Story 3: The Severing

Chapter 7:

The next morning at work after I had handed my article topic research to NemesisGirl, I almost spoke. I had not forgotten about her silly magical gag, but it is simply so unnatural to not speak when you have for all your life. I opened my mouth to say something about the topics that I had suggested and at the last minute looked up to see her leaning towards me smiling with an expectant look on her face. I realized what I was about to do and froze suddenly, then slowly closed my mouth. NemesisGirl's smile faded slightly for a moment, but then rekindled brightly once more.

"Take your time, pet," she said. I looked down at the floor and slowly turned back to my desk.

Later that day WorkerBee stopped by my desk.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your accident, subGrrl!" she exclaimed.

I must have had the most dumbfounded look upon my face when I turned to her.

"Oh! Don't talk, subGrrl! NemesisGirl told us all about how painful your torn vocal chords are. I hope that you heal quickly." WorkerBee bent down and gave me a quick hug, then buzzed out of the cube and down the aisle.

Once she was well gone NemesisGirl said, "Told you that I'd take care of you."

It is somewhat embarrassing to say, but I felt kind of light and airy after that incident. I had never realized how much of a burden speaking is for me. I can speak well enough, of course, but suddenly there were no expectations for which I felt that I had to meet. There was no struggle to be witty or sound intelligent. No one expected me to make any sound at all. I felt more free than I had in years. Maybe I would try out silence for a few days...

---

At home a few evenings later, I exchanged my blindfold for the one that NemesisGirl had given me. It was a little thicker and heavier. It still wasn't perfect. I could easily shrug it off my eyes, just by rubbing my shoulder against it. One day soon, I decided that I would purchase a head harness with a tangle of straps to keep the blindfold in place. I had seen some that looked comfortable on the internet.

It was less than a week later that curiosity got the best of me and I applied NemesisGirl's belled nipple clamps. They were not too tight. They were easy to endure for an entire night. I found that I actually liked the soft tinkle they made as I slowly drifted off to sleep in the warm, safe darkness of my enclosure. They were fine accompaniment to the soft lullabies that Lisianski sang to me.

---

I, of course, dream of Laysan almost every night. Most always she is confined to a large soft bed in a doorless room. The vulgar tether is always present descending from her sex and snaking under the bed. Usually I curl up in bed with her and stroke her hair. I try to comfort her. She is quiet as ever.

One night as I was about to insert my feeding gag, Lisianski asked, "Have you gotten a story out of Laysan yet?"

Slowly I placed the feeding gag on the bottom of the cage. "Yes," I admitted quietly.

"How long ago? Why didn't you tell me?" Lisianski sounded mad. I expected a harsh flogging would follow.

"It was three or four nights ago. I didn't want to tell you because you're going to take her away."

"Oh, subGrrl..." Lisianski actually sounded a little sad.

"I'm only telling you now, because, I have a sense that she wanted me to tell you the story she wrote." I paused for a moment. "In fact, she had written it out on paper and had me read the story to her."

"She did? This is incredible. Do you remember the story?"

"I remember the story word for word." Indeed I could even visualize the punctuation that she had used. "Word for word."

"You should have told us of this earlier, subGrrl!"

"I didn't want to," I cried. "I can't imagine what sorts of horrible things you will do to her next. I mean, you're already anchoring her to places by her cunt! How obscene is that?!"

"Anchored?" There was a brief pause, then Lisianski said softly, "That's just the way it's done. She's not just a dream in your head anymore. We have to keep a link on her in this state. Otherwise she might be deconstructed, dispersed, collected, recycled, whatever... unrecoverable. Lost."

"No!" I exclaimed. "This is definitely NOT how things are done! Otherwise, everybody would live in a small cage fighting with voices in their heads!"

"How do you know that everyone isn't?" Lisianski sighed.

We were quiet for a few minutes until I finally spoke. "It's called 'Three Keys'. It's an odd tale about an extreme sort of chastity belt and a woman who makes an odd choice... I don't really understand it."

"Use the tablet," Lisianski whispered. "Write it down and submit it to UtopiaStories under the name 'Laysan'".

And so I did.