Nusquam

by Chris Bellows

  The apartment is more than empty, it has been stripped... no furniture... no carpeting... no curtains... and the walls newly painted a dull white. Moving to the bedroom turned dungeon Kelly finds equivalent emptiness, Pattie’s vast collection of bizarre BDSM equipment removed.

  The sight of sanitized floors, walls, doors and ceiling is augmented by the smell. Chlorine.

  The extraction team has been thorough, Kelly willing to wager that even the drain pipes have been cleansed, nothing of Patricia LaMange and her DNA to be left behind.

  Moving to the bedroom where she expected to find her client strapped motionless and wallowing in her soiled diaper Kelly instead finds centered on the floor a white enveloped, sealed and neatly addressed to her, the team no doubt aware that she visits daily.

  She opens, the sight of a cashier’s check most welcomed. There is also a note...

  Kelly,

  Your commission. I prorated the sale price of the penthouse at $3,500,000. If we receive more I will forward the difference. By the time you are reading this the girl will be immersed here at Nusquam... perhaps being caned... perhaps sucking off a member as she endures fellatio training. Her discomfort and servitude will be assured... in safety. She can look forward to many years of torment before ending her stay being worked in the pump house.

  Do come and visit us sometime. As you know the plane leaves Teterboro every Friday afternoon.

  Regards,

  Director

  The check brings a broad smile. It is seven figures. Perhaps indeed Kelly can now retire. Perhaps she will become a Nusquam member. She can now afford the annual fee.

  The reference to the pump house also brings a smile. She conveniently neglected to describe that aspect of Nusquam life in enticing her client into volunteering for existence there and signing away her life. The horrid facility really is no longer a pumping facility, the large heavy capstans long ago converted to generate electricity... generated by the toil and sweat of those subjugants no longer deemed alluring or otherwise useful.

  They are declawed, defanged and desexed then relegated to a long later life of heavy unending labor.

  Even Kelly, so calloused to human misery, shudders with thoughts of the subjugants in heavy shackles endlessly pushing in circles, the heat of the tropics bringing constant streams of perspiration and rarely requited thirst.

  Well, she consoles herself, that’s years away for the youthful Patricia Lamange.

  Chapter Twelve

  The once wealthy and well educated Patricia LaMange awakens. Confused, her consciousness slowly clears, cognition returns.

  Her last memory was lying in bondage, the Segufix straps tight, bringing the strange sense of comfort in which she has come to revel. There come sounds, person or persons entering her apartment.

  Miss Kelly returning so soon? It seems she just finished teasing her in near masturbation... ultimate orgasm denied Not likely. There are many other possibilities. She has issued many keys. But the locks have been changed.

  Then the bedroom door opens, but with the only illumination remaining from the hall, her visitors to remain indistinguishable in the semi darkness. There comes a woman’s voice.

  “This is going to be one of the easiest to wrap. She’s already snugly bound.”

  The comment brings laughter, throaty male laughter. The intricate restraint system offers no ability to lift her head to view. Then something is tossed over her face... cloth... cool, moist and smelling of chemicals. And that’s it. Whatever the drug, a journey to dreamland beckoned... and it has seemed to be an unending trip.

  Pattie finds she still cannot move. Normally this brings comforting thrill, bondage tight and controlling. But not now. She is not at her home, not under the caring auspices of Nurse Kelly... so strict... so firm... so matronly... and so safe. When she attempts to lift a leg, there comes the sound of crinkling plastic. Similar sound when an arm finds unyielding restriction. She begins to panic. In the darkness the unknown frightens.

  There comes a voice, close by, as if someone is whispering in her ear. Then she realizes earpieces have been inserted.

  “Welcome, 128. Welcome to Nusquam. Your new home... your last home.”

  The voice is deep, somewhat whispering, the gender indistinguishable.

  There comes light, narrow, the beam limited. Pattie, in lying supine, looks straight upwards, head remaining immobile. She looks into a mirror on the ceiling directly above. There is a reflection... and it shocks. Is that she? Could it really be?

  It is a face and head. Bald now with eyebrows removed to bring eeriness. But worse, prominently imprinted on the forehead... her forehead? Are the numerals... 1... 2... 8. Such are large... and in black. If a tattoo, never to be removed without significant scarring. More likely never to be removed!

  Pattie emotes. Tears form. The reality of her voluntary new existence dawns. It is no longer voluntary. How can she ever again present herself in public?

  “What is your name?” the voice returning.

  “Patricia LaMange.”

  With her reply there comes an instant jolt... painful... where a girl feels much... and prefers tenderness. Something has been inserted, a dildo... deep and thick... and it delivers a shock well into her viscera.

  “What is your name?”

  As the voice repeats, the spotlight highlighting her forehead blinks, the numerals 128 seeming to be even more prominently displayed. She stares into the mirror. She notes plastic about what little of her body she can see. She recalls the woman intruder’s brief comment before succumbing... ‘one of the easiest to wrap’. Like a leftover morsel of food, Pattie begins to realize her immobility is no longer due to the Segufix straps, but instead that she is encased in plastic, her moist skin stifling and irritated by her own perspiration.

  The dildo delivers a modest shock, returning her attention to the voice.

  “Pattie... Pattie LaMange.”

  The shock repeats, stronger. Pattie... being mentally transformed to subjugant 128... cries out then sobs.

  “I don’t want to be a number!”

  But she realizes... it is too late.

  Finally there is light... full room light. Patricia LaMange... number 128... attempts to surveil her surroundings. Peripherally she notes the room is austere. Cinderblock. She confirms that she is indeed wrapped, her entire body encased, mummified in clear plastic, only her head exposed.

  A woman enters. Dressed in white. Could it be Nurse Kelly... to her rescue!

  It is not. The woman is dour, business like, not pretty like Nurse Kelly, but her looks not objectionable. Number 128 realizes she hears little, the ear pieces muffling the sounds of the woman’s entry. She approaches with a tray, smiling wickedly. The plight of number 128 seems to amuse.

  The woman presses a button. Sound hisses. As her lips move, Kelly hears the woman’s transmitted voice.

  “Some water, number 128. Salted... it will keep you thirsty and on edge... but will functionally restore the sweat you’re exuding. And some ointment... for that nice black tattoo. Make sure it cures... that the ink sets well into your epidermis.”

  The nurse places the tray on a table unseen above the head of subjugant 128. A tube is thrust into the mouth of the naked enshrouded form and gruffly pushed to the back of the throat. There comes a gag reaction, number 128 resisting. The nurse picks up a remote control and presses, her finger bringing instant pain. Yes, there comes another shock, that which number 128 learned to avoid in repeating her new appellation dozens and dozens of times when the voice prompted.

  “Take it. Swallow. You’ll learn that everything you ingest here will be forced into you. And there will be things worse than a feeding tube,” the nurse cackling with her admonition.

  Number 128 has no choice. With more gagging, the tube slips inward. A flow begins. The nurse then brusquely begins coating the slightly swollen blackened flesh of her forehead.

  It stings. But worse is the emotional pain, knowing that the ointment will serve to
augment the permanency of her prominent delineation.

  “At one time I felt sorry for sluts like you. Being marked... branded... pierced... modified at the whim of others. But there are those who need to serve... to be put in their place and constantly reminded of the superiority of others. Deep within, you’ll find the strange happiness the likes of your desire. And if you don’t, it won’t matter. Your happiness is inconsequential. You will be worked and used for the pleasure of others... whether it titillates your sick psyche or not.”

  Intubated, number 128 cannot reply. And in being immobilized cannot resist as the hand retreats from the forehead, lowers and gruffly pushes past the forced open lips to grasp the girl’s tongue.

  She pulls. Number 128 grunts in protest as the fingers pinch at thin tuft of flesh on the underside.

  “Snipping the frenulum comes first. Then this will become your most prominent sex organ. You’ll have a lively tongue... and be well trained to use it. And you’ll be made eager to use it,” the words coming with another annoying cackle.

  The nurse turns to silence, patiently watching the liter of salted water drain into the stomach of number 128. When she abruptly pulls the tube, droplets spill into 128’ s mouth. Salty indeed, the liquid serves to aggravate the girl’s thirst. When 128 licks her lips in desperate need the nurse smiles.

  “A few more days of adjustment and you’ll be eager to serve. Be obedient, listen attentively to the voice, and do not relieve yourself until told. You’re well wrapped, you’ll only soil yourself and won’t be the first subjugant to wallow in your own excretions.”

  A hand reaches, thumb and finger finding the right nipple, pinching with zeal.

  “Nice tits. I’m sure you’ve enjoyed them since puberty. Now others will... and you won’t.”

  Tray in hand, the woman exits. The lights extinguish. Number 128 is returned to immobile darkness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Subjugant number 128 lies and lies and lies. The voice seems to know in the darkness when sleep overtakes. Whenever slumber beckons the bright narrow beam alights, the mirror glows, the large black numerals reflect and the low voice no longer whispers but instead booms into the ear pieces, awakening.

  “What is your name?”

  128 obediently reads back...1... 2... 8... and does so quickly and with fervor. For she has learned it is only then that the light darkens and the horrid sight of her transformed forehead disappears.

  Yet it will return again and again when her subconscious glides into dreamland.

  The salted water begins to add to her unending misery. It is only sensing the discomfort of her full bladder which breaks the monotony. She has need, and in the seclusion, the urge to urinate overtakes her thoughts.

  Oddly she wishes the irritating nurse would return... perhaps once again pinch her nipples in diversion from the endless nothingness.

  Bladder needs overwhelming, 128 slowly presses, contracting the muscles of her belly. Her thighs encased together tightly, it requires effort. She feels a trickle then cries out, the electrical vaginal insertion seems to know, aware of her efforts. It zings with even more voltage.

  She knows to stop. The insertion quiets, the pain subsides.

  Once again 128 manages to doze. The light startles, the voice booms. Her reply comes earnestly... 1...2...8... this time followed by a plea.

  “I need to pee!”

  “Who needs to pee?

  “1... 2... 8. Please I must go.”

  “You will reference yourself with your number... not the pronoun ‘I’. And you will not urinate until commanded. At Nusquam nothing is done without a command and permission.”

  “May I...” the girl quickly correcting herself, “may 128 empty then sleep? Please?”

  “In time. That is for others to decide.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Perhaps 128 should be grateful for the denial. For what little she was able to excrete, held within the confines of the constricting layers of plastic wrapping, now irritates the skin. She needs to scratch... she needs to move... she needs the exhilarating feeling of cooling air on skin long confined.

  Then the voice returns, soft but remaining deep, the gender remaining indistinguishable.

  “Why is 128 here?”

  The girl has no reply. After a moment of silence the cruel electrified dildo shocks.

  “Why is 128 here?”

  Attention riveted, further pain to be avoided, subjugant 128 equivocates.

  “I.... er... 128 is... well I... er 128 has needs that... well...I’m... I’m.... 128 has special needs.”

  The strained attempt earns a jolt. Despite the darkness it seems the chamber alights, the voltage intense.

  “The needs of 128 are of no consequence. 128 is here to serve and please... in any manner demanded.”

  Subjugant 128 finds herself nodding in concurrence. The notion implanted, she reflects on her life since her father’s inheritance cleared probate. Profligacy... monetary and sexual profligacy. Everything she has done, every dollar tossed away, has been to satiate her deviant lust. Even hiring the well experienced Nurse Kelly to assure her sick fantasies play out 24/7.

  And now, there are no fantasies. Instead there is nothing, her money, her home... her very life... signed away.

  She is a number. Tattooed, the permanency not to be denied. And what was it the horrid nurse suggested... her reference to being marked... branded... pierced... modified at the whim of others?

  128 swishes her tongue, sensing where earlier before the nurse pinched. ‘Snipping the frenulum comes first,’ she advised.128 shudders in fear. There comes the frightening realization that in being bound, enshrouded to both restrain and bring slow mounting discomfort, they can do anything... and forever.

  It dawns... the sessions of D/s don’t end at Nusquam. There are no sessions... just a life of servitude and pleasure... for others.

  “You may urinate. Prepare to empty yourself quickly and thoroughly at my command,” the voice ending thoughts of her stultifying yet dreary new existence.

  128 contracts her stomach muscles in preparedness, knowing the task will be impaired by forcibly clenched thighs and the sizable vaginal insertion. She finds the pause distressing, expecting permission more readily. Then she realizes... she’s being programmed... both mind and body to be altered... discipline instilled.

  “Empty,” finally comes the simple but most welcomed command.

  128 presses, a warm flow... odorous, irritating... surely to enhance the burning itchiness of her sweaty skin... floods the interior of the encapsulating plastic. There comes relief... there comes dread. How long will she be left to wallow in her own juices?

  Chapter Fifteen

  The door opens. Light comes by way of a narrow beam. Whomever enters is unknown, not to be viewed. A dark thick cloth blinds, covering the eyes, grazing the sore flesh of 128’s tattooed forehead.

  Gloved hands work open her mouth. Fingers pinch closed her nostrils. The ear pieces click. A hiss is followed by a voice... male.

  “Open. Some surgery for you... minor for now.”

  128 opens... in obedient compliance... but also to breathe. Metal is forced into her mouth, wedging between her teeth. She knows, having purchased a molt gag during one of her long and expensive kinky shopping sprees. Used as a D/s toy in her apartment dungeon, the reality frightens as the device is adjusted to part further her lips, mouth to be opened distressingly wide.

  What is to be done? What is happening?

  Once again her tongue is pinched, pulled outward, the tip seeming to painfully touch her nose

  “This will help you suck cocks... among other things. Another oral slut for the members of Nusquam, ha, ha, ha.”

  With the gruff laughter, 128 feels a sharp instance of pain... under her tongue... an incision. Just as the nurse prognosticated, her mouth is to be altered, her oral appendage to be transformed. As she next feels the pin pricks of tiny sutures, there is nothing she can do but lie and cede her oral cavi
ty to... to... whom?

  “I do dental work to make a living. But here I alter little cocksuckers gratis... so they can best be trained... and I can enjoy the benefits of my skills. You’ll soon be tasting me... and thanking me for the opportunity to serve.”

  With that, suturing complete,128 feels the gloved fingers plummet. Into the depth of her throat, the tips diddle and knead, seemingly in amusement as she gags... and gags... and gags.

  “Ha, ha, ha. You’ll soon be taking the biggest and longest, gliding in and out, feeling hot spunk spurt into your gullet. They all learn to relish it... as will you.”

  Coughing, spittle splattering, the fingers finally retreat, leaving 128 struggling to calm the desperate reactions of her invaded throat. There is more distress as the flashlight extinguishes, the blinding dark cloth is removed yet the molt gag remains in place.

  Will she be left to choke on her own saliva?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Molt gag remaining, 128 learns to swallow with circumspection, her own juices bringing the sensation of drowning. It aggravates, adding to the displeasure of the deluge of burning urine. But the voice comes not, and 128 for now is relieved of the gut wrenching shocks of discipline.

  In the dark nothingness, the tender care of Nurse Kelly comes to mind. She needs to be bathed. She pines for the purifying whisks of her straight razor. And to be masturbated! The hands and fingers found to be sublime!

  The aftercare was worth all the pain and suffering. She would gladly ride the horse again, submit to the many searing hot needles, endure another caning just to be under the knowing woman’s soothing ministrations.

  ‘I need to go back,’ come silent words of remorse. ‘128 needs to go back,’ she corrects her own thoughts. But to what? There is nothing to which to return... no home, no money, no job. And in avoiding poverty, there would be need for employment... and that would mandate she be presentable. How does she explain the numerals 1...2...8? Large and black where all are to see and question.