by Paul Blades
Anna’s lips formed into a frown and she suppressed a sob. The man’s hand on her breast was a stark reminder of what her existence would be like for the next twelve months. But the Center was her whole life. Her mind was a jumble of confused emotions. She looked up at her tormentor. He had a self-satisfied grin on his face. Why not? He had already gotten his revenge for her disdainful treatment of him. But she was strong. She could take whatever he dished out to her. She wouldn’t be in his power all the time. She had her apartment and her work. She would make them her islands of retreat and when she was here, under his thumb, she would think of those places and the fact that she would soon return to them.
Devlin’s hand left her breast. She had not answered his taunt, but it hadn’t called for an answer. He poured the remainder of his snifter of cognac back into his throat and then ordered her to lie down on the bed. He pulled the covers over her.
“Goodnight, Anna. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He walked to the door and, after taking the key from his pants pocket, unlocked the door and left. A moment after, the big door slammed shut and the lock clicked closed. The lights in the room went out. She listened carefully as his footsteps retreated down the hall and then descended the stairs.
It took a long time for Anna to fall asleep. Her body was exhausted and felt like a wrung out dishrag, but her mind was going a hundred miles an hour. The lamps on either side of her bed were apparently connected to the switch in the hall and at first, when they were extinguished, the room had descended into darkness. A feint glow came in through the small window from the lights outside and, when Anna’s eyes adjusted, she could just make out the dark shapes of the furniture in the room around her.
She could feel Devlin’s discharge leaking from her still burning quim and she wanted desperately to go into the bathroom and clean herself. She looked up at the camera, barely visible in the slight light, its little, red indicator glowing brightly. Was she allowed out of bed? What if she had to pee during the night? Or in the morning? Was she supposed to just lie here and await permission?
A wave of misery flowed through the young woman as she thought of how just a little more than a week ago everything had seemed like it was going just right. Now she was immersed in a world of unhappiness and strife. Why had Carol done it? They were best friends. She could have gotten her help. If she needed a respite and a few weeks in rehab to get her head on straight, that could have been worked out easily. Anna cursed herself for believing that her life was secure and safe. She curled her body up into a ball and began to cry. Was saving the Center worth this misery? Maybe she should follow Carol’s path and immerse herself in a self destructive life of alcohol and drugs. It would lead to unhappiness and death. She knew that. But wouldn’t death be better than living through what confronted her now?
She thought of Devlin’s coarse, callous use of her, his repeated insults, his demeaning attitude. It seemed almost as if he had the key to her subconscious, knew just how to treat her to make her unhappy and submissive. There were few coincidences in life, and she realized that his name, Devlin, was appropriate for his character. He was a devil, cruel, callous and carnal. She wondered about the rumors of his underworld contacts and how much of it was true. Everything that had happened since she came into his office a week ago screamed that it was. And his threat tonight about a fate worse than jail, would he make a threat like that unless he had the ability to carry it out?
Anna had lain in the bed fitfully trying to let sleep overtake her for about half an hour before she heard footsteps coming back up the stairs. Devlin’s footsteps had been quick and determined. These were more like Vincent’s, slow and calculated. She cringed at the thought that he was coming to deliver her back to her tormentor or, even worse, that he had decided to take a piece of her for himself. But the steps passed by her door and she heard the sound of another door down the hall being opened and closed. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again and Vincent’s footsteps returned. This time they were accompanied by what sounded to Anna like high heeled shoes striking the hardwood floor of the hallway. Did Devlin have another woman in residence? Was he holding someone else in bondage? Or was it a servant, a maid or a cook, or Vincent’s wife or girlfriend? The fact that there was another female in the house was both comforting and disconcerting. It would be horribly shameful to have to display her abject status before another woman. On the other hand, the fact that another woman was in apparent residence on the remote fourth floor of the residence meant that maybe Devlin would not keep her prisoner here, that her presence might be known by someone, making it more difficult for Devlin simply to order her disappearance. She suppressed an urge to get out of bed and hammer at the door, calling for help.
Anna listened to the sound of the footsteps fade away. In the returned silence, she resumed her unhappy ruminations regarding her plight. After many long minutes of fretting and ruing her fate, she finally passed off into a fitful sleep.
***
When Anna awoke, the light had just begun to break into the room through the small window. She looked around uncertainly, at first unsure of where she was. It only took a moment for her to remember. A wave of despondency flowed thorough her. It was Saturday and she would spend the entire day in Devlin’s power. What would it be like? He couldn’t spend the whole day fucking her, could he? When he wasn’t, would she spend her time locked up in this room with nothing to do but look at her naked body in the mirror?
She had to pee desperately. She looked up at the camera. Maybe she could sneak off and no one would notice. It looked outside like it was about 6 a.m. The man couldn’t have a twenty four hour sentry watching over her, could he? Anna decided that the risk of discovery was better than suffering indefinitely the pressure on her bladder and maybe ending up pissing her bed. Looking carefully at the camera, as if she could detect whether someone was watching, she slid the covers off of her body and dashed into the bathroom. She didn’t know if the camera had an audio component so she dropped a heavy wad of toilet paper into the bowl to cover up the sound of her fluids emptying into it. It seemed to take forever and she pressed down hard to speed up the flow. After the last few drops trickled out, she wiped herself, washed her hands quickly, and rushed back to the bedroom to slide under the covers.
About a half hour later, she heard footsteps climbing the stairs and then the lock turning in her door. It was Vincent. He was dressed as he had been the night before and he was carrying a long, thin whip. Anna felt a stab of fear press into her heart. She sat up with a start and backed herself against the headboard to the bed.
“You have been disobedient, Miss Addunizio,” Vincent stated coolly after he had locked the door behind him.
“I’m s-sorry,” Anna bleated out. “I had to go to the bathroom.”
“Lie down on the bed, face up,” Vincent ordered her coldly.
“P-please don’t hurt me,” Anna pleaded. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”
Vincent swung the long, thin lash across the bed, striking the frightened woman across her body. She flinched when she saw it coming and it bit into her upraised arm and the thigh that she had pulled up to protect her belly and breasts.
“Ooooooooouuu!” she screamed. “That hurts! Please! I’ll lie down! I’ll do it, please!”
Vincent held the long quirt in abeyance as the panicked woman complied with his order. When she was flat on her back, her legs extended, he ordered her to put her hands at her sides. She looked up at the cruel man fearfully.
“I’m going to give you one lash for getting out of bed without permission. There will be a second one for refusing to obey my order. The third one will be for not calling me ‘sir’. If you move or try to interfere, you will get another. Do you understand?”
Tears were flowing from Anna’s eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest at the prospect of the impending, excruciating pain. She wanted her body to disappear, rued her very existence as she contemplated the torment and humiliation
of being whipped. She knew that she had no choice but to submit to the steely eyed servant. Though she wanted desperately to get up and run, to hide in the bathroom, under the bed, in the long closet that sat along one wall, she forced herself to remain as ordered: subservient, compliant and shamefully vulnerable.
Her mouth was dry and she found it difficult to form words. “Y-yes, sir,” she managed to say, her voice tremulous.
The first blow crossed the tops of Anna’s plump mounds, just above the nipples. Anna closed her eyes when she saw it coming and tensed her body. The kiss of the whip sent searing pain through her. She arched her back and screamed, “Aaaaaaooooough! Oh my god! Ohhhhhhhhhh!” She looked up at her assailant pleadingly. Her eyes were awash with tears. When she saw the man’s hand raised once more, prefatory to another blow, she tightened her fists by her sides, struggling with all her might not to jump off the bed to avoid it. The lash made a fierce snapping sound as it crossed her flat, taut belly.
“Aaaaaaooooooough!” she cried again. Instinctively, she raised her knees and curled her torso. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Don’t hit me again! Please, sir! Please!” she cried out. She looked into the determined, indifferent eyes of the servant and knew that begging was useless. She quickly resumed the position Vincent had demanded and then closed her eyes again when she saw the whip descending. This time, it crossed the tops of her thighs. The fire-like pain burned into her and she screamed once more, “Aaaaaaooooooough!”
Anna’s whole body trembled with the aftereffects of her whipping. Her chest heaved with her sobs. The places where the lash had landed burned with pain. She looked up at the servant dolefully, hoping to see some evidence of compassion for her suffering. She saw none.
The tall, indifferent man placed the whip on the bed and went over to the dresser. He leaned over and opened the bottom drawer. When he rose, Anna saw that he had two lengths of leather cord in his hands. Anna knew what they were for.
“Please don’t tie me up, sir,” she begged through her sobs. “I won’t get out of bed again. I promise, sir.” She hated herself for her abjectness, her cowardice before the tall, cruel servant, but his punishment of her had brought her across the line from a self reliant, strong willed head of an important social service agency to a trembling, terror filled adolescent. She was self conscious of her nudity, her helplessness, her isolation from the world. They could do anything they wanted to her up here and no one would ever know.
“Roll over,” the man ordered, ignoring her.
Anna, afraid of adding to her punishment, obeyed. When she was lying on her belly, she resumed her pleas.
“I can’t stand to be tied! Please don’t tie me up, please, sir, please!”
“Put you hands behind your back,” the man said.
Anna obediently, if reluctantly, crossed her wrists behind her. When she felt the leather strap encircle them, she pressed her head into the mattress and sobbed. Vincent wrapped it both lengthwise and crossways, securing her wrists tightly. A feeling of intense sickness flowed through her as she felt the knot tied off and her arms confined. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” she moaned. She felt her ankles crossed and the leather tightly secured around them. The sensation of her imprisoned limbs was horrifying to her. It brought back terrible, disabling memories. She knew that begging for release would not change her fate, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Please, sir, please, don’t leave me like this! You don’t understand! I can’t stand it! Please!”
The man had returned to the dresser and when he stood up Anna saw that he had something else to add to her misfortunes. It was a leather belt with a large rubber ball attached. Anna recognized it immediately. She had worn one before, many years ago. “Ohhhhhhhhh!” she moaned. “Don’t gag me, please, sir, please!” The thought of her mouth confined was abhorrent.
“Since you cannot learn to remain silent, you must wear the gag,” Vincent said.
Anna pressed her face into the mattress. “No! Please!” she yelled into it. “You don’t understand!”
The tall, powerful servant took hold of a skein of Anna’s hair and lifted her head. With his other hand, he pressed the ball of the gag against her lips. Anna gritted her teeth, denying the admission to the infernal instrument. Vincent spoke in a stern, even tone. “If you don’t open your mouth, I will take you down the hall and give you a real whipping. Do you understand, Ms. Addunizio?”
Sobbing with misery, fearful of what the harsh words of her assailant implied, a sickening despondency spreading through her body, Anna nodded her head and parted her lips. Vincent forced the large, spongy ball into her mouth. It plopped past her teeth and pressed down her tongue, filling her oral cavity. Anna’s head was jerked back as he tightened the strap behind it. Her lips were drawn into a grotesque grimace. She moaned in misery as Vincent let her head fall back down to the mattress. He left the bed and Anna heard him fiddling around again at the dresser. She turned her head to look and saw him with a heavy, black bag in his hand. She let out a muffled moan as she realized that he was going to hood her. She did not struggle as the man draped the hood over her head. What was the sense? But her whole body tensed in protest and her limbs squirmed in their confinements. She closed her eyes as it was drawn down over her face. She felt a string pulled at its base, tightening it around her neck.
“I will be back in two hours, Miss Addunizio,” he told her. “I expect I will find you where I have left you. I suggest you use the time appropriately to commit yourself to obedience.” The heavy ‘thunk’ of the door closing sounded to Anna like the slamming of the door to a prison cell.
Panicked, Anna’s mind roiled in protest. She twisted and turned her wrists fruitlessly to try and free them. She pulled at her crossed ankles futilely. When she opened her eyes, to her dismay, all she saw was utter darkness. She bit down hard on the soft, large intruder in her mouth and shrieked and moaned. Anna felt like she was being drawn to the edge of insanity. The impossibility of her predicament, given all that she had done to bury her past, the rewarding, productive life she had built for herself, fueled her manic efforts to break her bonds. After many minutes, when her psyche finally accepted the uselessness of further resistance or protestation, she let her head fall to the bed and cried.
The time dragged along slowly. Two hours was a long time to be naked and bound, unable to see the advancing light through the window to measure time. Intermittently, Anna continued to struggle at her confinements. What she would do if she got them loose, she didn’t think about. Her revulsion at being trussed and helpless was so strong that it overwhelmed all rational thought. After a while, though, the hopelessness of her efforts came home to her. She had to endure the cruel, offensive bindings for as long as her masters wanted. A huge, empty pit in her stomach, she finally surrendered to their power over her.
Although she hated being helpless and bound, the gag in her mouth was even worse. It was a continual, hateful presence. She could lie still and ignore, for a few minutes at least, the fact that her hands and legs could not obey her will, but the large, spongy ball in her mouth, suppressing the frantic, hysterical cries of protest she cast into the empty room, was a continual reminder of her powerlessness. Her jaws began to ache from their extension. She felt herself drooling from the corners of her mouth, unable to exercise the muscles of her tongue to swallow.
Anna tried every posture imaginable. She lay on her belly for the longest time, turning her head right and left in an effort to assuage her discomfort. She lay on her right side, her knees scrunched up almost to her chest in a fetal position. After a while, she turned her torso and discovered that she could not lie on her back for long, even though this was the best position to alleviate the flow of her saliva down her chin and neck, as she was able to tilt her head backwards and let the moisture slide down her throat. The crossing of her wrists just above her waist dug deeply into the small of her back, causing it to ache.
It was an odd and terrifying sensation to be so blind and helpless in what she knew was a well l
it, conventional room. She tried to remember its appointments, the dresser, the side tables, the lamps, the color of the walls. Then she recalled the camera up near the ceiling. She realized that her supine, naked, bound form was being recorded. It felt like the whole world was watching her through the callous, electronic eye. Every time that she moved, drew her knees to her chest, rolled from one side to the other, shook her hooded head, her mind recorded a vision of herself as she imagined she appeared.
She tried to remain still, but the distress that she felt ate at her, making her body restless. She alternated closing and opening her eyes under her hood, but neither state was satisfying nor gave her relief from the dreadful darkness that surrounded her. She held herself stiff and motionless for the longest time, counting out a cadence, trying to calculate the passage of the interminable minutes. “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand…,” losing count quickly as her despair and the impracticality of counting down two full hours overwhelmed her. “One hundred and twenty minutes,” she thought, “more than seven thousand seconds.” At each passing one, she felt herself sinking further and further down into a dismal trough of self pity, felt her veneer of confidence and self respect ebbing further away. Her body had been stolen from her. Every form of self expression, all of her ability to take action, to effect the world around her or her own fate in it, had been taken away. She was as helpless as anyone could be and had no options other than to await her deliverance at the whim of her masters.
Somehow, Anna was able to drift off to sleep. She was startled from a disquieting dream when she heard the sound of what she assumed were Vincent’s steps coming up the stairs. She couldn’t remember its details, but the remnants of the dream’s horror hung on as she heard the footsteps coming closer to her door and then the lock turn.
