Introduction

 

Anya, so slender, sensitive, beautiful. Is the astounding bondage, torture, and modification she submits to just personal? Just "preference"? Is she but another O, only sanctified, finding life beyond mere personal, autonomy, by exalting in submission of anatomy, thus achieving identity?

Anya's bond to and bondage by me could be termed love or subjugation. There should not be separation for the evolved. For complete woman, total sexuality should be induced, infused, inflicted, so that she supersedes her archaic, estrual residue and reticence, even reason.

From where we meet, Anya and I travel alone through the night to meet with one of my associates in New York City. There, we seize them, and with the three drugged captive girls, we rush through mist-patch interims of place, past little towns laid out in fillet of flash beside the interstate. The while, so much philosophy of our benign, even sacramental DeSadean sojourn at the summit is discussed.

Capture, conveyance, climb now up the ravaged remains of what once was a grand boulevard leading to the vast, abandoned structure, nestled in the crater-like mountain-top. Castle? The other two associates are there with their four captives already, awaiting our arrival thus to begin another season's sessions of supersedence in the subterranean sanctuary beneath the wind-blanched, and almost cadaver-composite of grand hotel. Down in the depths of basement areas, the novitiates are taken. First, separately to cells where they awake and scream and cry their protests and agonies of confinement and their bodies' retention.

Then, quiet reveals acquiescence, even endurance of calcite feces and crystalline urine. Soon the ordeals of initiation begin. The transformations remove superficial autonomy and grooming glamour. The irons, chains, bars, insertions secure and induce new identity for each of the adepts. Together they experience almost as one existential body, enduring unbearable ecstasies of agony and orgasm. Incapacitations, infibulations, penetrations, and more are the raiment that they will wear upon and within their individual, exquisite, forms of female flesh.

Yes, the whip must sometimes be applied to force acceptance of such transcendence.

But the enema of existential awareness is the primary procedure of inducing the unique human evolution at the summit. Such untenable pressures infused, then contained so long . . .along with the instructions and inculcations of knowledge and philosophy our initiation forces their minds to retain . . . . and the ambient sounds of classical music, intellectual recitation, the projected images of formulae and schematics, and of art, architecture, sculpture and more amid the organic tortures to climax . . .

As with the prior "classes", t his group will leave the summit. As a sisterhood they will go forth and administer, inform, even recruit others to take their place for the next trip through the night, climb up the mountain, and ultimate bondage and discipline of body and mind both.

Anya, though, will remain to me.

 

 

The Cast

 

Glen, whose medical residence at a facility treating sufferers of Parkinson's disease, other palsies, and spasticity . . . developed his accurate marksmanship with the hypo to administer the pentothal shots to our captive girls. "Examination reveals that awareness can't be other than an arbitrary construct fallaciously extrapolated from the essence of biochemical and neurological mechanisms."

Ralph, the psychiatrist (and sparring partner with Glen so often), whose high-pitched voice didn't help his position of prowess. "I'd hate to have you operate on me, Glen. You'd excise my heart because it only abstracts its beat from the rhythm of my pulse!"

George, whose fingers speak the multilingual tongues of materials, but whose tongue was usually silent. George was the craftsman of our equipment ("these will be used as clitoris shackles"), and the audience of our recitations to the initiates. And to our contestations with each other.

And I, the navigator of the journey to the summit. I, the mediator of discussions, formulator of the rituals and sacraments. I the collaborator with the other three to impose the revisions of femininity through the torments and tortures transmuting to exquisite ecstasy for the girls.

 

The girls' sisterhood of subjugation-supremacy names: Anya, Balri, Seuri, Trasnu, Rashni, Astul, Cyngro, and Taegsah. ABSTRACT. (In case you've forgotten, as I mentioned -- Ralph and George had brought four captives to the summit. Their arrival had been a few days prior to ours, and far less threatening and eventful!!)

 

 

The Intent?

 

Is this a book primarily to present sexual scenarios?

Is it a treatise on gender and society and civilization?

Is it satire?

Your answers will depend on what you think of existence!

Epilogue

 

Time heals all wounds (except mortal ones, of course). And thanks to time and Glen's medical expertise, Anya could sit up again. But in the days when her suffering had threatened even time's passing mercy, many agonies cried out through fevered sleep. The metamorphosis of consciousness has little of the beatific, blossoming miracle of butterfly from worm . . . . . but then again, who knows what agonies transpire within the muffling cocoon?

Throughout these days George even verbalized his recalcitrant genius to his "betrothed" initiates as did we all. And though the fusing of life's fragmented personalities were so much less intense in the other cells, Glen, Ralph, and George spent every waking hour controlling, consoling, confiding the intricacies of ascendance that their disciples would finally have to acquire.

The restraints, insertions, and infusions were preambles to the lessons of the lash many, many times.

Strangely, the Armageddon strife that took Anya's pale, slender body so close to maceration's actual martyrdom had brought about a tenuous, if temporary, union with darker-skinned, fuller-formed, but shorter-stanced Taegsah. Thus, even in violence (committed and committed to) the two had achieved a fusion of existence sooner and deeper than others. Others forced to touch each others' not just nakedness . . . . but essence, as it were.

Others, eventually paired, in the cells at first singularly confined, writhed, wept, but came to touch until the moistures flowed from other than the optic outlets of essences. For some, just the fulfillments while in chains had been sufficient influence. For others, the fuller fillments to distention had been imposed, infused. The threat of lash as well, as next, sufficed for others. And though through force, the fusion of their love took place. The bond of sisterhood.

But how much more drastic and profound the fission-touch of Taegsah unto Anya until the momentary realization that atrocity had been consummated and thereby came to be their binary universe of beings-as-one. The slices, bruises, cuts, contusions, welts, the blisters, bleedings, scratches, slaps and more were maelstrom swirling galaxies of final fusion, the expansion of Taegsah's universe to include another as if herself -- Anya.

As with the bodies of humanity, the naked forms of novitiates at our citadel (cocoon) of cells perhaps had to endure/and/or/inflict atrocity before achieving true awareness? Such was the assumption of our ritual format here deep beneath the mountain summit ruins. Such enactment and enforcement was the collaboration of us four: Glen the surgeon, Ralph the psychiatrist, George the master craftsman, and I the spokesman for all.

We had not just planned our premise. We'd studied. Despite intense impositions, even agonies, evolution would take place. Self-centered autonomies would leave their kidnap, incarceration, naked tortures -- sanctified to thus continue sacrifice of self for sake of others.

Yes, for the others, being naked, in bondage, depilated, infused, inspired them quickly to acquiesce, even orgasmically. Even sharing such intimate intensities with those paired as their "sister-initiates".

But the formation of the universe of bi-part beings (Taegsah and Anya) as binary being (the singled soul to send forth after the initiations) was of a more drastic dimension.

And for those hours when Anya's torture by Taegsah was even life-threatening, I'd been deeply concerned. But even then I'd let their evolution run its course, though I'd kept continuous surveillance just in case.

And as if in sudden recognition Taegsah stopped the assaults. stood as if in shock to see, then sat with Anya in a constant, sleepless vigil, nursing her, feeding her, holding her when she writhed and wailed and retched and soiled. And for that interim (a time of peace?), there'd been no conflict. Rather, a form of symbiosis had taken form. For realizing her atrocity, Taegsah desperately needed to atone, to mend, And Anya would have died without such attention.

Perhaps, too, there was reciprocity of projection? Taegsah had experienced her own agony through that of Anya. Anya's endurance of that agony had encompassed Taegsah in her being?

Or, alas, perhaps it involved, in part at least, that Taegsah's heroine-ic ministrations were to keep alive perhaps the only other being who would again, if needed by another, sacrifice her naked self upon the skewer, rack, grill, wheel, impalement, . . . . battle field . . . .

Taegsah and Anya (and the others all). Naked, tortured female forms? Or could the subjects of concern be seen as humanity?\

At any rate, for a time there was the calm and consoling. And Taegsah touched Anya unto ultimate intimacy when healing had alleviated convulsive excruciation, when sensations otherwise now again aroused could be soothed, even relieved, released.

But soon, as Anya regained strength, the vicarious wounds scabbed over Taegsah's feelings, her awareness of hurt by hurting. Thus I would have to force her further to assimilate the knowledge of what had happened through the brutal nights and days gone by. Emotions subside all too quickly to function alone in human evolution. There has to be the inseparable union of emotion and intellect, or at least cognitive recognition. But there has to be a force to drive that, even beat it, from its hiding place within the platitudes of self.

I entered the chamber. Anya's fair-skinned body looked more frail for the foci of what she'd suffered. Taegsah stood at my approach, as if my approach transformed her from nursing compliance, transmogrified her to gnashing complainance.

"I've undone what you made me do to her!! So now she's even able to feed herself and sit up." Taegsah glared at me, visual defiance, though, defeated by her inadvertent covering of breasts and groin. "Isn't that supposed to be completion of your premise, your perverse performance -- the abduction and initiation of your initiates? The torture to total self sacrifice?"

I made no reply.

"So I've given up myself to save hers. I've even given of myself to satisfy hers!! So let her be naked for herself. But let me have my clothes."

"You have your chains to wear. Your bracelets, anklets, belt, your collar."

"But you said those are for training and I'm trained, aren't I and If I keep wearing all this metal I'll start to bulk up muscles which would be quite the opposite of the hyper-feminine fixation you seem to want us girls to embody and to enact too like we're simpering slaves or something sucking up in desire what you shove up into us as training or discipline or whatever the fuck else you call it."

"Don't use run-on sentences," I advised.

"Shut up!!"

"That's better."

She stamped her foot in frustration, Then again, harder, because the ankle band hurt her and the heavy chain rattled.

"Anyway, if it wasn't for your damned initiation I never would have hurt her (she gestured toward Anya, arms spreading and palms upturned as if to flaunt nonchalance until she realized she was revealing intimacies) so the whole thing has been your fault so why should I feel bad about what I've done since she's going to be alright and anyway you whipped me too and nobody came around to hold my head on their lap like a lesbian La Pieta or something and I've been a sucker feeling sorry for her and thinking I'm to blame for anything since I get no thanks for anything and can't even cover my naked body except with shackles and . . . ."

"Run-on, run-on!!" I snarled. "But, aside from your syntactic sin, think how much more efficiently you can piss."

"Talk about piss will you, well why do I have to read and learn all that pissy stuff about philosophy and religion and history and listen to all the lectures and sermons from you four fiends and why should I try to sense sexuality as consensuality with all others and in all ways and for your 'training' have all those things done to me and even demanded of me that I do them to others?"

"Yet another run-on."

"Douches, bladder infusions, high enemas as 'endo-annoitments' or did another of you DeSadean Directors term it 'basal-baptisms' -- so haven't I completed your torture training by suffering . . ."

"And ecstatically responding to . . . ."

"Because I couldn't stop my body . . ."

"Thus the mind's resistance was overcome, Taegsah. The retentions and impactions were dissolved. When Christ cleansed the temple he didn't just deal with the façade or even the vestibule. He entered the body thereof. And thus your bodies have been entered, infused, inflated, conflated through erotic fulfillments shared by self-endurance and also by vicarious sensation -- the other (your 'sister' novitiate) as yourself."

"You kidnap us, strip us, confine us, starve us, chain and shackle us, expose us on your rack, shave us, insert, inundate, whip, flog, suspend your slaves in your dungeon and you talk about religion and another thing that's about has hypocritical as you can get . . . . ."

I waited for Taegsah to complete her sentence, though realizing that perhaps there was not thought as infrastructure for statement thereof. For she was now flicking her finger at her left nipple, swollen through the restraining band held on by the piercing ring.

"Well, don't you care??"

"Care about what?"

"Well if you listened to something except your own dumb speeches and of your co-conspirators of conflation of humanity and orgasmic orgy you'd know."

"But what's 'as hypocritical as you can get'?"

"You are. You and your deviance-philosophic-performances here."

"Good, Taegsah. Two non-run-on sentences in a row."

"And how you have the gall to talk about religion . ,. .. "

It seemed I sensed a circularity to our conversation. Was it due to some sort of cognitive "short" in the circuitry of male-female communications? Or, rather, was it better described as the treadmill of typical human dialogue through the ages -- essentially getting nowhere?

"Don't forget Christ at the vestibule," I reiterated flash-back nonsequitor to focus Taegsah's attention again.

"Don't forget, you're dumb!" she countered triumphantly as her chains clinked but the weight of the shackles prevented but minor gesticulations.

Communication. So often, male-to-female, person-to-person, especially context-to-context (such as religion, especially) . . .even the same language is foreign, one-to-the-other. So what's being exchanged? Animal emotion in cognition's clothing? Yes. Often. But worse. Sort of like dog and cat context, where Fido yaps his exuberant overtures to trans-specie fraternalism and frolic all the while Tabby snarls and bristles in protective paranoia.

Communication of a sort, yes. And we could substitute genders, tribes, nations, as well as politics and religions for the animal antagonists. Communication.

Communication?

More like an interplay of mere noise. A resounding fart offered up as the joyful noise unto the Lord. Time for the Lord of this kink-dom to again mount his heavenly throne and again format "if you can't join'em, beat 'em" scenario (and as for Sodom and Gomorrah, one should consider the case of Lot's wife as significant revelation that you shouldn't sweat it too much when everything around you is evaporating).

As my mind thus meandered, my eyes were locked, pupils-to-nipples with Taegsah's (the latter), noticeably now even more engorged and somewhat strangled by their bondage-rings. Her breasts subtly heaved as her breathing was heavier. And I realized that in part the arousal was due to my mastery of her, humiliation of her, even brutalization.

"You know, my child, I thought you had at last come into the flock after being penned and pinned and punished for your past sins of self-centricity. I thought your novitiate was your evolution. But, alas, I may have been mistaken for I see that you are still astray, wagging your tail before you."

Her eyes darted, usurping my mammarian-level gaze. "What?"

"Ass backwards, shithead!!!" I yelled

She startled, flinched. Good.

So, softly I continued. "Don't you realize at all what profound significance there is in what you've done to Anya? Don't you sense the fusion of your being with hers now? As if you and she, though of separate selves, origins even, are a sameness. One singular sentience not just sensation through the agony and the ecstasy of your interactions here in this summit realm? Don't you realize, can't you feel that your initiation has been symbolic of humanity through the ages? That Anya is not just a beautiful, fragile, female suffering those agonies as ecstasies so that you both evolve?

"I realize that your Anya is nothing but a sub-space coquette (or cock-ette), and not some symbol of society. She's a pervert like you and your three ass-hole-ciates who propound and preach that this underground torture chamber is some sort of sanctuary or seminar or seminary. The only semi- here is semi-nal as in seminal fluid!! Both genders' equivalents of it, especially this little girly-girl here before us."

Teagsah turned her body, a requisite in that her iron collar prevented her articulating her neck separately, The chain from it down between her breasts to the one linking her bracelets clinked softly.

Anya lay on the cot, covered except for her wrists still fettered to the fittings in the granite wall. Overhead, the kerosene lamp cast an ambient glow around, also an almost lensed focus of illumination down, igniting the sparkle of her blue eyes . . . or their tears . . . again.

"Anya?" Taegsah scoffed, "Should be Leslie. Leslie the Les. As in lesbian. As in fucking queer as the masters of this realm of perversion paraded as progressivism. Get your rocks off having the shit whipped or kicked out of you, don't you little dear?"

The ambient glow glistened the emergent flow on Taegsah's soft, thighs, circled tightly in iron bands like her wrists and ankles, waist and neck.

"Snivelling little pervert, you really lapped it all up and fed the rest of the fucking initiate idiots the fiction symbolism and even sacred-ism as the male monstrosity-mentality tried to turn all of us into hairless hardware fetishists in their putrid ceremonies. Well, maybe we're all redesigned, never to have a bad hair day again. And maybe even I wear the costume, the 'irons and chains of servitude and symbiosis' or whatever shit it was that we were told. But I don't buy into it. Nor do I buy the bi- by beating you like I did."

Taegsah was turning on more and more.

"Snivelling little pervert that you are . . ."

"You're repeating your figures of speech," I noted.

"Fuck you and your little queer bitch . . ."

"That's better."