Owned and Owner

by Anneke Jacob

  Disaster

  I had been a slave for a long time, half a Raniz year, perhaps. I was feeling more secure and safe, even protected, certainly cared for. I missed my master when he went away, sometimes for days, missed him so much it made my belly ache, but he always came back. And when he did he used and punished me, let me pleasure him and allowed me to lie at his feet.

  Pav and Arleben took care of me, but my master seemed galaxies bigger. When he was in the room he took up all the space: his size, his hands, his eyes, his cock, all of him. And his will, especially his will, which had such a presence in that house that I could feel it pinning me down, even when he wasn’t there. I was unequivocally his belonging. Every touch or blow from his hands was an acknowledgement of my existence. His seed in my mouth felt like grace.

  But then he wasn’t there for longer periods than usual. And when he was there, he didn’t want me. He was in meetings, or alone in his office. Strangers came through the house to see him, and he didn’t show me to them. He hardly glanced at me on my mat by the wall, when he strode through the kitchen looking for his staff. I didn’t even get to kiss his feet at night before they chained me up in my cupboard under the stairs, much less worship his cock. Although I continued to live in my chastity belt, there were no dildos, no nipple clips, no tortures or torments. I felt I was dying for a touch. I was adrift, no point to me. Only my chain anchored me, leashing me to the wall, day after day. That felt real.

  At first Pav was sympathetic when he saw me despondent, and gave me extra pats and soothing words. But then he and Arleben got busy also. A lot of the activity was centered on the house, and they both began to have a lot to do. Arleben spent hours on the com screen and seemed to be dealing with massive lists. Pav cooked and fixed and rarely sat down. They barely had time to clean or exercise me, and I puddled on the floor more than once because Pav forgot to walk me. I began crying myself to sleep.

  The activity reached a crescendo one beautiful day, when the sun shone warm instead of hot, and streamed through the windows with a cheerful look that didn’t reach me. By that time there were several important looking men staying in the house, being catered to by Pav, Arleben and some additional staff. Everyone looked dressed up. In the middle of the morning Pav, looking a little harried, hauled me out of my listless position on the mat and walked me in the garden, jerking my short leash to hurry me. As we returned to the house, one of the new staff put their head out the kitchen door and spoke in urgent tones. Pav handed my leash to him and ran for the oven, unmistakably cursing as he wrenched it open in a cloud of smoke. The new man pushed me over to my mat, hurriedly unclipped the leash, and hooked the wall chain onto my collar. He ran to help Pav, and others joined in.

  It wasn’t until half an hour later, after all the excitement was over, that I felt my collar and noticed he had neglected to snap the lock shut.

  My world turned over.

  As if at a great distance I heard the constant arrivals and noise. A luncheon meeting got underway without further mishap, tray after tray of food traveling out of the kitchen. The clink of cutlery and the murmur of deep voices dominated the house, rising and falling, my master’s voice clearly discernable. I felt a pang knife through my fog every time I heard him. I felt abandoned. No matter how abject I was, there was meaning to my existence when he made use of me. I had given away every particle of autonomy, every atom of freedom, to belong to him. He had to replace that with his attention, to shape me with his hands and blows, or I was nothing.

  And now I wasn’t even locked up properly. No one cared enough to make sure I was safe. I began crying again out of self-pity. No restraints but my collar, chastity belt, and the usual cuffs on my wrists and ankles, useless, not even attached to anything. If they had even bothered to put on my mitts, the unlocked chain would probably have held me.

  I had freedom. I hadn’t had any in half a year. I could get up and move around on my own, if I was careful. If I was sneaky about it. Would I? Did I want to? What could I do? I began in a bitter way to get excited at the prospect.

  A moment later a wave of panic swept over me and I cowered. I clenched my hands between my knees to keep them away from my collar. What was I thinking of? I’d be terribly punished. Arleben would be outraged, and even Pav would be horrified. My master would… my master would… what would he do? He would do something. He would have to.

  That decided me there and then. But…

  But uncharacteristically, I hesitated. I knew it was wrong to take advantage of their mistake. They were busy; they forgot to check on me. I could tell there were a lot of important people in the house – to make a scene now would be awful – couldn’t I be responsible about this? I shut my eyes tight and clenched my fists.

  Uh-uh. No. I couldn’t.

  These restraints were not intended to teach me responsibility. They were meant – among other things – to control my impulses. And they weren’t doing their job. How dared they leave me free?

  It was time for me to cause some trouble.

  Everyone was out of the kitchen serving dessert when I slipped the chain off my collar, laid it down gently, and got to my feet. I sidled carefully out a side door into the back hall, away from all the fuss. I felt oddly clumsy and had to make a conscious effort to direct my limbs, so unused to doing anything on my own initiative. I didn’t know how long it would take before they would notice I was missing. It might be a very short time. Or it might be quite a while, if everyone assumed that someone else had taken me somewhere. I felt I had to work fast, in any case. The passage had a couple of doors on each side, which turned out to be uninviting – storage cupboards, which were nothing but dead ends. The open door at the end turned out to lead down to the basement, however, which was far more interesting.

  First there was a workshop. There was plenty to spill in there; rivets, magnetic fasteners, vats of liquid stoneform. The tubes of fixative were good for decorating the walls. The ball bearings made a beautiful mess all over the floor. I considered the paint, but decided that the fumes would hit the ventilators and call attention to me too soon. I tiptoed as best I could around the ball bearings, picked a few out from between my toes, and slipped into the next room, which turned out to contain laundry equipment and piles of clothes. I was just considering whether I should go back for the liquid stoneform, or look for something new, when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Diving behind a machine I huddled in a dark corner, biting my knuckles and trying not to whimper with fear. The monumental stupidity of what I was doing hit me, and it began to feel like I was in some kind of a nightmare. How could this be happening?

  Maybe I could sneak back upstairs and lock the chain myself – a perfect alibi. Yes, that’s what I would do, if only no one found me…

  Whoever it was went into the room opposite the laundry. I heard the clinking of bottles, and then the footsteps moving smartly back up the stairs. Without further thought I jumped out from my hiding place and ran into the room opposite. A wine cellar. Perfect. I grabbed two bottles that were off by themselves and took them across to the laundry room. Opening them took some nerve, as in the end all I could do was break the necks. I muffled the noise as best I could with laundry, and ended up wielding both sharp glass and red wine on the clothes.

  Looking back from the laundry room door, I felt satisfied with my accomplishments so far. Still no outcry from upstairs. Of course, they would probably search for me quietly so as not to disturb the guests. I looked around for more opportunities for mischief. There was an area near the front of the basement with transformers and ceramic conduits. I didn’t recognize most of it, and I was afraid to touch it. But there was a screen with characters moving across it. I couldn’t read them, but I began tentatively to tap at the keyboard. Suddenly the display went black. I waited, breathless, for any reaction, an alarm, anything. Something in the house felt different, but I couldn’t identify what. Had the voices stopped?

  There were a few switches near me, and suddenly reckless (
in contrast to the wonderful judgment I’d shown so far), I pushed them all over. All hell broke loose. Alarms started beeping, voices were raised in consternation above my head, footsteps started moving rapidly. There was nowhere to hide where I was. I ran to a side passage I hadn’t explored, and found it led up some steps to a door into the garden. I struggled frantically with the stiff locks, made for someone much bigger and stronger than myself.

  At last I pried the door open and slid through it, then sidled along the wall close to the house. It was very odd being outside without a leash, even odder than it had been in the house. I wanted to cry. I wanted my master. I wanted to run. I wanted to be punished. I wanted to throw myself at his feet and let them fasten me so tightly I couldn’t move. But I was still free, and part of me was still looking for trouble. I was just kneeling down and examining at the plants to see if there was anything I could pull up, when I heard voices right in front of me. A couple of men were strolling out into the garden. They were familiar – friends of my master. I had miscalculated; I was too near the meeting room, which had a door to the outside. In the moment before they saw me I sensed their enjoyment of the chance to take a break; evidently I hadn’t spoiled everyone’s day.

  They looked at me, kneeling among the greenery and glanced meaningfully at each other. Then they both made pet-soothing noises and started to close in, one from either side. I tried to slide out between them, but one caught and held my upper arm in an inescapable grip. A finger hooked through the ring in my collar and stayed there. They stroked my hair and talked me over for a minute or two, their big bodies hiding me from the increasing numbers of men out enjoying the sunshine. Then they called to one of the staff crossing the lawn with drinks, and sent him into the house. He came back with Arleben, who blanched at the sight of me and immediately hustled me into the house through the basement door. There were ball bearings in the hall outside the workroom; his eyes followed a trail of them and he gasped. He grabbed me around the ribs, jerked me off my feet and carted me up the stairs under one arm, my legs dangling behind. Within moments I had at least one of my wishes: he rapidly used heavy straps to immobilize me, then gagged and bridled me and pushed me into my kennel under the stairs, hooking the straps on my feet and head to ringbolts in the wall so I couldn’t move at all. I had never seen him look like that, and I closed my eyes against his anger. If he looked that way, what would my master’s reaction be? What had I done?

  Still, for all my terror and guilt, I sighed with relief. I was safe again.

  ‘You did what?!’

  ‘I got the pastry out of the oven; it was burning.’

  ‘And what did you do with the woman?’

  ‘I don’t remember, I’m sorry. It was chaos in there. I think I handed her leash to Yrin, that dark-haired one. He would have locked her up, he’s seen me do it.’

  ‘Pav…’ Garid raised his hands in exasperation. Pav looked at him, upset and feeling guilty. Arleben was almost as distressed.

  ‘I know,’ said Pav. ‘I know. I’m so sorry, sir. I meant to put her in her kennel during the meeting. In all the rush I completely forgot. She’s always been so docile, I never expected her to behave this way. She’s never done it before.’

  ‘She’s never been left to roam free around the house and garden before.’

  Pav winced. He thought reluctantly about what Arleben had said, and about the slave’s teasing propensities when he let her out on the cable for a run, the way she pushed any freedom to the limit. He had been spoiling her.

  ‘We were lucky this time,’ said Garid. ‘She was found quickly. Nothing important was damaged, and the meeting went better for the break. But do you realize how close I came to losing all my credibility with that crowd? My whole presentation was based on my ability to control the variables on the project. If they realized that my house was in chaos because I couldn’t control my own pet woman… Incredibly lucky it was a couple of friends who found her, and they kept their heads.’ Garid rubbed his weary face. ‘A pervert in control is one thing. A pervert made ridiculous by his own possession would be a laughingstock. This mustn’t happen again.’

  Both the men miserably agreed. Arleben spoke up. ‘Sir, I think you’re right that she needs careful watching. Really, she needs more attention than we’ve had time to give her lately. She’s been low for weeks since you’ve gotten so busy. If this goes on I’d suggest either hiring someone to look after her, or letting one of your friends have her for a while.’

  Garid looked grim. ‘Things will ease up shortly; I’m not giving her away.’ Pangs of conscience struck him. ‘She’s been low, has she? I haven’t dared to go near her; I didn’t have time to take a break with this new development, and I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off her…’

  Arleben watched the dawning gleam in Garid’s eyes with some alarm. ‘This may not be the time, sir,’ he said hastily. ‘She’d see any attention as a reward for bad behavior.’

  His employer’s sigh was half a groan, and was followed by a long silence. ‘You’re right,’ Garid said finally. He considered a minute longer. ‘And we still have guests in the house. You’re on to something, Arleben – she was certainly trying to provoke some attention. She has to be punished, and she has to be isolated. She’s obviously up to her old tricks; we’ve got to be severe, and not give her what she wants. Now, you can be quite dispassionate; I’d suggest you discipline her, and use methods that don’t excite her. This needs to be pure punishment. I’ll show up so she knows I’m still around, but then I’ll leave her to you.’

  ‘What doesn’t excite her?’

  ‘Good question,’ Garid said wryly. ‘To start with, a beating on the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands. Shoulders and back. And dip her gag in something harmless but foul-tasting.’

  ‘What about the noise? Our guests?’

  ‘Use the screen room. It’s soundproof. Then I want her isolated. Leave her in the screen room closet for tonight. Lock her hands behind her back, and make her stand on those feet. That should teach her.’

  Arleben turned to Pav. ‘You’ll have to move some equipment out of that closet. Can you install a bolt in the wall for me?’ Pav nodded. ‘Then, sir, I’d like you to check my work when I’ve finished.’ Garid agreed, seeing Arleben’s reluctance to take final responsibility for this punishment. He couldn’t blame him.

  Garid considered. ‘The worst loss is the wine. Those two bottles were the last of the Barithet ‘22, and they were worth about a quarter of what I paid for her, believe it or not. The clothes will repair themselves in the machines. Fortunately Raniz is a bit backward in that way; she doesn’t seem to have realized the pointlessness of that bit of vandalism. We’ll have to reprogram the ventilators and the photoelectric cells, but that won’t take too long.’

  ‘What about the workroom?’ Pav asked quietly.

  ‘Let me think about that. You don’t need it right away, do you? She should help with the cleanup, so leave it the way it is for now.’

  Pav still looked upset. ‘Never mind, Pav,’ said Garid, his eyes suddenly gleaming. ‘Just think what we missed. She could have walked straight into the meeting and sat on the Under-Secretary’s lap.’ A vivid image of this flashed across Pav’s mind in all its horrifying detail, and he covered his eyes. Then he burst out laughing. Garid began also, and finally Arleben snorted and gave in to silent laughter, so intense tears rolled down his cheeks.

  ‘I suppose we should be grateful she didn’t,’ wheezed Arleben, catching his breath. ‘Do you think she knew what she was doing?’

  This punishment wasn’t funny at all, I decided. I tried to distract myself from the pain by thinking about my master, my little free run, sex, almost anything. Nothing worked. I hurt so much I kept letting out little involuntary moans. My feet throbbed unbearably. I leaned this way and that, but my ankles were locked together and I had very little freedom of movement. My hands were curled around themselves protectively behind my back. A huge gag made my jaws ache and f
illed my mouth with a filthy taste. It was locked directly to the wall in front of me.

  Time in the closet had taken on a physical presence that had no endpoint, no boundaries. I had the confused sense in the darkness that the closet had another dimension to it, had morphed somehow into a corridor stretching off into infinity. An end to my stay there seemed a remote and theoretical possibility; an infinite series of agonies was the reality.

  After my escapade I had been tied up under the stairs, immovably for hours, suffering on the hard floor, before Arleben came for me. He had been in a surprisingly good mood. He had slung me over his shoulder, still bound up in straps, and carried me off to the screen room. It was late; I saw no one else, though I could hear people moving around in the kitchen.

  I had never been punished so thoroughly and methodically. At the beginning I felt almost tearfully eager to accept whatever was dished out, especially when my master looked in on us. I would gladly have taken anything from him, anything at all, if only he had deigned to hold the cane. But he only looked at me for a moment, one penetrating glance that I couldn’t read. He exchanged a few words with Arleben, and then he left. I knew I didn’t merit anything after what I had done. I also knew it was my master who had ordered the punishment, and that was some comfort.

  By the time the punishment had progressed a little further I was grateful for the straps that held me so tightly, because I would certainly have tried to get away. At least they were punishing me, and not ignoring me anymore. Very soon, however, I would have done anything to be ignored again; the pain was simply beyond belief. I knew I deserved it; that was all I could cling to in the claws of the outrageous agony. But oh, how I wished myself back on my quiet mat in the kitchen! Please, please, please, I wanted to scream through my gag, please, I’m sorry, I swear I’ll never do it again, please, no more! But Arleben went on systematically covering my skin with welts, each, I imagine, a precisely equal distance from the previous one. He took care, however, to cross them all with a couple more on each target area, and the resulting excruciating pain almost made me pass out.