Approaching clouds over the mountain range. Big, grey clouds, high in the sky. That the picture is presented when I wake up and remove the blindfold. They are the first clouds I have seen here. They dramatically alter the immense panorama I am used to. I feel threatened.

My expectations are at low ebb. As I await the time of 8 o'clock, I am almost resigned to never hearing from him again. I consider I have been seriously fooled. I may pay dearly, with my life even. The offshoots of civilisation are hours walking away. I do not count the ghosttown and the woman, as I feel she is his instrument. My car in the drive... No use to me. The box with my car keys... I see it here in a corner. So near and yet so far. I could not possibly break it open and retrieve the keys. And if I could, I am not sure whether I could fit into my old life again anyway.

Yet I sit on the stool again at the 8 o'clock mark and dial his number. His voice speaks to me again when I call him. I should be relieved. A brief recorded message tells me: 'Take a long, hot bath and be thoroughly clean. Let your love triangle be smooth. Make sure that your ring and your chain are in good order. After you are done, make yourself a pot of herbal tea from ... (describes the cupboard and the package.) Then, just wait.' The message sends shivers of anticipation over my bare spine. The time has come, I am sure! I instantly forget my despair of just seconds ago.

I spend an hour in the bath, looking at the lake, the plains, the mountain range and the grey clouds that now fill the sky. I don't feel threatened now and softly sing to myself. With care I remove the stubble on my belly. I oil my body and make it soft as silk. Finally, I tighten the wires of the chain around my nipples. I want to stay conscious of my womanhood. Afterwards, I glance at my naked form in the full length mirror. I admire my leafless flower and its golden ring, and the chain between my breasts. My friend the mirror confirms that I am ripe for the picking.

With my pot of herbal tea, I settle on the floor of the living room, in front of the window. Outside, all signs are that nature will assert itself. Inside, there is a light that shines. I drink.....

..... as I return to the land of the waking, I slowly become aware that my body feels different, smothered. My mouth feels as if taped shut. I draw in a deep breath through my nose. Then, before I become fully conscious, my hands take it upon themselves to nervously survey my body. I am no longer naked. My body feels smooth and oily. When I emerge from the void sufficiently to muster up the drive to open my eyes, I see that I am black: I wear a rubber suit. It cover my entire body, from head to feet, but leaves eyes and nose, my crotch and breasts.
I start moving my legs. Uncertainly I get up and stand staggering. When I start moving, I suddenly feel a sharp jerk at my crotch and fall down to my knees. I cringe with pain and want to scream, but only utter a muffled sound. Both hands cup my crotch and I look down. A chain is attached to my ring. Its other end is attached to the floor near the window some three yards away. I need to free myself! The chain, however, appears solidly attached at both ends.
Resigned, I sink back to the floor and assess my condition. The chain limits me to a semi-circle centred at the window. The telephone is outwith this range. There is not even a chair. Lord, what cocktail of hope and despair you give me.
I look at myself. I am extremely hot and uncomfortable. The zipper at the back is almost impossible to reach and snapped shut in a manner I cannot undo, no matter how hard I try. I panic and claw at the suit and shout my muffled shouts, all to no avail. When I regain control, I simply lay down on the floor, flat on my back, and try to be quiet and regulate my breathing. It gradually dawns on me that my suit is identical to the one he wore in that woman's house.

I look outside and realise that my car is parked on this side of the house now. A door is wide open and the engine is running. The driver is absent, though.

The sky is dark with a low hanging blanket of clouds. It must be colder, but my suit prevents me from noticing. The world is different.

Suddenly a person appears outside. It is the woman from the ghosttown. She wears the white dress I arrived in. My fists hammer the window, I scream my muffled screams, but she appears not to notice. Entirely composed, she gets in the car (my car!) and drives away. I should rage, I should cry. Instead I remain on the floor and just breathe. The inevitable thoughts: do I wish I were her, on my way back to my place in the city presumably, dressed in maiden white as before, as if nothing has happened? I don't know. I do not know.

I lie there for a long time, resigned to waiting for things to come (or not, as the case may be.) The ringing of the phone destroys the thick of the silence. I get up and strain my leash. In vain. I am unable to reach the phone by a few feet. For the next hour or two, every ten minutes or so, it rings again and shreds my resignation. I lie back and stare at the ceiling. My labia hurt. My nipples smart from the chain, which had been tightened.

There he is, finally.

I start to my feet when I hear his heavy footsteps coming into the house. Hence into the room: there he is, in the door opening. He wears the identical suit, my twin. His large ..... is swaying semi-erect. And he runs to me, wielding a whip above his head. Before I know it, it cuts into my breasts and again and again. Instinctively I try to get away, but a terrible pain in my crotch reminds me of my limit. I roll myself up, into foetus position, my back towards him, and cry my smothered cries. He throws the whip onto the floor in front of me, pulls up my hips and has me on all fours. Firmly holding my hips he thrusts his now erect ..... into my hole. (Contact! My prince!) After a number of strokes he is satisfied and collapses over my body, which in turn sinks back to the floor, the two rubber suits together creaking and groaning.
His hands slowly fondle my body. My body hurts, but I feel strangely relieved that things have come to a head. Things will be different now.

After a good while, he gets up and stands in front of me, And I look up to him, a black anonymous vision, apart from piercing green eyes and a wet throbbing ..... He helps me rise. The look in his eyes implores me, when he hands me the whip. He descends, down onto his hands and knees, head down. He waits. His ..... dangles between his legs.
I have hit him before. Should I hit him again? Because he wants me to? What do I owe this bastard, who lured me out of my life and has given me nothing in return. Did he not? He did not give me love.
But my life, did I lose anything really valuable? Have I not received an identity, have I not become strong, have I not learned to endure, have I not discovered my body? One may regard me as a victim, but not the kind that calls for pity. I have not broken. I shall not be broken. He, my tormentor, shall not break me! I shall not show pity. Not yet. We have to settle scores first!

So I lashed out, as hard as I could, on his rubber behind with this pathetic .... as my aim. I lashed out! And out and out, out and out until I, sweating as a pig, dropped down on his back from shear exhaustion.

He was the first of us to act. He rolled me over, gently laid me down on the floor and walked away. I watched him go, my man. He returned with a chisel and hammer and split my chain about two feet from my ringed flower. Then he ripped off my suit and revealed my nakedness again, in two shades of red, the red from the beating and the red from the heat of labour.

Himself, he also changed into his naked self. A changed man. We stood there and silently looked each other in the eyes. Both calm, as if my anger, frustration had left me bit by bit with every lashing until none remained. His calmness must have fed on my lashings then. Complements we must be. Still without a word, an eternity later, he led me to the bedroom, where we became one, progressing from silent communion to mad frenzy.

When I woke up he had gone again, my prince, but not for good. The instructions he left were clear.

What went before - To be continued

BACK TO VANNA's HOMEPAGE