Your Master Requires Your Obedience · Part 2 (2/4)
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“Maria. I was pulled over by what I thought were police. They arrested me and brought me here. I didn’t volunteer for anything. Why am I here?”
Cathy hesitated before she replied. Involuntary seizures were rare. She would have to be careful since the orientation process tended to become confrontational very quickly. Still, she deserved to hear the facts, brutal as they might be.
“I’ll be blunt. You were stalked, selected for seizure, kidnapped and transported here without your consent. Why? Someone with substantial influence and power decided he wanted you, so he had you brought here. I’ll say it again, nothing you can do about it. What I can guarantee is you’ll be here until you finish the program. Next?”
The woman standing next to Trina was a petite Asian woman. “I’m Yoshi. The program, when we finish, will we be allowed to meet potential owners?”
Cathy didn’t reply immediately. She studied the small woman, though it wasn’t easy to gauge her expression through the helmet locked on her head. This one is definitely invested in the program, Cathy thought.
“It doesn’t work like that. They pick you. If the Center approves, you belong to whoever chooses you from then on. A potential master might interview you, or you find out when he comes for you. And the last in line?”
“My name’s Trina, short for Katerina. That last question, what happens if no one wants me?”
Serious self-esteem issues, Cathy concluded. The program will build her confidence.
“In the entire history of the Center that’s never happened, so I can’t give you an answer. If it helps, you’ll discover you are considered to be a very valuable and desirable property by the time you complete the program. In the meantime, don’t worry over what isn’t in your future.”
The Fast Track “So, how good is the science on this?” the Director asked. “The Board is going to be asking some questions at the next meeting. If FastTrack starts to resemble some kind of eugenics program, I’ll be labeled a new wave Dr. Mengele.”
“We’re on the bleeding edge when it comes to the use of genetic predisposition, but this isn’t any kind of breeding program. We’re looking at the individual’s genetic code, and only at statistics which might show genetic disposition, nothing more.” That was from the Project Head of the research team. “The science is in uncharted territory. We’re using established tools, statistical analysis, so in that sense we’re on solid ground. What we lack is a large population to source samples. Plus, we’re working with samples way out on the edge of the distribution curve. For now, we have to rely on empirical observation to validate our model.”
“I get all that,” the Director pointed out, “but bear in mind your samples are real people. We have a duty to see to these women’s benefit.” He held up a hand before the Head could complain. “I realize all these women could be processed through the Center’s regular program. Where are we at?”
The research Head stood up and went to the monitor. “As you can see, we’ve set up an arbitrary scale, for now, based on standard deviations from a normal distribution. Our population is all the women who’ve been to the Center. We use regression testing to compare predictions against known results. Based on model validation we have proposed five levels. Our graduates tend to cluster around levels three and four, high marks for predisposition on submissive traits. We have two cases where the women tested all the way to level five using genetic markers.”
The Director nodded. “Okay, what are your conclusions?”
“The first, no surprise here, the women who pass through the Center present a high incidence of unique marker combinations we associate with submissive behavior. Level three is a preponderance of characteristics: lack of aggression; obedience; and a desire to please dominant males, but there is resistance which needs to be overcome first. Level four adds servitude, the need to be useful; and enhanced intelligence, along with lowered resistance. Level five, we see the addition of a tendency to high achievement; very low resistance after an early phase; with a marker we have trouble quantifying. The best description we’ve come up with is a type of fanaticism. Level five is extremely rare; we’re talking more than three standard deviations off the curve.”
The Director picked up a sheet of paper. “You say you’ve found two instances of level five?”
“That’s right, and one more in the new program test group. I think you’re familiar with one of our previous graduates.”
The Director scanned down the page. “I see what you mean. Paula, she belongs to Big Mike.” He laughed. “I’d certainly agree with the fanatic assessment. Her behavior in the secure area is legendary. If she ever disobeyed Big Mike he’d collapse in shock. For that matter, we all would.”
The Director sat thinking, tapping his pen on the conference table. “The test group started today? Go ahead, we’ll keep to your plan, but I want round the clock surveillance on this. Use overtime if it’s needed. Any indication the program is wandering off target, we pull the plug. I don’t want these women mentally scarred because of us.”
“That’s not our intent. We have a level three as a control, two level fours, and we’re positive the last one is a level five. The program accelerates development of the desirable traits by slowly increasing pressure in such a way as to bring out the best in her, in our case adapting to the principles they are taught. It’s a way for them to cope. The one right way becomes the easiest way. We extrapolate the level fours and fives will be a success for the new program; the level three we don’t agree on results.”
“The principles?” The Director wasn’t sure what he meant.
“We’ve come up with a meme, an easy way for them to remember what’s important. To obey is to serve; to serve is to please; to please is to live a full life. To live a full life one must obey, the circle of submission.”
“I like that,” the Director replied with enthusiasm. “Regardless of the FastTrack program we’ve got to work that meme into all the classes. Keep up the good work.”
Attached The wooden bench was hard and uncomfortable. For Trina it was still a hundred times better than that dreadful head cage. The leg irons were gone too, another improvement. Her hands were still locked behind her back; she was starting to worry the Wardens would never take off the handcuffs.
The four of them had been moved to another, smaller waiting room. She had no idea why, but Trina was catching on quick; she’d be the last to find out why. A Warden sat next to the entrance. Whenever she risked looking in his direction, he was alert and watching their every move. So far two of her group had been led away; she was next in line. The first two hadn’t returned. She was about to find out for herself whether that was a good or bad sign.
The inner door opened and a Warden came out. She caught a quick glimpse of what looked like machine tools inside. “Come with me,” he ordered, grabbing Trina’s arm.
She recognized a lathe and a drill press; the others were a mystery. The Warden sat her down in a plain wooden chair next to one of the larger machine tools. Another man, the operator, stood in front of a control panel. Unlike the Wardens he was dressed in a gray shirt and pants.
“I’m the machinist here at the Center. Today I’ll be fitting you. Relax, this won’t hurt. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
A fitting? What did he mean? Trina had no idea what was happening. The Warden kept a hand on her shoulder, pinning her in the chair.
When the machinist reached into a box and drew out the leg shackles her reaction was to try to rise up. “Wait a minute, what are you doing?” she asked, rather too loudly. The Warden held her down with both hands on her shoulders. With her wrists still cuffed behind her back she wasn’t able to offer much resistance.
“Settle down,” the Warden ordered. “This can go easy or we can get rough. Either way, it will happen.” Trina saw the determination on their faces and gave in. They were in charge; she couldn’t prevent what she knew was coming next.
The machinist grabbed one foot and lifted it up. Resigned to the inevitable, she watched him close the shackle around her ankle. Holding it shut he dropped what looked like a steel bolt into one of the holes where the two halves met.
The machine began to hum when he pressed a button. Holding the edge of the shackle he guided it into a slot. There was the sound of a large electric motor. When he withdrew the shackle, she could see the rounded top and bottom of the rivet. He repeated the process with a second bolt.
When he lowered her leg Trina immediately felt the additional weight. Unable to resist she sat quietly while the machinist imprisoned her other ankle with a matching shackle. Her feet were now connected with a far too short length of chain.
She could only stare at what they’d done to her. Permanent chains, secured by rivets instead of a lock and key. They aren’t coming off, the realization hit her. Those shackles are a part of me now, attached for who knows how long. The only way to remove them was with a hammer and chisel. Trina doubted she had the strength to manage it even if she had the tools.
“Stand up,” a crisp order from the Warden, helped along with one of his hands on her arm. Reluctantly she stood. The shackles didn’t hurt, but she couldn’t ignore the weight. “This way.” He turned her to face an exit in the back of the tool room. That explained why the other women hadn’t returned. “Let’s go.”
Her first, tentative step was brought up short by the chain. She might have fallen except for his hand holding her. What had they done to her? She couldn’t even place one foot in front of the other. She tried a second step, this time anticipating the sudden halt when the chain grabbed her ankle. A third and fourth step followed.
Okay, I’m making progress, she thought. When she looked up at the exit it didn’t appear to be any closer. Progress of a sort, she corrected herself. It was going to take a long time for her to get anywhere now. What Trina didn’t understand was the reason why she’d been forced into slow motion.
Recruiting Lenora stood in front of the Director’s desk. Steve Garran, her master, was at her side. Whatever she’d done, it had to be bad, very bad, to be called in to face the Director. Once more she wracked her brain, trying to figure out what had happened. She’d gladly accept any punishment, if it would spare Steve from the public shame of being her owner.
Neither Steve or the Director appeared to be upset or disappointed, which left her confused. Either they were both concealing their true feelings, or something else was going on. Why else would she be here? Did it concern her job in accounting?
“Lenora,” the director began, “I asked Steve to bring you here this afternoon because the Center has a problem, a serious one.”
It was her job! She must have missed something, entered the wrong numbers somewhere. How much had it cost the Center? “Sir, I’m so sorry. Whatever I’ve done, is there some way I can help fix it? It was my own carelessness, sir.”
Steve laid a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you let the Director finish before you start taking all the blame?” The Director was shaking his head, doing his best to stifle a laugh.
“The problem, Lenora, is that we’ve run out of instructors for the secure area. We had counted on Paula, you know her, being here but Big Mike couldn’t spare her. She’s somewhere in the Yukon outside a town called Whitehorse, at one of those remote mines Big Mike is so fond of working at. There’s no way we can get her back here. There’s an important program underway. Without someone to take her place we’ll have to stop it. That’ll cost the Center time and money.”
Her burden of guilt vanished. Lenora was so relieved she missed the significance of the Director’s last words. She didn’t understand why she was here if the Director wanted Paula.
He must have sensed her confusion. “I want you to take Paula’s place, Lenora, starting tomorrow. You’ll be working in the secure area, but Steve can bring you home when you’re done for the day. I’m afraid the schedule is a bit jumbled, so I can’t promise it will be every day. We’ll do what we can to see you have time with Steve.”
She looked up at the man who made the hard choices for her. “Sir? What should I do?” Tough questions were Steve’s responsibility. She didn’t have to worry about complications in her life; he’d sort it out.
“You’re going to take Paula’s place. I’ll see to it you’ll be prepared. I have every confidence you can step in and help. You will follow your instructions and meet my expectations. You will put your doubts aside and focus on the task at hand, giving it your undivided attention.’
Clear and concise instructions, the way she liked it. That settled it, in Lenora’s mind. Steve wanted her to be an instructor; that was all she needed to know. She didn’t look forward to a return trip to the secure area, but as of now it wasn’t up to her. Those in authority over her had done their job. Now it was up to her to obey, to put forth her very best.
She remembered Paula all too well, and how much she envied Paula’s unswerving dedication to her vision of submission. Lenora had never encountered such single-minded devotion to obedience. Paula lived to follow her rules, to obey orders, to please her master, and never deviate from the strictest interpretation on how others had structured her life. How could she ever replace someone like that?
First Evening Trina’s group had been moved from the tool room straight to a dormitory cell. They were all housed in one large room, with a bunk for each of them, and a toilet in the corner. The bunks were placed end to end, two to a side, with a narrow corridor between them. The front of the cell was closed off by the familiar bars. There was a table and chair on the other side of those bars, she assumed for a Warden though it was empty at the moment.
The Warden who brought them in had assigned a bed to each of them. Trina sat on hers, rubbing her sore legs. They weren’t allowed to lie down until lights out. The trip from the tool room had taken forever, or at least it felt that way. It couldn’t have been less than an hour. They had to stop to rest at least six times. The Warden seemed to be sympathetic; he hadn’t pushed them to hurry.
She ran a hand over the polished metal band around her ankle. For the foreseeable future there would be no ‘hurry’ any time in the near future. The inside of the shackle appeared to be lined with some kind of thin padding. That would keep down chafing. If she was careful the cuff didn’t move around on her ankle while walking. Not exactly what I’d call walking, she thought, more like shuffling.
She stopped at the rivets. There were two of them, rougher in texture compared to the plated steel. She’d seen them in the machinist’s hand. Each one was the diameter of her thumb. One would have been plenty; they had to use two. The rivets had the dull gray look of mild steel, or something similar. Whatever they were made of, it was strong enough to hold the shackle shut despite any effort she might attempt in an escape. Trina sighed. She felt trapped, controlled by men she had never met, unable to resist them. The ones in authority over me, that phrase came back to her.
At least the handcuffs were gone. That was an immense relief, to be able to use her hands and arms again. In small doses this might have been a fun night. It had all the elements she craved: bondage, confinement, nudity and especially dominant men in charge. At the end of a night like that it was more than likely she’d be on her knees, begging to be used by the man with the keys in his hand.
Her hands went to the waistband above her hips. Not much point in begging now. She used her fingers to explore the front. It was far too effective in blocking any attempt at fun and games. It wasn’t a cheap lock either. Without a key the belt would remain her constant companion.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Trina looked up at Joan, sitting across from her. “The purpose of these belts is kind of obvious. I doubt the Wardens would approve of us trying to get around them.” The woman shrugged. “Just a suggestion.”
Trina jerked her hands away from her belt. Her companion was right. “Thanks for the warning; I was daydreaming.” Trina rapped her knuckles against the triangular shield between her legs. “This really sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I don’t know which is worse, this belt or the lovely set of matching ankle bracelets.” Joan held up her feet, yanking the chain between them tight.
Trina lifted up her legs and began moving them up and down, rattling the ankle chain. The other three joined in, laughing at the chorus. “Would you believe I asked for this?” Trina told them. “It’s true, I volunteered to come here. To date it ranks as the stupidest move I ever made.”
Joan nodded in agreement. “This guy, I met him online. He said the Center would be a life changing experience. So, I signed up. I’ll change his life if I ever find him, and not for the better.” Joan mimicked a motion of choking someone.
“I don’t mind it so much,” that was from Yoshi. “I hope we are treated well. My father, he’s in the military. That’s where he met my mother, in Okinawa. When I was growing up, he was strict, but he always took the time to explain to me why it was so important that I listen to him. Now that I’m on my own I miss having him in my life. I thought if I signed up for the Center I might recapture some of that, what would you call it, loving discipline?”
Trina felt a kinship with Yoshi. She too wanted that loving discipline, and so much more. She was eager to commit to a lifetime relationship, to grow old in the arms of the right man. Unfortunately, the only prospects to date had wanted nothing more permanent that a convenient sex toy. It might continue for a week, maybe an entire month, but she knew in her heart they were not going to last.
Draw Straws The moment the outside door to their cell opened Trina and the rest of the group jumped to their feet. A Warden came in, carrying a thermos bottle and a paper sack.
“Lights out will be in ten minutes. That means bedtime for all of you. When the lights dim, you are permitted to lie down and use the covers. There will be no talking. You may get up to use the toilet, providing you keep it quiet. During lights out you do not have to rise if a Warden enters or leaves.” He put down the thermos and bag on the table. “I’ll be on watch tonight. If you have a problem, raise your arm and wave it to get my attention. It better be important; I don’t like to be disturbed.”
Trina had mixed feelings about his announcement. She liked the idea of someone watching over her, keeping her safe. Not that she was in any danger, given the multiple layers of security around her. It was a little unsettling though, having a stranger sitting so close by, staring at her while she slept.
“One more thing before you go to bed. You all saw this cage behind the table?” Trina had. She assumed it was there as a warning. Break the dorm rules and punishment was close by. “I’m going to leave for a few minutes. The four of you will choose one from your group to keep me company by spending the night in there. The other three will stay in their bunks. When I come back one and only one of you will be standing in front of the cell gate. If no one’s there, or you decide to be noble and all volunteer, then everyone spends the night in those head cages. I’m told it’s quite miserable, much worse than the alternative. I suggest you act quickly. When I return, three of you will be in bed. The fourth will be waiting near the gate.”
With that depressing announcement he turned around and walked out the cell block entrance. Trina slowly crept up to the bars to get a better look at the cage. She had to stop at the blue stripe painted on the concrete floor, an arm’s length from the bars. The blue moats, anywhere in the Center, were forbidden territory, never to be crossed without permission.
From what she could tell the cage wasn’t on the roomy side. It opened in the front, with a lock at the top. It did have a solid floor, a small concession to comfort. It would make a miserable bedroom. She turned around to face the group.
The other three were still sitting on their bunk, all with worried expressions. One of them had to accept a most unpleasant night, or they all would receive far worse. “Anyone care to step forward?” Trina asked. She stumbled back to her own bed to sit down.
They were all exhausted from a long, stressful day. No one, Trina included, wanted a sleepless night in a cramped cage. None of them wanted a return to the line of head cages either. “What are we going to do?” asked Joan. “Draw straws?”
“I’m fresh out,” Trina snapped back. They were in an impossible position. One of them had to make the sacrifice to save the others. Doing nothing would only make it worse. They had to act, and quickly.
They all heard the click of the lock from the cell block door. Time was up. Trina looked around at the group, all with heads hung low in resignation the worst was coming. Sighing, Trina stood up and slowly made her way to the bars.
The Cage Kneeling down, Trina crawled into the cage. The floor was padded with a vinyl cover, a small concession to her comfort. Inside, she twisted around so she could sit with her back to the rear of the cage. She pulled in her feet so the Warden could close the cage behind her. There was a distinctive clunking sound when the bolt on the lock slid into position.
It was every bit as cramped inside as it appeared from the outside. She had to lean forward, chin on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs. Through the bars on top of the cage she could see the Warden looking down on her. It was going to be a long night.
He walked back to the cell bars, no doubt checking on the three women sleeping in comfortable beds. They owe me, big time, she thought. When he returned to his chair, he was so close she could have reached between the widely spaced bars to touch him. He was more interested in pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Trina closed her eyes, resigned to suffer in silence. Keeping him company, she remembered that phrase. From her perspective it was difficult to find a difference between that task and being punished, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. Did I irritate him, or maybe the whole group did something he didn’t like? Maybe I do deserve this. Guilt was creeping in.
Despite the turmoil raging in her head, fatigue caught up; she fell asleep. She had no idea how long she slept, but she woke up with the Warden’s finger poking her shoulder. She tilted her head up at him. “Sir?” she asked, still half asleep.
“Put your hands through the bars, above your head.” He kept his voice low, barely a whisper. She could still hear that hard edge of command in it. She had to shift around before she reluctantly raised up her arms, extending her hands through the bars. It was obvious what to expect next.
Click, her left wrist first, followed by another click when the cuff closed around her right wrist. Her body was already a mass of aches and pains; naturally he had to make it worse. What she didn’t expect was the cage door opening in front of her.
“Go ahead,” he told her. “Stretch your legs. You have permission.” Trina wasted no time. Unwinding her bent legs was pure heaven. It felt so good she didn’t care that her hands were stuck to the top of the cage.
He rolled his chair around to get a better look at her. She didn’t miss the appreciative once over from his eyes. It didn’t take any great deductive powers on her part to figure out he liked what he saw. Yet all he did was sit there, as if he was debating some moral quandary. Why, she had no idea. This was the Center; he could take whatever he wanted from her.
“Okay, here it is,” he began. “The cameras are off, no one’s watching while I’m in here overnight. Thing is, you have nice legs. I’d like to find out, first hand,” he smiled at her, “if they’re every bit as soft and smooth as they look. I’m not supposed to do that, so you get a choice. This may be the only time while you’re at the Center you can refuse a Warden. Say no, shake your head, and I’ll leave you alone, no aftermath to worry about. It’s up to you.”
Who was this guy? Letting her say no? That was totally out of character, yet there he was, waiting for her to reply. “I don’t mind, sir. Go ahead if you like. I hope you aren’t disappointed.” Did I just say that? She couldn’t believe her ears.
Trina held very still when he rested his hand on her knee. He took his time, slowly working his way down to her ankle. She could feel the feathery touch of his fingers tracing the edge of the shackle. “I’m sure you hate these leg chains. If it helps, I find them very attractive.”
Sure, they’d be attractive to a control freak. He might have a different opinion if he were the one wearing them. She didn’t care though; all she wanted was for him not to stop. “Very nice,” he whispered. “Very…feminine.” Abruptly he stood up. Reaching into his shirt pocket he took out the handcuff key.
After freeing her hands, he reached down to help her out of the cage. When she stood up, he was very close to her. Trina looked up at him. In a whisper, she said, “Sir? If there’s a next time, you don’t have to ask.” She was so embarrassed she had to turn her head to one side.
Roughly he grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “When you speak to me, to any Warden, you do not look away. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” It felt like her mind had gone blank. All she could think about was pleasing him, obeying his every command.
“C’mon, I’ll put you to bed. You still have time to get some real sleep.” Using a hand on her arm he led her through the cell gate to her bunk. When he turned to leave she watched his back, disappointed he hadn’t continued touching her. After he locked the gate to the cell he pointed to her bed. She got the message, climbing in on his order. She was asleep within seconds, dreaming of a man she knew nothing about, a stranger who had come into her life and taken over with lightning speed.
Anomalies Cheers went up around the table when the Head of Research stopped the video. On screen Trina was inside the cage, her legs extended out the front. “Okay, hold back on the celebrations. This may be a one-off statistical anomaly. It looks like the model predictions were accurate to better than a 90% confidence level, but we’re talking a sample size of one.”
He cleared the video, replacing it with a slide full of bullet points. “What do we know?” He highlighted the top of the list. “Self-sacrifice, or self-interest? The model says she’s disposed to help, to serve, to volunteer for the cage. It could just as easily be the lesser of two evils, to avoid the head enclosures. Considering the alternative, anyone would volunteer. Tim, that head cage idea was really nasty, sure you aren’t a closet sadist?” Everyone laughed.
Your Master Requires Your Obedience · Part 2 (2/4)
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