POW Pt. 02

Melanie swallowed the grapefruit that seemed to materialize in her throat and squeaked "I'm not sure it's my cup of tea."

"Might not be," he agreed glibly, "but if it is, here's a pass that will get you in the door." He put a 3 x 5 card down on the table in front of her tray, then immediately left. "You have a good day, Private."

Torn between her curiosity and the desire to give the card back, Melanie was not able to respond until he had gone. She picked it up and glanced at it. On the face side was a logo, a rounded-font capital-M with a capital-C intersecting the last vertical line of the M, halfway down, almost like an earring. She turned the card over. On the reverse was an IP address, and... She hastily tucked the card into her purse and pretended nothing had happened. But as she ate, she wondered about the card. Deciding she wasn't hungry anymore, she gathered up what was left of her lunch and went to the bathroom. In the privacy of a stall, she pulled out and examined the card once again. She looked at the logo first, traced it with her fingers. He must be serious, she thought, that he went so far as design a logo. She wondered how many slaves he had, past or present. And were they real slaves, or just for-show like the girl at Toppers. Perhaps he used the logo for identification somehow. Turning the card over, she saw there were three lines printed on the back: the IP address, a mailbox number, and then an third line with some unexplained collection of random characters--some type of code, no doubt. She tucked the card back into her purse and went back to work.

On the train back to Virginia, she kept thinking about the card. She made herself dinner in her apartment, looking at the card. She wondered what kind of site the IP address was; some kind of social community, she guessed. She decided there wasn't any harm in finding out; she wouldn't have to join or anything. She cleared her dishes and started up her laptop. She wasn't quite sure what she expected when she typed in the IP address, but she didn't expect to see... nothing. Instead, a security box popped up over her browser window, demanding a username and password. There was a link at the bottom that said If you don't have a username and password, click here. She did. She was taken to a simple black page that read as follows:

We're sorry, the domain you have attempted to enter is private. New members are accepted by invitation only. If you have an invitation, click here. Be aware that all login attempts are logged and IP addresses captured for security purposes.

Melanie hesitated. She wasn't going to be able to lurk after all--if she wanted to know what this site was about, she was going to have to sign up for it, and she wasn't sure she wanted to do that. She walked away from the computer and watched TV for a while, but found her mind drifting back to the website. She was fiercely curious now. She guessed it was a private bondage community, but she wondered what such a thing would look like. Whatever it was, someone was taking great pains to make sure only chosen individuals got to see it... what could possibly warrant such tight security? She could find out... she had an invitation. Her curiosity was balanced by her fear about getting permanently linked to the site... although no one said she had to go back there again. She decided to at least click the invite link; if it asked for personal information, she'd back out again.

She went back over to the table where her laptop sat charging. She clicked the link, and was sent to a secure site. There were only two fill-in boxes, in the middle of the page, with minimal explanation: "Host Member" and "Passcode." Ah. She looked at the information on the card, and realized they must be what she needed to get in. So she typed in "Master_Carl_2000" and the string of alphanumerics and pressed Enter. A second screen popped up with 20 small squares showing what looked like 20 different logos; most prominently featured the letter "M." The instructions at the top readPlease identify your sponsor. Wow... not even a secure password was enough this site. Scanning quickly, she found the Major's logo on the page and clicked on it. Finally, something that looked like a webpage came up. The banner at the top readWelcome to the Masters and Servants community. She then read the explanation of what the site was about.

It was private social community for Masters and Servants to meet, communicate, and share. She was being invited to create an "Observer" account. Observers, it said, had read-only privileges to forums, could send private messages to their sponsor, and could send PMs to servants--but both servant and master had to approve the connection for the message to be sent. The sponsor could upgrade the account to "Servant" level. Servants could view all content except Masters-only content, read and reply to forums and PM other servants. Servants could PM other Masters with their Master's permission. It then asked her choose a username and password. She sighed... she didn't think she wanted to do this. But her curiosity was overpowering... She selected the username she often used online when she didn't want to be identified-- Mel. She liked it because it was gender-nonspecific; she could pretend to be male if need be (in fact, people tended to assume it). She was informed that name was taken, so she tried Mel_A, for "Army." She was in.

Most of the menu choices were grayed out. One thing she could do was read the forums. She went to the general forum and read the first seven or eight pages of a lengthy thread on preferred type of whip, with contributions from both ends of the lash. Not really interesting. Lots of posts asking about bondage clubs in this city or that. She noticed a number of posts referred readers to the personals. There was an area for "Servants seeking Masters" and "Masters seeking Servants," which she expected. The one that intrigued her was simply titled "sharing." She raised her eyebrows; it was full of Masters offering to share their slaves with other Masters--like wife swapping for doms. She clicked on one, and was shocked to find a picture in the posting. This Master wasn't just offering his slave, he was showing off the goods. Almost every post she clicked, the same thing. Some posts were pretty innocuous; girls in bondage gear (in on case, a boy), some tied up some not. Some were more racy, with the girls topless or even completely naked while tied up. And some were extreme, displaying for instance a girl's reddened and striped buttocks. All of the girls, however, were wearing masks. Then she clicked on one that gave her shivers. The girl's arms were chained over her head, and her bare breasts red from a crop. She was in the process of performing fellatio--but what really struck her was that her face was already splattered with jism, the white goo contrasting sharply with the black mask upon which it had landed. She quickly backed out of the Forums.

She was about to log off when she decided to do one more thing. She clicked on the personal messaging link. She found she had only two options: "PM Master Carl" and "Request permission to PM a member." The latter contained a box to specify a username; it reiterated that requests to PM a servant must be approved by the Master. She clicked on the top button, and tried right-clicking on the name; sometimes that allowed you to call up a personal profile. She was right, but found that access was denied. With another sigh, she closed the browser and shut down the computer altogether.

---------------

For nearly two weeks, Melanie successfully avoided Major Tiegen. Then all of a sudden, on a Wednesday morning, he came in through the door. Melanie saw him enter the office, and held her breath. He made a beeline for her--what the hell? Was he risking unmasking himself by contacting her here, in the Pentagon? "Private Riordan," he announced formally as he pulled up to her desk. She sensed right away that he was probably here on official business, but couldn't imagine what that would be.

"Yes?" she asked bewildered.

"There is... news that the State Department wishes you to be aware of," he announced.

"OK..." she said warily.

The Major shook his head. "Not here. Conference room down the hall." Melanie just nodded, but stood and followed him as he marched to an empty conference room. Was this really official business? He was acting like it was, but if it was a ploy, wouldn't he want it to appear official? He opened the door, cavalierly let her in first, then closed the door behind them.

"Is this official business, Major?" Melanie asked tentatively.

"Yes ma'am," he replied, but his eyes and his tone were both softer now that they were alone. "The State Department has it on good authority that one of your fellow hostages has accepted a handsome deal to write a book based on her story."

"Oh?"

"Yes ma'am. A no-holds-barred tell-all, we believe. This means that some details of your captivity that have been private up to now will come out." Melanie was silent. Nothing like all of your friends and family reading secondhand about how you were sexually abused. Finally she asked "who is it?"

"Sasha," he replied. His voice sounded almost gentle.

Sasha. Figures. She was the most outspoken of the bunch. Most of the story would almost certainly focus on her, sure, but still... it would be pretty clear that all of us received the same treatment... "So that's what she's been up to lately," Melanie said wistfully.

"You don't know what she's been doing since her release?" the Major asked, implying that she might or even should know. She shook her head. "I might be able to show you... depends on the security settings... hold on, let me get a laptop. You stay here, OK?" She nodded. He left, and she sat in a chair heavily.I suppose it was inevitable, she thought. But that wasn't going to make it any more comfortable to know that any stranger she might meet might know in intimate detail the trials she'd endured in Akbar. It felt like no one would ever look at her like a normal person again. Then again, it also didn't feel like she'd ever BE a normal person again.

The Major returned surprisingly quickly. He opened the laptop and started tapping around in the browser. She heard him make a satisfied grunt, then he turned the laptop for her to see. It was open to a bondage website. The banner across the top read Slave Sasha. She could only see the tops of pictures on the small screen, but a quick scroll revealed them to be exactly what they appeared to be. "She's become a porn star?" Melanie asked incredulously.

"The first major star in the bondage genre." The pictures suggested that members could expect content that... well, anything that had happened in Akbar seemed to be re-enacted here, able to be viewed in great deal through streaming video. Her captivity was used as a selling point, and a disturbing number of the previews suggested content with Arab themes...

Melanie shook her head. "I can't believe it," she said.

"She's doing pretty well for herself, from what we've learned," Major Tiegen commented. "Obviously this site has only been around for a few months, but it's already one of the top ten porn sites on the web in terms of traffic." Melanie shook her head and turned the laptop back to the Major. "You were a POW, but you were also... trained. And training, whether voluntarily undertaken or not, stays with you... changes you."

"Were you trained, Major Tiegen?" Melanie blurt out.

The Major didn't answer her question, but put his finger to his lips and pointed to where a listening device was apparently hidden. Instead, he asked "you want to know what happened to Heather?" Melanie didn't answer, but her widened eyes expressed her interest. "She went back to what she knew... whoring." Melanie's jaw dropped. "Oh, after her abduction she wasn't about to go out on the streets again--but she's doing well for herself, working out of a cathouse in the Nevada desert. Wanna know what her specialty is?"

"Submission?" Melanie answered the obvious. The pattern was becoming clear. As much as she tried to deny it, she was following the pattern.

"I hear she can make double or triple her base rate for stuff I'm sure you would consider pretty tame. Maybe once this book comes out, her customers will become... more demanding."

"Chin Li?" Melanie asked.

"Officially, we don't know what happened to Chin Li, only that she's most likely still in the country," he answered, but his body language suggested he knew something else. He moved close to her, leaning against the conference table and bending forward before nearly whispering "unofficially, she's become the property of a very wealth benefactor in New York. She's living as a slave in a penthouse on the upper East Side. If you go online again, try looking up AsianLoveSlave--all one word." Melanie blinked; he knew she'd registered with the site. That shouldn't have surprised her is she had thought about it--she needed his permission to join, it would follow that he be notified that she did. "So anyway," he resumed speaking at normal volume, "the State Department wanted you to know that this was likely to happen. It usually takes 8-12 months for a book to get to press, so if there's things you want to do to get ready for when the story comes out, that's how long you have to do it. Any questions." She shook her head. "Let us know if you do. That is all." He stood up and left her alone in the conference room.

What happened to us? she thought.We all wanted to get out of there. How did we all end up gravitating back to sexual servitude? She got up slowly and walked back to her office.Chin Li is a member of Masters and Servants?Somehow, knowing someone on the boards other than the Major made it feel safer. And while it was just something tucked away in the far reaches of her mind, she gradually thought of some questions she'd like to ask her former compadre.

Bored at home on Saturday night, Melanie logged in and sent a friend request to AsianLoveSlave. She didn't know how long it might take to get a response; she checked as a break from housecleaning on Sunday and was surprised to see her reply already there.

Melanie, is that really you? My Master speak to Master Carl and he say it was. It so good to hear from you again! And so funny to run into you HERE... lol...

She thought for a long time about what to say. This if what she finally wrote:No one is more surprised to be here than I am. What about you? I heard you're living as a she paused as she thought of the right word to say, servant in New York? How did you end up there?

She left the site open while she went back to work. When she returned, she had a reply.Do not forget I no am citizen. Your government let me stay here, but what am I supposed to do? I have no education, no skills--I still have not gotten green card they promise me. I staying in hotel, and one night man approach me in the lobby. He say he hear about what it was like in Akbar. He say in America, man pay very well for woman willing to do such things. Take good care, make her rich maybe. He give me card. After a few day alone in hotel room just watching TV, I decide I must do something. I meet man in other hotel. He like me, make me mistress. Now I have view of Central Park from apartment.

I come from poor country. Only life I know is men want me for sex. Only now I live life in more luxury than I ever imagine. What a strange world this is!

I wonder, it bother you maybe to be like slave again. It not same, Melanie, when you FORCE to be servant and when you CHOOSE to be servant. It hard to explain, but is different.

Melanie re-read that last line again and again. It's not the same when you're forced to be a servant and when you choose to be. How she wanted to believe that--but she was afraid. Afraid of having flashbacks to Akbar. Afraid of developing PTSD like combat vets she used to know. She knew it wasn't forced captivity in itself that had messed with her capacity to appreciate "normal" sexual relations. But given what she'd been through, she couldn't imagine herself CHOOSING to be a slave? Wasn't the very concept an oxymoron? She thought about tortures she'd endured--real pain, for prolonged periods of time. She'd endured them because she had no choice, and sometimes she was rewarded for enduring them with great pleasure. She couldn't imagine, had she been given any choice, that she would have endured that suffering. And if she hadn't, she'd had never gotten to the payoff that she seemed to now be seeking. The hollow hole in the center of her life seemed just as unapproachable as ever.

She jumped when her computer dinged. She had another new message. This one was from Master Carl.Hello. Just got on and noticed you were logged in. Hear back from Chin Li yet?

Her sense of danger was vaguely aroused, but the question seemed innocuous enough, so she replied.Yes. She had some thought-provoking things to say.

A minute later came a reply.Explaining how things are different from in Akbar?

A chill ran down her spine. How did he always seem to know where her head was at? He didn't know anything about her. Or did he? This strange new part of herself that she didn't understand—maybe he understood THAT all too well. Or maybe he automatically received a copy of the messages she sent. She hadn't read the terms of service closely enough to have caught that kind of detail. She wasn't sure whether to reply, when suddenly a window popped up inviting her to a private chat. She accepted.

Hi there. I take it from the delay that either I've hit it on the head or I've missed the ballpark completely.

She felt a strange sense of relief. He couldn't see through her—he was just very astute at guessing. It also meant he hadn't read what she'd written to Chin Li. She answeredThe former. I'm glad you weren't sure, though, because the accuracy of your guesses was starting to spook me.

He answeredI'm no mind reader. I do think I have a good grasp on the psychology of the scene, though. Maybe that's why my guesses have been pretty accurate so far. She didn't know what to say. She didn't have to, because he continued Did Chin Li explain about how safe words and all that work?

She'd heard of safe words, but only generally.She didn't get into that kind of specifics.

It seems like a little thing, but it makes all the difference in the world. In Akbar, you had no choice; what they did to you, they did to you. But a safe word is your out. Say the safe word, and the scenario stops cold. Restraints removed, everything. Any self-respecting Master will honor an agreed-upon safe word unconditionally. Because of safe words, the Servant really has the final authority, ultimate control.

That much she kind of got.I get that. But I'm trying to picture being in that situation—why wouldn't I utter the safe word at the first real pain? Does any scenario ever get played out to conclusion?

She waited anxiously for his answer. It readSometimes that happens, but rarely. If you didn't understand that enduring pain can bring pleasure, you wouldn't be here in the first place. Ultimately, both Master and Servant want something—in some ways the same thing, only with different routes to obtaining it. She read it carefully, and realized he was right. He continued the safe word is for when you get really frightened, when you feel in imminent danger of sustaining grievous bodily harm. Obviously, your level of comfort with your Master is very important. The more you trust your Master, the more it takes to make you really frightened. That's why this site exists. Not just for Masters and Servant to get to know each other, but to provide references and build up a level of trust. The first meeting can be rather scary, otherwise.