Chapter 3

"You are just a ten percenter, Laysan!"

"No, I'm not!"

Not all of Paty's special friends treat me with the disrespect which McNear shows. In particular, I really like Miss Alba. Well, I usually really like her, except today she seemed intent on pissing me off.

"I am Paty's slave - one hundred percent of the time. How can you say that?" I crossed my arms across my naked breasts as a rare sense of overexposure rippled through my being.

"I am saying," Alba explained, "that your lifestyle is easy and fairly free. You spend most of your time doing art, watching TV, surfing on the computer, or just laying around daydreaming. A slave is not free like that. I say that there are very few choices that you relinquish as opposed to what the term 'slave' would imply. I bet that Paty lists you on her federal income tax documents as a dependent. That's what I think that you are. A dependent. Like a child. If you were a slave, you would be considered an asset. And if you are an asset, then Paty is losing lots of money on the upkeep."

"Well, of course I'm not just an asset. Paty and I also love each other. But that doesn't make me any less of a slave. I'm a love slave. People who are merely dependents don't spend as much time in chains as I do."

"Ok, Laysan," she said. "Call it what you want. But, I bet you are only serving your mistress for about ten percent of your time, that's why I say that you are only a ten percenter."

I don't think that I can understate how upsetting her position was to me. I spend twenty four hours a day working hard to make sure that Paty is taken care of when she is at home. I do many things simply to please her. She is often my one and only thought. I am devoted one hundred percent to Paty. So, when Alba suggests that I am only a ten percenter, I feel like she is saying that I am not as devoted to her as I should be. Or maybe that I don't love her as much as I should.

I'd do anything Paty asked. She is my life and my love. As I said, generally Alba is a wonderful person. I love spending time with her. But, what the fuck does Alba know about me and Paty?

Alba is a very pretty woman. She is fairly short and petite like me, but when she walks into a room she takes up a lot more of the space than just her stature. She has a presence that seems to follow her and when she arrives somewhere, you know it immediately, and you will be awed by it. She's always so well put together in appearance and temperament. So, even now, in the midst of our argument her intonation could easily be exchanged for that of a discussion of horse care or business team dynamics. I, however, get swamped in emotion and probably start to sound a bit shrill. I know that my arguments would have more weight if I were more calm like Alba, but I just can not control the flood of feelings.

Alba is particularly rich and has a beautiful mansion that Paty and I often visit. She's got some really neat toys too. About a year ago, she introduced us to the coolest device ever. She calls it a "Meditation Shell". Basically, the device is a sturdy carbon fiber shell shaped in the form of a female body. The user gets naked, lays down in the open shell, and presses a button that causes the top to slowly enclose the user inside. The interior is lined with some sort of space-aged foam that comfortably conforms to one's body.

The device is probably not something that you would want to use if you are at all claustrophobic. Paty, for example, refuses to get in. I, personally, love tight confining places. I've never met a small box or cage that I didn't like. Even so, I must admit that the first time I got in the shell, I became a little nervous when I heard clicks snapping all around me as the shell sealed shut. And after sealing, an air pump engages that seems to cause the foam to expand and press the inhabitant in a tight, full-bodied embrace. It even presses down on your eyes and ears robbing you of your senses. My anxiety, however, quickly faded away thankfully as cool, fresh, purified air is pumped in around my face. Also, the inhabitant holds a button in their hand, that if pressed, causes the shell to immediately spring open. You could be out in seconds.

The foam even presses down on your eyes, so your world is dark. Meanwhile, all external sounds are masked by speakers around your ears that fill your head with white noise. As the foam that presses you all around warms, you begin to feel as though you are floating in some soft, comfortable void. The shell is the ultimate sensory deprivation device.

My description may seem scary, but you really have to experience the device to appreciate how wonderful it is. To me, with the restriction and noise, I kind of feel as though I have returned to the womb. And even though it is called a "Meditation Shell", I swear that I cannot lay within it for more than five minutes without falling into the most delicious sleep. Sometimes the sleep is quiet, other times I have the most vivid, beautiful dreams ever. It is awesome.

Alba graciously allows me access to the shell whenever I want. I convince Paty to take me to visit Alba and her meditation shell at least once or twice a month. The sleep is so wonderful that generally, Paty and Alba have to wake me up from the shell. And when they do I find that an hour and a half or more has passed by. When I arise I feel so refreshed and alive I am ready to conquer the world.

I had just climbed out of the shell when Alba started accusing me of being a ten percenter. So, I became even more disappointed as my euphoria quickly drained away.

"I mean," Alba continued, somehow intent on driving her point into the ground, "you don't even do tasks around Paty's house. You don't clean or cook..."

"I do too clean and cook!" I interjected.

"Well, then why does Paty have to hire house cleaners to come in once a week?"

"Paty's house is humongous! They do all the vacuuming and stuff. I still clean up after myself." I looked over at Paty hoping that she would come to my defense, but she seemed content to watch and see how things played out.

"Paty brings in food almost every night of the week," Alba continued.

"Well, duh! She owns restaurants. Of course she is going to bring home food."

"So, you tell people that you are a slave, but really you're just cruising down easy street. You're a ten percenter."

"Whatever!" I’d had it at this point and I wanted to go home. I walked across the room to a chair where I had left my clothes and started to get dressed.

"Even those clothes!" Alba laughed. "You say that you own nothing, yet Paty buys you clothes to go out in public in. Who else is going to wear those clothes? They are too small for Paty to wear!"

"Hey!" Paty exclaimed.

“Paty, relax! Laysan is several inches shorter than you," Alba laughed. "I'm not implying you're fat, sweety. I'm just saying that those are your clothes, Laysan. Saying that you 'own' them or not is just semantics."

"Fine!" I screamed as I threw the clothes at Alba. "I'll never wear anything ever again. Come on, Paty. Let's go home!"

"Laysan, cool down for a second," Paty pleaded.

"I am your slave aren't I, Paty?" Tears started pouring from my eyes. "You still love me don't you?"

"Of course I love you," Paty said calmly. "Don't worry! You will always be my slave."

I gave a sideways glance towards Alba who stood with her arms crossed and a mean smirk on her face. "See? If Paty says that I am her slave, that's all that matters," I said.

"I bet that you never even do anything against your will," Alba muttered.

"Why would I?" I asked.

"Well, wouldn't the term 'slave' imply that you sometimes must do something that you don't want to without question, simply because your mistress demands you to."

"That happens every night when Paty kicks me out of her bed." I knew that the subject of sleeping in Paty's bed is taboo, but it was the only response that I could think of quickly that proved my point. I looked at Paty and became a little nervous again when I saw that she was frowning at me.

I grabbed for the next thing that I could think of to try to cover up my mistake. "I agreed to wear this long-term gag she wants me to wear, even though I don't like to."

"Oh? She gags you for long periods of time?" Alba asked, seemingly impressed suddenly. I am sure Alba knows of my distaste for the jaw wrenching variety of gags.

I looked up at Paty to see if she was still frowning, or if she would cover for me. "Well, no, but I promised her that I would. And that in itself shows my willingness to always meet her demands."

"Wait a second." Alba raised her hands to cut me off. "So, you don't actually wear this gag you are talking about..."

"Well, not yet, but I promised to get fitted for it." I could feel the blood start to drain from my face. I did not like the direction in which this conversation was going.

"Fitted for it?" Alba asked.

"Yeah, I have to have two molars removed. And I promised her that I would."

"Wow! That must be some gag. So, when are you going to get these molars removed."

I kept looking at Paty, but she had once again become content watching instead of participating.

"I don't have an appointment yet," I said.

"Oh! In that case, make the appointment now."

The room was starting to spin. I looked around on the ground to find the clothes that I had thrown at Alba. Maybe if I ignored her, she would back off.

"Come on, Laysan. Make the appointment right now. Prove to me that you are more than a ten percenter."

"Alba, it's a Sunday afternoon. I can't make an appointment to have my teeth removed on Sunday afternoon."

Maybe this was the point that Paty was waiting for, because she finally spoke up. "I can call Ceylon right now and have her set everything up."

I stared at Paty, silently shaking my head, and mouthed the word "No". But she was already dialing the number on her cell phone.

I looked over at Alba who stood with her arms crossed, wearing a satisfied smile, watching Paty talk on the phone. What the hell have I done? How could Paty betray me like this?

No. I had promised Paty that I would get the molars taken out... Alba had tricked me into betraying myself.

"... Excellent! Ok! Let me know when she has an opening... Thanks, Cey! Bye!" Paty turned off her phone. "Ok. She'll set it up."

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Chapter 4

A constant splattering of rain fell as Paty drove us through the darkness of the city a week and a half later at 9:30 pm on a Wednesday night to the dentist's office to have my teeth yanked out. The wipers swished and clacked across the windshield. I stared at the drops of water and the way the street lights illuminated them.

"Don't be so morose, Laysan. It'll be over soon." Paty was trying to calm me.

"I'm just hoping that this dentist that Ceylon found turns us away because she remembers that she swore to uphold the Hippocratic oath and not perform unnecessary surgeries."

"Ha! I don't think so. The price that I'm paying for this little procedure, I'm sure that she'd gladly forget her first born." Paty lightly touched my thigh in the darkness of the car's interior.

"Well, thanks for caring so much, I guess."

"Those teeth are probably cavity ridden and rotting anyways. Think of this as a preemptive treatment."

I turned away and watched the endless lines of strip malls slide past the window. "What if our souls just happen to be contained in these particular teeth. After they are cut away, maybe all that will be left of me is an empty shell."

"I love you, Laysan."

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It was well past 10pm when we arrived at the office. The dentist, Dr Schleimmer, had me lay in the dentist chair and then left the small room to go talk with Paty. I was trying to calm myself by flipping through some gardening magazines, when someone returned.

"Ceylon!" I said. "Don't tell me that you do dentistry as well."

"Of course not." She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I've just come to make sure that everything is perfect for this new gag."

"Great." I did my best to be as unenthusiastic as possible, but my effort was lost on Ceylon. I could sense her excitement at the prospect of finally trying out her design. I just wish that I wasn't such an integral part of the project.

"Do you mind if I look in your mouth?"

"Sure go ahead, but I should warn you that I ate a lot of garlic today. It's supposed to be a memento of my appreciation for the services of the dentist."

If Ceylon heard me at all, she was an expert at measured reactions. Already, she was running her fingers across my precious teeth, measuring perhaps.

"What exactly is going to happen?" I asked in stunted consonants, trying to avoid my desire to bite her.

"Well, tonight the Dr. will remove the teeth. After your gums have healed we will need to add some orthodontia. That will keep your other teeth from trying to shift back and fill the empty spaces. Also, the wires that we install will provide an anchor for the mold."

"Mold?"

"Mold. Of course. The gag should be as comfortable as possible so the wearer..."

"...that would be me..." I interjected.

"...yes, so the wearer can adjust to its presence as easily as possible."

"Um. Exactly how long do you expect that a 'wearer' would be able to wear this thing?" I asked.

"Oh! No doubt! There should be no need to ever take it out. The gag could be installed indefinitely. Sure some maintenance is probably necessary..."

Ceylon prattled on excitedly, but I'm not exactly sure what she was saying. A queasy feeling was settling somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

I began reassuring myself that this was simply an expression of Ceylon's passion for quality and durability which she prided herself on with every piece of equipment that she designed. Besides, Paty wouldn't want to silence me forever. She loves me. She loves my voice. She often asks me to sing for her. I'm pretty good at it too. And we spend hours and hours talking about things. She finds comfort in my inflection. Even if I don't really have anything earth shattering to say, she likes the soothing quality and dependability of the sounds that I make. I'm sure she would miss it.

The Doctor, Paty, and another woman, who turned out to be an anesthesiologist, came into the room in a flurry. Paty placed a hand on my cheek and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. "Don't worry."

My eyes must have been full of fear. I would have expressed it verbally if I could, but my voice apparently had already taken flight.

The Doctor and her aide worked with an efficiency that would have been comforting in many other contexts. Before I knew it, I had been stabbed with some kind of IV. I felt a sense of panic begin to set in. I felt as if I was falling into a chasm. The room seemed darker.

"Count backwards from twenty," the aide requested.

"20… 19..."

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Chapter 5

The next thing that I knew I was being shaken.

"No! I'm tired! Leave me the fuck alone." I felt like I was being pulled from the deepest, most dreamless sleep. Perhaps it was death itself. I tried to roll away from my tormentor and wrap the death back around me.

"Come on, Laysan. Wake up, sweetie."

"Sleeping..." I lisped slowly trying to remember the world which living people inhabit. The dentist office. Oh, yeah... I noticed that my mouth felt numb and full and my tongue felt particularly heavy, like it was too drunk to walk.

"It's me. Paty. Come on. Wake up, Laysan."

Sure enough. There she was. I imagined the gaping wounds in my jaws, and decided that I shouldn't talk anymore, somewhat afraid that if I did, a waterfall of bloody drool would cascade from between my lips.

Paty helped me out to the car and we headed back towards home. As I slowly revived I decided that my tongue, indeed, was sore. It felt puffy and heavy. Experimentally, I raised it slightly and felt something foreign, something smooth and hard touch the roof of my mouth. I repeated the exercise several times and gingerly swallowed a gulp of drool hoping I wouldn't choke on a wad of bloody gauze.

"Something in my mouth..." My 's' sound was unable to form properly.

"Yes, dear, Ceylon suggested that we go ahead and do the tongue piercing now as well."

"Piercing..."

"Yes. It's a beautiful steel stud. Figured we'd save you the pain of doing it later..."

"Don't remember about a piercing..." I said.

"What, dear? You don't remember? I told you about it long ago when I described the gag to you."

I'm not sure if Paty had told me about it or not. As I said before, I was stuck on the concept of having teeth removed. She probably did say something about it. Still, she seemed a little nervous. She was glancing at me repeatedly out of the corner of her eye as we wound through the city streets.

I had actually always wanted to get my tongue pierced anyways. I have always been intrigued by what kinds of pleasure a pierced tongue with talent could lay upon another's desire. Nevertheless, I was a little shocked that now, suddenly, I had a tongue piercing. And whatever they had placed in the piercing felt particularly big.