- she knew what would happen...(1)
"I thought we had agreed that this nonsense was over", His voice said quietly behind her, sending a thrill of panic shooting through her as she turned to face Him, her heart pounding in her chest.
"i-i'm sorry Master..", she stammered, a look of chagrin on her face as she spun around in the chair, biting her lower lip the way she always did when He caught her breaking a Rule. "i thought you were at your riding lesson Master...", she blurted.
Normally He found this endearing, but not this time... they had discussed this at great length. He was more than disappointed with her.
Frowning, He strides across the room, his riding boots thumping softly on the splendid Persian rug that dominates the richly appointed Study. Standing next to her, He pulls his gloves off with deliberate care and sets them on the desk. Leaning on the edge, He crosses his arms and appraises her sitting there in her flimsy silk nightgown, the faint metallic sheen of the hybrid collar around her slender neck catching His eye the way it always did.
Butterflies dance inside her as she instinctively raises a slender hand to her breast, and fingers the collar.
"i needed closure", she says quietly, a slight quaver in her voice.
"I don't care...", He responds just as quietly, "...you knew what would happen if I caught you doing it again".
"Yes Master", she whispers, rising stiffly from her chair and padding to the centre of the room.
He stands away from the desk and reaches into the pocket of his brown riding jodhpurs, pulling out the Fob. A well manicured thumb slides the safety cover back and hovers over the oval button.
He was a powerful man... physically and politically. He moved in circles undreamt of by most. To his cabal, the Masons were laughable suburban buffoons. The dreaded Illuminati? Nothing but a wild folk tale... a scary bedtime story... a boogeyman for minor politicians and other power parasites. Amongst themselves, his group was referred to as the "Organisation"... no major world leader was outside of their reach. No scientific breakthrough was released to society without their approval. The Fob and Collar was one of those proscribed technologies, only available to the upper echelons of the Organisation.
"How long had we decided for this time love?" He asks cheerfully, his thumb lightly rubbing the smooth plastic lozenge-- the only indication of how much he really anticipated what was to come.
"Two weeks Master", she whimpered, assuming 'the position', standing in the centre of the room with her arms hanging loose and relaxed at her sides, her long lovely legs spread slightly apart.
"Two weeks then... very well love..", He murmurs, "it's time to pay the piper, little one".
His thumb flexes, and the button makes contact with a quiet click.
The collar tingles on her long elegant neck, the delicate tracings of circuitry embedded in the leather glowing with a vivid wispy blue. A sensation of a million ants crawling-- sweeps from the collar, across and into the core of her body in all directions as the process gains control of the physical constant that determines how much distance is maintained between the atomic bonds that make up her being. she feels the rising hum in her ears as the effect nears it's commit point... then the blank 'nothing' feeling as the nearly instantaneous translation takes place.
He watches with amusement as her wispy nightgown flutters to the floor... made empty so quickly that it seemed to hover for a moment, the lingerie of some invisible woman. It never failed to delight him, the abruptness of the translation. He watches as the gown settles, and then the slowly moving lump that works it's way to one edge of the seemingly discarded robe. The hem lifts, and out steps his most prized possession, reduced to the size of a doll.