Story 2 - Submissive Feminist

Chapter 2:

At work that morning NemesisGirl flipped through a few ideas for stories that I had suggested for her.

"Hmmm... This is incredible, subGrrl! Even today, 33 states in the US consider spousal rape to be a lesser crime than general rape."

"Yes Mistress!" I responded excitedly, "Indeed, until the 1980's, when a woman agreed to marry, she was effectively giving her partner her consent to take her sexually whether she wanted it or not - for the rest of her married life." I did not like calling NemesisGirl 'Mistress', but I was quite happy that she found my article suggestions interesting.

"Very good, my little pet." She looked up from the notes smiling and examined me for a second until I felt a little embarrassed and began to fidget. "I see that you wore the skirt and the turtleneck sweater as I asked you to, Sweet."

"Yes, Mistress," I frowned and looked down at the floor. The sweater was kind of ugly in a Freddy Krueger sort of way, but it effectively hid the locked collar that NemesisGirl made me wear.

"Reach under your chair," NemesisGirl commanded softly.

Confused, I slowly felt underneath my office chair. A thin chain seemed to be looped around the swivel pole that supported my seat. I pulled on it and found about a meter of chain locked to the chair.

"Lock that to your collar," NemesisGirl commanded as she handed me a small padlock.

I looked at her like she was crazy. "But..."

"Do it!" she commanded.

I took the padlock from her and pulled down on the neck of my sweater.

"Unless you want everybody to see that you are locked to your chair, subGrrl, I'd suggest that you pull the chain up underneath your clothes."

I stared at her for a moment. Certainly, she was kidding. She frowned and swiveled back to her computer and began typing.

"You spend half the day hiding in the bathroom, talking to yourself, subGrrl. From now on, you will need to ask my permission to get up from your chair. You can talk to yourself all you want right here in our cube." She turned back toward me with a very serious look on her face. "Now, lock the chain to your collar."

I glanced briefly out the entrance of our cubicle to see if anyone was nearby. Slowly, I began to feed the chain underneath my skirt. I felt the links fiddle beneath my waist band as I pulled the chain higher. With my hands underneath my sweater I lifted the chain - cold metal sliding across my stomach - all the way to my neck.

"Lock the chain to your collar," NemesisGirl said again. She was not even watching. She had turned around and was browsing through her email.

I fed the padlock through the last link of the chain and the loop on my locked collar. I squeezed the padlock until it clicked.

"Good pet," NemesisGirl said.

She had measured the chain well. Sitting as I was, the chain was hidden underneath my clothes. It did not hang down at all below my chair either. I would probably be able to stand, but if I began to walk, my chair would dutifully follow closely behind me.

I turned to my desk, flush, perhaps perspiring just a little. I lifted my hand to my neck to feel the padlock beneath the neck of my sweater and stared somewhat blankly at my computer screen. My stomach felt as though filled with a mob of meerkats, standing and staring and squating and foraging.

At this point, I would like to ensure the reader that I knew precisely what was happening. After all my tale is a particularly naive allegory. Our names are chosen to splatter the reader with a messy cliche upon which to base their first impressions. I am subGrrl, for example, primarily because I am submissive... particularly so. By definition, I, as a submissive, prefer to be in situations where I give control away to someone else. Many people are submissive. Many people choose to be submissive in particular situations, but are not at other times - they switch. I, unfortunately, am the single-toned variety - ever submissive, ever content to give away control.

But, what does submissive really mean? What does it imply? I think that the answers to those questions run much deeper than a shallow tale such as this. Regardless, a chain and a lock and its application upon me are determinedly in step with my nature.

So, needless to say, I knew what I was doing when I squeezed that lock shut. I could have refused - even if it had lost me my job, even if it had resulted in a particular load of embarrassment shovelled upon me. If I had not (at some level, at least) wanted to close the lock and play along with NemesisGirl I could have stood and walked away. Also, I knew the strange rippling thrill that I'd feel as soon as the lock reported its state, unrelentingly secured and unopenable to the tool-less. I knew... maybe not to the exact extent where my breath seemed to have slipped away and my hands trembled uncontrollably, but still... I knew that it could happen. Would happen... Likely.

Being submissive is about trust. I did not trust NemesisGirl necessarily. But, I do believe that my story ideation efforts have been helping her career. Indeed, she has had the most bylines in the paper of any other journalist since she has pressed me into her service. I trusted that she would not treat me in a way to jeopardize her continued success.

So, in summary, to suggest that either of us did not gain something from the clicking of the lock would be a complete lie.

And I try to never lie.

I CHOSE to close the lock.

It wasn't that difficult to DECIDE to close the lock.

...Particularly with Lisianski screaming at me in my head about the unpleasant repercussions if I did not.