by Lane Hakala
(9/15/99)

As I walk past the mirror, the thing that catches my attention are my eyes. They make me stop what I'm doing, turn back, look at myself more closely. Long red-brown hair. Pale skin. Yellow linen business suit. White blouse with a little lace at the neck.

Eyes so dark they look like pits.

They've always been dark, but now they seem so much more bottomless than they once did. I know it's just my imagination, but I can't help the way that deep gaze affects me when I see it...especially when he shows it to me.

In the silvered glass, one hand slides up to the gold chain encircling my throat, idly twisting a finger in the little bit of slack. A nervous habit, but I don't worry about the chain coming loose. It was soldered around my neck four years ago...never to be removed.

Just one of many concrete signs that he owns me.

I feel my muscles twitch as that thought crosses my mind. So many signs. As I stand facing the full-length mirror, my hands slide down the front of me, then rise again, dragging the hem of my skirt up, revealing the white lace at the top of my thigh-high stockings...and the tattoo on the inside of my upper leg. A golden tiger on a leash. The wild animal inside me. The beast he owns, as surely as he owns the rest of me.

My hand slides across the top of my thigh, across that mark as my breath shudders a little when I discover a dampness on the colors etched into my flesh. My fingers drift on as if they have a mind of their own, to stroke across my bare mons, one fingertip trailing along the edges of my lips, swollen and tender, so profoundly wet I can smell my own scent over the perfume I put on before I left my office.

It's no wonder. My mind was on him all day.

Seeing one tattoo makes me crave to see the other. I strip off my linen jacket and toss it on the bed, then grab the bottom of the blouse and pull it over my head. Turning my shoulder around to the mirror, I see his mark there, too...the one that represents him. A cuddly teddybear, but one with a twist. Two red horns cap the fuzzy face...a red tail flickering behind him. My devilish teddybear. Paradoxical sweetness wrapped around a purely evil mind.

How did I get so lucky to find him?

Thoughts of him make me shiver again...as do the other marks on my back. Not permanent ones, just temporary reminders of his mastery over me.

I'm only half aware as my hands find the button of my skirt. As my fingers lower the zipper and let it slide past my hips to the floor. But the sight of my rear as the butter-yellow cloth slides free makes me shudder down deep inside. I've felt it all day. The soft-scratchy cloth playing against my bare cheeks as I walked. The bite-ache-tingling of sitting on it during meetings I thought would never end. But seeing it just drills it into my consciousness, and running a fingertip across the red ridges and the deepening bruises flips my mind back to the night before.

I was squirming even before dinner. Before we left home, he bent me over the bed and put a pair of chinese balls deep inside me, each nearly two inches in diameter. Cold stainless steel that made me flinch before they warmed. Hollow, each with a little melodic chime inside. Those balls accomplished making me squirm quite nicely when he swatted my rear to get me moving. My squirming in turn made the little bells inside the balls tinkle so loud I could hear them ... especially when he toyed with me on the ride to the restaurant...and every time the waitress left the table...and even sometimes when she was standing right over us.

That evil twinkle in his eyes told me he was enjoying every bit of it, too.

After dinner, his hand found my chin, and as he turned my dark eyes up to his lighter ones, his mischievous smile made me anxious. "I have a surprise for you tonight, my sweet wench," he said. "Finish your coffee."

I wanted to ask what, but I knew it would be futile. He loves to watch me suffer from anticipation, wondering what evil designs he has for me this time. The only thing I can do is drink down the last few sips from my cup and wait patiently for him to pay the check...for him to lead me out into the night ... and off to whatever adventure he has planned.

He opens the door for me to get in the car as we reach it, but his hand on my elbow stops me, pulling me back. "Give me your dress," he whispers, his eyes glinting in the streetlights. My knees start to shake as I comply, stripping it off and handing it to him, leaving myself standing there with nothing but a strapless bra, heels, and thigh-high stockings. But I'd never think of telling him no -- despite the fact that I hear the soft conversations of people off in other sections of the parking lot, and the sound of horns from the street just beyond.

The leather seat feels smooth against my bare flesh as I slide into the car, and the little chill in the air makes gooseflesh ripple across me as he gets in, then maneuvers the car out into traffic.

My uneasiness eases a little when I see the route he's taking. When he pulls the car into the garage at home and kills the engine, he gets out and comes around to open my door. "To the playroom, wench. Now."

He follows right behind me, his hands flickering against the bare cheeks of my ass to hurry me along. When he gets me there, I see what he was doing while I was getting ready for dinner...candles lit across the room, things laid out that make me shake as he leads me to stand in front of the wall of mirrors, under the pair of big eye-bolts in the ceiling. My hands rise up instinctively. I know what he wants. And I see his smile in the mirror while he runs light fingertips along the insides of my arms as his hands rise to lock my hands in the cuffs already dangling from the bolts. His fingers then drift down to unhook the back of my bra, and as it falls away, his hands come around me to cup my breasts, the heat of him against my back, his lips at my ear. "Who owns you, wench?"

The sensations he evokes in me, seeing our reflection in the mirror like that, makes me shudder against him. "You do, Master," I manage to reply, though my panting just keeps growing deeper.

"Remember that."

His hands start to play across my body, fingers tickling across my nipples and then pinching them so hard that my breath hisses between my teeth.

My blood freezes in my veins when the doorbell rings a heartbeat later, and even more when he leaves me there alone without a word.

My heart stops completely when I hear a female voice blending with his as they both come into the room where I'm standing. Panicked, I look to him in the mirror, but he comes to me and wraps his arms around me as the woman strips off her coat, revealing a black leather corset with a studded belt. His lips find mine for a brief, sweet kiss, and as we part, he wraps his hand in the hair at the back of my neck and pulls my head back so he can stare into my eyes. "Remember, my sweet property. I've told you many times that I wanted to watch another woman beat your ass one day," he murmurs, one finger trailing against my mouth.

My breath shudders hard when I hear the woman behind him pick up a cane from the table...and then test it against the air, that whistling swoosh making my knees threaten to buckle.

"Today is that day."

The sound of the phone jars me back out of my memories, back to the reality that I'm standing almost naked in front of the mirror, my eyes looking deep and a little lost. I manage to function somehow, to grab the phone beside the bed and breathe a "hello" into it.

"Hello, my sweet," the voice on the other end of the line purrs, and my eyes shoot back to the mirror, thinking about him standing behind me after the woman left, showing me my tears in my reflection, showing me the pride and lust in his eyes as his hands took possession of my flesh once more...flesh that is his to do anything he wishes with.

"I love you, Master," I reply, shivering, smiling. "Hurry home ... please. I need you so bad."