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Months later, at the close of summer…
Delia often claws at me, and my response to her manner turns me cold. She clings and clutches so much I begin to wonder just who is in control of this relationship. When I find my mind drifting backwards in time to Anna and her less oppressive style, I know it’s time to act.
Bernard suggests, rightly, so I believe, that she needs another master to scare her a little. He recommends Calvin, and I agree. The way she mentions the incident in the theatre makes me think she’s both frightened of him and aroused. The combination seems appropriate for what I want. Calvin decides that three weeks should do, and I can’t wait for a little freedom. She sticks too close and makes me edgy.
Chapter Fourteen
When Lockhart comes to the shop, I am Anna. When I’m in his house, I am slave. I drift gently back and forth on Lockhart’s whim, serving him on demand, pressing my face to his carpet, raising my ass for punishment, submitting to bondage and his Thursday friends. I don’t seem to think or feel the same anymore, and I don’t know why. My life breezes by like I’m always just a little drunk. Lockhart is always in the back of my head speaking to me.
In my shop we talk of Proust philosophies, Yeats bleakness, Picasso’s many periods and Beethoven’s dramatics. I order books for him, which he browses, making comments, engaging me as a real woman, a real adult in an adult world. The made-up one we live in his hou
se seems then a vague dream. In my shop, he drinks my espresso, sitting at my table while I serve without slavishness, nothing but the Anna smile on my face. I still feel this need to be humble—it seems he’s built that into my body bit by bit, command by command, by paddle, by cane, by bondage and by rules—his endless rules.
Every time I’m with him, I renew the vigor of my submissiveness, my loss of self looms around me. And now, it’s pervaded even my own kingdom, as though I don’t really have one anymore—or need one.
Strangely, any kingdom that I could call my own has mutated. I care less about the shop because Ellie runs it so well. When I’m in it, I feel as though I’m playing house. I order books, dust a little, wear an apron when I’m working at the coffee machine, and with the rest of my time, I’m painting, or writing stories on the computer in the back room, in a tiny little corner where I look out on the lake through tiny windows. The bursting creativity alarms me. But I don’t think about it—it just happens.
I suppose I really don’t think much anymore. I serve Lockhart, and while I do, I’m being served—everything else is taken care of.
It is September; Lockhart’s in the shop asking me if I know how to ride a horse. I tell him yes, and remember back to my youth. When I was sixteen, my family owned a mare that I rode bareback daily—though it’s been several years since I was on a horse.
He nods as if this means something important. I don’t find out what until days later when he whisks me from the shop. His mood is jovial and kind, but forceful. I’m warned just by his attitude that I’m to obey as conscientiously as I would if I were in his brown-shingled house.
We drive into the country going through an endless maze of turns, which mixes me up completely. I have no idea where we are. I haven’t been anywhere since I arrived in Welliston except the town and Lockhart’s house.
Arriving at a horse farm, I recall our earlier conversation in the shop. These animals are beautiful, young, and proud. Laying my hand on their flanks, I feel their energy vibrate up my palm and through me. As my cunt begins to throb, I realize how horny I’ve become.
“Is there one you particularly like?” Lockhart asks while the young and brawny stable-master stands at his side.
“Is there a reason you ask?” I ask back.
My effrontery offends him.
“Because I want an answer.” His reply is terse.
“My eye is on that dapple grey filly.” She reminds me of the shadows in which I live, but I don’t offer this information to Lockhart. He seems pleased enough with my choice.
“Then you’ll ride her,” he says.
I smile, knowing how my loins burn to have this substantial thing between them, and how they’ll quake feeling her energy rise into me.
“Can you ride bareback?” he asks.
“I have many times.”
“Good. Then remove your clothes and I’ll help you mount her.”
I look at the stable master about to blush. I’d think this request would shock him, but it doesn’t in the slightest. It takes some moments for me to recover. I confess I haven’t balked at anything in so long, I feel terribly guilty. But having little choice in the matter, I know I’ll relent. Then too, Lockhart’s order does excite me and I tremble as I disrobe. I’ve done nothing as outrageous outside Lockhart’s property, and this has me both rattled and scared, in addition to being wet between my legs.
Once naked, my collar suddenly appears out of nowhere. It’s quickly slapped around my neck and buckled tightly—I assume it’s my master’s way to remind me of my place. Climbing on the filly, the feel of the animal at my crotch makes me spasm; and with my master’s smiling go-ahead, the filly and I trot out into the paddock. Getting used to the ride takes little time. Except for the feel of bare skin to bare animal flesh, and the fact of my nudity in this odd place, I am back in a world that is familiar to me. The air on my limbs touches every nerve. This horse and I are bonding in a peculiar beastly way. She is like me, and I like her.
Lockhart rides out of the stable on a chestnut stallion and we take off toward the pasture beyond. My hair is flying behind me—no, not Lady Godiva yet, it’s only to my shoulders. Yet, the feel of the breeze inside it enlivens me more. I’m far ahead to start, but gathering my submissive wits about me again, I slow my pace, until my master catches up.
“Ah, I can see we need to bridle this willfulness of yours,” he announces as we walk the horses side by side to a small lake where they take a break to drink. He seems so lighthearted I’m not sure if he’s serious. Such a breach at his house, if anything could compare to this, would warrant a hefty punishment. Then too, it’s not for me to fear anything with my master—my only job is too accept.
***
The day after my ride on Willow—the dapple-grey filly—Lockhart summons me from the shop by phone and I’m at the brown-shingle within the hour. I feel anxious. I’m sure that it has something to do with the day before, and I’m not wrong. He takes me to his own stable where I find Willow waiting for me. In another breach of etiquette I exclaim aloud, “You bought her for me!”
