The next day, I brought the Monza into the shack and began preparations for a complete paintjob, simply because I now had nothing better to do and I had to keep my mind off things.
It wasn't working.
For the first time, I began to really doubt my ability to get out of this. I mean, the damned woman had control over cops! Cops that raped and degraded me worse than she had and then laughed about it. And how they degraded me, or me myself, maybe. I could see how I'd enjoy the sexual act itself, what man wouldn't? But the circumstances, how they scared the shit out of me and,... fucking laughed. Bitch pigs.
After they left, I crawled into the shower and actually cried in the bottom of the tub with the hot water needling me, dashing away the evidence of my degradation at theirs and Dagmar's hands, wishing it could wash away this whole situation and whatever screwed up interest Dagmar had in me for whatever warped reason. It was just all so unfair; why did
my
life have to be ruined? I never did anything at all do deserve the turn of events forcing the changes in my life that I was powerless to stop.
At least I didn't get myself off after they left.
Once I got the Chevy safely up on axle stands, I went into the house for the bottle and brought it out to the shop with me, sitting at my workbench, sipping and smoking a cigarette before I got started.
With a lighter mood, I walked out of the shop later that afternoon, intending to go into the house for a bite of food. I saw the black car immediately, just as quickly noting the distinctive, kidney shaped, two piece grille with the famous blue and white roundel.
I walked closer to it, slowly, as though there may be a bomb, looking over the sleek BMW 7 series sedan and then looking around to see if there was someone in the yard.
After warily approaching and entering the back door of the house, I performed a careful search, brandishing an old metal ladle, leaping around corners and into rooms, whipping open closet doors but, finding no intruders, I returned to the car.
I carefully tried the driver's door to the twelve cylinder Corvette killer and was somehow not surprised to find it unlocked. I sat behind the wheel, left foot still planted on the dirt driveway, and saw the now familiar memo stickit on the steering wheel right away. Removing it, I turned it over and read the single word printed there in Dagmar's hand.
Trunk
It was full of boxes. A large manila envelope was taped to one of the boxes on top and I tore it free, opened and emptied it out on the large box top.
Two sets of BMW car keys, one cell phone, one Rolex watch, one quite expensive looking dog collar (?) and a folded piece of paper. I unfolded the paper and found it was a note from Dagmar.
boy,
#1 You work for me now.
#2 You will at all times keep this cell phone turned on, charged and on or near your person. You will answer it immediately, should it ring, and respond in the manner instructed. This phone can call out for my convenience, meaning that it should never be busy when I call unless you are doing my bidding.
#3 This car is mine and not yours. You will always use it when I summon you and when you are about my business. I expect you to keep it properly clean and to familiarize yourself with it right away.
#4 When I summon, you will always dress appropriately, sometimes as I instruct.
She didn't sign it, but then she didn't have to, did she?
I took a closer look at the dog collar. Did she expect me to get a dog, or what? It was made of separate metal pieces, silver it looked like, that were actually very detailed little roses, her trademark. It was about one and one half inches wide with black silk on the inside and had a clasp, not a buckle, and she didn't expect me to get a dog. I'd forgotten, she already had one.
I shoved the degrading collar back inside the envelope along with everything else that came in it, save for one set of BMW keys and the phone. I flipped it open, checked for a dial tone, and slipped it into my pocket along with the keys.
I opened a few box lids with a pinky finger. Suits, shoes, jackets, vests, long coats, ties, shirts, everything. It was all in either gray or black, with the exception of some white shirts and red ties. Some of the articles also had her emblem professionally stitched into them.
She had to be crazy. Stylishly crazy, yes, but crazy nonetheless and, obviously, very wealthy with no small amount of power in her own circles, whatever those circles might be.
I lugged all the boxes inside, hung the clothes that ought to be hung, drawered the ones to be drawered, etc., and left the collar in the envelope on my dresser along with the rest of its contents. I went back outside, fishing the keys to the big black car out of my pocket to 'familiarize' myself with it.
Later that evening, I stood in my room, covered in bright orange sanding dust, looking at the collar that I'd shaken out of the envelope on my dresser. After going to the bathroom to wash my hands and neck, I went back in and picked it up. After a few moments hesitation, I fit it around my neck without clasping it, just to satisfy my great curiosity about whether or not it would fit, or something.
It did. Perfectly. I walked to the mirror in the bathroom to look, still holding it up and around my neck, the only clean spot on me. My orange smeared face under my longish, dark/ bright orange hair held no expression as I at first looked at it, but that changed as my dick began to rapidly harden. I don't know if it was the look of it on me, the feel of the satin on my neck, or what the thing meant, but the reaction within me was intense enough to make me remove it and hurriedly return it to the dresser. I left my room as though I were snooping in my parents' bedroom, suddenly realizing how wrong I was to be doing so.
Back in the garage, with loud music and the reality of familiar, dirty, honest work, I took a large drink of the bottle, trying to think of dead kittens.
----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Another late afternoon, (Saturday) another hangover defeated. I was in the shop, buzzed on rye again and willing myself to
not
go inside and put the damned collar on, applying spots of finish putty here and there with a palette in one hand, applicator in the other. The door opened behind me as I scanned intensely for pits that needed filling, spilling temporary sunlight into my fluorescent world before it was shut again.
Earl, a semi retired delivery guy who worked for the parts supplier I dealt with, was an all right old feller. It was just that being out where I was, I was usually the last stop on his route and he had an irritating habit of hanging around to jaw with me after our business was settled. (I'd had to learn a few tricks to politely get rid of him) I smiled a little as I thought of the grinder I'd set under the car after putting in my order that morning.
"That little Toyota's gettin' slower every week, Earl. What the fuck kept ya?" I joked.
"Excuse me?" Dagmar's cold voice asked.
I just about shit myself. I whipped around without even collecting my composure first.
"Dag-
Mistress!",
I hastily corrected.
She looked so different. Her hair was completely down and full, makeup flawlessly applied, red lips, black eyeliner and nails. Most eye popping was the white dress that looked like a light, long sleeved, turtleneck sweater, showing almost all of her legs and holy moly! This was a completely different Dagmar from the one I knew at work. This Dagmar was just something else and I stared, stunned for a moment.
"I,... thought you were,... someone,... Jeez, you look just,... Wow!"
