Chapter 11

"So, how'd it go with Arlene?" Richard asked me. He was sitting behind his computer desk when I got home, working, which might indicate that he had been more concerned than he let on; normally he went to his office to work, and only got home after I did.

"It went all right, I guess, Master," I said.

"You guess?"

"Well, she didn't run screaming into the night."

Richard pushed his chair back from the desk and opened his arms, and I climbed into his lap and put my arms around him. He held me there for a while, not speaking. It was a way he often had of welcoming me home, as if I'd been gone for days instead of just since that morning.

"Master?" I said after a bit.

"Yes, Susie?"

"This isn't just a game, is it?"

"What isn't just a game?" Richard tilted his head down to look at me.

"Us. My being your... slave."

"Did Arlene say that?" he asked.

"She said that I'd always loved playing a role. I did all those plays, you know..."

"No, it isn't a game," Richard said. "You're mine. For real."

That made me feel warm, which was twisted, but I guess that's in character.

"So, if I'm your slave, then you could make me do things. Right?"

"Sure." Richard waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively, and I grinned at him. "Did you have anything special in mind?" he asked.

"Not that," I said. "I mean... you could make do things I don't want to do."

Richard frowned. "I already make you clean the whole apartment..." he started.

"I know, Master. But I'd probably have ended up doing that anyway. I mean, you're a guy." Richard looked slightly insulted at that, and I hurried on. "I mean, things that I wouldn't ever choose to do on my own. You could make me do them. Right?"

Richard didn't look entirely happy with the way this conversation was trending, but he answered, "I suppose so. Is that what you want, Susie?"

"I... I think so," I said, feeling a nervous little thrill inside me, like the one I got whenever Richard gave me an order, but stronger.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to make you do things that you don't want to do. Is that it?"

"Yes, Master," I said.

He shook his head. "I think that's some kind of paradox."

"Not really," I insisted. "I want to obey you. But if you only tell me to do things that I want to do anyway, how do I know if I'm doing it to obey you, or because... I wanted to do it anyway." That had somehow come out a bit more tangled than I'd intended, but I plunged ahead. "But, if you tell me to do things that I didn't want to do anyway..."

"I think I've got it," Richard said. He thought for a while, frowning, and I kept quiet, pillowing my head against his shoulder. Finally he spoke.

"Susie?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Think of the cypresses."

Immediately the image sprang up before me... green flames, writhing. I felt a shiver pass through me, and my vision seemed to fade.

"Yes, master..." My voice was already detached and distant.

"Sink down, in the warm darkness..."

Awareness of my body faded. I knew I was still held in Richard's arms, but I could no longer feel anything. My eyes fluttered closed, and I faded down into oblivion... and then up, blinking again at the light. I felt warm and heavy, a pleasant languor weighting down my limbs. I glanced over at the clock. It had been about half an hour. I was used to this, now; I made a quick internal check, and detected no obvious alterations.

"What did you do, Master?" I asked curiously.

"You'll find out," Richard said with a grin. "Anyway, we'll see what we can do to satisfy you. Get up, now, Susie; I've got to fix dinner."

"May I help?" I asked hopefully, rising to my feet.

"Yes, you may, Susie; but only if you do exactly what I say."

I felt the little thrill again. "Yes, Master!"

For a couple of days nothing happened, and I wondered if Richard had forgotten about our conversation. He certainly gave me no orders out of the ordinary, and if anything he said 'please' more often than before. I felt a little disappointed, but reasoned that as a slave I ought to be grateful that my master was so considerate. It wasn't Richard's fault that I was so perverse.

Two days after our talk I returned from work at my usual time. I used my key to let myself into the foyer of the building. Above the mailboxes I spotted a large brown paper bag, folded over and taped to the wall with duct tape. On it, written in black magic marker, was the name 'Susie.'

As if something had clicked in my brain at the sight of it, I took my backpack off and set it down. I quickly untied my shoes and kicked them off, then removed my socks as well; I pulled off my t-shirt and dropped it. My belt went next, then my jeans; I slid them off over my hips and stepped out of them. It was only as I was unhooking my bra that it registered what I was doing. I was stripping completely naked in the foyer of my apartment building, where any of my neighbors might walk in at any time. Both the inner and outer doors had translucent, wavy glass that concealed me from direct view; but nothing stopped anyone from just opening the door. I tried to refasten my bra and found that I couldn't. My fingers refused to obey. I could only continue to remove it, then pull my panties down and off.

I felt a surge of panic, but also a surge of warmth. This must be what Richard had meant when he'd said that I'd "find out." I was thoroughly embarrassed, and thoroughly aroused. My nipples stood out almost painfully erect, a combination of outer cold and inner heat. I tried to pick my clothes back up, and couldn't. Obviously there was more to this than just a public striptease.

I remembered the paper bag, then, and peeled it off the wall. Reaching inside, I pulled out a strip of black lace that I identified after a moment as a garter belt. I quickly put it on and reached in again. A pair of panties, this time. I put them on, as well. As concealment, they were rather ineffective, the black fabric being practically transparent; but I was grateful for anything. Next came a bra, if anything more transparent than the panties. My nipples were completely visible, standing out against the pale skin of my tits. A stocking next; I stuck my foot in it and rolled it up my leg, tugging it taut, then put on the other one. I discovered that the garter belt was on backwards. An easy mistake -- I'd never worn one before. I turned it around and attached the garters. My ensemble was complete. Hurray! Look what the well-dressed slut is wearing these days.

The bag wasn't quite empty. Up-ending it, I spilled out a pair of shoes. Black, high-heeled sandals -- not too high, fortunately, since I had my doubts that I'd be able to walk in heels at all. I righted them and slid my feet into them, fastening the straps. A perfect fit. I wonder if Richard had asked me my shoe size while I was under.

I picked up my discarded clothes and stuffed them into the empty bag. I grabbed my backpack as well, and almost put it on, when a vision of myself, dressed in lingerie and wearing a scuffed canvas backpack, came to me and I almost snorted at its absurdity. I carried it by the strap instead. Cautiously I opened the door into the hallway. No one was there. Feeling something beyond conspicuous, I started up the stairs. It would have been nice to run, but with the heels it was not an option. This wasn't what I would choose to be wearing when found with a broken neck. As I ascended flight after flight, I felt an irrational surge of resentment at the fact that we lived on the top floor.