Your Master Requires Your Obedience · Part 1 (1/4)
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Center Express Trina, short for Katerina, stole a glance at the guard sitting next to her. He seemed to be bored; that was understandable considering how many times he must have traveled this road. Bored but always alert, she noticed when he sat up in swift reaction to her sidelong peek. On the job as well, as Trina discovered when he reached behind her back to check on the handcuffs.
“Mile marker forty,” the driver announced. It must be some kind of code, since all Trina could see outside the front window was the Interstate and empty desert. She recognized where they were, on the road from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. This was the Mojave Desert, a huge swath of desolation, containing sagebrush, cactus, rattlesnakes and not much else. Eastward was Las Vegas, Death Valley to the north, and Arizona to the south. In any direction there was at least a hundred miles of nothing. It was the perfect location for hiding secret installations.
“Transport in place,” was the equally enigmatic response from her guard. It had to be a reference to her, and that she was under control. “In place” was an understatement, if he was referring to their passenger. From the outside her transportation bore a superficial resemblance to a common, full-sized SUV. Inside it could not be less common. This vehicle was equipped for one purpose, to move people like her from point A to point B, whether she wanted to make the trip or not.
She was a willing participant, the passenger by her own free choice. Free, now that’s irony, she thought. Who knows when she’d ever be able to use that word again? The way they had her bundled up she was free to turn her head but not much more; certainly not to speak. The gag dangling halfway out of the seatback pocket in front of her conveyed a message with no subtlety in it. Ride in silence, one way or the other. If her escort decided she was being a nuisance, be it from an honest mistake, insolent disobedience, or for no better reason than he missed his lunch today, then she’d suffer through the rest of the journey with that thing stuck in her mouth. Trina was determined to ensure her traveling companions would not hear a single sound from her without their permission.
Behind her back she flexed her hands to keep them from getting stiff. The handcuffs weren’t painful, as long as she didn’t fight them. Matching bracelets, she mused, the perfect accessory for a romantic evening’s car ride in the moonlight. That could easily be one of those fashion show introductions, except no one’s ever going to see high fashion models parading down the runway with their hands firmly secured behind their backs.
Three times, so far, her guard had checked on the cuffs. It wasn’t really necessary; she had no means of escape. She did find it reassuring the man next to her, the one in charge, was thorough in keeping her in her place. She hoped it was a sign of what was to come when they reached the Center.
Her fingers brushed against the fiberglass shell that formed the basis of her car seat. There was a space molded in the back to accommodate her arms and hands, for which she was grateful. The handcuffs were attached to a chain wrapped around her waist; the cuffs were held close to the small of her back. Not much chance on her part for any mischief with roving hands. There was a real seat belt, a wide nylon strap across her waist, just above the waist chain. Not much difference compared to a regular seat belt, except the buckle had a keyhole instead of a latch.
The two shoulder straps started above her shoulders. They ran down her torso, on either side of her breasts, ending in locking buckles built into the shell. They weren’t tight; he needed some slack to check behind her back. They were sufficient to keep her in the seat.
The high-risk prisoner car seat was full of those locking buckles. Another strap went across her legs, just above the knees. She could see it, next to the hem of her skirt. A proper lady keeps her legs together, Trina’s mother’s voice echoed, reminding her how to behave. At the moment that wasn’t a problem. Straps wrapped around each of her ankles held her legs together and in place. Just below the ankle straps were leg irons locked around her ankles, the connecting chain coiled between her feet. Bare feet too, the driver had taken her shoes. They must be somewhere in the front, though she had no idea where he put them.
The image of her attempting to run through the desert in a desperate escape attempt, barefoot, with her hands still locked behind her back, almost made her laugh. It wouldn’t exactly be running either, more like a slow walk forced on her by the leg irons. These men took their job seriously.
There wasn’t much to see in the dark. A tiny bit of road was illuminated in the headlights. It all started to look the same through the security grill separating her from the driver. Trina closed her eyes and leaned back, her head resting on a pad in the shell surrounding her. This was her long awaited ticket on the Center Express, the FastTrack program’s ride to that mysterious place in the desert. She knew little about the Center other than its shadowy reputation for discipline and obedience. It wouldn’t be long before she found out if the choice to subject herself to being “educated” was a wise one, or the worst mistake she’d ever made.
Even without all the restraints she would have been the model prisoner. This was where she wanted to be; there was no chance she would jeopardize it by misbehaving. Her opinion didn’t matter though. If the guard sitting next to her believed it was better she should endure the trip in close restraint, then she accepted that’s how it had to be.
Trina watched with envy when her escort raised up his arms, stretching to work out the kinks from prolonged sitting. It must be nice, she mused. He can do as he pleases. Me, she had to smile at the contrast, I can do as he pleases too. A quiet sigh escaped from her lips while settled back in her tiny confines, resigned to her condition while hoping they didn’t have much further to go.
He must have heard that sigh. Trina’s eyes flew open when he tugged on the seat belt, then the shoulder straps, her knee restraint and ending with a hands-on examination of the straps on her ankles. From the frown on his face there had to be something that didn’t meet with his approval. He used a key from his belt to unlock one of the shoulder straps. Trina wasn’t sure what was going on until he pulled in some slack before locking it back in place. She hadn’t noticed any difference but he was the one who had to be satisfied she was secure.
After such a thorough inspection, she expected him to continue. He was bored, she was a woman, and there was quite literally nothing she could do to stop him if he wanted to go exploring with those large hands. One of those hands rested on the edge of her car seat, almost touching her bare knee. Any moment now he’d begin reaching up her skirt…
Except it didn’t happen. What did occur is a hand on her chin, turning her head so he could look at her, eye to eye. “Are you okay?” The sincerity in his voice matched the concerned look on his face.
“I’m fine, sir. Please don’t worry about me. I apologize for disturbing you.” Those were the first words she’d spoken since they left Los Angeles. They would also be her last unless he asked another question. She’d been told to sit quietly for this trip; a very clear, concise instruction she felt compelled to obey.
“Mile marker ninety-five,” another update from the driver. She hoped it meant the Center was nearby.
“Ninety-five, confirmed.” Her guard answered. Judging from the formal way they spoke it must be recorded. Her guard reached into the seat pocket behind the driver and took out a canvas bag. A moment later she was plunged into darkness when he slipped it over her head. “Transport in place,” he answered.
Trina had been puzzled at the seeming lack of concern she might learn of the Center’s location. That particular question was now answered; she wasn’t going to see much of anything. All she knew, from the road signs, is that they weren’t close to any of the towns along the route to Vegas. That didn’t narrow it down by much; the Mojave Desert was a big, mostly empty spot on the map.
The arrangements had been simple, once she contacted the email address passed on by someone on the internet. There would be no cost for her to attend an informative retreat, but attendance would be mandatory if she chose to participate. She did hesitate, but once the details were explained to her she decided to proceed anyway.
This retreat was one that required strict obedience and adherence to regulations. That sounded just like the place Trina longed to visit. Transportation would be provided, but she would have to agree to be brought to the Center in custody, as if she were being taken to prison. That condition gave her pause too, but the vision of being arrested and restrained overcame her reluctance.
She did keep her appointment. The guards were very efficient, subduing her with handcuffs and a waist chain, before placing her in the SUV. Within seconds she was strapped in and the Center Express was on its way.
Arrival Whoever ran the Center didn’t waste any time. Less than an hour ago Trina was sitting in that vehicle with a hood over her head. Events moved quickly when they stopped. Her clothes, skirt, blouse, underwear, were nothing but scraps now, shredded with scissors. Her hands were still stuck behind her back, but the waist chain was gone. The leg irons on her ankles were in place too, which ruled out running or kicking. Not that she’d try; from the looks of this place she’d regret it.
She didn’t like the idea of being forced to wear a chastity belt either. When she tried to protest, the guard, no, she had to call them Wardens now. The Warden told her to shut up and get used to it. She got the hint. What she later learned was the standard Center uniform was topped off with a nice, shiny steel collar locked around her neck. A serial number was prominently stamped on the front.
She didn’t care much for her new ensemble, not that anyone else seemed to be bothered by her current state of undress. The dominant commands, the submissive obeys. It’s what Trina believed in, the reason she was here, to prove to herself she was committed to living up to her beliefs. How the Center would help her, that was a question yet to be answered. The conditions for admittance to the Center were explicit if lacking in detail: trust those with authority over her to act for her benefit. There was no explanation of what “benefit” meant, or how they intended to act on her behalf. And who were the mysterious “those in authority”? Again, Trina had no idea who gave them this power or how qualified they were to exercise it.
She turned her head, to get a better view of her companions. They were in the Waiting Room, so named because her group was to wait here for an orientation lecture. What she didn’t expect was that it would be standing room only, enforced by the metal cage now locked around her head. It was held on by a metal strap around her neck, under her chin and above her new collar.
A chain ran from the top of the head cage up to the ceiling. Once her head was inside a Warden had adjusted the chain length using a padlock to take up the slack, which forced her to stand upright in one spot. There were three other women with her, dressed, or undressed, in the same Center uniform, also rooted to one spot with similar head cages. One more head cage dangled from the ceiling, unoccupied for the moment.
They were lined up against the far wall of the room, spaced about an arm’s length apart. The orders were for the four of them to stand in their assigned locations, quietly, and no talking allowed. That was enforced by the Warden supervising them from his desk. Every time one of them shifted around, he looked up from his phone, a frown warning them he was not pleased with the distraction.
Running through the middle of the room were steel bars, reminiscent of old-style jails. She and her group were on one side, the Warden on the other. There was a gate set into the bars, with a lock built into it. Trina had seen the Warden use it when she was added to the waiting group. If this was a taste of what was to come, her initial impression of a Center that would be run like some kind of school symposium was far off the mark.
Behind her back she tugged at the handcuffs. They made her feel so helpless. And exposed now she had no clothes either. The Warden heard her. He stood up and walked over to the bars, stopping in front of her. “You were told to keep quiet and stand still. If you can’t follow simple instructions, we can provide you more time to consider the wisdom of defiance. One more sound out of you and you can stay in there all day. Do not try my patience.”
He backed up to look at the entire group. “I told all of you to stand still. I meant it. Any one of you, just one, disturbs me again and the whole lot of you will spend the day in here. I don’t care who did it; every one of you gets punished. I hope I make myself clear.”
Trina knew her legs wouldn’t stand up to treatment like that. Nor did she want to be the one to get the group in trouble by displeasing him. When he went back to his desk, she willed her body into holding as still as a statue.
Her eyes were drawn to the entrance when the door opened. A woman entered, led in by a Warden with his hand on her arm. She noticed the two Wardens didn’t speak to each other, though the new guard did nod to their room supervisor when he stood and left by the same door.
“Look at me,” the new Warden ordered in a sharp tone. That got Trina’s quick attention. “Cathy here has been assigned to present your orientation today. She will talk, you will listen. Ignore her at your peril. She has the information you need to make it through your stay at the Center. Cathy has been a guest here several times, making her something of an expert on how this place operates. Her advice and insight will be useful as you work to earn your release from our custody. When she finishes you will be allowed to ask questions. She will explain the rules, follow them.” With that he walked away, closing the door behind him when he left.
Custody? Earn my release? What was he talking about? Trina didn’t like the implication she was not free to leave on her own. Though at the moment she had to admit returning to the city wasn’t up to her.
“You can relax now, he’s gone.” Cathy smiled. “He left me in charge so I have a little bit of leeway. Not much though.” She turned to one side and held out her arms, behind her back. The handcuffs were plainly visible. “Even though I’m an instructor I’m not granted much in the way of extra privileges. I have to follow the same rules I’m going to explain to you. I screw up; I’m in there right next to you.” She nodded toward the empty head cage. “They left room for me, just in case. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d rather stay on this side.”
Trina studied the woman through the bars. Judging by appearance Cathy was right about the privileges. She was loaded down with the same chains, belt and collar. There was something about her: the way she held her head confidently, the ease when she moved around with those chains on, the deference she showed to the Wardens. It was a difference Trina wanted for herself.
“Welcome to the Center. That’s what we call it, don’t use any other name. The four of you are the first group admitted under the new FastTrack program. What does that mean? I don’t know. The men in charge have determined I don’t need that information. Neither do you, so don’t ask. That’s our first lesson.” While she talked Cathy paced back and forth in front of the group.
“In here you will be told what you need to know, but only when you need to know it. If you’re the curious type with an inquiring mind, then you’re in for a disappointment. There are many tools in play here to control us. Withholding information is one of those tools you will encounter with great frequency. We are deliberately cut off from the outside world. Yeah, that includes me. Get used to the fact you aren’t going to have any idea of what’s going on, or even what you’ll be doing an hour from now.”
Trina was beginning to worry. This was drifting further and further away from what she expected. There had been no explicit exit date specified when she signed up, though she had assumed it would be about two weeks. It might be a good idea to call it quits now and walk away.
Cathy must have read her mind. “I know what you’re thinking. Second thoughts: it was a mistake; I didn’t sign up for this; it isn’t what I expected; I want to go home now. I have some very bad news. You aren’t going home, not anytime soon. I mean months, not days. You start out with a bad attitude; it can be years before you ever see the outside world again. The men here, they are relentless. They don’t give up on you. In the end you will finish the program regardless of what you’re thinking now.”
“Wait a minute, I didn’t agree…” Trina began. This was wrong. Months, years? It had to be some kind of bad joke. No way was she going to waste her life at some Center for that long.
In a flash Cathy was in front of the bars, facing Trina. “Stop it! Right now, stop and don’t say another word!” The insistent tone was enough to stop Trina in mid-sentence. “You go any further and we’ll all be in trouble. So SHUT UP AND LISTEN!” Cathy all but screamed those last words. Trina flinched when the woman yelled at her. She could see genuine fear in Cathy’s face. That was confirmed when she turned toward the entrance, as if she expected Wardens to burst in at any moment.
Whatever Cathy anticipated it didn’t happen. “I’m sorry I shouted but you have to understand you cannot speak up like that without permission. You put us all at risk when you react that way, without thinking first. You were disobedient because you were told to stay quiet while I delivered the lecture. You’ve got to understand you can’t get away with outbursts like that, not in here. We’re lucky the Wardens aren’t coming through that door right now.” Cathy looked over her shoulder again, as if she still expected their imminent arrival.
“Please, be patient and let me finish. I believe you’ll find I can answer most of your questions, though you won’t like the answers.” Trina tried to nod in agreement. The head cage got in the way but Cathy seemed to understand.
“I’m sure all of you are having some misgivings about what you’ve gotten into here. Tough luck, you’re long past the point of no return once you’re this far in. You can see for yourselves there’s no way out. To be blunt, you’re all being held against your will, indefinitely. Illegal? You bet. Does it matter? Not really. No one knows you’re here, you can’t contact anyone, and there’s nothing that leads the police to this location. No one at the Center is going to help you escape either. That includes me. You have no options. I can’t stress this enough; you have no choice but to make it through the program, however long it takes. Time is not on your side. You don’t agree? Too bad for you. The men here, they don’t need your consent for anything.”
That phrase, for anything, struck a chord in Trina. Was it true? Up to now she’d always relied on that “get out of jail” card. It might be a safe word, or something as simple as walking away. All that had been yanked away in an instant. I wanted to experience the moment, she thought, the total loss of freedom, and how I’d handle it. Reality had come to her like an onrushing train, unstoppable and unavoidable.
“Speaking of time, it all belongs to the Wardens now. You have no free time, period. If a Warden wants something, you make sure he gets it, and I mean right now. Sorry again, but I can’t put too strong a point on your obligations. It’s very simple, do as you’re told. Obedience is what gets you out of here. Don’t think about their orders first; act immediately. The purpose of the program is to train you on proper behavior. How? That’s up to the men in authority over us.
“You’ll come across that phrase many times in here. Who are they? I have no idea. I don’t need to know. It might be someone watching us now. It might be one of the Wardens, observing you first hand. That’s something else you don’t need to know. They do exist, and their word is final. Your fate is in their hands, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
All powerful, unseen, and in total control; Trina felt something stirring under that chastity belt. No, no, not now, she fought to suppress what her body was telling her. That’s why they make us wear these things, she thought, almost laughing. She had an uneasy feeling there were many hours of sexual frustration waiting in her future.
“Also, when it comes to time, don’t bother trying to keep track of date or time of day. A clock, a calendar, maybe you had one of those smart watches? You aren’t going to see any of those for quite a while. Did you notice? Not one Warden wears a wristwatch. Won’t do you any good to try sneaking a peek. Want to try counting days? Consider this: what makes you think there are 24 hours in one of our days? That’s up to them. It might be twenty, and then again it might be thirty. What you call morning might be 10PM at night. You’ll be punished if a Warden catches you attempting to keep track of time or date, so don’t even try.”
Trina stared through the cage around her head at the woman standing before them. The Center was becoming scarier with every word Cathy spoke. She didn’t want to think about it, but she had to face the possibility she had, literally, risked her life in volunteering to come. She could disappear and no one would have a clue as to what happened.
“A word of advice concerning the Wardens. They are not your friends. They are not approachable; they are not sympathetic. You pay attention to them; you listen to what they say. Once more, above all, do as you are told. Those are the words you live by at the Center. Whatever they want, you deliver, as fast as you can. They are not patient, forgiving or understanding. You’re having a bad day? That’s your problem. All they care about are results.
“If you have to talk to a Warden, remember they all have only one name, and that’s ‘sir’. Don’t go overboard; you don’t win any points by irritating them. Use it in the first or second sentence. It’s not like you’re going to have an extended conversation anyway. Listen to those around you; you’ll pick it up quickly.
“One more thing. Maybe you have some urges, the itch you need a man to scratch? The Wardens are handy, plus they have the keys to these belts we have to wear. They’re men; all it takes is a little persuasion, right? Don’t bother. The belts have one purpose: to keep you in, not keep them out. You’ll be amazed at how much self-control you can muster when you don’t have a key to the belt.”
Questions Cathy continued with her lecture. “I’m told the four of you are the first group in the new FastTrack program. I have permission to mention that, but I wasn’t told what it means. I do have some specifics I can talk about. From the name I’m sure you can guess it has to do with streamlining the Center’s training regime. You four were selected based on your past history. My guess, and this is only my opinion, it must be related to your natural inclination to submit, to be owned, possessed, dominated, to depend on a man to run your life. Nothing wrong with it; I’m proud to be counted in the same category. I hope my owner agrees.” Cathy paused, seemingly lost in thought.
Trina wanted into that club too. She envied Cathy for so many reasons. She had an owner, she had made it through the Center, she had earned a life Trina could only dream about.
“Again, apologies, I drifted off topic. I wasn’t supposed to do that, which means my master is going to have some tough questions for me later on today. I wouldn’t characterize him as the lenient type, so don’t be surprised if I happen to join you tomorrow. I better stop there, no point in digging a deeper hole.”
Trina didn’t understand why Cathy seemed to be so apprehensive. What had she done that warranted being punished for it? Her master must be incredibly inflexible in his demands.
“You might be puzzled as to why we have to wear these cuffs?” Cathy held her arms out again. “The Wardens insist on close physical control over us at all times. That’s why we call this part of the Center the secure area. It’s a constant reminder for us there is only one way out of here, their way. The handcuffs, leg chains, bars, even taking away our clothes, it’s all there to intentionally force us into a helpless, vulnerable condition. Don’t judge too harshly; after a while you might even learn to love it. I do.”
At the moment, stuck in the head cage Trina found it difficult to agree with Cathy. She might not be enjoying it so much if she was on this side of the bars, Trina thought.
“The Center’s program started a profound change in my life,” Cathy continued. “I’m sure it was a change for the better. I am a man’s property, in every sense of the word. I’m not ashamed to admit it. In the usual sense I have virtually no freedom. When it comes to my spirit, my soul, I’m more liberated now than I’ve ever been before I came here. It may sound like a contradiction but it isn’t. I hope all of you will one day experience the same freedom, the freedom to be true to yourself.”
Trina sighed. It was her dream, one special man, always in charge. A man she had to please, to serve. No, wanted to please, Trina corrected herself. If only she could find someone like that. To date her efforts were dismal failures. They were eager to have her body; when it came to the rest, supervising her day after day, running her life, they soon disappeared after facing real responsibility.
“Okay, your turn. I’ll try to answer some questions. This is how it works. You tell me your name, that's your first name only, and ask one question. I reply as best I can. If you don’t like what I have to say, wait for your next turn. When you finish, keep quiet. Don’t interrupt, don’t ask for clarification. Keep in mind I may not know the answer, or if I do, I may not be allowed to tell you. Don’t push it; I obey my master first and always. You aren’t going to persuade me to change that. Okay, we’ll start at this end of the line.”
Cathy was at the opposite end of the group, which meant Trina would be last. At a nod the woman in front of Cathy spoke up. “My name is Joan. I’m not sure why I’m here. The email described a retreat, a BDSM style hotel, some bondage play, for the weekend. Am I in the right place?”
“I don’t know your details, Joan, but I can make an educated guess. Yes, you’re in the right place. The men here don’t make that kind of mistake. In simple terms, you were lured into coming here. Why? I have no idea. I’m sure you didn’t want to hear that, but you’re here now so you’ll have to live with it. Next in line?”
Your Master Requires Your Obedience · Part 1 (1/4)
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