RESCUED

At least another two hours had passed by the time the mechanical whirr of the retracting steel bolts announced the imminent opening of my cell’s vault-like door. Fortunately, the mental exercises had allowed me to get my initial panic under control, so I had had the leisure to contemplate ways in which to get back at my husband for again subjecting me to this particular kind of ordeal. Not an easy proposition, given how the deck was stacked against me. At least I had been able to come up with one or two appropriately scathing remarks I would relish taunting him with, should the opportunity present itself. The qualifier was significant, unfortunately, because my current gag incorporated a feeding tube and so could be worn safely for extended periods of time. I had had the misfortune to verify this for myself on various other occasions when I could not keep my sharp tongue under control. Regardless, in case the gag was removed, I would almost certainly feel compelled to deliver my clever insults to him, consequences be dammed.

I had been a victim of this strange compulsion all my life, being constitutionally incapable of keeping up appearances just for convention’s sake, or refraining from showing my contempt for the complex and contradictory rules that govern under which specific set of circumstances it is sometimes deemed socially acceptable to call a lie a lie. Of course, this tendency had brought me grief in more instances than I cared to admit. In former times, my beauty normally had shielded me from the worst of the consequences; the predominantly male victims of unflattering, but impeccably accurate analysis having to swallow their pride in hope of retaining my favour. This tactic had never worked with my master, unfortunately. As a supposedly intelligent woman I should have recognized this and been able to adapt my behaviour accordingly. Instead, what I actually had managed to do was to focus his attention quite thoroughly on the essential intermediary (always a bad idea with him) and nowadays I was quite proud of my hard-earned achievement of learning to speak politely once more, after he had made his bid at restraining my tongue. The three, large diameter, steel eyelets irrevocably affixed in it (situated at the corners of an imaginary triangle pointing towards the tip of my tongue) had at first so severely impeded and distorted my speech patterns that for a while I had despaired of ever being able to talk intelligibly again. I still had to concentrate on articulating my words carefully, but generally got my message across. After all, having to repeat an insult several times before it is understood just would not do.

The overhead lights turned on automatically and I blinked rapidly to accommodate to their brightness, then heard swift footsteps approaching and at last my master entered my field of vision. I felt vast relief to see him (and not George) coming to my rescue, but it was almost instantly replaced by an equally strong feeling of alarm, bringing my previous fantasies of petty revenge to an ignoble end. A casual observer probably would have noticed nothing out of the ordinary, my husband’s inner turmoil betraying itself only by minute telltales. To me, deeply attuned to his moods as I was for the power he held over my fate, his overly controlled motions and carefully schooled neutral expression practically screamed of his tension and inner agitation.

Without delay he bent down and methodically began to release me from the various chains holding me prone on my sleeping mat. After seemingly endless minutes he was ready to use the front ring of my collar to help me to a sitting position, and I immediately twisted around to present him with my helplessly chained hands. Uncharacteristically obliging, he unlocked them from the chain connecting them to my collar and without being prompted further also opened the locking buckle at the nape of my neck, thereby loosening the wide strap that until now had pressed my gag’s outer shield and chin cup into intimate contact with my lower face. I turned towards him again and he quickly freed my nose shackle from its fitting on the shield, at long last allowing my jaw to yield to the insistent pressure exerted by the gag pad wedged into my mouth. Although I did not need to chew when fed my liquefied diet through the gag’s feeding tube, my jaw muscles nevertheless got plenty of exercise because of my perpetual struggle to bite down hard enough on the resilient pad to ease the uncomfortable strain on my nose.

A specialized key was necessary to release the cross bolts that securely imprisoned my tongue in its dedicated pocket in the high density core of the gag pad. My master inserted it through a small slit beneath the feeding socket of the gag, and after about a minute of patient manipulation, a series of muted clicks announced his success.

“Open wide!”

I complied as best as I could to his command, dreading the unpleasant but unavoidable next step in the complicated process of freeing me from the incredibly efficient and punishing gag. Carefully, my master bent the still snug face cup away from my cheeks and insinuated his fingers into the gap to pry out the inner shield resting between my cheeks and gums. With it out of the way he was ready to insert the special forceps he used to clamp down hard on the pad, compressing its bulk enough so he could slowly extricate it from my painfully stretched mouth, while I helplessly retched from the unpleasant sensations generated by its trailing feeding tube when the slick surface irritated the back of my throat. Finally, the whole punishing device had been removed and with now unbridled moaning I forced my jaw and tongue through their restored full range of motion, hoping to bring them back into working condition a little faster this way. In the meantime, my husband busied himself with cleaning the gag then washing his hands at the cell’s basin and when he had finished, returned to sit next to me, holding a cup of water to my lips. I drank greedily from it, as fast as his slow tilting of the cup allowed. Left to my own devices I would have drowned the whole cup in one big swallow, but with my wrist cuffs still joined behind my back I had little choice but to abide by his superior judgement.

“Want another cup?”

“No, thanks.” I croaked in a hoarse whisper. My anxiety to find out what was going on took precedence over mere bodily needs.

“Sorry about the delay, slave. Something came up last night and I had to make a visit, then couldn’t get away. However, you seem to have held together a lot better this time.”

“The exercises actually help,” I confirmed his observation. “but it isn’t pleasant, laying here in the darkness and wondering what might have happened.”

When he did not answer, I opted for a direct approach. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

He shifted uncomfortably beside me, then sighed.

“Anne is dead. She took Euthanal, which Maren had provided her with from the clinic’s supplies. She called me to say goodbye and of course I rushed over to her place, but with Euthanal there’s nothing you can do. At least she passed away peacefully, without pain, as she’s always wanted. Afterwards I stayed and talked to Maren. Damn, what a mess.”

“I’m sorry. I know how much you cared for her.” The trite remark is all I could think of. I had briefly made Anne Jordan’s acquaintance almost four years ago, when we could both participate in public life still, at a party to celebrate my husband’s (then only my latest prospect) appointment to head of the renowned Von Wenk Clinic. I remembered her open and fun-loving manner, more befitting a debutante than the ultra-affluent, 47 year old widow of an industrial magnate. Naturally, she had been a charter member of high society and had graced every major social event with her presence.

What had changed all this in her case was the onset of a severe and chronic form of photoallergy, a rare and cruel condition that had made her virtually a prisoner of her own house, and, even worse, of everlasting darkness. The shortest exposure to the sun or other strong sources of light had caused her skin to redden and blister; afterwards it would take days for the allergic reaction to die down. Anne had not been able to leave her home for the past 18 month, relying on my husband and Maren, her personal nurse and - despite her youth - confidante, to attend to her medical needs and keep track of her worldly affairs.

“You haven’t heard the worst of it yet,” he continued after a short pause. “Before she passed away she revealed to us that her testament stipulates that the larger part of her fortune is to be endowed for funding research into cures for chronic forms of photoallergy, with Maren and me acting as trustees.“

“What’s the problem with that? Sounds like a wonderful idea to me.”

He looked at me pityingly. “Think again. Her dear relatives might have written her off years ago, but they certainly aren’t prepared to write off her money as well. They won’t take this lying down. It takes no special powers of prophesy to feel confident that they will muster all and any means at their disposal to contest the will. Unfortunately we are in a very vulnerable position.”

Understanding began to dawn for me. “What are you getting at?”

“Just look at the facts!” He exclaimed and began to count the pivotal points on the fingertips of his left hand, unconsciously imitating some fictitious master detective. “First: Maren and I were the only persons Anne had personal contact with for more than a year. Second: The Euthanal was taken from my supplies. Third: Maren at least abetted Anne’s suicide, if not more. Fourth: Her last will puts Maren and me in charge of a vast fortune. Fifth: Equally ominous, my own wife has not been seen for quite a while. How does that sound to you now?”

“So you suggest they will claim that Maren and you found out about the testament and killed Anne to get at her fortune, making it look like a suicide? That’s insane! Nobody - not even you - would commit a crime so glaringly obvious and hope to get away with it! And just where do I fit into this little scenario of yours?”

“As another of my victims, of course. Maybe you found out about my devious plan and did not want to go along with it, threatening to blow the whistle on me? Or perhaps I’d become Maren’s lover to make her do my bidding and you objected a tad too strongly for my peace of mind? I’m sure even you can think of a dozen other at least superficially convincing theories.”

“All of which will be debunked as soon as I testify. That is…” For a moment I had forgotten my situation, being completely absorbed by the looming disaster. With a shudder I twisted against the suddenly no longer comforting embrace of my irremovable restraints.

“Except that you can’t testify,” my husband calmly pointed out. “Your public appearance would get me convicted faster than anything else I can think of! And if you foolishly insist on exculpating me in your testimony, I can guarantee that you’ll find yourself in a locked ward for the rest of your life, or until you are deemed healed, whatever that will mean. As this would be a very high profile case, my esteemed colleagues from the psychiatry department would certainly love to make a textbook case of you. And last but not least, George and Fran would also be drawn into it.”

“Can’t the testament be disappeared?” I ventured. “With no money to gain, none of her relatives will ask the first question about her death.”

“Unfortunately it’s been deposited with a notary. Much as it galls me to admit it, this would have been the preferred solution, even if the money would be wasted on Anne’s greedy relatives. Alas, that’s academic now.”

“Damn!”

“Exactly, damn! Now you know why I have reason to be a little peeved. We blew it. Or no, I blew it. If I’d resisted your whishes and not given in to my urges, we could have weathered this crisis. But as it stands now…” He glanced at me obliquely. “The best thing would have been if Anne had made the endowment while she still lived, or if she hadn’t killed herself at all.”

“Yes, of course. No need to reiterate the obvious… Wait! Who knows about her death yet?” A daring idea began to coalesce in my mind.

“So far only us three. I asked Maren not to tell anyone else.”

“Nobody knows yet? What if we didn’t tell anybody else at all? Anne has been living hidden from public view for years now, and we can conceivably hold up the illusion with nobody the wiser.”

“Some public appearances might still be unavoidable.” my master objected. “Especially if we wanted the endowment to be enacted or have the testament changed. Then there’s the question of her corpse. It would be kind of redundant, leading to all kinds of awkward questions when it turned up.”

“You’re head of a big clinic where dozens of people die each month, some of them perhaps even from natural causes instead at your and your colleagues’ hands; so you should be able to make a body disappear.”

“That’s far easier said than done. Despite your impudent insinuations I wouldn’t know how to pull it off. On the other hand, if I’d a name to attach to the body, I could have it cremated after only a perfunctory examination without too many questions asked.”

“What if we pretend that I had died instead of her?” I heard myself asking, my tongue once more overtaking my brain.

He replied a little to fast for his display of surprise to be entirely convincing. “You would do this willingly? Give up your own identity and be officially declared dead, just so you can step into the shoes of an unfortunate woman forever banned from daylight? Of course, that would be the ideal solution for our difficulties.”

I realized I’d been had. “You can scratch the play-acting! That’s what you wanted me to do all along, isn’t it?” I was annoyed as hell with him for this little trap and even more with myself for stepping right into it.

At least he had the decency to look a little ashamed. “You’re right, of course. But I wanted you to arrive at the inevitable conclusion yourself. If you see a better alternative, I’ll be happy to hear it. But so far, this looks like our best shot to come out of this mess more or less intact.”

“In my case,” I declared somewhat grumpily, “rather less intact considering that I’ll be officially declared dead. No doubt you plan to be a merry widower. And since you have it worked out already, you may as well tell me the details of your plan now,” I finished hotly, not yet ready to forgive him his little game.

“Your wish is my command.” He replied in an amused tone, tolerating my insolence for the moment. “I suppose you’ll loose control over your car which should sound reasonable enough for anyone who knows how reckless you drive. I’m sure George can engineer some convincing pyrotechnics to go along with the crash. Being your only living relative I’ll have the sad duty of identifying your charred remains. By the way, through some strange coincidence your dental records will match Anne’s so closely one might be justified saying they are identical.”

He actually smirked. “Of course I’ll be devastated and try to come to terms with my loss by taking some weeks off. During this time Anne will suffer a serious relapse and be in need of constant medical attention. My old practice upstairs has all the necessary facilities, so it’ll be reasonable that she and Maren temporarily move in, so we can give each other mutual support in our hour of need. It’s quite touching, don’t you agree? Over time the arrangement will prove useful and eventually become a permanent one. Consequently it’s been necessary to tell Maren about us, and she’s agreed to help me take care of you.”

“Maren knows about all this?” Disbelieving I indicated my restraints and my cell with a shake of my bald head.

“Naturally I had to convince her that the charade I plan is really necessary and actually the lesser of two evils. She was reluctant at first but fortunately saw the light when I pointed out how her own dubious role in Anne’s death would look like from a prosecutor’s perspective.”

“How did she take it? I mean it sounds pretty wild, you keeping your wife as a permanent slave and holding her prisoner in a secret dungeon underneath your house.” I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment when I stated the ludicrous, but nevertheless true facts of my existence.

“Well, I didn’t tell her all the details right away. I suppose it was quite a shock, but after a while she realized I wasn’t joking and started believing me. Besides it explains a lot of things she wondered about, among them why I never introduced you to each other. She trusts me implicitly, so didn’t doubt that you’d consented to it all and have been a willing participant in your enslavement. Coincidentally I gathered from the ensuing discussion that she’s not completely ignorant of our lifestyle and may have a latent interest in the BDSM world herself.”

Somehow I felt quite incapable of duplicating my husband’s obvious enthusiasm. “Wonderful! What was her age again? Twenty-five? And she’s a natural blonde to boot? Will I be invited to your wedding or do I just get a card?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s twenty-six and of Swedish descent, yes, But that’s completely beside the point. She is a trained nurse and knows what to do in an emergency. You can’t deny that what happened today illustrates how necessary it is to have someone besides myself to look after you.”

“What if I decline to play my assigned part in this melodrama of yours?”

My master’s mood turned from playful to serious. “Sorry, but as long as you can’t come up with a convincing alternative, that’s not an option. Moreover, so far your part in my so called melodrama consists of being dead. As the role of the corpse is already filled by poor Anne this amounts to not being seen in public, something you excelled at lately.” His calm gaze held my glare. “Do you really want to destroy all our lives out of unfounded and childish jealousy?”

“No, I suppose not.” I sighed. “As always, Master, you only have everybody’s best interest in mind.”

“Indeed, though it might not always be apparent to some.” He answered smoothly, choosing not to respond to my frustrated sarcasm in kind. “Which reminds me. You’re due for your exercise session on the rowing machine. I’ll settle you in but then I have to run again. There are a zillion things to organize to make this thing fly.”

Oh no! I silently wailed but I knew better than to protest against my impending ordeal.