in again, just as quick and twice as sharp as before.
Savannah, that was a bad move.
Veronica laughed with the rest of them. “Sorry, we don’t have one of those,” she said. “Pity.”
Then she slapped Savannah again. Without the benefit of the blindfold, this time Savannah got to see it coming. And she was already so overwrought, so close to what she was sure must be her limit, there was no withholding the tears that came with the sting—with the hopelessness of her whole situation.
“Talk to me like that again, slut, and I will flog your seeping twat ‘til it bleeds.”
Tabitha came around to her front, facing Veronica from her other side. “No—that’s something she definitely won’t do, Savannah. We’re not allowed to draw blood, and we’re not allowed to lie about what we’re not allowed to do.”
She had eyes only for Veronica as she said those words, her features cold and unintimidated.
Veronica said, “Spread her and lock her ankles, boys. I’m not getting on my knees in front of this slut—and not in front of this dry, frustrated fuck-hole who doesn’t know her place, either.”
Okay, this is awkward, Savannah thought. But not as awkward as when the “boys” followed the commands and forced her feet apart. Not as awkward as having her ankles locked in irons. Because whatever Tabitha thought she was doing, taking on Veronica like that—on stage, of all places—it wasn’t reassuring to Savannah in the least. She wasn’t that dumb. Tabitha had no intention of rescuing her. No one did.
No one who could, anyway.
Veronica smiled wide, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We’ll talk later,” she said sweetly. “How about you go away for now, Tabby, hm?”
Tabitha left. Brandy and Colt and Freddy left with her. And again, Savannah found herself alone with Veronica, even though the room was full.
Could be worse, she said to herself, as Veronica circled her, pausing behind her.
She could be in that harness thing that hung from the ceiling at deep center stage. In her mind she could still picture it, fluffy pink feathers over leather, fake black orchids suggesting false passion, or wicked passion—or both. Instead, she was just chained to the stupid totem poles.
Standing in a spread eagle, with every pair of eyes in the Student Union fixed on her.
From here, on the stage and under the spotlight, it was difficult to make out the audience as anything more than rows of seated black shadows. Beyond them, the standing black shadows of the pigs. Under the red glow of the “Exit” light, she could make out the open doors to the hall, even the faint hint of the outside through the window beyond—of streetlights that illuminated the Concrete Lawn.
Out there, kids were studying. Or sleeping. Watching TV.
Veronica ran her hands down Savannah’s sides. “No one’s going to hurt you yet,” she said. Her hands moved slowly, fingers digging just a little at the ribs. Her nails had been sharpened. “Not much, anyway. We still have to find out who your date is for the night, Savannah. Aren’t you curious?”
Give her nothing, Savannah thought. No lip, no reason to punish you. Nothing.
“Must I answer, Mistress Veronica?”
“I was wondering,” Veronica went on, tracing her nails down Savannah’s ass crack, “whether or not you were wet when they carried you up here?”
Savannah’s arms and legs jerked convulsively, uselessly. She couldn’t prevent the gasp when the fingers went inside her underwear from behind. Her breathing quickened. Past her asshole, Veronica’s fingers continued without penetrating, to the space between…
“What are—God, what are you … doing?”
“But you were doing so well, Savannah. Come now, address me properly.”
Savannah lowered her head, panting, felt the nails trace her underneath, pushing the back of her underwear down, finding the base of her slit up front. “What … are you doing … Mistress Veronica?”
“Checking,” Veronica answered, massaging her pussy with her edgy middle finger.
Helpless, Savannah oozed all over it for the long seconds Veronica was down there. “St-stop,” she said. “Mistress, please stop.”
Veronica withdrew. “Who said you could hide that pretty face?” she asked, taking her hair in a fist and jerking her head back.
Savannah cried out—and not only from the pain. The back of her neck was exposed.
Veronica could see the necklace.
“What’s this?” she asked, pinching the clasp between her thumb and forefinger.
Savannah screamed, “Don’t you touch that!”
For a moment—just that moment—she’d come completely unhinged. A button had been pushed somewhere so deep inside of her that Savannah hadn’t even known it was there. Had that demon’s shriek really come from her mouth?
Such a change it had wrought in her that she’d shocked the hell out of Veronica, as well—or so it seemed, because Veronica let go at once. She came back around to Savannah’s front.
Savannah’s head was up. She could feel her eyes bulging nearly out of her skull.
From the audience there arose a collective, disconcerted murmur. Suddenly, they weren’t enjoying themselves. It was as though Savannah had hit the pause button on a video game they wanted to keep playing.
“Explain,” Veronica said. “And make it good, Savannah, because you weren’t allowed to wear that here.”
“My mother gave it to me,” Savannah said. “Keep your hands off it.”
“Your mother,” Veronica said, as if those two words formed a complete sentence. She put her still-glistening middle finger to her lips as though in deep contemplation, searching her mental hard drive for details. Her eyes lit, then darkened. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Make fun of me all you want,” Savannah said, lips trembling, unable to wipe the fresh tears from her cheek. “I don’t take that off.” Why did she have to go through this in front of an audience?
Because you were dumb enough to bring it. Stupid, stupid.
But Veronica stroked the tears away herself. She used her middle finger to do it, first one cheek, then the other, until Savannah’s face was clean of tears and Veronica’s fingers clean of Savannah. “I’m not going to make fun of you,” she said. “Not for that. You know, slut, I’m not all bad. If I lost my mother, I don’t know if I could take it.”
Savannah pressed her lips shut. Veronica was go
ing to need to save face. Savannah had yelled at her. There was no way that was going to be forgotten or forgiven. Her pendant was not safe.
Best to stay quiet.
Veronica turned to the crowd of shadows. She addressed the front two rows. “I’m glad this happened,” she said. “I want you to see this. Look upon this Skull you have entrusted with The Select. Witness my mercy—and judgment.”
Then she whirled back to Savannah and placed her hand flat between her breasts, just under the pendant.
“Don’t take it,” Savannah said, lips trembling again.
Veronica folded her other hand on the back of Savannah’s neck, just over the clasp. “You should have told someone,” she said, head lowered, eyes upturned. “If you agree, say ‘Yes, Mistress Veronica’. If you disagree, say ‘Yes, Mistress Veronica’.”
“Yes, Mistress Veronica. Don’t take it.”
“The Savannah slut does not give orders here. She is not in charge. Mistress Veronica is. The Savannah slut needs to remember where she is and what she is doing. Tell Mistress Veronica that the Savannah slut understands, that she remembers.”
She didn’t waste any time. “I—”
“Not ‘I’,” Veronica warned her. “Not now. Say what I told you to say.”
Savannah drew in breath and made herself say, “The Savannah slut remembers where she is, now, Mistress Veronica. She understands what she is doing. The Savannah slut lost herself,”—her breath hitched—“because she was afraid Mistress Veronica would … take her pendant.”
Stop crying, Savannah! her brain screamed at her, utterly furious. Come on! Get a grip!
“This is a very big favor the Savannah slut is asking of Mistress,” Veronica said, running a thumb along the underside of her breast. “Ask me nicely.”
“Please, Mistress Veronica, let me keep the pendant.”
“Nicer.”
“Mistress Veronica, please let your Savannah slut keep her pendant. Pr-pretty please?”
“Beg me, bitch.”
Sobbing: “Your Savannah slut … begs her Mistress … oh, please, Mistress … please don’t … please, don’t take my mother away from—!”
She caught herself on the last words and stopped. By then she was a blubbering wreck, waiting only for the chain around her neck to be snapped, for her mother’s gift to be wrenched from her without mercy.
“Fine,” Veronica said.
Savannah heaved for air. “Thank you, Mis—”
“But you listen to me,” Veronica cut her off, circling her again, stopping at her back again. “You’re going to stay in play, Savannah. One more disrespectful word—one more wrinkle of attitude in that sweet, innocent face of yours … no matter what happens, no matter what I do, no matter to whom I do it, you will remember what you suffer for. Because if you fuck this up one more time, you’ll dig that pendant out of a man’s ass with your tongue. There will be no shortage of volunteers, I promise you.”
Savannah could only gawk at her, dumbstruck, until Veronica asked her another direct question.
“Do you believe me, Savannah slut?”
Vigorously, she nodded. “Yes, Mistress Veronica.”
“Good,” she said. “Now you can thank me.”
“Thank you, Mistress Veronica.”
****
Scott opened his eyes. He knew all along that yelling, or rushing the stage, would only make things worse. For long minutes, he had waited for someone in authority to intervene and put an end to it. When that didn’t work, he’d prayed.
Don’t do this to her, God. She’s as strong as anyone I know, but she keeps a lot of her strength in that necklace, I think. Please don’t take it from her.
Over and over, using various different phrasings, offering up the occasional apology for skipping so much church once college had started, he’d repeated that prayer. And, for now at least, it seemed to have worked.
Thank you, God.
****
Click.
When the clapping died down, it was the first thing Veronica heard. About time, she thought, rising from the bow she had taken, receiving the adoration of—oh, about half of the crowd out there, she guessed, with supreme aplomb. You almost missed the critical moment.
Click.
She then, passing Savannah, went to the A-frame assigned to the female lottery winner. Ignoring the toys and the tools, she got a fistful of tissue and a bottle of room temperature water. “You’re a bit of a mess, slut,” she said, returning to her, wiping her face again. “Pull it together. This shit’s just getting started. Have a drink and look pretty. I think you know our late arrival.”
Click.
****
“Thank you, Mistress Veronica,” Savannah said.
She was calm now, minus some residual shaking, and back in the game. It would take a lot of effort, in future, not to hate Veronica Cruz for the ordeal she had put Savannah through already, but that was tomorrow’s concern. For now, she could refocus on the original night’s goal—seeing this “chance” of hers through, making it to the end.
Click.
But Veronica’s words suddenly registered, and that small sound—echoing like damnation in the collective quietude—suggested a possibility that didn’t bear contemplation.
Click.
It came from outside the Ballroom, from out in the hall. It drew closer, got louder. It was accompanied by footsteps.
All this time, Savannah had feared that the final seat would be filled by Doctor Kubilus—and it would have amounted to the single greatest humiliation of her life, had that nightmare come true. It might have been damaging to her future. Savannah supposed it should come as some consolation to have that shroud of fear lifted from her.
Click.
But this was almost as bad. As Veronica took Savannah’s hair back into a tail again, fixing it tightly to the two ends of the ropes that dangled from the tops of the totem poles, making it impossible to lower her face and hide from him, she knew who had come late to the party.
His shadow stepped into the frame of the double doors. A man with a cane, who preferred open-collared shirts to suits and ties in his old age. A kindly, classic gentleman with a white beard who championed the four years of transition—or had certainly seemed to, teaching Savannah’s class on its particulars.
“Oh, no,” Savannah moaned.
“Professor Shusterman,” Veronica greeted him from across the Ballroom, “how good of you to come.”
“I do apologize for my tardiness,” he said to a low rumble of laughter. He was campus-famous for showing up to his own lectures five to ten minutes late on a fairly regular basis. “But it seems I’m right on time for the important matters—oh, look. Is it dear Miss Miles on the proverbial hot spot this evening? But I see that it is. My—and aren’t you the very vision of loveliness?”
Had it been simply too much to hope that none of her teachers would be here tonight? Wasn’t it bad enough to have won the stupid lottery without being put through this? How would she be able to show her face in his class again?
“Oh, poor thing’s blushing,” he said, shaking his head ruefully, as though trying to project reassurance. Slowly, taking his time, he cane-clicked his way through the rows of neutrals to the seat waiting for him up front. “Don’t you even mind little old me, Miss Miles. Seen it all a hundred times over—and rarely has the lottery produced such a fine first fetching as yourself.”
Go away, she thought—but she dared not speak. Veronica’s promise and threat remained uppermost in her mind. This was just a part of it. Melody had gotten through … well, something similar with one of her teachers.
But that was a younger teacher. A female teacher. And I’m not a sub.
Then why are you getting hot and bothered again?
The house lights came up half a notch, and now she could make out the faces of everyone in the audience. They were riveted, expectant—all but Scott’s. He was looking, too, but in that look there was only compassion, and a worry bordering on a
nguish that was almost comforting, in a weird way.
Almost, but not quite.
She struggled against the manacles at her wrists and ankles, a shame reflex that defied her common sense.
Professor Shusterman sat down. “Please,” he called up to Veronica, pale eyes glittering, “wait no further on my account. You can see the poor girl’s simply dying with anticipation. Remove her clothing.”
Veronica patted the back of Savanah’s head over the twin knots that secured her by the hair, and returned to the microphone. “All right,” she breathed into it, rattling the room with her sultriest affectation, “Who wants to see this bashful bitch naked?”
Savannah thought of the pool, of her mother helping her get used to the ways of the East Coast after spending her first ten years in the far more restrictive state of Utah. How her mother had promised her it would all be okay, there were only friends out there, waiting for her…
The crowd did not cheer, or shout, or do anything rude—but almost everyone raised their hands. Their faces were friendly, in a way, or at least complimentary in their silent enthusiasm. Or that’s what she made herself see, instead of the wanton lust for her public debasement that no doubt lurked behind their kind expressions.
Scott averted his gaze to the floor. She knew why. She appreciated it. But a small part of her felt a pang of abandonment when he looked away.
Half of the other pigs had their hands up—and literally everyone else in the room.
Veronica then said, “Now, leave your hand up if you’d like to undress her yourself.”
The Old Bones and Profs put their hands down, and that was something. A fair number of Neutrals declined, most notably the ones who obviously had their own girlfriends or boyfriends. The Doms—apart from Malcolm and Tabitha, oddly enough—were all game enough to strip her, though, and Freddy was pumping his hand up and down in a pronounced effort to get Veronica’s attention.
Not mine, Savannah thought. I’m not even a part of this decision.
“What’s this?” Veronica asked into the microphone. “We have a pig-slut volunteer?”
