Story 2: Submissive Feminist

Chapter 1:

I awoke in the early, dark hours of the morning, curled in a tight ball in the small cage that had been my home for the past two months. My body had gotten used to the small confines of my world. I didn't mind that it was easier to scratch my knee with my teeth than with my fingernails. I took comfort in the cold, steel of the walls of my cage.

As I brushed the sleep from my brain, my body was abuzz with the slow, simple rhythms of sleep. The sting of the lash on my flanks had long since faded from the night before. So, too, had the tremors of my self inflicted orgasm - forgotten, like a scent dispersed into the darkness.

I remembered a dream I'd had of Laysan. Bars had separated us. I'm not sure which of us was locked and which was free. It didn't matter. We both leant forward and our lips touched briefly and barely like two interacting breezes blowing from different directions. Our eyes locked in the only form of communication we needed. Love poured from her and filled my heart. I could only hope to reciprocate. Laysan. My love.

Is this what I am to be? Is this my lot? A schizophrenic bondagette locked away - protected from the world. What of my dreams? What of my plans? Are they all forgotten? Are they all best forgotten?

As the dim light of morning arose, Lisianski came forth, but not to talk to me. She talked with other unknown voices that did not feel the need to direct their inquiries to me. Nor did they make attempts to be sensitive to my feelings or being.

"She's obviously not the one, Lisianski," a voice said. "Her story, Mirror, was good. It did well. People liked it. But, there is no sign that she is the one we are looking for. We are going to need to terminate."

Terminate? I lay, holding my breath, praying for a morsel of information as to my fate.

"No!" Lisianski's voice shot back. "You may be right. She's not the one. But, I don't want to terminate. I still see hope in her."

"What is your thinking?" the voice responded calmly.

"Progenitress. She is a progenitress."

"A what?" a third voice asked.

"A progenitress," Lisianski explained. "It comes from the word 'progenitor' which means ancestor or, in this case, founder. Basically, it means that I believe that she might conjure the one that we are looking for. She might create 'The One' as a character in a story for example. Or perhaps the one will come to her in a dream."

A chill rippled up my backbone and I closed my eyes tightly. Laysan... Tears began to plop softly on the vinyl padding of the bottom of my cage.

"Do you have any evidence?" the voice asked.

"No. But, the evidence may be there," Lisianski responded.

"That's too much data to go through quickly," the voice responded. "I'll give you a little time to probe her in a traditional manner, but then we'll need to use more extreme tactics."

"Ok," Lisianski responded. "Hopefully, it won't come to that..."

---

I drifted sleepily through the early morning hours until Lisianski woke me up and bade me to get ready for work quickly. As I showered, she began to ask questions.

"Do you remember your dreams, subGrrl?" she asked.

"All the time," I answered as I rinsed conditioner from my hair.

"Do you know the people in your dreams?"

"Sometimes..."

"Do you ever have a dream of a specific person who you do not know in waking life? She would be quite unique, I believe..." Lisianski continued.

"No," I lied.

There was a naked pause as I rinsed soap from my legs. I thought I heard a clucking sound.

"She's lying," some unknown voice said.

"Hey! Who are those other voices, Lisianski?" I asked becoming angry.

"Some of my colleagues," Lisianski replied. "Don't worry about them."

"Don't worry about them? I hear random voices in my head and I'm not supposed to be worried?" I asked. "Who the hell are they? It's my head! I have every right to know who these voices belong to."

"Well..." Lisianski said. "Um... Ok... There's Alba, Paty, Ceylon, McNear, Corwin, Gardner, um... Teal, Sandalwood, 2'Ahlay, KaMoi..."

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" I screamed.

"...Cooper, Brooke, Moller, Albrecht, Munro, Bristle..."

"Who the fuck are all these people? Tell them to get the fuck out of my head!" I screamed.

"Hey! Don't get mad at me, subGrrl!" Lisianski responded. "It's not my fault that your brain chemistry is particularly receptive to the formation of sub-sentience..."

"Sub-sentience? What?"

"Look, subGrrl," Lisianski comforted me, "I'm point on this mission. I'm the point for all communication. Don't fret yourself. Just keep working hard. Try to tell the truth."