Her legs ached from kneeling on so long on the hard wood floor of his dimly lit den. He had been speaking for a long time but she could no longer absorb the words. He was sending her away.
"Child, I am sending you to a friend of mine. He is a very good man. He has agreed to help me with something. You will treat him with all the respect and obedience you give me."
What had she done wrong? She struggled to be exactly the woman he wanted. She tried so hard to understand why he was sending her away to this man. This man, who was now her Master, had come to her when she was alone, wandering lost in the wind. He had given her a reason to live. She had lost herself in his world. He had tested her devotion to him in myriad ways. She had endured pain and learned his perfect grace. She had given up her name, her voice, her heart and her soul to him and he was sending her away.
Her heart was bleak. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts. Her throat tight with unshed tears. He disdained tears without a good reason. The only reason he accepted was pain. One of her first lessons was stoicism. He demanded she remain silent through even the most exacting of tests. He would say that he preferred see her pleasure and her pain in her eyes. If she could remain silent, he would sometimes hold her afterwards gazing deeply into her eyes.
His words penetrated her mind again. "You will go to your apartment. You will wait there until you get a package. Open the package, read the letter inside. Follow the instructions. Go home now."
A silent scream of anguish tore through her sanity. To be sent away from the refuge of his home, sent to the empty cold gray of her former life was a punishment of the worst sort. He forced her to keep the tiny efficiency apartment and used it as the ultimate threat of abandonment. 'You can always just go back to your apartment if you don't like it here. Apartment was her safe word. The one time she had used it he had sent her home to wait. She had waited there in despair for days before he called her to come back to him.
She nodded mutely and crept to the door. Her hands shook as she slowly pulled on the simple black dress she wore for the few times she went out. The soft fabric slipped easily over her nude skin, falling to her feet. She slipped her feet into the soft slippers and hooded floor length cape. Turning she looked back at him. He sat still, looking at her. A still white ghost in the darkened room. His face expressionless. His voice was cool and neutral, "Make me proud."
Her knees shook, almost betraying her. A thousand words shrieked in her mind but she had not spoken in his presence in months. Shy and reluctant to speak throughout her life, it had been an easy task to embrace silence, to retreat into speechlessness. Now it was a habit deeply ingrained. She could not prevent the strangled sound that welled up deep in her chest as she stumbled out the front door.
As the front door shut behind her she hesitated in the bright sun, dazzled after the dim light of his house. A bright yellow taxi waited in the drive. As she forced her feet to walk she heard his piano crash to life, harsh chords clashing and shaking the air. She could no longer hold back her tears, he always turned to his piano when he turned his back to her.
She waited an eternity in her apartment. She huddled in tiny ball on her bed, hiding in the darkness of the blankets, hiding in the grayness of her mind, hardly aware of the passage of time.
He had said for her to come here and wait. She lay in the grayness, floating, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, waiting. It was hard to pull herself back to the stark empty light of the tiny apartment when the insistent pounding on her door demanded her response. The delivery man was clearly in a hurry, his thoughts on the clock and his next place to be. He did not seem to notice her at all as she signed with a shaky hand.
The package was wrapped in brown paper. It had a return address of the Wanderbourne Clinic. It was not large, it contained a white blouse, a black skirt, a white garter belt with matching white silk stockings, and a pair of white heels.
The letter was short. "Wear only what you find in the box. Wear no make up, jewelry or perfume. Report Tuesday, June 2, at 9:00. A taxi will pick you up at 8:30 am." And an address. She looked at her cell phone to determine the day. Tuesday was tomorrow. She stood looking at the tiny piece of technology in her hand. She had never used it to make a phone call. Her Master had insisted she carry it the few times she left his apartment. She idly wondered what his number was.
She rose early. She bathed meticulously as if she was at her masters house. The blouse was tight, heavy cotton. It hugged tightly to her small breasts and slender waist. She was unsure if she should button it to the neck or not. She opted for leaving only the top button undone. The skirt was pencil thin, but long reaching down below her knees. A long line of small buttons ran down a seam along the side. The garter and stockings fit perfectly as did the shoes. The low white heels had rubber on the bottom of their soles so they were very quiet when she walked in them. She wasn't sure what to do with her hair but the lack of make up and the conservative cut of the clothes seemed to call for something simple. She chose a knot of her fine blond hair on the top of her head.
She arrived early, the taxi dropping her off in front of a forbidding stone house with a high stone fence surrounding an overgrown garden. She carefully checked the time on her cell phone and at exactly 8:55 she rang the intercom at the high gate. A woman's voice came over the speaker. "Miss Cassy?"
Her voice was soft and unsure. She had not spoken to another person in a long time. She had not thought of herself by that name for even longer. "Yes."
"Come up to the house please." The gate clicked and opened slightly. She pushed it open and cringed at the loud screech the hinges made as she opened it and swung it back shut again. The stone walk was wide and led up to a heavy timbered door. It was standing open and a young woman wearing an outfit almost identical to hers was standing watching her walk up. Her dark brown hair was cut in a sassy short cut, that complemented her heart shaped face. Cassy noticed that her blouse was buttoned clear to the top.
"Miss Cassy, you are on time. The Professor appreciates promptness. Please come in. My name is Windy. I am also a client here."
Cassy nodded, not sure what to say, unused to talking. Windy smiled and said, "The Professor said you aren't going to be much of a talker. Thats OK, I talk all the time." She giggled and turned to go in. "Come on in, the Professor wants you to wait in the study until he is ready for you."
Windy led her into a conservatively furnished room. She led her to a table at one side. There was a stack of papers on it and a pen. "The Professor wants you to read and sign all of these. Wait here until he comes to get you." Windy leaned over and whispered, "If you need to pee or what ever there is a bathroom just past that door on the left. He sometimes makes us wait a long time. Something about learning patience." Then she leaned close and briefly kissed Cassy on the lips, her tongue slyly slipping out and dabbing quickly at her lower lip. The soft touch was gone as quickly as it came. Cassy stood statue still, unsure how to react to this sudden intimacy from a stranger. Windy winked, her voice was mischievous, "Maybe we will have a chance to get to know one another, us both being here." She giggled again as she left the room.
Cassy sat down at the table. Her shoulders slumped. She missed her Master terribly. She had no idea why he had sent her here. She picked up the papers and began to read them. All the papers were on letterhead from a Wanderbourne Clinic. The first pages were a contract, stating that she was committing herself to the care of a Dr. Wanderbourne for mental health treatment. It said she consented to sexual therapy, medication as prescribed by Dr. Wanderbourne, and hypnosis. There was a separate sheet where she agreed to not leave the clinic without medical discharge. She signed all the contracts. The rest of the papers were lengthy questionnaires regarding her family, health, sexual, and work history.
Cassy tried to answer all the questions but most of the family history she did not know the answers for. She had grown up in the foster system and had only no memories of her childhood or biological family.
