Filling the Void - From High to Sub

After which he disengaged, disappeared into the bathroom for a minute, leaving me naked, tied and in a momentary state of bliss, his sperm dripping out of me, and returned fully dressed. He looked at me with a serious face and declared, 'I will send someone to release you. Be ready for another ride to the country by 7pm tomorrow.' And walked to the door.

'You cannot leave me like this! Send someone to release me?'

He didn't turn, opened the door and left.

I was left for an interminable hour, or longer...

Until a porter came - young, 19 or so, he has brought me room service before - oh, the indignation! - looked me in the eye for a second, calmly released my ankles and wrists, wished me a good night and left.

I masturbated, with K's dried up sperm flaking away, pulled up the cover to my chin and fell asleep in seconds.

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

I awake with an uneasy sense of foreboding. I linger in bed, get up late and take my lunch, all the while mulling over what happened. I feel I must not let the uneasiness fester on and take a long walk, live in the moment and enjoy the flowers and birds I spot along the way. I cannot shut out thoughts of K's tender yet deliberate lovemaking yesterday, but they are accompanied with thoughts of his cruelly abandoning me. Thoughts of the previous devious dinner party revisit me. I try to let go of them, like passing clouds and not latch on to them. I am not very successful. Dear me...

Yet I dismiss the possibility of swiftly packing my things and fleeing to the airport. Instead, I am getting ready for him to pick me up - I have chosen a white silk evening dress and a set of white lace underwear, have freshly shaven my armpits, groin, legs and underarms.

What does the future have in store for me? Am I ready?

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

We drive to the house silently.

When he greeted me, I found the courage to thank him for his delicate lovemaking, but didn't mention the fact that he abandoned me and left me for the young porter. Why not? Would it have made things worse? Better?

Upon arrival, we are led through the series of corridors, like before, but to a different room. It is sparsely lit and predominantly decorated in red and orange. There is an arrangement of daybeds and couches. There are only dressed women and men present, about two dozen, some familiar, some new, all armed with drinks. K and I get served with ours instantly. We join a group, which includes the Judge from our previous visit. We talk about the city, the changing climate, business, current affairs and so on. I am smiling and contributing an insight or fact here and there, but I know that the evening will not just bear chat, drinks and dinner. The cloud of last night hangs over me.

At some point, the Judge says, 'We are complete, aren't we? Let us begin', and clinks his glass. He smiles, looks around until he has the attention of all and says, 'Friends, we have not gathered for just talk and drink, have we? Let me introduce Vitavie as our guest, a guest of K's to be precise. She was here once before for dinner.' A flash of polite clapping. 'We'd like to give Vita the opportunity to practise her whipping. We will have P's slave (...) who's turn it is.'

I am taken aback. I cannot do that! K did not forewarn me. Ask me whether I would do it. I most certainly would have refused. What am I getting into? I have been naive. Or have I? Is my subconscious taking over? Because I accept the whip and look at it. It is multi-tail whip. I have been play-whipped with such article. I say not a word.

The Judge smiles at me and says, 'Just give it a try and see if it suits you.'

Some soul who must be P's slave (...) is led into the room and tied to a cross at the far end of the room. She has a short, compact body. Her hair, that on her head, is ginger if I am right and closely cropped to perhaps 1/8 of an inch. She has ample hair in her armpits and on her legs and a generous patch of unkempt pubic hair. She looks at me apprehensively.

I decide I will speak up, '(...), do you consent to this? Do you allow me whipping you?' What am I saying? As if I want to whip her. I add, suddenly in a muttering tone of voice, 'Then I will consider it...' I know I am past that point. 'Why?' She looks at me with a steady gaze from her clear green eyes, ignore the 'why?' and says with a soft voice, 'I do allow it. I want it. It is my duty.' Her duty it is...

I lash out in what turns out to be a lame attempt, and again, not much better. The Judge intervenes, smiles and says, 'You valiantly tried... Let me show you how it's done. Watch carefully.' I do watch carefully. I note his posture, I note how he holds the strands before he lets go with the other arm, I note his swing, I note how the strands impact (...) down from her breasts to the top of her thighs in a methodical way in about ten hits. When he has delivered two rounds, he looks at me, smiles and hands the whip back to me. I see myself taking it.

I don't think about what I am doing, but hit out with all the force I can muster, now much more effectively hitting (...), ten, fifteen, twenty times in slow succession, aiming to the best of my ability at (...) who utters ever louder cries. I destroy her.

I don't know when tears have started to cloud my gaze. Sweating profusely, I sink the floor on all fours and sob, sob, sob...

Quickly, K comes to my aid, kneels beside me and places a comforting arm around my shoulder. I am hardly a shadow of the lady that entered this room an hour or so ago. My hair is dishevelled, my white dress clings to my body and my make-up is smeared.

K gestures to one of the ladies and together they help me up. After a nod from K, the woman unzips my dress at the side and slides it down. Her hand helps to move my feet in turn to let me step out of the dress. She slides my drawers down, and helps my feet step out of them. When she has helped me by releasing my breasts from the brassiere, I am naked.

A naked slave...

I welcome that K ties me to the cross and lashes out of me, in a measured fashion, to break me in properly. I cry a river of tears and my entire front is being marked by red streaks.

Yes, I am now a slave. Like (...), Martin and scores of others.

I am a slave.

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

K releases me and naked and glowing on the front of my torso I eat dinner with the assembled ladies and gents. I am the only slave this time - I identify as Slave Vita. Polite conversation takes place around me, not involving me. I eat like them, with proper silver utensils. One last time? Who knows? K will know. He knows me and knows what will happen to me. He sits beside me and occasionally says a sweet comforting to me, Slave Vita, and puts his arm over my shoulders.

After dinner, I am given an simple red dress and underwear to wear. K drives me back to my hotel for a last night as a free woman. For the time being, I tell myself. Or am I already bound?

For how long will I take leave of the world? I don't want to say forever. At this point I no longer want what the world as I knew it has to offer. Been there, done it. Maybe I feel relief. But I have little idea what I am getting into. Do I want to be like Martin? Like (...)? I have always felt a leaning towards extremes, but I have always kept things at bay. Until today.

K drops me off at the hotel. Different dress, different woman. He will pick me up at noon the next day.

It takes me a few hours to settle my affairs. I pack my suitcases and arrange for them to be stored by the hotel. My laptop and phone I will take with me, but nothing else, except the dress and underwear I have just been given. I send a few email messages to key friends, to the companies that look after my two houses for me, that I will disappear off the radar for a while, until further notice. The hardest email is to my mum, who is in her 70s and in good health, but who is used to my regular calls. I tell her I may be off grid for a while. I pretend that I am going to a remote countryside, where reception is poor. Not far from the truth. It is my life, however, and I have to make sacrifices. There may be negotiating space on what I am allowed and not.

I am ready for bed by 3 am and take a sleeping pill. I get up at 10:30. On the first day of the rest of my life. Lord! I shower. Don't shave, but do carefully apply make-up. I dress in the red dress, the underwear and a set of slip-on shoes. Have breakfast, but can hardly eat. Brush my teeth. Pack my passport, my toiletries, my laptop and phone in the only bag I will take and wait in the lobby until K arrives.

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

He greets me as Slave Vita and does not kiss my cheek. Doesn't hold the passenger door open, doesn't help me into the car. Doesn't converse with me about world affairs, the weather or anything else, beyond saying that we will meet to discuss the boundaries of our relationship when we have arrived at the house.

I recognise the gate that opens for us and closes behind us the third time. Will I see it open again?

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

We are in a moderately sized drawing room. We sit at angles with respect to each other, but look each other in the eye. A coffee table separates us. We are served glasses of water. I am thirsty and drink mine in a few large gulps. He clears his throat.

'We need to discuss the rules, Slave Vita. Or let me be correct: Vita, for now still. They are boring, legalistic formulas. Insults to your intelligence, one might say. Most are self-evident. I will go through them and, here, at our beginning, you have the right to comment and question them. Once we have gone through them and you agree you will lose any right beyond rule no 1 to 3 - which read:

1. I, K, am obliged to keep you, Vita, alive, healthy and sane.

I say, 'Sane is an arbitrary concept. Is traumatised sane? The danger of trauma is there.'

'You have to trust me that I know what I am doing. You have a second right, which is the vital safety valve.'

1. I, K, will release you when you request it. A release is irreversible. Your personal effects will be returned to you and you will be brought to the embassy of your country. You waive the right for any financial compensation for the time you spent in my care.

I say, 'That is a big step, because it is irreversible. But you are right. It should safeguard against trauma. But if invoked during a moment of extreme stress or suffering, but not quite traumatic, it is a waste... I don't know. Better safe than sorry, it's true. Lord, this is hard...'

1. There will be a trial period of one month during which both you and I have the right the walk away from this agreement. The conditions are as under 2.)

'Fair enough. No further comment.'

1. You no longer have the freedom to act. You will ask permission for any action, no matter how little, from me and anyone appointed to look after you. That means you won't even lift a finger unless permitted.

'This will be so hard. Yet so attractive. In reality it will be hard most of the time. I may hope to get used to it. I guess I will, if I am cut out for slavedom.'

'Mind that this rule includes any bodily functions. You are not to urinate, defecate or take care of your menstrual affects, unless explicitly permitted.'

'That is cruel. Private matters... My periods! Why do you want to have control?'

'The whole point is: no privacy, no initiative. If you are cut out for this - and I think you are - you will appreciate all of this. For the first few days, or weeks or however long, you will not even wash yourself, wipe your ass after defecating or cleft after urinating or during your periods. This will be done for you.'

'Oh, Lord! How cruel!'

1. You will not speak unless asked a question to answer. In that case, you will answer adequately and briefly. The only exceptions will be when you have serious concern for your life, health or sanity.

'I suppose involuntary cries or sighs will also be accepted.'

'Yes, such cries or sighs will not count as speech. But I will be the judge of that.'

1. Conversely, you will do whatever I, K, will order you to do. If it is not in your capacity, you must be seen to try your utmost to do the task.

'That is kind of you, to give me a get-out clause. I expect to sweep the floor.'

I manage a wry smile. K does not answer it.

'It may involve licking the floor, Vita, until your tongue is raw and filthy.'

My! I am to go to extremes!

'It will also include that you eat and drink whatever you get ordered to eat and drink. Nothing that will cause permanent harm of course.'

Extremes, indeed. I am denied my favourite foods and drinks. But there, I have eaten and drank enough of those.

'And conversely, you will urinate or defecate whenever and wherever you are ordered to do so.'

As if I could forget, there will be no privacy for me. It will be difficult.

1. You won't have the right to wear clothes, unless I, K, allow it. This will concern special occasions, e.g. transport. You are not to cross your legs or cross your arms in front of your chest.

'This rule makes me happy. It is my secret desire to be naked and to be seen by all, everywhere, all the time. It has featured in my masturbations time and time again. I know, it will be hard too, but I will get used to this, as long as I am facilitated to remain attractive.'

'What is attractive to one person, may not be to another. Note the next rule.'

1. I, K, have the right to modify your, Vita's, appearance temporarily or permanently. The only exceptions are: no permanent markings on your face, neck and hands, no permanent suppressions of human functions or motions.

'No permanent marking to my face, so that I could go back to society as I know it - knew it? As if you would make me a total freak! Even suggesting this is a shock to me! A tattoo or so, that possibility has crossed my mind...'

'I will not make you a freak. Unless you think that Martin is a freak. There is a submissive who has been tattooed all over her body, head included. She is now, well, black. But she is the only one that has her face tattooed. She is beautiful still. Her hair is blond. And she consented, in fact suggested it. Here, her mistress was the reluctant one.'

'Unless I think Martin is a freak? I do think that. Permanent hair removal? Would make a return to society hard.'

'But not impossible. There are plenty of people without any hair, by choice or indeed as a result of an ailment. But I will not have your hair removed permanently.'

'So, you will have me hairless temporarily?'

'Yes, I will.'

I feel tears well up.

'That will be very hard. I am so proud of my hair. It's my best asset.'

'It is. But I need you to accept losing your best asset. Trusting that it could grow back.'

I cry silently for a while...

I ask for a tissue and he denies me it.

I sigh...

1. You will accept any sexual and bodily use by me, K, anyone of the circle of this house or anyone that I deem fit. Anyone will abide by the rules that we agree during this session.

'I accept that. As long as they cause no permanent harm, I will accept that. I will be a whore. Or will I? Whores get paid, don't they?'

'You get paid in kind. Don't forget that in essence, all this will be what you want. After you accept our rules at the end of this session, spelling out the bond between you and me.'

'As if I could forget it... The crazy thing is that you may be right. I begin to crave all these crazy things. My wealth and the pleasures of the world... Yes, I am bored. Your monk analogy rings true. Or nun analogy in my case. Bride of Christ I will be, or K's in my case.'

1. You will be punished for any infringement of any of these rules, or for whatever reason we deem fit. Punished in whichever way we deem suitable.

'Within my right to be kept alive, healthy and sane...'

'Naturally! That is the first rule for a reason...'

We are silent and look each other in the eyes, as equals, measuring each other up. The moment that last forever. My last moment of self-possession. Or? Yes, my last moment. We both get up.

'I am crazy, K. Just to think that we met just weeks ago. I expected companionship, friendship - I did not dare to expect love - and sexual gratification. A nice way to spend my time. There is only one thing that makes me hesitate. One thing only... My mother needs me. She is in her seventies and needs me, needs a connection with me...'

'You told me about her, Vita. I expected as much. How long do you generally talk?'

'An hour or so, once a week on a Thursday. And I have promised to see her every six months. Including at Christmas.'

'I promise you your phone call every Thursday. And I will think about what we can practically do so that she can meet you. Within the rules we will agree. Are about to agree.'

'If I get to call her for an hour once every week and you'll make best endeavours for us to meet, I accept and give myself to you. I am crazy.'

'Vita, you have accepted and are therefore mine. You are sane.'

I expected him to come over to me, embrace and kiss me.

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

Instead, the words of my acceptance releases a whirl of activities.

Two male assistants enter the room with a stool and a tray of tools and devices, so quickly that they must have been waiting at the door for a signal.

They don't need instructions from K, now my Master. (He has not told me how to address him. But I am not to address him on my initiative. Whether to include, '..., Sir' in my responses to his questions?) K sits down in his easy chair.

Within seconds, they have taken my shoes and ripped or cut my dress and underwear, rendering me naked, my newly normal state.

They grab the stool and sit me down on it. I shiver, as the seat is cold. They place a large mirror in front of me, which shows me from head to foot.

With a cotton wool pad and make-up remover one of them wipes my carefully made up eyes bare.

It takes a minute for one of them to buzz my lovely long, well cut hair off to the skin. I shudder and cry, but receive a warning 'Sit absolutely still!', reinforced by a mean crack of a horsewhip. I have my eyes closed. I don't want to see my degradation.

Next, he buzzes my eyebrows off. Next, with tweezers, he accurately and deliberately pulls out my eyes lashes. I have stiffened with fear that he will damage my eyes, but he is precise.

Next, they prepare a bowl of warm water, a brush and stick of shaving cream and proceed to lather up my skull and forehead. Expertly, within a few minutes, they shave my scalp and eyebrows, rendering me balder than a baby.

They leave my pubic hair, armpits and legs.

K gets up, I look him in the eyes, but he does not connect with me. Instead, he grabs my left arm and pulls me upright. 'Open your eyes, slave, and see what you become.'

I open my eyes and see what I have become. Less than ten minutes ago I was a wealthy lady, a pearl at every cocktail party, with glorious hair. Now I am hideous. A bald freak, an alien. Balder than bald because my lovely characteristic eyebrows are gone too. I look at my body as if at someone else's. I know it is me, but don't recognise myself. What have I done?

Then K pushes me down again, tells me to go down on all fours, lowers his trousers, gets down on his knees and pushes his cock into my cunt. Because it is no longer worthy of the term 'vagina'. His entry hurts. I count the strokes he makes: twenty-three and he is done. He gets up, pulls up his trousers, closes them and leaves me. Unsatisfied, of course.

The ordeal continues as the two assistants satisfy themselves in the same way. By now, I am wet.