Chapter 1

 

Heather stared at the stars. They weren't real of course just remembered images of the night sky. The cell's stygian darkness blurred the distinction between memory and reality leaving her nothing but open-eyed dreams. It was as if she had died but didn't know it yet.

She had never been so frightened in her life.

Losing control had hit her hard, much harder than she'd expected. She should have known this would happen; she had always been the strong one, the one with the answers, always urging others to dare, to take a chance. Even with men she needed to be in control. Feigning helplessness and acting like a girly-girl had never been her thing. She didn't give a shit about male egos. She even found it hard to submit during sex; lying on her back, panting with desire, her legs spread just didn't happen in her relationships.

She just wasn't wired that way.

Yet here she was, she thought miserably -- naked, on her back, her body splayed open, her wrists and ankles tied to the far corners of a cast-iron bed -- helpless. She couldn't move, the straps stretched her body as taut as a bowstring. How had this happened? She had been agonizing over this question for hours.

Hours...? Was it only hours? It was impossible to know, seconds felt like minutes, minutes like days. Time had lost its relevance; pain was her master now.

"HOW...?" She grunted through the gag.

How ... the truth was it had been easy. Every step of the way from the original idea to signing the contract had seemed small, eminently reasonable. But why ... why had I taken each step? She wondered. Was it that first dare, the lack of an acceptable job, the way her family and friends disapproved of her? I knew what they were thinking -- such a beautiful girl, she should have found a husband in college, so many wasted opportunities, maybe she's a Lesbian, now she's going to have to settle. Was that the reason?

Well, FUCK THEM! Fuck all of them, she screamed silently.

She pulled hard on the straps her muscles cording in frustration.

No, fuck me! She thought, exhausted. I should have known better. This wasn't the answer. I had job offers, plenty of them; they just weren't good enough for me. I had marriage proposals, plenty of them; they just weren't good enough for me. Nothing was ever quite good enough for me! I bought my own hype -- always the smartest, always the most attractive. I was the total package, brains and beauty.

A million-dollar, three-year CELT contract was a quick way to prove it to everybody. It seemed so easy, so sensible; I had finally found a way to use my looks to my advantage.

How stupid ... I should have known. Right from the first, I should have known. The moment they snapped on the cuffs I should have known.

The ride from Boston had seemed harmless at first. Two well-dressed men were waiting outside my apartment. They were polite and professional; they smiled and spoke respectfully; they asked nicely that I wear the fur-lined handcuffs. And like a total rube, I complied, even joking about the way the fur clashed with her summer outfit.

Stupid ... stupid ... stupid!

I should have realized something was wrong. Why did I need to be cuffed for the long drive to the Institut? It didn't make sense. I had been cool about the cuffs at first, confident and poised, acting indifferently as if they were part of the game. Then I started talking ... out of curiosity and, admit it, long-overdue anxiety.

Harmless questions... Why the cuffs? Where were they going? When would they get there? Would my contract owner be there? Could I make a short call to a friend? Did they work at the Institut?

The men had ignored her, acted as if she wasn't there. Their silence was rude, after a while, maddening. Ignoring her was the worst thing they could have done. The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. It was a clear violation of the contract to transport me without first registering my location in the national CELT database; it was a violation of the Freedom Law to deny me access to a phone; it was...

"I demand you stop immediately and remove these cuffs!"

She remembered those angry words.

"I want to invoke my right under the law to communicate. Do you two morons know what that means? Do you..."

One of them had turned around brandishing a ball-gag.

"Do you know what this means, honey?" he asked evenly.

She nodded.

"One more word ... okay? If you think you're uncomfortable now just open your mouth again."

He was serious and she had stopped talking, but she continued to simmer.

How dare this dummy threaten her with a gag? She would have these two jailed. Didn't they know who she was? Didn't they know how important she was, how valuable she was? How stupid were they, these two morons?

"FUCK YOU!" she screamed a minute later. "STOP THIS FUCKING CAR RIGHT NOW!"

That was a mistake. She had never given in to intimidation and she wasn't going to start now ... not now when she most needed to be brave.

And they stopped. She remembered every detail. The driver used his turn signal to pull safely off the road into a rest stop. His partner slid into the back seat, grabbed her hair, and pushed the rubber ball-gag into her mouth strapping it tightly behind her neck. In seconds, he had re-cuffed her wrists behind her back, added a blindfold, and pushed her roughly down into the foot-well.

"The gag will help obey. Will I tell you to stay quiet, stay quiet," he said in a friendly voice as if he was doing her a favor.

The word "gag" had taken on an entirely new meaning after that.

She had been unable to speak, unable to express her outrage, unable even to control her drooling. That was when the real terror had begun. It wasn't an ordinary fear it was a physical thing. There was a knot in her stomach and it was hard and throbbing. The helplessness, the loss of control, the indifference of her abusers, the terror all hit her at the same time. It paralyzed her.

Slowly, she began to understand what she had done to herself. She began to appreciate the fact that there was no going back. All the words they had exchanged in the contract process didn't count for anything now. All the words in the APFA law didn't mean a thing for her now.

She had submitted ... and her new masters would determine which terms, which laws they would obey and which they would not. She had no say. The realization came like a punch in the stomach. How had she dismissed and ignored the obvious for so long?

They drove for at least six hours. From the road sounds, she guessed they passed through the Berkshires, through Albany, and into the Adirondacks. After a long time, they stopped and removed the blindfold and gag. No one explained why, but after a while it was obvious -- they didn't want her to throw up in the gag. The final leg of the journey was over the hilliest, windiest road she had ever traveled. Amazingly, she felt grateful for the consideration.

Finally, they had turned onto a private road and driven another ten minutes. The sign at the turnoff read Institut Classique - Private. The lawyer had told her she would receive a short orientation. "Standard procedure for a first-timer," he said. This was bullshit! Nothing about this trip was "standard procedure." She was here for some more sinister purpose. This place was too remote, too isolated ... too formidable for a short orientation.

She had been right about that ... in spades!

They parked outside a stone building and walked her inside, one man on each side like she was a criminal. The elevator took them down to a large room. It was outfit like a medieval dungeon with half-a-dozen cell doors against the rear wall.

It's a joke, she thought at first, a scary stage to set the mood. She even smiled thinking it was all a big joke then they opened the cell door. She screamed and lashed out crazily as if she was being murdered. In a sense, she was; her old life was being killed.

It was tiny, the size of a large walk-in closet, constructed entirely of rough granite. The only furniture was a cast-iron bed with heavy wooden slats and straps. They had to carry her inside, her bare feet still trying to strike something.

They cut off her clothes and strapped her down. The leather straps and another gag quickly brought her back under control. "Relax," one of them said when they left, plunging the cell into a tomblike silence and endless dark.

Relax...!

She flexed her flat abdomen and felt the rough wood rub on her ass. The bed had no mattress only thick wooded planks. She pulled her arms and felt the straps. This wasn't the play-bondage her friends talked about in whispered confidences; this was the real thing. There was no escape, no possibility of loosening or breaking these bonds. She breathed deeply and felt the belts around chest. There were others around her waist and thighs.

Why did they need all these fucking straps and manacles? She wondered. It was total overkill! The straps on her limbs were more than enough to hold her, more than enough to hold anyone. Did they have some other purpose? They could do anything they wanted to her.

The question brought back the panic and she began to hyperventilate. She could feel the unconsciousness covering over her brain like a morning fog.

"CALM DOWN!" She ordered herself out loud. "It won't help to lose control. Lose control, fuck, I've already lost control. No, not lost it, I gave it away, sold it for a million dollars."

Suddenly she realized she was talking to herself through the gag. The sound of her words coming through the ring-gag was like the guttural ramblings of a madman. She had forgotten about the gag. How could she forget? Was she going insane? It wouldn't be unreasonable to think that; they had locked her in the dark without even the cold comfort of her own voice.

Somehow the million dollars, which had seemed like an enormous sum when she was free, lost its glitter.

Everything that glitters isn't gold, her mind twittered in an insane response.

I am going mad, she thought. I need to get it together ... get it together.

She had expected some kinkiness but nothing like this. Her contract was very clear about her "limits." She had insisted on getting the exact treatment she would allow written into the contract in excruciating detail. This kind of bondage, this kind of total isolation was expressly forbidden. Maybe these assholes hadn't read her contract. Maybe they...

Get a grip...! She thought. Wishful thinking isn't going to help either. We're long past that. These Neanderthals know exactly what they are doing. They just don't care. Accept it!

She moaned in frustration remembering the endless haggling of the lawyers. How naïve she had been, how utterly stupid! They were getting paid by the hour to draw the contract; they didn't care what fantasies she wanted to include, the more the better.

None of it counted for anything.

This was the reality of her negotiation. This cell and these straps were the real thing. She had sold herself; put herself in the hands of monsters. She had done it to herself in becoming a CELT, in agreeing to serve a stranger for three years, in agreeing to the "premium" bondage and disciple terms. She wanted to get the price up to the million-dollar mark. At the time, it seemed like a challenge.

Stupid ... stupid ... stupid! She could feel the tears streaming out of her eyes running down the side of her face. She could feel the pain in her joints caused by the stretching. She cried out but no one heard or cared; the sound of it echoed back from the stone walls, mocking her.

Stone walls...

Was this really a dungeon cell? She wondered. Maybe she had been right, maybe this was all for show, part of the orientation, a test of her mental toughness...? When you think about it rationally, intimidation like this wouldn't be a bad strategy to get someone like her into the right frame of mind. Was that what this was all about, psychological intimidation?

If so it was working, she admitted.

There was no sound other than those she made, no light, no human contact ... nothing since the two goons had left slamming the heavy door behind. It was as if she had been buried alive. Who wouldn't be intimidated?

NO! No, this was just some lunatic going too far.

She was definitely going to invoke the contract's termination clause once their fucking game was over. They couldn't keep her like this forever. Frantically, she went over the violations they had committed. She ... she wanted to remember everything for the deposition ... for the trial. And there would be a trial ... you could count on that!

Not only were these assholes violating her contract, they were breaking the law ... breaking the fucking law. She would make sure they were punished ... all of them ... make sure they were all punished ... even the higher ups. She would find out what orders the goons had been given. If this was coming from her new master then she would... She would end this fucking contract instantly, sue the bastard for all he was worth ... he was a lawyer, right ... and lawyers, they made a lot of money ... sue him!

They were fucking with the wrong girl.

She pulled desperately again on the straps and stared up at the faux stars, marveling at their clarity, willing them to be real. She wasn't in a grave. She was in a cell, totally isolated, bound; that's all this was, mental cruelty, clearly a case of CELT-abuse.

"PEEAZE...!" she screamed unable to form the word properly with the gag. "Peeaze..."

It was terrible to be cutoff so completely from the world, she thought. Her grunting sounds seemed to be coming from someone else ... someone else... Maybe they were coming from someone else ... or something else ... from another person or an animal ... in the cell with her.

Terrified, she froze and held her breath, listening for the intruder.

It was a minute of pure terror before she realized the sound was coming from the elevator. Footsteps followed -- shoe leather on a stone floor. She had never heard anything so wonderful. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest; she wasn't alone; they were not going to leave her here alone.

She had never realized how much she needed other people. Even the return of the two goons would be welcome. A light came on outside and she jerked her head towards the door's outline. It shone like a magnificent solar eclipse. Someone turned a key in the lock and swung open it open and for a time she was blind.