A Snapshot of Molly Ch. 01

Mary (my "Molly") had gone to one of the finest elite women's colleges on the east coast, but far from becoming 'liberated' or a strong independent woman ready for a successful career or her own, she was skittery and nervous - seemingly unable to make any decisions for herself at all. Soon she started a relationship with a very domineering and angry young man and found herself in a similar sexual situation to that of her step-mother. That of a Submissive, but the relationship was an unhealthy one as she became increasingly dependant upon her Master in a great number of unsavory ways, and who soon controlled virtually every aspect of her life.

Far from being a relationship based upon love and shared trust (like her parents), their relationship began delving ever deeper into heavy S&M practices. Against her father's wishes she married this man, Donald after graduation, and she willingly endured four years of his abuse before his death about two years ago in an off-shore oil rig accident.

She returned home and found a job as the Benefits Manager in the HR Department of a local hospital. She was living on her own in a house owned by her parents, but she was clearly not thriving. She sometimes attended parties at The Club, but her tastes were usually now too extreme, and she habitually visited the local S&M clubs and underground party houses seeking a new Master brutal enough to satisfy her. Preferably one that was "outlaw" from the local 'respectable' S&M community for being too sadistic and not respecting the "safeword" of his victims.

She was bulimic, suicidal and very definitely into self-mutilation, mostly "cutting", but she would also burn her breasts, vaginal region and buttocks. Every time Walt visited her he expected it to be the last time he'd see her again alive, and every time the phone rang, he'd anticipate the nightmare of getting the message that their daughter had finally killed herself.

There was much more, but this was enough for me to throw up my hands and demand "Why isn't she in a mental hospital receiving treatment. She needs something beyond what you or anyone outside can give her!"

"She has been once, for the involuntary maximum seventy-two hour stay. But since she is not a 'danger to others" they could not legally hold her. Nellie and I were told if we ever interfered again, she would leave and we would never see or speak to her ever again."

"Medications. You gave me something funky and probably under the shelf the other day, what is there available on the market that would work on her?"

"Nothing she would voluntarily take on her own. The "special stuff", and somedoes exist, would be like trying to perform delicate brain surgery with a chainsaw. Far too messy and the results too uncertain. Sometimes I'll use it to stop a boy who is about to murder his own parents, gleefully and without remorse, but often the cure can be almost as bad as the disease. I'm just not the right person to do this particular brain surgery."

He continued, "But you might be. You're a Senior about to get your BS in Psychology and you have a promising Grad School career ahead of you, and probably then your own Doctorate. If you can help her in anyway and somehow get her trust, then perhaps she can be saved and helped. There is nothing I can do for her anymore, but maybe you can."

The plan was pretty basic and simple. Since she was shopping for a new Master, she would be ordered to help me the next night as my photographic assistant that weekend. I would stick to her like glue and hopefully we would establish a rapport, and slowly maybe I could try and get her trust, or at least become something of a restraint upon her until we could think up a better Plan B. Abnormal psychology was not my forte, but we both agreed that maybe trying something a bit from left field might work.

I told him I had little hope of affecting a miracle, but I would do my best. My terms for agreeing to perform this hopeless task were straightforward and direct also. I needed my car working reliably. If he could attend to fixing and restoring my '69 Firebird to showroom condition, I would work my hardest to fix and restore his daughter to him.

We laughed and shook hands in agreement, and I made plans to come for dinner the next night to meet my new 'charge'. I was given a few other last items in a large sealed envelope that I didn't open until I got home. It contained five hundred dollars in cash, the address of an excellent and very exclusive men's store where I could get a good suit, a signed legal looking letter from Walt and Nellie authorizing me access and permission to trespass onto their daughter's property for the purpose of establishing her well-being, a key that probably fit her front door, and a credit card for any incidental expenses I might have. Such as getting a rental car for the next week or two.

I had a lot of errands to now run now before dinner on Saturday, but I also needed a bit more information on what I was about to be dealing with than had ever been in any of my Psych textbooks. As soon as I got home I called the only person I knew that was remotely associated with any alternative lifestyle. One of my best friends from High School, James.

It was no secret that his wife Lana was a firecracker when outside and about and was as timid as a field mouse indoors. I had asked him why once when we were fairly liquored up one time and he had told me that Lana "really gets off on being spanked hard and sometimes can't orgasm at all unless I'm spanking her bare ass cherry red or worse. She likes 'being in charge' outside the house, but in the bedroom she wants me to be the boss."

I filled him in briefly about my new charge, and he encouraged me to find another occupation entirely. Splitting for the coast was beginning to sound like a wise idea after all.

She was a "basket case", he said, "screwed up by too many idiots that have read a Gor novel and think they know how to train a slave girl, but probably can't tell fantasy from reality."

It was very much, as he put it, as if you took a young puppy and gave it random electrical shocks or beatings for no reason whatsoever. Soon the dog grows up to be nervous and fearful, expecting punishment for everything it does, good or bad. It makes for one heck of a nervous dog, and it is even worse for a young lady.

In short, I was going have to undo nearly all of her prior "programming" and reward her for good behavior and somehow find a way to punish her for bad behavior that wouldn't make her even loopier.

"Good Luck" he said, "He'd be betting against me." I did receive one useful piece of practical advice that I intended to follow.

"Remember when you turned eighteen and were living with that crazy chick Sharon and she took Lana with her to the Eric Clapton concert at the Summit? Remember you were ticked that she hadn't takenyouinstead and you acted like an ass about it, even calling the stadium to find out what time the show would be over so you'd know exactly when to expect her home? That'salmostthe way you'll need to treat her. But not like a whiney insecure kid. Put on your big boy panties and act supremely confident, and let her know you're watching her every move and you knowexactlywhat she's up to."

I spent the rest of the night surfing the Internet. There are websites for everything, including how to be a Dom or even a perverted brutal master. Some information sounded good, some sounded like Gorean bullshit, and some of it actually sounded pretty darn useful, written by folks who seemed to have a loving and stable relationships that included S&M based upon trust. They just had a bit more trust in each other than most. The Master was not "taking" from his Submissive, but rather the Sub was "offering" more of herself to him, and thatshewas really the one with all of the hidden power in the relationship.

This was allegedly a proper "healthy" sort of "power sharing" relationship. It didn't sound at all as if Mary had learned any of this. There were lots of variants of course with Female Dominants, etc, but those didn't seem to relate with what I needed to know to even have a prayer of helping Mary. I had a lot to learn and the testing would start tomorrow. Grading would be strictly pass/fail... if I failed, Mary would likely soon be dead, probably by her own hand, or find a psycho willing to perform some of her snuff fantasies for real.

******

Actually I felt pretty good driving up the driveway the next evening in my rented convertible and brand new designer label dark suit. I wanted to express confidence without too much macho bullshit ego. I was going to be "Joe Cool" personified but look and act professional, and I hoped that the rough script outline I had worked out with Walt would do. There were too many variables to map; if she got angry or 'didn't want to play' we were going to be pretty much screwed right from the start and everyone knew it.

Fortunately, the script held all the way through dinner. Mary herself answered the front door and mumbled something that might have been a greeting of sorts, and I went immediately on the offensive.

"I'm glad to finally meet you and I know your help will be invaluable later on this evening. Keep this with you at all times, we might need this later." I briskly but firmly said as I handed her one of my camera bags. She of course would not keep it with her, but it was only a prop anyway and had nothing but several heavy bricks inside it. My Canon AE-1 and my other gear were in the back of the car.

Right away I exerted my authority and proceeded to give her orders, keeping her constantly busy dashing about. I then asked her to get me a glass of wine, then to bring me a family photo that I wanted to closely examine, to fetch me a certain book... 'no not that book', 'no not that one either', and so on. I kept her busy and hopping all the way until dinner time. She wanted to be 'obedient', no problem, I'd keep her too busy to even think.

Dinner went about the way Walt and I had expected it. She was startled to find out that she had been volunteered to attend The Club that night and would be expected to help me, the new photographer throughout and do exactly as I said. I kept her from thinking about this startling development too much by also keeping her busy during dinner, to fetch me the salt, then pepper, then a new napkin, another roll, some extra butter, etc.

It wasn't as if she was eating her own dinner. I finally had to stand next to her and act very provoked that we would be late unless she finished eating. The amount she did finally eat wouldn't have fed a bird, and she made a last second trip to the bathroom to purge even that before leaving.

Of course she had forgotten the camera bag so I dragged her by the hand back inside and make her pick it up and carry it back to the car.

It was going to be a very interesting night!