Story 1: Submissive

Chapter 4:

I spent the afternoon reading a horrible story about a poor woman who was terribly abused by her "lover" - whipped with a barbed wire until she was a bloody mass on the floor. The reader was often lead to believe that the woman was enduring the worst imaginable pain ever conceived. However, each succeeding paragraph supposedly upped the ante even higher in a never ending escalation of screaming and blood.

I frequently had to take breaks from reading to stretch my poor knoted muscles. I would drink from the tube and kick the bedpan around and bounce my hips from side to cold steel side of the cage.

"Thank god!" I sighed, finally. "I'm done with that one! That was fucking awful! Mysogynistic! Objectifying! Utterly contrary to my tastes and sensibilities."

"Ok! That happens sometimes. The world is filled with many points of view. Review it, please," Lisianski requested.

I stuck my fingers through the bars and tapped on the tablet's pane.

"This story sucked!" I typed and hit the submit button.

"Wait, wait, wait, subGrrl! That's not a review. Tell the auther why you thought it sucked. Examine your feelings."

I groaned, but began typing again. "This story sucked and your spelling is... How do you spell 'atrocious', Lisianski?"

"Come on, subGrrl! You're not helping the cause."

"You know what, Lisianski? Fuck the cause! I've been cramped up in this fucking cage all day long. I want to get out. I've got to pee!"

"Oh!" Lisianski said, though she did not sound particularly shocked. "Well, I'm not letting you out of the cage and if you need to pee, then pee! You've got a bedpan."

"Ok, Lisianski, please unlock the cage. I'm in pain!"

"Nope!"

"Open the fucking cage!" I screamed. It was about this time that I began to regret having not retrieved my medication the previous evening. Perhaps if I had maintained a stable intake, none of this would be happening.

I flopped over on my side and looked through the bars into the fading afternoon light filtering around my dining room curtains. "Please, Lisianski!!"

Tears began to drop from my eyes. I pulled my knees close to my chest. I pulled my mess of hair tightly around my face to scrape the tears from my cheeks and cover my ears to assuage the screaming sound emitting from my bladder.

Arguing is useless. Lisianski never yields to my pleas.

I held out for about an hour. The room was pitch dark when the bedpan began to ring. Its pitch descended as it filled. I collapsed to my side and cried, trying my best not to gag on the stench.

"It's the sugar tart treats that stink so bad," Lisianski commented. "After a steady diet of my energy drinks, it won't be so bad."

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut until I slowly drifted off to sleep.

That night as I dreamt, was the first night that I ever saw her. In the dream, I was an unhatched chicken in a semitransparent egg. She came and sat on top of my shell. I tried to signal for her to help me get out by knocking, but she simply smiled down on me with warm, sympathetic, brown eyes. Her hair was full and dark and covered her and the egg in a smooth undulating blanket. She was naked and unashamedly so. She wore a steel collar with chains and cuffs of some sort on her wrists.

I could do nothing but stare up into her beauty, resigned by my isolation and immobility.