Your Master Requires Your Commitment · Part 4 (4/4)
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He didn’t hesitate to use his power over her either, which only added to her compulsion to please him. The moment he ordered her to turn around and put her hands behind her back, that low yet insistent voice filled her head. It wasn’t until the cuffs snapped shut on her wrists did Darla realize she had obeyed instantly.
There was a difference today. The handcuffs were the hinged type, far more restrictive. And the leg irons on her ankles were fitted with a shorter chain than normal, further limiting her ability to walk. She was grateful he allowed for her difficulties by setting a slow pace that Darla could manage.
Though virtually helpless the way he was considerate did reassure her, which is why she remained hopeful her ordeal here in the Center would eventually have a positive outcome. It was difficult to explain, but Darla sensed that he was doing his best to help her, even though he was responsible for the manner in which she was restrained.
They finally stopped in front of an unmarked door. He pushed Darla against the wall with a warning to “stay there.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him unlock the door with a key from the bundle attached to his belt.
How does he know this is the right door? Darla had yet to see a single door or hallway marked with any kind of sign. The place was laid out in a giant maze. Even if she managed to dash off, at a slow, stumbling walk, she’d be lost in moments.
Inside the room there was a table with a large display on top. A chair completed the sparse furnishings. Beyond the monitor she could make out a darkened window into another room.
Mr. Nice pulled out the chair and held it for her. “Sit down,” came the expected order. It was awkward with her hands bound behind her back but she managed to find a comfortable spot. Fortunately, the chair had a cutout in back to accommodate her hands.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Listen carefully. In a few minutes further instructions will appear on the screen.” He gestured toward the display screen. “Until then you are to remain seated. Do not stand up. You will not look around or turn back toward the door, even if you hear it open. It is important you verbally answer any questions that appear on the display as concisely and honestly as possible. I’m going to leave you on your own, though I will be nearby at all times. Can I count on you to do as you’re told?”
“Yes, sir,” Darla replied. Her assignment was simple enough, though it was puzzling. Why a computer monitor? It seemed so impersonal, which was unusual considering the way the men in this place seemed to delight in personally ordering her around. The constant pressure of the cuffs on her wrists, forcing her to keep her hands close behind her back, was an insistent reminder of who was in charge. There’s a reason I feel confused. It’s intentional, she thought.
The Warden’s hand disappeared from her shoulder. Darla heard the door behind her open and close. She was tempted to look back over shoulder to see if he really left her alone, but that wasn’t allowed. What’s happening to me? A few words from a stranger and I can’t move?
There was no way she was really on her own in this room. There had to be a camera, somewhere. Her escort, Mr. Nice, could be standing on the other side of that door, watching her on his phone, ready to burst in at the first sign of disobedience. Just the thought of disappointing him kept her eyes fixed on the display screen.
How long did she have to wait for something to happen? As long as it takes, she had to admit, with a rueful smile. As it turned out, that wasn’t very long. She saw a shadowy silhouette enter the room behind the glass wall separating her from the other side. It was too dark to recognize who it was, but something in the outline suggested it was a man.
The monitor on the table woke up. At first all she saw was the blinking cursor in the upper left corner. She kept shifting her gaze back and forth between the display and the mysterious figure opposite her. Suddenly, text appeared on the screen.
You will remain silent until a question appears. You will verbally answer immediately when I ask a question. I expect you to keep on topic and not try to evade or deflect the question. Your cooperation is mandatory. If I’m not satisfied with your effort then you will be punished for your intransigence. Your future depends on what happens in here, so it would be wise on your part to not hold back.
There wasn’t a question, so Darla kept quiet. What was her outlook going forward? Whatever it was, chances were she’d be the last one to know. The best she could hope for was one or two clues inadvertently revealed from the forthcoming questions.
Before I start, you need to be informed of recent developments. You don’t know me, and for now we’ll keep it that way. I have made arrangements with the Center to assume responsibility for you. I will not explain what that means, other than to say from now on I will be making major decisions on your behalf. As far as you are concerned, consider yourself to be my property from this moment forward. Adjust your thinking to see yourself in those terms. Although you answer to me first, you will continue to follow Center regulations and obey the Wardens.
Darla stared at the anonymous man hidden in the shadows. His property? What did that mean? Is he my owner? Even as she silently asked the question, she was certain as to its meaning. Her session with Paula had left no doubt. The outline of the man hidden in the shadows had taken over. Without asking, without any care for what she thought. He wanted her; he would have her, on his terms, and Darla realized she was unable to resist the power of her new owner.
This session is confidential, between the two of us. There are no surveillance cameras or microphones. The Director, the Review Board, even the Wardens are not watching. You will not discuss what happens here with anyone, even if ordered to do so. My directives supersede all others.
Was it true? Darla had no reason to doubt what he was saying, though it seemed unusual.
This is my first question. I want an immediate answer, no hesitation. Do you belong here, in the Center?
She had the response. Still, it was difficult to put into words. “I apologize, sir, but that is a question I cannot answer. If, as you say, I am your property then you will choose for me. If my presence at the Center is in my best interest, in your judgment, then yes, I belong here.”
Even as she spoke Darla couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What has happened to me? The display went blank. Glancing up through the darkened window she saw his profile, unmoving.
This is the next question. Your hands are bound behind your back. You might have noticed this is a common occurrence since your arrival. There’s no reason, as far as security goes, for this. I’m sure you are not going to overpower a Warden and escape. Does the fact you must wear the handcuffs anyway bother you?
There’s a reason for everything in here. That was Darla’ first reaction. She leaned forward and brought her hands around to her side, as much as the overly restrictive hinged cuffs allowed. “If I had a choice, no, I would decline being handcuffed. It’s very frustrating, not being able to use my hands. And I have to depend on a Warden to take them off. Yes, they bother me, but I’d add I’m sure I don’t know the whole story.” She flexed her hands. “There must be a purpose that’s not obvious to me.”
Very perceptive of you. There is a point to the exercise, though you may not like it. You see, it is very attractive, seeing your hands in the small of your back, bound in steel bracelets, so powerless, dependent on your escort for both help and release.
Darla looked up from the screen to the shadowy figure in the window. She’d never really thought about what went on inside a guy’s head when he was busy placing her in bondage. She had always focused on her own enjoyment of the moment, though she was aware men had to find something of value as well.
You have graduated from the training program. However, for reasons I will not explain you will remain in the Secure Area. You will conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to your new status as a resident of the Center. One last question, can you offer any credible reason I should not act as I see fit, regarding you?
How can I answer a question like that? Although she didn’t reply immediately, Darla wasn’t trying to dodge the question. For some time now she’d been forced to submit to men who claimed to be acting in her best interest, albeit without her approval or consent. Mr. G had been the first, when he essentially kidnapped her by refusing to release her from his private dungeon. Instead of a plane ride back to Los Angeles he’d sent her to the Center. And now there was another man in her life, who had simply walked in and taken over, while remaining anonymous. Aside from a few halfhearted protests she’d accepted their power over her, without seriously questioning it. Maybe the Center was the right place for her.
Frank Discussion The Warden jerked on the bars to make sure the door to the cell was locked before he turned and left. Darla went to her bed to sit down and rest after another long day. Alisha did the same. Darla silently gave thanks Alisha obeyed the rules and kept her feet on the floor.
“Do you think they’ll ever let us go?” Alisha’s voice had a distinct tone of despair.
“Yes, I do,” Darla answered, trying to add a note of confidence. “This is a phase we must go through, that’s what I believe. They don’t intend to harm us.”
“A phase? You’ve got to be joking.” Alisha shook her head in disbelief. “So, you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid too?” Darla recognized the reference to that religious cult that had committed mass suicide at the behest of their leader, by drinking poisoned Kool-Aid.
Darla didn’t reply. So what if I did, she thought. Nothing had actually changed, as far as her living conditions, yet she was seeing it all from an entirely new perspective. She had a purpose, and a man, her master, who would hold her to account if she failed him. While she listened to Alisha go on and on about how bad off they were, to Darla it was just so much noise.
“Do you ever think about how badly you’ve messed up your life?” Darla finally interrupted, trying to put an end of Alisha’s rant.
She did stop but stared at Darla with an indignant expression. “Messed up my life? What do you know? You’re the one with the problems, giving in to all this!” Alisha swept her arms around their cell. “I’m not buying what these guys are selling. I was happy with my life. I don’t need a change.”
Darla shook her head. “You protest too much. You’re miserable; it’s obvious to anyone who can stand to listen to you. No social life, a dead-end career in a dying profession, and no prospects for improvement. Take a hard look at your life. All I’ve heard is an unending series of bad decisions. Maybe it’s time someone else cleaned up the mess.”
Alisha was so angry she couldn’t speak. Unable to storm out of the room she jumped up and went to the bars, her back to Darla. In spite of her temper tantrum Alisha did manage enough self-control to remember their recent training. She stopped short of the blue, forbidden zone, stripe of paint on the floor.
The significance wasn’t lost on Darla. “Look,” she began,” I didn’t mean to be rude…”
“I don’t want to discuss it,” Alisha snapped. “Leave me alone.”
A Change When Darla entered the room there wasn’t much to see. There was a table and chair, a row of sheet metal lockers along one wall, and another door at the far side. On the wall behind the table there was a sign mounted on the wall, announcing that this was a “Secure Area” followed by a list of familiar rules.
The admonition warning that all females must wear a collar and “control belt”, a euphemism for the chastity belt fastened around her waist and between her legs, seemed a bit redundant. Both were locked on her body, and would remain there until a Warden decided to produce the keys. The requirements were prominently displayed, as per the next line dealing with a prohibition on clothes. The edict about being escorted wasn’t necessary either; the Warden’s hand gripping her arm filled that particular regulation.
The sign was the oddity in the room. Why was it there? How many months had she lived with those rules in her daily life? The line about not wearing clothes was perhaps the most ironic. The last time she’d seen anything more than the chains she now had on was the day of her arrival, when her dress had been shredded.
“Face the wall. Don’t move. No talking.” Those short, crisp commands delivered in that quiet yet so powerful tone of voice held her in position when he let go of her arm. Darla heard him pull out the chair before he sat down at the table. He was close by, practically at her side, yet she dared not risk a glance to check.
Though she would obey any Warden, once again her guard was Mr. Nice. She would miss seeing him when her owner finally came for her. She kept her back ramrod straight, her bound hands resting precisely centered in the small of her back, and her feet were exactly the right distance apart to lift the chain connecting her ankles off the floor. If, or better when he checked, everything had to be as perfect as was possible. To please him she’d stand against the wall for hours, until she collapsed from exhaustion.
The Wardens were deliberately cold, distant, and unapproachable. All the women knew the reason why, to prevent becoming attached to one of them. That was the theory. It didn’t work for Darla. Each time she saw Mr. Nice, her nickname since she had no clue what his real name was, all she could think of was to find some way for him to notice her. Considering the environment in the Secure Area that wasn’t easy. Her friend Trina had shown Darla the way.
Darla didn’t miss the way the men looked at Trina when she was in the same group. It wasn’t that she was a stunning beauty; in fact, many of the women outshone her in that respect. It wasn’t physical appearance that made her stand out. Rather it was the way she seemed to carry a certain aura, a sense that she was the embodiment of all that the Center tried to instill in the women confined in the Secure Area. Trina never made mistakes; she was respectful to the men even in private conversation, and her way of standing, kneeling or sitting spoke of a commitment to obedience no man could resist.
Maybe she’s had more time to perfect her skills, but that doesn’t stop me from walking the same path. Darla kept her eyes on the wall, instead relying on her ears to provide some hint as to what he was doing. He stood up, slid back the chair, and walked over to the lockers.
He was behind her now. No sounds came to her, which meant he must be inspecting her. Let him look, I know he won’t find a single fault. That was a point of pride for Darla. Even Trina, with all her skills, might match but never surpass me. If only Mr. Nice were able to understand how her attitude had changed since her arrival, then he’d know how important it was for her to impress him.
There was a rattle from a sheet metal locker door swinging open. Darla was dying of curiosity to see what was inside, although her compulsion to remain in place still held. She could hear him rummaging through the contents. I’ll find out when he decides I need to know. The Center had done well in teaching her to be patient, and to accept those in authority knew best. That included withholding information if they deemed it in her best interest. Or if they just want to prove how thorough their level of control is over me. That particular habit was one of the most irritating restrictions she had grudgingly learned to accept.
Suddenly the shackles on her ankles were opened and removed. The handcuffs followed. That’s odd, why isn’t he maintaining full control? The room was too small to be used for any kind of training class, so what was going on?
“Turn around,” he ordered. Over his shoulder Darla finally saw the locker contents. Her eyes grew wide when she recognized clothes from her apartment closet. How did they find their way to the Center, and more important, what were they doing anywhere near her? She was staring at what was clearly contraband, strictly prohibited, no exceptions. It made her nervous being in the same room.
He must have sensed her discomfort. Placing his hands on her shoulders he began. “Look at me. I can see you’re concerned, as you should be. I want to reassure you I have the authorization to override regulations in this section of the Secure Area.” He nodded his head toward that sign listing the rules.
“This is what will happen next. When I tell you to begin, you will get dressed. I picked this dress out because I liked it. I want to see how well it suits you. You will not be punished for following my instructions. Use everything in the locker, including the underwear and the shoes. You will do as you’re told. I don’t want to see any hesitation. When you finish you will stand in front of the table and wait for me.”
That matter-of-fact way he had of issuing orders appealed to Darla. It wasn’t a request, more an assumption she would complete her assignment without any further intervention on his part. He trusted her; to disappoint him now was unthinkable. The moment he returned to the table, sat down and waved his hand she was at the locker, reaching in to take a quick inventory.
Within minutes she was slipping the dress over her head. It was a familiar part of her old wardrobe, a pastel yellow shift that dropped to just above her knees. It was sleeveless but not too revealing. She had originally selected it as suitable for the office in summertime, bright, feminine and cheery. She smoothed out the wrinkles before slipping her feet into the low-heeled sandals. Carefully she knelt down to fasten the ankle straps, making sure he had a nice view of her legs.
Despite his assurances she wasn’t in trouble there was still that little voice in the back of her head, going on and on about spending a week in time out, buried in that nightmarish wall. She went to her designated spot in front of the table, split between the enjoyment that comes with ending months of nudity and the anxiety of a nagging feeling of being disobedient.
Mr. Nice, the Warden, was busy entering something on a tablet. From her angle she couldn’t read what was on the screen, which must be intentional. Training took over, dictating she wait for him, arms at her side, feet slightly apart. That was the right way; she didn’t have to guess.
He didn’t rush to finish whatever he was entering. Finally, he cleared the tablet and slipped it into a desk drawer. Only then did he look up at Darla. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and gave her an appraising once-over any woman would recognize immediately. He wants me!
“Well done. Here in the Secure Area, the absence of clothes does make the heart grow fonder for a bit of fashion. That color is very attractive. We’re done here, but before we leave, I want to go over some instructions for you.”
Change of Venue The change in Darla’s attitude was remarkable. Sam had to admit the Center’s program occasionally yielded some amazing results. Darla had arrived in a state of confusion, mixed with anxiety and more than a little terrified of what had happened to her, though she never admitted to it. The woman standing before him now displayed a perceptible attitude full of confidence and pride. Though the conditions in the Secure Area were harsh she had prevailed, flourishing as she came to terms with her inner self.
How would the day end for the two of them? Sam hoped for the best, yet he recognized the risks that came with his decision to end her stay in the Secure Area. If she rejected him then there would be no alternative but to return her where she now stood, except she’d be entering rather than exiting. Putting off the moment of truth wasn’t going to help. It was time to act.
“We’re at the entrance to the Secure Area. Beyond that door,” he pointed to the exit, “are the living quarters for the rest of the Center.” He stood up. “This is your graduation, Darla. There will be no more Wardens, no cells with bars, no restraints to control your movements. The review committee has determined you are ready to join our little society.”
She had the presence of mind to keep her position, even though Sam could tell the news came as a shock. “Rely on your training in here; the rules you follow won’t change. However, there are some new requirements that you must keep in mind. Foremost, and this won’t come as a surprise, never forget the Center is based on male domination and gender specific roles. There is no ‘woke’ here. You will continue to show proper respect for those in charge, and you will obey those in authority over you at all times. You will discover that respect goes both ways; you can rightfully expect to be shown the utmost courtesy in return. If you ever need help of any kind, someone will be there to assist you. Follow the rules, accept your place among us, and you will lack for nothing.”
Sam had spent hours last night working on that speech. To his ears it sounded paternalistic and insincere, though Darla, judging from the expression on her face, didn’t take it that way. It was difficult to say exactly what she was feeling. Eagerness, excitement, maybe yearning? The evening was just beginning; she had no clue as to what was coming.
“When we go through that door, this is what will happen. You are forbidden to speak to anyone but me, and I mean anyone, man or woman, regardless of circumstances. You will stay close to me at all times. One more item, you need to know my name. It’s Sam, Samuel Littleton. You will continue to address me, and all men, using ‘sir’. We’ll discuss that in more detail later.”
“In a moment I’m going to lift your order to be silent. I know you have a long list of questions. I’ll ask you to hold off for a little longer. I promise everything you need to know I’ll provide shortly. Can I trust you, Darla, to behave and not cause trouble? You have permission to speak.”
She took a deep breath before answering. “I’ll do my best, sir. If I make a mistake, you will stop me right away? I’m about to burst with questions, but I’ll try to keep my curiosity in check until you decide it’s time. Sir, are you my owner?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, I am. I was that shadowy figure asking you questions anonymously. You belong to me. For what it’s worth, I am very possessive. If I see the least sign of deliberate disobedience, I guarantee you’ll be back here in record time.” He fixed her with an intense state. “You won’t disappoint me.”
Darla didn’t know what to say or do. Yet, that wasn’t a problem. “What should I do next, sir?”
Homeward Bound After all these months she finally learned his name. “Sam” seemed to fit the man who had become the center of her little world. No more Mr. Nice, she almost laughed at the thought. His last words stuck in her head, “You won’t disappoint me.”
To anyone else it might sound like a threat. She didn’t interpret it that way. To the casual observer it might come across a steel fist inside a velvet glove. Darla had the benefit of experience with her former Mr. Nice. It was his way of stating a simple fact with his particular brand of self-confidence. No threat was necessary, because she wasn’t going to disappoint him.
When he took a step toward her she automatically turned to face the wall, while carefully placing her hands behind her back. Wherever they were going it was still in the Center, which meant the rules had to be followed. The sign on the wall made that clear; females must be restrained while being escorted.
Her move caught Sam by surprise, though once he thought about it, she had done the right thing. “Outside the Secure Area the restraint rules aren’t in effect. In fact, as long as you have permission you don’t have to be escorted, unless you’re headed to a restricted area. However, I’m adding a condition. When I’m escorting you the restraint rule does apply, no matter where you are. Don’t worry about being singled out; everyone is aware there are some women who are subject to special restrictions. You did well, by the way. I’m quite pleased with how you reacted. Don’t change.”
Reaching behind his back he took out the pair of handcuffs he always carried. Slowly he closed the cuffs around her wrists, the sound of the ratchet echoed loudly in the silence. “Do you know why you aren’t granted the same privileges as other women outside the Secure Area? I’ll share the secret with you.” He ran his fingers around the steel bracelets. “It’s because you like this as much as I do.”
The Open Door “Say goodbye to school. Once you go through that door your life starts over. You have no history prior to today. No one will ever question you about your past life. There’s no prohibition if you choose to bring up the subject, but never ask anyone else unless they mention it first. As part of that new outlook, you no longer have a last name. Never use it again. You are simply ‘Darla’. If you need to be properly identified, there’s a registration number stamped on your collar.”
Sam opened the exit door. He held it, gesturing for her to go first. The change was remarkable. On this side the hallway was carpeted, there was soft, indirect lighting, the walls were painted in pastel colors, and the door he closed behind them had a sign on it. She did spot the blue stripe on the floor in front of the entrance to the Secure Area. That was one convention that didn’t change.
“The Secure Area is off limits to you. Unless you have specific instructions, you are not to approach this door or loiter nearby. If you are ordered to report here, then push the buzzer to announce yourself.”
Sam caught her glance down at the broad blue stripe in front of the door. “The meaning is the same out here,” he explained. “You do not cross blue lines on the floor, unless you are escorted.”
“Yes, sir,” Darla replied. It was a clever solution, even though it relied on the honor system, to mark off restricted areas. Boundaries, she thought, I need those markers or I wouldn’t know where to stop.
She looked up at Sam. “Sir? Will I be allowed to go outside? I miss the outdoors, sunlight, a fresh breeze, even walking barefoot through grass.”
Sam nodded. “Yes, I’ll see to it you get some time ‘up top’, as we call it. There’s no way for you to know The Center is almost all underground. I’m afraid the outside is just desert, no grass lawns, but there’s plenty of sun. You can’t go by yourself though. You have to be escorted by your owner, or someone he designates.”
The restrictions didn’t bother Darla. Rules like that existed to protect her, even if it wasn’t clear how it actually worked. “Sir? Is it true? Do I really belong to you?”
Sam placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “Yes, and yes. Here in the Center, we have our own legal system. The collar you wear marks you as property. The number stamped on the collar indicates I own you. It’s all too true. Doubt it at your peril.” He frowned, trying to be serious to make his point.
“Yes, sir. I was just checking. What do we do now?” She looked up and down the corridor.
“Now we go home.” Sam took hold of Darla’s arm to show her the way to her new life.
Your Master Requires Your Commitment · Part 4 (4/4)
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