Filling the Void - From High to Sub

Finally, they usher me out of the drawing room and bring me to a small room, with a padded floor and walls, all white. It is lit by a small window high above my height only. The room is empty. Totally.

The only thing in here is me. Thing.

Alone with my thoughts. I cannot bear my thoughts.

It will be a little more than an hour after K discussed and agreed my rules with me, an exchange between a gentleman and a lady.

What I am now?

Less than a dog.

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I am incarcerated in a white hell. For a week, as it turns out. The light and dark of that little window are my guide to time. No noise whatsoever penetrates my cell.

I am sure I am being watched.

This is a living hell because I am alone with my thoughts.

Thoughts of my mother. K promised me that I could stay in touch.

Thoughts of my life as it was. I thought it was empty and it was. I was bored. But I could have gone and become active and do good somewhere with my money. I was never woman enough to think beyond my own needs.

Of my socialite life. Chatting, drinking, chatting some more, drinking more. No, I was never a drunk. Very rarely I was hung over the following day. Chatting, occasionally dancing. Having one night stands. An occasional two, three, four night stand, tops. Having dinner. Seeing an opera or a play. Go to a concert. All that no longer moved me. But it appears not so bad at the moment... Though, no...

Of my sense of dressing. I am sure I was attractive. My hair was my most striking attribute. I was a natural blonde. My few grey hairs blended in nicely. I took very, very good care of it. My face was attractive. I'd like to think my intelligence and sense of irony shone through. My eyes, grey-blue, were lively and I knew how to make them up.

Fortunately I have no mirror. I monitor my scalp and am happy to feel the rasping of my hair growing back as the days are counted. Flashes of happiness in this hell...

Those of you with visions of slavedom may not think of this: the mind-blowing BOREDOM. I try to stay active by repeatedly doing my yoga exercises and running exercises - not easy in a 3 x 3 m cell. The thought presents itself that I am not supposed to do anything, even when incarcerated like this.

My days are punctuated by a bowl of water and a bowl of broth being delivered through a hatch in the door. No utensils. No cup. I do the best I can with my hands, making sure I have enough water left to rinse them after eating, before drinking it.

I have time, too much time, to study my body. My naked body. I identify every mole, every blemish, every stray hair, the areolas of my breasts, a hair there, the complicated structure of my nipples. I cannot study my vulva very well, but feel it thoroughly and get to know it better by touch. And see fit to masturbate, even in this dark and lonely hour. My hands, my arms, my feet, my nails, my belly, my hips... I don't see but feel my neck and face and back and butt.

But what clouds my days is that there is no toilet, nor paper, nor wipes. The first time I have to pee, I don't know what to do. But there is little choice. I select a corner and do the business. And again and again. Some five times a day, I don't know... I offer great resistance to the notion that I have to shit. Until I accept the inevitable and dump my excrement in the toilet corner and accept that I cannot wipe myself. I have to keep my hands clean, don't I, for eating.

Sometimes, I am conscious of the decidedly rank odor of the air inside. But, Lord, one gets used to anything. Even to shit.

The temperature is a tad less than comfortable and I often wish I had a blanket.

The floor is not soft, but soft enough.

Most of all there is BOREDOM.

I can only sleep so much, though I do my best.

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On the sixth day, the door opens and I see K entering my dismal, foul, little world. He is followed by two acolytes.

'Slave Vita, I am happy to see you are still sane and healthy, though dirty. You did well, considering the life you come from. The following will now happen. Firstly, my men will punish you for having moved during your five days here. You remember the rule of no initiative. Fifteen lashes on your back with the multi-tail whip, fifteen cane strikes on your bottom.'

'But...'

'You were not told to speak, so we'll add one lash and one strike to the amounts.'

'Secondly, after the punishment, you'll clean up the mess you have made. That means clearing up the mess you have made in the corner and when that is done rigorously scrubbing the floor.

'Thirdly, my men will bathe you and freshly shave your head.

'Fourthly, you will be initiated by the full complement of our circle. The full membership comes to thirty-seven men and eighteen women, not including the number of aspiring members. The fifty-five will all use you, using one of your three holes. This time, we will keep you well lubricated, so as to satisfy rule no. 1. You will make all men come, unless they curtail their pleasure at their initiative. The women will not come using their dildo's, so your will satisfy those that so choose by cunnilingus. And finally, for now, you will be laid out on the large dining table to be viewed while the membership dines.'

End of Part 1

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