The Slave (17 page)

“
That’s very pragmatic,” Robin
admitted. She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her
voice

“
Hey, it’s not all that way, kiddo!
That’s just how we handle it on the phone.” Peggy took a piece of
paper out of her purse and began to write on it. “Now if you’re
looking to meet more people who really do this shit, ’stead of just
yakking about it, try these places. I got friends in all of
them.”

And that started Robin off into the world of
“people-who-really-do-these things.”

At first, it took more bravery than it did
to call the phone line. The list that Peggy had made included three
organizations that were accessible with a train ride into the city.
Two had mixed memberships, men and women. One was all women. Robin
kept their names and addresses and meeting times sandwiched between
her campus ID and her social security card in her wallet, and wore
the paper thin from folding and unfolding it. She talked to other
women on the phoneline, asking if any of them had ever gone to
these places, and what they were like.

And instinctively, she avoided discussing it
with Bob. Somehow, she knew that he would tell her it was a bad
idea. In a way, she felt like she was betraying him. He had, after
all, taught her so much about his particular world. And he seemed
genuinely concerned about her welfare and happiness. But Bob never
met people; he couldn’t be a master for her, not really. So she
kept him out of her discussions about going out into the real world
and hoped that when the news got back to him that he wouldn’t be
hurt.

But his repeated warnings about the dangers
involved when meeting men had done sufficient damage. Every time
she tried to imagine what meeting a whole group of people with
these interests would be like, images of overbearing, domineering,
and abusive men came to mind. Other people told her about meetings,
bylaws, dues, and tedious details, or they enthused over parties
and events. But no one could really tell her what the people were
like. And there was no way to find out but take the plunge and go
herself.

Finally, she heard about a Saturday evening
event hosted by the women’s organization. Her mouth so dry that she
could barely ask for the train ticket, she purchased a two-way fare
and stared at the ticket and the address all week.

She decided to tear them up at least a dozen
times. But she found herself at the train station anyway, and rode
the way down into the city in an absolute daze.

What a waste
, she was to say to herself for
weeks afterward.
So many hours of anguish, all that panic, tearing through
my closet for the “right” clothes to wear, wondering what would
happen when I walked into the room, all of this over a Saturday
night at a bar, with mostly women instead of mostly men.

Because that was what the evening turned out
to be. The woman at the door, dressed in black jeans and a halter
top with a leather jacket over it, had taken Robin’s money, stamped
her hand, and given her a drink ticket without a second glance. And
once inside, there was nothing more terrible than a long, polished
wood bar with three bartenders wearing white T-shirts and leather
vests energetically pouring drinks for a crowd of mostly young
women who were mingling, feeding the jukebox, playing pool, or
trying to dance in the narrow space that could only laughably be
called a dance floor.

In her black jeans and black blouse, Robin
hardly stood out. She went to the bar to get her complimentary
drink, and while the server tipped a glass under the spigot for a
draft, Robin glanced around her. No one was paying her the
slightest bit of attention.

Well
, she thought, pulling the cold mug
into her hand,
so much for walking in and feeling all the eyes in the
place on me.

Most of the evening faded into a blur. She
drank, got change for the box and played some music, and even
danced a few times, each time exchanging nothing more than first
names with the woman she danced with. No one offered any more
information, and Robin couldn’t bring herself to ask.

But she did begin to notice more and more
during the night. Some women wore small whips on their belts, some
of them small enough to be thought of as key chains. And among the
labrys and Venus symbols on necklaces and earrings, there were also
little knives and tiny handcuffs.

Some women were more explicit. There were
women there in leather vests with “colors” on them―patches
proclaiming their affiliation with a motorcycle group or another
leather-related women’s group. One symbol had a Medusa on it, her
eyes glinting bright green, her chest almost bursting out of a
leather jacket. Another had the double Venus symbol with riding
crops standing in for the vertical line, and a pair of handcuffs
acting as the two circles.

Handcuffs also hung from belts and
jackets.

This is so
great
, Robin
thought.
I
can’t say a bloody word to any of them, but it’s so great just to
watch them! Just to know that they’re here, that they come out and
party. But how can I actually meet one of them? What do I say? “Hi,
I’m new here? Say, have you read this magazine? Where did you get
those great boots?”

In the end, it was Maria who solved that
problem. Robin was turning back to the bar, debating on whether or
not to have another drink, when a gloved hand caught her wrist.
Robin looked up sharply, directly into the bluest eyes she had ever
seen, and gasped.

“
Good reaction,” Maria had answered,
withdrawing her hand. Her hair was cropped cruelly short, and was
the intense, thick color of fresh cream. Her lips were slightly
pursed, drawing their natural tightness in to a sensual knot of
crimson flesh. When those lips moved again, Robin froze to watch
them.

“
What are you looking for, sweetness?”
Maria asked, drawing each word out.

Robin knew what the set-up was for, and
resisted it with every bit of strength she had, but knew when
defeat was imminent.

“
You,” she whispered.

“
Correct!” Maria leaned forward and
gave Robin the first passionate kiss she had ever received from a
woman. Robin, who had gotten quite enough stimulation for one
night, smiled when Maria released her; and then, to her utter
horror, fainted.

* * * *

People talked about it for months, of
course. What a fairy tale way to start a romance, more than one wit
offered. Of course, in the case of Sleeping Beauty, a kiss was what
woke her up, not what made her fall into a dead faint.

But it was nothing less than destiny that
brought them together. That one kiss in a bar led to a date, which
led to another one, and then another one. Maria didn’t live in the
city either, but she had a car, and by the time she came up to
Robin’s little college town to visit her, they already knew that
they had something going. That night, in a cheap motel off the
expressway, Maria tied Robin’s hands together for the first time,
wrapping them in many layers of a long cotton scarf, and Robin
finally felt the rapture of surrender under the touch of another
human being. And learned all about the kinds of love that two women
could share.

Several weeks later, at Maria’s house for
the weekend, Robin bent carefully over her new lover’s knee and
took her first spanking―a long, hard ritual that made her cry and
kept her sobbing, her face buried in Maria’s lap with her arms
wrapped around her legs for longer then she could have imagined.
That night, in bed, Maria was able to coax Robin to orgasm with the
lightest of touches, and it became harder and harder for Robin to
go back to school during the week.

Other things seemed to pass out of her
life as well. It took weeks before she realized that the box under
her bed hadn’t come out at all since she started actually sleeping
with Maria. And when she thought about it, she took the phone book
with all her notes about numbers from the phone-line and tossed
that into the box as well. She had no real use for any of it. She
felt a little guilty about leaving some of her “regulars” without a
word of explanation, especially Bob. But she had a real
relationship now―no more fun and games over the phone.

She joined the group that had hosted the
bar night. Its name was WISE, Women Into Sadomasochistic
Expression, and their symbol was a witch silhouetted against a full
moon, riding her broomstick while whirling a long whip over her
head. They had monthly meetings, most of which Robin couldn’t
attend because of the travel time it would take. But now she would
get their newsletter and be able to say she supported the
organization that Maria belonged to. The mailings were regular, but
despite Robin’s deepest hopes, were not filled with fascinating
instructional essays and stories about women and their SM
activities. Oh, there was always a brief synopsis of their last
meeting topic, but most of the space was taken up by announcements
for future events (especially fundraisers), and notes about which
actions had or had not been taken by which committee. There always
seemed to be some upcoming crisis, something that required the
members to show up and vote.

Robin didn’t much care. She stopped eating
at local restaurants and forced down cafeteria food in order to
afford more train tickets to go see Maria. She vanished every
weekend that she could, and noted long weekends with joy. Over
winter break, she went to live with Maria instead of going home for
the entire time, cutting down her Christmas visit to three days and
talking vaguely about a ski trip with some girlfriends at school.
The family believed every word, filled her suitcase with their
presents, and sent her back into Maria’s arms for the happiest New
Year she had ever had. That New Year’s Eve, Maria gave her a little
box that contained a narrow black leather collar, with golden “M”
on the front. Robin received it on her knees, with tears of
gratitude and happiness streaming down her face.

“
I never accepted a slave before,”
Maria told her, bringing their bodies together in a long, hot
embrace. “You’re Maria’s girl now.”

“
I’ll love you forever,” Robin
vowed.

The tail end of her junior year and her
entire senior year seemed to mesh together into a crazy pattern of
work and study and her life with Maria. Maria was always more than
supportive of Robin’s schooling and her eventual job. “Despite,”
she would say, her blue eyes dancing in irony, “my overwhelming
lack of artistic appreciation. Luckily, I can just sit back and
appreciate the appreciator.”

And Robin would blush.

But Maria’s support proved to be priceless
in that all-important final year of undergraduate work. She would
gladly drive Robin to art shows and galleries and studios and
auction houses, where Robin could not only look at the actual
works, but talk to the artists, restorers, dealers and clients. She
spent patient hours wandering around and looking at anything from
broad canvases splashed with bright colors to boxes and files full
of ancient photographs, from kinetic sculptures made of found
materials to authenticated masterpieces of Impressionist
origin.

When Robin spent three weeks in Italy with
several other students, touring more museums and galleries in those
days then she had in the past six months, she still found time to
write to Maria every day. She had to! Maria had instructed her to
do just that before she left. And each envelope she posted made her
sigh in pleasure. She was being good. She was doing what she had
been told. Every day, from dawn until long after nightfall, she
belonged to the world of art. But every night, her mind and body
existed only for the memory of Maria’s touch and her voice.

* * * *

Robin graduated with more honors than seemed
appropriate. Her parents flew in to watch her, unaware that in the
same audience, not far from where they sat and applauding wildly
every time their daughter’s name was mentioned, was a woman with
short cream-colored hair and intense blue eyes who just that
morning had beaten their smart, pretty daughter so hard that
Robin’s every shifting movement onstage was accompanied by twinges
of delightful pain.

It had been Robin’s idea. “For the rest of
my life,” she had explained to Maria’s amused patience, “I want to
remember this day as a day where even though I was getting out of
school and receiving all this attention, underneath I was still
your slave.”

“
Oh, I’ll give you
something to remember,” Maria promised. And she did, with a
beautiful braided flogger, its tails a bundle of black snakes, its
touch a massive, heavy
thump!
which sent Robin’s body pressing against the edge
of the couch she had been braced on too many times to
count.

“
We’re so proud of you,” her mother
said at dinner, smiling as her father laid their generous
graduation present before Robin, the slender envelope containing
what would become moving expenses and first month’s rent and
security. “We always knew you’d be the smartest one in the
family!”

They spent the next day together, Robin
acting as a tour guide through the campus. She introduced them to
some of her teachers, all of whom had nothing but those warm,
glowing words that seem to come out only on sunny graduation days.
She rarely left them alone, and rushed back to their sides when she
was called away by some business they assumed to have to do with
getting out of school. They protested that they could just be on
their way and leave her to her work, but she insisted on making
sure that they had a lot of her company and attention. And when
they finally had to leave, Robin grinned and kissed them and bade
them farewell, waving at their taxi as they went back to the
airport.