Ficta · Part 2

Ficta · Part 2 (2/2)
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With one hand at her lower back, and one hand holder her leash, he steered her out of the room by way of a doorway on the other side from which she entered. They passed through a small hallway with pleasant small floral print wallpaper, a small antique table with a vase of flowers, all reminding her of an apocryphal aunt's home, and then they came to another room.

This was about the same size as the last room, but far more cluttered. This seemed more like a study, and bookshelves overflowed with papers, loosely bound texts, bric-a-brack and personal artifacts. There were cabinets along another wall, and there was a desk mostly covered by paper. But also on the desk was a computer, and around this computer was clear of the general clutter.

He left her standing in the center of the room, while still holding her leash, and opened up a cabinet. He pulled from it a large device of wire and metal rods and plastic bands. He set it precariously on a stack of papers on the desk, and closed the cabinet. He fastened her leash to a ring set in the desk; he had her kneel. He fiddled with the device for a moment, then it opened up, in some fashion, and he set it about her head.

The thing reminded her of a halo brace, and indeed with the twisting of knobs, the screwing of cranks, and the snapping of snaps the device gripped her head firmly, and pressed against her skull in numerous places. A large multi-colored ribbon of wires ran from the device to a pronged end, which he plugged into a box attached to the computer. She merrily laughed inwardly to find that she would be re-written on an Amiga.

He sat himself at the desk and began to type at the keyboard. Kneeling by his side, she laid her head against his thigh. He grinned at her, and reached through the wiring to rub at her jaw line for a moment, then returned to the machine. As she lay there, she felt dancing on the inside, like a flight of butterflies in her heart, but she had no inclination to move from her position against her master. After a few more commands, he looked at her again, then tapped one last keystroke.

She felt a fleeting feeling across her mind, like a high cloud scooting across the sky, a feeling that was more an awareness than an emotion. She neglected her vision, her hearing, and all her outward senses, turning all of her awareness to what was happening to her mind. She opened up all of her mind to this faint thing.

She felt as if she were in midair, falling or flying, then. And she felt as if there was someone who's thinking she could hear, or feel, or know. Then, instantaneously, with not transition, she knew she would not disobey. She could ///remember/// being able to disobey, but she no longer could. And it was not even a realization about whether or not she *could*, but rather the understanding that never in her life would she disobey her Master. But she had not wanted to then, and was no longer capable now, and could not longer conceive of herself disobeying. Freedom from his will passed entirely from her understanding and ability and desire and all her soul.

Then there came into her mind another understanding, or rather, there passed from her other knowings. Gone was the worry that she might leave, gone the idea that she someday would not be his slave, gone the concept of being not his, gone the idea of having an identity of her own. All questions of permanence fled: she knew she was once something else, free, but she could no longer imagine it, or hold such an idea for herself in her mind.

Certainty came to her next of his love and caring for her. It was eternal, and undivided by any other loves he indulged in. She knew this, and became removed from any jealousy. She came to know that he was capable in what he promised her, and would not fail her. Of these two things trust is made, and forged in her was an absolute and unquestioning trust in him. She knew, for instance, that she would have no desire to preserve her life should he tell her it was to end.

And she knew then, that he *understood*. He understood her need for pain. He understood that every blow and every cut would convey love as a kiss does, and she understood that every blow and every cut was a gift of infinite loving. Every agony he inflicted would be his gift and his testament of love to her. She knew she would be made to suffer beyond her ability to endure, because he cared. She knew that he would understand every scream and every whimper to be not a wish for the pain to end, but a sound her body demanded she make; she knew she need not be silent for fear of making his ministrations cease. It was a promise written on her soul, “No matter what you do, I will not stop, you cannot make me stop. I will make you *hurt*.''

He watched on the screen as the machine wrote in her mind what she shall be for the rest of her life. There was a gauge that showed her resistance to the imprinting: in truth, there was no resistance. Her mind welcomed these thoughts, beliefs and tenets with complete acceptance. He watched as the machine remade her mind, with a delight and awe he rarely felt. She wanted to be his as much as he desired to own her. It seemed to him to be a miracle, and he felt a desire to thank some nameless deity that such a creature could exist, that a creature existing could be so perfect for him, could be his true mate.

He did not have to reprogram her. She had fallen in love as he took her in the chains. She would have obeyed as best any natural creature could physically obey. But then again, he did need to reprogram her. They both needed it. He needed to know her faith and love were absolute; that is what his heart needed. And it was also his gift to her. The programming went well beyond her consciousness, circumventing her own thoughts. Things she would have been physically incapable of doing at his order, such as “Go to sleep'', her new programming would obey; he was programming the controls to her body, not just her mind. If he did not do this, she would fail, and it would wrack at her, and grieve her; now she would not have to endure failure at what she wished to be able to do.

He scratched her scalp idly as the machine whirred away. Then it was done. He shut down the master program, and unplugged the headset. She lifted her head from his leg, and looked up in his eyes. He released her head from the mechanism, and set it on the desk. Her eyes were choked with emotion, but were dry. With a soft rustle of a voice she said, “Thank you, Master. Thank you for making me this.''

He lifted her up and kissed her then, and she responded with all the ardor in her overwhelmed heart. He took the chain from the desk, and lead her forth again.

This time, the came to a room that looked of japanese style; two walls were of rice-paper panes in wood. Racks lined the other austere, white, walls, bearing all manner of instruments. A pallet lay on the hardwood floor by one wall. A low table held a lantern, a sprig of flowers, a white cloth, and a pitcher with a glass. He unlocked her hand from behind her back, and helped her strip off her clothing. Folded these were put on the table, with his robe.

He locked her hands to a sturdy chain from the ceiling. He took the white cloth; with one hand gripped her hair and pulled back her head, and with the other he forced the cloth into her mouth. There was much of it, and it would not all fit in her mouth. He pulled it out, and twisted one corner, and forced it back into her mouth. “Swallow,'' he commanded, and she let the cloth into her throat. This time he was able to press all of the fabric into her. She gagged fiercely against the mass filling her throat, but so tightly was the cloth packed she could not even vomit, neither could she move her jaw at all.

He took a roll of tape and a squeeze tube from the wall; he smeared the substance in the tube on her lips, then sealed over her mouth with the tape. The distress of gagging against the cloth surged adrenaline through her, and her breath came ragged and panicked through her nostrils. She managed to control this quickly and her body stopped spasming as violently.

He took a heavy stick from the wall; it was black and had a grip at one end: a billyclub. He met her gaze once. His face was filled with a zen-like calm. She matched this within herself. Then he broke gaze with her, and raised the club.

With a snap of his wrist and flex of his shoulder, the club hit her with a meaty ///thunk///. He was older, but he was not weak. That blow summoned more force than she had ever seen used against a living person; nothing was held back. Wasting no time, he recoiled, and clubbed her again. Her breath was forced from her lungs.

He proceeded to beat her. Each blow was a study in technique, a perfect culmination of study and skill in force and aim. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she grunted and moaned and shrilled and gurgled in pain around the gag but all of these sounds were muffled almost beyond his hearing. He walked about her as he beat her, being careful not to do any severe trauma to delicate areas, such as her kidneys. Blows fell across her belly, across her shoulders, her thighs, her breasts, her ribs, her calves. After a while, he ceased, and poured a drink of water for himself from the pitcher; he sipped at the water for a time. Then he began again.

She passed beyond tears, grunting faintly only because some blows pushed the air past her vocal cords. All of her awareness compacted to the immediate room. Her mind filled with the perfection of the connection between swinging hardwood rod and her flesh. Each swing was a need, and that need was fulfilled by her soft body accepting and intercepting the motion, stilling it and absorbing it. Each volume of her body was a need, and the force of each impact dispersing deep throughout her muscle was a fulfillment.

She did not realize when he stopped, for her body hurt so. But it was the jingling of the keys and he reached up and unlocked her that alerted her to the end of the ordeal. The manacles fell from the chain and she collapsed into his arms. He bore her down to the pallet, and cradled her in his arms. He smiled at her.

“See,'' he said stroking her throat, “You no longer gag.'' She nodded faintly, her head resting against his chest. He ran his hands over her bruising body. Her breath wheezed in and out of her constricted air passage, but it no longer distressed her.

He pulled the tape from her mouth. Then he pulled the damp wadded cloth from her mouth. She gagged a bit as he drew the last of it from her upper esophagus. He massaged her neck around the collar, then sat her up. He ran a short chain though the loop about her waist, and fastened each end to a wrist manacle. He stood and donned his white robe; holding her leash, and said, “Come with me.''

He stopped in the hall to open a closet and get a pink shift for her to wear. It was light and pleasant against her skin. Then he lead her to the kitchen. It seemed strange to be in this place again while in chains, but strangenesses were no longer her concern. He rummaged in the refrigerator, and put a handful of vegetables on the counter. He leashed her to the counter. He got a knife, a parer and a cutting board.

“Wash, skin and chop these,'' he instructed. She went to her task with a will. Her motions were clean and efficient, and she was capable with the knife; but she found the limits on the motion of her hands to make her work challenging. She did not let it deter her. He prepared meat and when they were done, he began cooking it, and she set the kitchen table. Together they worked.

When it was done, they brought the food to the table — her chain reaching that far where it was fastened, and sat to eat. She found his cooking very pleasing, and ate with a relish and a gratitude she could not remember ever experiencing before. When she had cleared her plate, she realized that her Master was still eating. Her mind reeled for a moment: had she erred? He laughed softly at her like one laughs at the timidity of a child. He picked a slice of carrot from his plate and held it forth to her. She took it delicately in her teeth, and chewed it slowly and thoroughly; it hurt her abuse throat a little as she swallowed. She licked his fingers clean.

He laughed merrily, and slapped his thigh in summons. She fell to her knees at his side, and as he ate he would occasionally feed her from his hand. When he was done, he had her lick the dishes clean; she closed her eyes and hummed with pleasure as she did. They finished cleaning in a more ordinary manner, with a dishwasher, and put everything away.

He brought her back into the further reaches of the house, and they came to his bedroom. He stripped her of all but her manacles and collar. He laid her down in his bed and locked her leash to the headboard. He laid down beside her, and pulled the covers over them. He took her in his arms, pulling her back to his chest, and curling his knees against the backs of hers.

“Did you like that?''

“Yes, Master.''

“Would you like to do that every day?''

She thought about the question for a moment.

“I would like to feel like that every day, but I would be afraid I would become acclimated to it, Master, if it were always the same.''

“I have many, many ordeals to put you through, dearest. Go to sleep now, and tomorrow there will be new acts to endure.'' He kissed her behind her ear, and with his face buried in her tresses, she fell into a peaceful slumber.

Ficta · Part 2 (2/2)
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