Filling the Void 01 - From High to Sub

Filling the void -

from high-socialite to sub-human-

by Vitavie

Part 1 - Initiation

I left my life in the world over a year ago. A few months earlier, I met a man. His real name is of no concern. I am not sure if he ever told me his real name. Let's identify him as 'K.' A very impressive man. Handsome, of mixed European and Asian heritage. And commanding.

I needed a commanding man. I had made my fortune running a recruitment company, had sold it a year earlier and had travelled wherever my whims took me. Lived a high-society life. Had regular liaisons, which was nice enough, but I got bored. Few were a match to me. As it turned out, I was done dominating.

Years of running my company had exhausted me in that sense. Then I encountered K. At a cocktail party. We had a lively conversation and sensed that we could become good friends, as a minimum. Likely, friends with benefits, or even lovers, I thought.

For a long time, he held back. From our early meetings on, I would have gone and slept with him, had he suggested it, but, alas, he remained a gentleman. We did exchange phone numbers. It was I who called him, some two weeks after our first meeting. We agreed to have dinner together. We did, and did again, and again, and became friends. So some two handfuls of weeks passed.

Still he held back. I attributed his restraint to his Asian roots and appreciated his mysteriousness. Finally, again it was I that took the initiative and proposed that we sleep together. He smiled and said, 'I have been expecting this for a while. But no, not yet. I need to show you something first. If you then still want to sleep with me, I will be yours.' I returned his smile and said, 'I wonder what deformity or unpleasantness you hide.' 'It is not that, I can promise you. It is nothing to do with my body.'

I was well aware that I was running a risk when I consented to see what he had to show me. He could kidnap me for ransom, kill me for a serial killer's kicks. The truth is: I didn't feel I had anything to lose. What was the point of the life I was leading? Sure, I had enough money to pay for all the little and big pleasures that money can buy. I had lived on that basis for a year or so and was getting bored. So, I was game, assuming what he had to show me wouldn't kill me. I was bored, but had no death wish.

We still haven't slept together, in the strict sense. Maybe we never will.

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

K has suggested I dress in eveningwear. I have chosen a jade-green ankle length dress, sleeveless with a bare back and spaghetti straps, with a high neckline. I have chosen simple white silk underwear and trimmed my pubic hair, put my long hair up high and did a fine make-up job, using green, orange and blue - yes, I still lived in hope...

He collects me from my hotel late afternoon. In a Bentley convertible. Talking about the pleasures that money can buy. K wears a tuxedo with white jacket, jade-green bowtie (how did he know?) and black trousers. He compliments me on my appearance, on the choice of dress.

'I hope I won't regret taking you up on your invitation, K. Your invitation remains a mystery. I will confess that I am curious.'

Another one of K's mysterious smiles. 'If I can judge people, women in this case, I know that what I will show you will suit you very well, Vita.'

Soon we have left the city and drive at leisurely pace through undulating countryside. It is a lovely day and the air is fragrant, full of nature's diverse aromas, full of - dare I say - promise. Time stands still, I dream away, for half an hour or so. Then we arrive at an ornate gate, which he opens electronically. It closes behind us.

Pretty soon a large complex of buildings reveal itself to us. At the centre is a large three-story building that must house a hall of sorts. It is surrounded by two-story sections and, further out, one-story pavilions. The complex appears to stem from colonial times, has aspects of a grand British house but pagoda-style roofs and Chinese accessories, lanterns, turrets etc.

A valet, a handsome young Chinese male, is waiting and K hands him the car keys. The valet calls him by his name. We enter a large lobby, furnished with Oriental furniture and adorned with evergreen potted trees and flower arrangements.

K and I are greeted by a further Chinese staff member who also addresses K by his name. 'We have been expecting you, Sir. Please follow me.'

We are led through a series of corridors and ultimately are shown into a dining room.

I gasp.

Seated around a large dining table are ten other guests. The shock is that half of them are bare-naked. The people who are dressed get up and come and greet us. K courteously introduces me, with compliments. Three of the men are gentlemen who wear tuxedos like K. The two dressed women are ladies in evening dresses like me. K introduces me to these five. He ignores the naked women and men, again three men and two women. They are obscene. And almost like animals. I am uneasy. I spot that a full dinner service is set only before the seven of us who are dressed. The naked five have what looks like a dog bowl before them.

Dear... What am I getting into?

The dressed persons are aged between forty and fifty, I estimate. K's and my age. The subs are not much younger, perhaps five years on average, the eldest clearly between forty and fifty. My age.

Before we are invited to sit down, each of the dressed persons call one of the naked individuals forward in turn. There is no easy link between the sexes of the dressed and the undressed. The naked ones are not introduced, but displayed. They first assume a position with feet apart, hands behind their heads, gaze cast down, so that their chests and abdomens are in full view. I note that one of the men and one of the women have hairless sexes. The man is entirely hairless, from top to bottom. He may have been handsome once. The other three have bushes, two of which are entirely unkempt and the third is neatly trimmed. After the first position has been assumed long enough for me to survey the body before me exhaustively, at a gesture by who appears to be their guardian, they turn around, bend forward and engage their hands to pull their buttocks apart. This way, their sexes and anuses are displayed. I feel their humiliation. Or have they hardened against such feelings? Would that be good?

I think I have a wide experience with naked bodies and sexual actions, but I have not had bare genitals offered to me so blatantly. Those of the hairless are pristine and obscenely visible. Those with the unkempt abdomens and perinea appear obscenely dirty. The labia are strange pink flowers of flesh in beds of dark hair like grass. The hairy scrotum is ample and crowned with a sizeable semi-erect cock.

The bodies of two, one man, the hairless one, and one woman, show clear marks of whipping or caning, I am not sure. The back and buttocks of the woman shows prominent welts. The man shows marks everywhere, except for his face and neck.

No explanation is offered by K or any of the others of what the score is. I have been around in the world enough to know that the party concerns a ring of dominants and submissives.

Is K a dominant? Did I not have an inkling? I fell for him because of his commanding stature...

After all five subs have been introduced in this way, I am invited to sit down at the table, and everyone follows. I note that the subs sit at the table too.

We are served good wine and a variety of tasty food and maintain polite conversation. Four of the five dominants are prominent men and women of business, like K is and I was, and the fifth is a supreme court judge. The elephants in the room are the submissives. They don't speak, are not addressed and get served a bowl full of some broth served with a big wooden ladle, which they eat directly with their mouths. Like dogs. Every so often their master or mistress wipes their mouths with their napkin, without emphasis, without a single word.

I have some experience with S&M, but not at this level. I have been tied up and fucked that way. I have been gagged and fucked anally. I have worn kinky lingerie and leatherwear. I have been slapped with bare hands. I have been the subject of a gangbang. All voluntarily, if it wasn't me who had taken the initiative in the first place. Once, I hired a dominatrix and paid for getting brutally whipped and been anally ravished by a fat dildo. Just once. The scene appears in my dreams from time to time.

I do contribute to the conversation, but experience spells where I am lost in thought. I think K notices. What are my thoughts, what my feelings? Do I want to join this gang of dominants? Will that be what K has seen in me?

When the meal is done and we are enjoying digestives, I cannot stay silent any longer and say, 'Thank you all for allowing me in your circle as a guest. I have to say, I am in a state of confusion. Who are these naked people? What are they? Why are they here?'

K speaks, 'They are intelligent professionals, or ex-professionals, who have identified as submissives. Slaves, to use plain language. Sex slaves, if you like, though there is a lot more than sex in the physical sense. Of the five former individuals - because they don't answer to that term anymore - three have left the world as they knew it, no longer engage in work or with 'vanilla' people. They are permanently - that is: if anything is permanent - permanently dedicated to their master or mistress. The other two are preparing for that step. They have jobs but spend their time outside work as submissives.'

'I have to ask... Do you have a slave, or slaves, too, K?'

'I don't at the moment.' And he leaves a barely noticeable pause. Does he propose I...? 'But we share the submissives and their services.

'I see you are puzzled. It is necessary to tell you that the slaves have entered this state of their own free will. They need the degradation, the humiliation, the suffering... Each of them to a different degree. Slaves are and remain human beings. Their state fulfils them, makes them grow. You can ask them if you like.

'Slave Martin, come here. He is the one of the ones who has left his profession and the world as he knew it and became a permanent and fulltime submissive.'

Martin is a Caucasian, fairly slender, but tall. He looks shocking... His body is hairless from head to foot. Very strange. Otherworldly. He appears so naked this way. His body, however, is covered in welts and scars, as if he is dressed in them. His sex is large, his scrotum, his flaccid cock, both in girth and in length - surely the largest set I have ever seen. His large cock is locked up in a chastity cage, which blatantly fails to hide its size. His eyes are downcast.

'He was a very high-powered lawyer, successful too, wealthy. Outside work, he became involved in the public BSDM scene that Judge X frequents, and gravitated towards the role of the submissive. He worked hard and played hard, until he got burnt-out and realised his life should be one of full, deep submission. It liberated him. His baldness reflects the distance he had to take from his former life, but was not his initiative. His hair has been removed permanently, not a single hair excepted. I was present for the day it took to remove the hair by a laser technique, the day after he formally submitted to Judge X. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he ranted and raved like a madman. It is the only time I saw him emotional. He was brutally punished for his outburst. He since appears to have accepted it.'

Martin's gaze is still to the ground. He did not respond when K told his story. K taps at his chastity cage. 'Martin was a famous womaniser in his heyday. A legendary libido. A true ladykiller. Left carnage in his wake. As it stands, he has not been inside a woman for two years. The curved cage prevents him from getting erect. Mind that it was not the judge, but Martin himself suggested chastity. He has been chaste for over a year. He would probably identify as a heterosexual, but has accepted Judge X as his master. Since then his will has ceased and been replaced by the Judge's. Now, the strict regime of punishment... He is never without marks. The Judge decided that for him, to atone for his past life. And because he likes the look. And, he will admit, because he is sadist. But he lives by the golden rule: to maintain his subject's health. Same, for the hairlessness. He was a handsome fellow, complete with a stylish cut and jazzy beard. His mother would not recognise him. He has been compared to a monk. In the service of sex and us, his gods.'

I am not sure what I should feel. Anger? Surely, this man must have been brainwashed. Tears of compassion? He is hideous to look at. Womaniser no more. Yet I can imagine leaving the world. There are times I yearn for something else. High society been there, done it. But not this...

K looks at my pale face and does not offer any consolation or apology.

Adding insult to injury, one of the men comes up, undoes his fly and produces his member. Judge X pushes Martin forward and down to his knees. The slave gently strokes the men's cock until it is erect. Then blows the other man. He manages to deep throat him. I am impressed by the subtleness and the variability of the movements of his hands and lips, and presumably of his tongue. The man soon closes his eyes, raises his head high and moans with pleasure. The slave takes his time and drives the man up to sublime ecstasy. I will admit: I watch with fascination. With a resounding throaty cry, the man comes and after a brief pause pushes Martin away.

K smiles at me and says, 'I am glad you enjoyed this demonstration. Now, let us offer him to you for a moment, as welcome gift.' It is K that hitches up my dress, bunches it up and holds the fabric, to clear access to my sex. Do I feel compelled to grab my drawers and let them drop to my ankles? Or do I really want to? I do drop them. The slave wastes not a minute but digs in and sets to work. Oh! I too close my eyes and disappear to nirvana. His tongue and lips... Indescribable, so subtle... I feel his tongue everywhere, in and around my folds, the entry to my uterus and my clitoris, in a never-ending magical sequence. His work is nothing less than divine. Again, he must have taken his time - for me, his ministrations were timeless. And I too come once, twice with a guttural cry. Lord, what is happening...

In my dream state, I raise my drawers and K delicately lets go of my dress.

A few minutes later we take our leave.

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

On the way back to the city, we discuss my impressions. 'Impressions' does not cover it. I was blown away by the confrontation with five degraded individuals - degraded consensually, so it seems. By seeing a male slave, said to be heterosexual, give a blowjob to another man. And perform cunnilingus on me. He understands my having been put off - by having to see these 'slaves' and especially being forced to be satisfied by the debased hairless man.

K's defence makes a sensitive impression.

'The thing is, whether by nature or by nurture, there are men and women who cannot be anything else but sex slaves. To say that they are happy to be so... Are monks in a closed order happy? I am sure happy is not the word. But certainly, they would be unhappy outside it.'

I confess to my confusion, if not irritation, concerning K offering Martin's service to me, without the option to say no.

'I am sorry, if I hurt your feelings. I imagine it will have something to do with him doing it, instead of me?'

'I am not sure if it does, really... Let me think... Why didn't you?'

'Our time will come. It won't be long now. But if your irritation was not based on that, on what was it?'

'Well, I didn't like being done in public, without warning.'

'However, it looked like you enjoyed it? And you did reach an orgasm or two? The fact that it happened in public did not kill them? Perhaps instead heightened them?'

'Yes! No! He was expert, it is true. But to orgasm in public? I should at least have agreed to that.'

'If I had asked, you would have refused. Correct?'

'Yes, probably.''

'The way that it happened, you can't deny that you were sent to heaven by the slave?'

'No, I can't deny it. It was divine. But I am in no position to confirm that the presence of others heightened it. I was horrified and then mightily aroused. In no state to judge the origins of how I climbed towards orgasm.'

'Precisely my point. And I was in a state to judge. I have seen it happen countless times.'

'Do I like where this is going? I just don't know.'

'But I guarantee you: you will know.'

He drops me off at my hotel with a kiss on my cheek. He did not take me to his home or does not offer to come to my room.

I masturbate in a confused haze of a dream. Reach a few orgasms, as in a dark fairytale, of a maiden held in a castle with triple towers.

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

He calls me again a few days later.

'Should I be sorry I took you? I hope I have not turned you off my company. On my part, I am happy you allowed me to show you a glimpse of my world. It is not everyone's cup of tea, but I rated you higher. I am sure you masturbated the minute you got to your room.'

I ignore this last comment and answer his question. 'I was shocked. I can't believe this kind of life is ever consensual.'

He pauses. I hear him breathe.

'I think you confuse consensual with easy. A slave's life is hardly easy. But it is fulfilling to some. And inevitable. We can all psychologise about why a slave is or becomes a slave. Poor attachment to the parents, victim of child abuse. Or years of acting over and above one's power, like a commander that was essentially born a follower. Or like Martin, who simply depleted his lady-killing powers and was done, shed his cocoon and transformed into a submissive. I am not a psychologist, but I have seen the pupating several times. By now, I believe my intuition can tell a slave from a mistress or master in the bud. Of course true masters or slave fit for the life are rare. Most people are neither.'

I find myself uneasy.

'I see... And what am I?

'I think you ought to try and have a guess yourself...'

'I believe you are grooming me...'

'Well... Did our visit turn you on? Be honest...'

'It moved me, that I can say.'

'Let me say it straight. I believe you are a bit like Martin. Bored with your life, done after a life of commanding your business. You are bored with living the socialite life... You are bored with leading and want to follow...'

'That does not make me like Martin...'

'In the final analysis that is up to you. But do you know yourself? Do you belong in the sea or on the beach? Can you tell without dipping your toe in the sea?'

I sigh. Dipping me toe...

'I had never suspected it would come to this. Let me be frank this time. What I had suspected was that we would come together, we would sleep together and at some point be on our way again.'

'Oh, I am attracted to you, Vita. I just had the sense that you might be destined for more than just a common affair.'

I don't know what to say. He is right that I am bored with my life as it is. Perhaps I do desire oblivion, the total lack of responsibilities. Perhaps I want to be sex, live sex.

'Come to me now and fuck me. I need that. Fuck me like a Master. Then we'll talk some more.'

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An hour later, he is adjusting his clothing. He has fucked me. Like a Master. With authority. I have to grant him that.

He obtained access to my room of his own accord, without me having to let him in. In no uncertain terms, but without raising his voice he instructed me to strip naked. Should I be surprised that I complied? He told me to lie down on the bed and tied my hands together and to the headboard, and my ankles to the left and right bedposts at the foot of the bed. Without hurry, confident and calm. I cooperated. No, he did not immediately enter me, roughly and readily. He made me ready by ever so slowly, painfully slowly, excruciatingly slowly stroking my areolas, delicately flicking my nipples, stroking my flanks with his full hands, up and down, the outside of my thighs and calves, the top of my feet, massaging my feet for a while, then repeatedly stroking the inside of my legs, my thighs, so near to my sex, repeatedly, repeatedly, before ruffling my bush, then finger stroking my labia majora, including the perineum in the circuit, stroking in-between the majora and minora, finally deeming my clitoris worthy of his touch, which had started to reveal itself from underneath its hood, and softly making me come once - a long enough pause - twice and thrice... Only then he dropped his trousers and in a decisive, firm but not too harsh a way entered me and fucked me with long strokes until he let out a mighty roar and came. Nothing moved for what may be a minute, during which I felt his cock grow limp again and I looked up at his face and closed eyes - the face of god, there is no other word - me highly content and he... well, satisfied.

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:

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.'

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...'

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.'

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!'

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.'

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.

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.'

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...

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.'

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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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