The building manager where Anne lived was a tall black woman about her age. Named Martinique after her place of birth, she was the descendant of slaves. Anne's family came from Martinique too, from a plantation in the hill country. She shuddered at the thought that her ancestors might have owned Martinique's and wondered if the woman suspected as much.
Anne longed to explore the curves of her dark skin; she showed signs of interest when Anne flirted with her on a few occasions. But it was not to be, at least not the way Anne imagined.
One evening Anne returned home from work as usual. Paul was showing some "inventory" to a Brazilian client and she was not to come over tonight. She went to her closet and began to shed her clothes.
Anne savored this transition from one life to another after work. She took off her businesswoman's suit jacket; then she loosened the waistband of her skirt and stepped out of it before smoothing wrinkles with her hand and hanging it in the closet. Already she was bare from the hips down and enjoying the sensation. Only her blouse remained.
She removed it slowly, taking pleasure in the emergence of her breasts and belly before placing it in the laundry basket. There; she was naked again. This was how she was meant to be. She recalled Iris's statement that Anne wouldn't "be wearing clothes at all in a few months"; not as a proposal or a claim, just an observation. She was on her way.
She got a shock when she went to the kitchen to measure out her dinner and looked for her jar of feed pellets. It was not on the counter, and the cupboard above it had a newly installed padlock. She was no longer allowed to feed herself, even at home. She knelt down facing the door of the apartment.
Martinique entered about a hour later. She said Paul asked her to begin supervising Anne and to assist the syndicate with her training.
"Stand up - hands behind you." She fastened the bracelets. "Kneel." Anne heard the woman unlock the cupboard and pour out a measure of feed before summoning her to dinner. It was less than Paul allowed her, but she had learned to accept what she was given and touched her forehead to the floor in gratitude. Women were harder on her, they understood her better.
Martinique stood over her as she dined and stroked her soft pink derriere; Anne ate slowly and wiggled her hips invitingly. But when the bowl was empty, Martinique turned out the light and walked away leaving Anne in darkness.
A thin glow from the street outside filtered in through the window. Careful to avoid falling, Anne went to her rug.
Martinique returned each morning and fed Anne breakfast before releasing her bracelets. Anne bathed (if there was time), dressed and went to work. She wore her leash beneath her clothes, a new order of Paul's.
The link under her chin was barely visible except to those who knew what to look for; but the rough leather strap rubbed between her breasts and against her belly as she sat at her desk and consulted with clients. It was a good feeling, reminding her of Paul's presence and reassuring her somehow. And exciting her, sometimes leaving her wet in anticipation of her next lesson; she was glad to have the desk in front of her.
Martinique began to use Anne as her cleaning lady. On weekends Anne went down to the manager's apartment at daybreak. The woman she once hoped would become her lover handed her a brush and a bucket of soapy water; on her knees she scrubbed the hallway, lobby, and restroom floors until noon. Martinique inspected her work and made her redo places she missed.
Bent over wearing only Paul's shirt, she was an irresistible target for some boys who liked to goose her. The first time she fell on her face on the wet floor. But she learned to put down her brush and prepare herself for it when she heard them come up behind her. Soon it was a sort of game with them to see who could do it fastest, except for a couple of the older ones who let their hand linger. One of them learned how to probe her until she moaned while the others gathered around to watch and listen.
