Down in the Zero

'No,' I told her. 'Not for a long time.'

I put my jacket over the back of the couch. 'Where's the package I left?' I asked her.

'Right there,' she said, pointing to the wooden stool.

'You didn't open it?'

'I swear I didn't. I didn't touch it.'

'Good,' I told her, tearing open the top. 'Do you have a strong light? One that's portable?'

'I think so,' she said. 'Just a minute.'

She came back with the black floor lamp, the one with the gooseneck top.

'Perfect,' I told her, kneeling to plug it in. I bent the head down, stepped on the button in the base to turn it on. A narrow cone of bright white light shone on the top of the stool. I took things out of the paper bag, lining them up neatly.

'What is all that?' Fancy asked.

'This,' I told her, holding up a pen with a point that looked like a hypodermic needle, 'is a Tombow. With a two–X nylon point. Kind of a drafting pen. And this is black dye— that's what it uses instead of ink.'

I unscrewed the pen, put one end in the long narrow bottle of dye, and let capillary action do the rest. I smoked a cigarette through while I was waiting. Then I adjusted the point. 'Have you got a piece of paper?'

She brought me a pad of pink squares with a little butterfly design around the top. I ran the pen over the paper— the line was thin, but so dark you could see it easily. I took out some more stuff: sharp–pointed #2 pencils, a calligraphy–point felt–tip pen, a package of premoistened towelettes, individually wrapped in foil.

I carried the stool over next to the couch, setting it up so it was readily to hand when I sat down. Then I unplugged the lamp and moved it over to the couch, adjusting the cone until it fell on just the right spot. Fancy watched me, fascinated, not saying a word.

When I had it all arranged, I sat down on the couch.

'Come over here,' I told her.

She walked over slowly, uncertain. I took her hand, pulled gently. She came willingly enough. I kept pulling until she was sprawled across my lap. I yanked the spandex pants down over her rump, almost down to the back of her knees. Her panties were black silk, matching the patent leather pumps on her feet. I slid the panties down to her thighs, moved her bottom slightly toward me with my hand.

'Hold still,' I told her.

'What did I do?' she wanted to know, a pouty tone to her voice.

'You opened your big mouth,' I said. 'Now don't do it again.'

She lay still, her face in the couch. I rubbed the residue of baby powder off her bottom with my hand. Then I took the #2 pencil and lightly traced what I wanted on her right cheek. I took a close look— no good. I rubbed it off, tried again. Finally, I got it right.

'What are you doing?' she asked, voice muffled.

'I told you to shut up,' I said, smacking her hard on the rump. A red spot the size of my palm flared in the intense light from the lamp. 'Don't move,' I told her.

I traced the penciled design with the Tombow, working carefully so I didn't puncture her skin with the sharp point. My hands are surgeon–steady, but I'm no artist. It took me a long time before I was satisfied.

I held her there, one hand resting on her thigh, waiting for it to dry.

'Okay,' I said. 'Get up.'

She struggled to her feet, red–faced, adjusting her panties, hauling the reluctant spandex into place.

'You have a good mirror?' I asked her.

'Yes. In the dressing room.'

'Show me.'

She stalked away from me, moving quickly. The dressing room had a full–length mirror, but the lighting was all overhead— I wasn't sure if it would work.

'Take those pants off,' I told her. She practically ripped them down, kicking off her shoes, dropping the pants sullenly at her feet. I walked her over to the mirror, holding her by the shoulders. Then I turned her around so her back was to it.

'Pull down your underpants,' I told her. 'Take a look.'

She did, craning her neck to see over her shoulder. She touched the black dot on her rump wonderingly. 'What is it? I can't see it good.'

'It's a tattoo, Fancy. Like you wanted. Only it's not permanent. This way, you get to see what it looks like. Feels like.'

'Oh, I want to see it,' she squealed, pulling up her panties and running from the room.

I followed her down the hall into her bedroom. She was standing in front of a makeup mirror on her bureau. The mirror was bordered by a string of tiny light bulbs, glowing a soft, rich yellow.

'It reverses, see?' she said, flipping the mirror to its back side. The new mirror was magnified, distorting the image unless you were real close. She pulled the panties all the way down to her ankles, stood on one leg as she