Contained

Nikki was alone, enclosed. She could feel the thin hard mat below her, the hard metal surface under it. In the pitch-black darkness, she could also feel the wall at her left. And if she moved her right leg out, she could feel the wall at that side. Above her, she knew, the ceiling was only about two feet above her, even if she couldn’t see it in the dark. She couldn’t sit up without hitting her head. She had tried it.

She was in a space just big enough to hold her. A kind of kennel, like a Japanese capsule hotel or, a kind of disturbing image, like a drawer at the morgue or a tomb at a mausoleum. She had had just enough time to glimpse the wall of square doors as she was brought into the dormitory. Then she had been hustled over to the one open door, a little ladder like at an old fashioned library next to it, and she had been ordered to crawl in, swatted on the butt to encourage her. Her crawling awkward because her hands were chained to her collar.

As the door slammed behind her she realized just how small this space was.

It was small and there was absolutely no sound and no light. If she had been floating in warm water it would have been like one of those sensory deprivation tanks that had been so popular in the ‘70s. But she remembered that there had been a pretty serious time limit for being in the tank. She had no way to know how long she was going to be in here. She didn’t even know how long she had already been in.

Nikki could hear her heart beating, could hear the blood flowing past her ears, could feel her pupils dilating, trying to see in the darkness.

“I am not claustrophobic. I am not claustrophobic. I am not claustrophobic.” Nikki knew she wasn’t, but this was intense. What if they forgot she was there? What if she had a heart attack or appendicitis. What if she needed to pee. Of course as soon as that thought entered her mind, she did need to pee. Really needed to. She could feel her full bladder pressing into her nerves.

She took a deep breath. Tried to calm herself. Squeezed her legs together. “It’s okay. They are not going to forget I am here. They are about to put me up for auction. I am valuable.” The thought of the auction rushed into her head. It was really close now. Only a few days away.

She would be tested some more, put through exercises along with the other slaves who were up for auction. She would be displayed, viewed by all the potential buyers. Inspected. They would look through her portfolio, see the write ups; Mark’s comments, the review of the blow job she had given as her first evaluation, the comments of the wise older man who had delved so deeply into her psyche, the Serbians, the dinner party, the wrestling match. All of it. And they would have her admissions records too. All the data they had collected when she thought she was just at a Spa.

In the total silence and darkness all the images of what she had been through flowed back through Nikki’s mind like a slide show. She saw the progression of her submission, from wide eyed wonder and amazement, to deep and constant arousal. As she imagined each of the steps in her training, she felt her body responding. She could feel the inside of her vagina. She felt the now familiar sensation of arousal from submission, feeling the weight of it covering her.

That was really the only way she could describe it, like a blanket or a mantle. It was like one of those lead aprons they give you before they take x-rays – so heavy, but in such a diffuse way your body has to relax under it to accept the weight of it. Her mouth opening, her back feeling like jelly. And her insides reacting, warming, opening, the wetness flowing. Her nipples tingling, her breasts feeling heavy, her labia feeling swollen.

Mmmmm. It felt good. She wanted to touch, slide her finger in and test the soft folds, see how slick and wet and hot she was. She wanted to slide moisture up around her clit and rub gentle circles. She wanted to feel the pressure translating up her spine, warming her further. She wanted to spread her legs and push her hips up into her fingers and moan out loud while she pushed herself up and over in an intense orgasm.

Without thinking, instinctively, she moved her hand down towards her pussy.

“Aaak” Her voice cried out in a frustrated half moan half scream. She had forgotten. Her hands were chained to her collar. She could move them three inches. Just enough to be able to crawl on her elbows with her hands at her neck, but not even enough to be able to touch her nipples, let alone her cunt.

They were clever. She had to hand them that. They must have known, that left to her own devices, by herself, in the pitch-black, that she would want to touch herself. And they had made it close to impossible.

Nikki squeezed her legs together and rubbed her bent arm against her breast, pressure and friction against the nipple. She pushed her hips up. And moaned. Almost, but not quite enough stimulation.

Maybe on her stomach. She rolled over. Hard to do without full use of her hands. But this was definitely better. She spread her legs, pushed her hips into the mat. It didn’t provide much resistance, but it was just enough to give her a little stimulation, a tiny bit of pressure against her clit. She was moving rhythmically now, rubbing her nipples against the mat, pushing her hips forward, rocking into her clit.

She thought about her helplessness. She was totally at their mercy. They could do whatever they wanted with her. Feed her, not feed her. Keep her clean, let her soil herself. She didn’t even control her basic bodily functions. They could give her an enema, or catheterize her. Or just keep her in this drawer until she had to pee herself. They were going to sell her off.

Her breath was coming hard now. She thought about the auction. She didn’t really know how it worked. Did they bring the girls up on a podium, like a painting at Sotheby’s? Did they auction them one at a time? Did they make them perform for the audience? Or did they allow bidders to walk around, admiring a variety of slaves and seeing the current high offers?

She thought of herself in front of a crowd. Forced to bend over, to show her cunt and her asshole. Told to lie on her back and open her legs, lie on her belly and move her hips up and down. Things shoved into her. Things pulled out of her. And her face betraying her arousal, her enjoyment of the submission of it.

As she imagined it, Nikki pushed her hips harder into the mat. Her pleasure building, sweat starting to form under her arms and behind her knees. She could feel the orgasm, now just out of reach. She used her elbows to push her shoulders back a little and give her the ability to rub her nipples teasingly against the mat. Just a light friction as they moved back and forth. She thought of Mark’s hands on her, his fingers pulling and tugging at her sensitive tissues. She thought of his lips sucking her nipples into his mouth.

Then she remembered. He had handed her over. He was no longer directly responsible for her. A wave of sadness passed through her. She thought of his face. She had learned to read every nuance of emotion: approval, happiness, affection, or anger, disappointment, concern. She knew exactly what he was thinking before he spoke a word. And she wanted nothing more than to make him proud. How was she going to survive without him?

If she was very very lucky, he might win her at the auction. He had gotten permission to bid. The strategy was complicated. If there weren’t enough bidders, and the price was low, they might decide to let him bid a little more and keep her for another cycle, train her a little more, resolve any of the issues and questions the buyers might have. On the other hand, if there were a lot of bidders and a record price, they might decide to let him bid on her, pay a huge amount and create a stir in the international community. More people would come next time to check her out. And she’d still have the freshness of coming right on the block from her trainer.

So she needed to do as well as possible in the compulsories. She thought of being his slave. How wonderful it would be. Of course, she wouldn’t be his only slave. He’d have Cindy and who knows, maybe others. Everything would be different. But he’d still be her trainer. She’d still feel his hands on her, his mouth, his eyes. She’d still get to hear his noises as he pushed his cock into her, her mouth, her cunt, her ass.

She thought of him fucking her. On her stomach, as she was now, his legs pushing her legs wide open, his cock hot and urgent inside her. She thought of him thrusting harder, deeper, faster. She felt herself opening to him, receiving him, accepting his claim on her. She imagined the heat of it, the force, Mark’s balls slapping into her ass. In the silence of her little cell, she could hear the sound of it. The little sucking sound of her wetness as he pulled out, the squish as he drove back in, and the thwack of his balls and thighs hitting her.

Nikki moaned rhythmically as she pushed into the mat, imagining Mark, wanting him, yearning for his cock, for the sheer physicality of it. The heat. The smells. The sounds. But her imagination giving her enough to feel her arousal building. She pushed her knees wider, her ass moving up and down in the darkness. She pushed, and pushed, imagining she was pushing back into HIM.

And finally she could feel it cresting. The tingling starting at her cunt. Her ass tightening. The waves of contractions moving up. Feeling them along the back of her neck, up her scalp. Feeling the pleasure moving out the top of her head. She held her breath and then could hear her own voice crying out as the orgasm peaked and flowed through her.

Nikki collapsed, sweaty, on the thin mat. Her aloneness weighing on her.

That had occupied a few minutes, but she was still in this little cell with no light and no sound and no indication of how much longer it was going to be.

And Nikki had to pee.

She tried to breathe into the afterglow of the orgasm. Willing herself to sleep. She closed her eyes. Relaxed her toes. Her feet. Her calves. Her thighs. Her ass. Thought of what it would feel like to have Mark touch her, massage her, relax her. Imagined he was caring for her even now, in her mind. His training was more than just teaching her commands and obedience. He was giving her inner resources to take what was given. She was going to take this. Even if they kept her in the box for two weeks.

She must have dropped off. She dreamt of her prior life. She was in a meeting. A big conference room. Lots of suits. She was in one too. Black. Pants. Clunky high shoes, meant to make her 6’2” and increase the intimidation factor. She was standing in the front of the room. Reviewing some kind of data. She looked at it, blankly. She’d never seen it before. But it was in the familiar format for a valuation. Sources in the lower left. She could wing it. She’d done it before.

The scene had the disjoined rhythm of a dream, jumping from one image to another. But in all of them, Nikki was the center of attention – she was presenting, she was answering questions, she was giving directions. Then she was face to face with a man in a dark suit. He was whining – she’d given him some task that he didn’t want to do.

“John. Listen to me.” Nikki heard her own voice, strong, steady, commanding, on the edge of anger, but somehow reassuring in its confidence. “The workplan provides three weeks to complete this phase. I need you to focus. This stuff you’ve given me,” She shook her head. “It’s just not good enough. You’ve got inconsistencies, errors. I need you to go back and go through it with a fine tooth comb. Now go.”

She saw the submission in his face. Knew he wanted to please her. Saw that she was right. That he was comforted by her confidence and authority.

Nikki sighed. He might come back with the right stuff, but in all likelihood she was looking at an all-nighter correcting his mistakes. She felt her stomach contract with the tension of it. The responsibility. And just below the surface, anger and disappointment, ready to pour out. She knew what his face would look like at the end of their all-nighter; crushed, diminished, hurt. She hated that. But at the same time it made her feel superior. After all, she knew how to do this shit, and he obviously didn’t.

“Oh Madam, please don’t hurt me.” Wait. That didn’t fit. Nobody had ever said that to her in a business review.

Nikki woke with a start. Her heart racing. Seeing the spreadsheet and the data, just out of reach. She was disoriented. The dark. The silence. It was almost impossible to get her bearings. Oooo. She was a slave, not a boss. She was being prepared for auction. She was in a small cell. She was trapped.

She tried to breathe into it again. She was uncomfortable. Her mouth dry. Her arms stiff from being laid on. Her bladder uncomfortably full. Actually, intensely full. She remembered that she’d had to pee before she had gone to sleep. She rolled back on her back, in the hopes that taking pressure off her belly would help the feeling of pressure in her bladder.

It helped a little. But the feeling was still intense. She tried to think of other things. Sing to herself. She went through all the US Presidents. The state capitals. The constitutional amendments. Every poem she had memorized in Freshman English. But the pressure was getting worse. Had progressed to pain. She was sweating. And it wasn’t like she had any idea when this ordeal would be over. Not like a long lecture, or a flight in a small plane, when you know it’s going to be another 15 minutes or even another half hour. She had no idea.

Maybe the point was to keep her there until she lost it. Maybe she was supposed to lose this little piece of humanity. Even a dog doesn’t like to go in their own cage. But Nikki wasn’t even a dog. She was a slave. She didn’t have control over anything. Not even this.

She turned it over in her head. She could let go. But then she’d be wet. She tried to assess the pad she was lying on. How absorbent would it be? It seemed reasonable. But the smell would be bad too. The pain was building. Really overwhelming.

Nikki realized that she wasn’t going to have any choice. She was going to have to pee. Should she knock on the door? See if somebody would come? Would they be able to hear her? Well, if they couldn’t then they at least wouldn’t be mad at her for trying. She tried to turn around to get her hands near the door. But there wasn’t enough room. She couldn’t turn side to side, and she couldn’t sit up enough to roll forward either.

She could bang on the door with her feet. She scooted down. Tried to bang. But she could feel how ineffectual it was. She could hardly hear it. Let alone somebody from outside. There was nothing to do but let go. She resigned herself to it.

And then she realized that she couldn’t. She tried. She relaxed. Breathed into it. Focused on the pain of her full bladder. Nope. Nothing. She pushed. Imagined waterfalls. Peeing. Thought about the relief of it. Nothing. She made a little hissing noise. Nope. Amazing. All that conditioning to not pee in the bed. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pee lying down.

What if she lifted her hips up? She raised her knees slightly and tilted her pelvis up. As soon as her ass lost contact with the mat, she could feel the pee moving down. Felt the first bubble reach the top of the urethra. Then it was coming in a flood. Peeing and peeing and peeing and peeing. She could feel the hot stream of it, the puddle forming below her. The smell hit her. Acrid. Disgusting.

She was torn between the intense feeling of relief. And the humiliation of it. Oh. They were really showing her, weren’t they. The powerlessness. She felt the pee moving down. There must be a slight grade within the cell, kind of like a bathtub. The pee was pooling by her head. She could feel her hair getting wet. And now it was getting cold.

What a horrible feeling. Lying in her own cold piss. Unable to get away from the smell. The feel. And she could feel it drying on her skin. Tightening. The uric acid reacting as it dried.

She was a dirty little animal. Hungry. Thirsty. Frightened. And powerless in her cell. How different from that woman in the dream. She snorted with the contrast. It really couldn’t be much more different.

The pad was starting to absorb some of the wetness. But she still felt wet, dirty, sticky. And hungry. And cold. How much longer was this going to go on?

Nikki closed her eyes. Tried to force herself to drift off. But it wasn’t working. Her arms were aching. And she couldn’t really change position, the pee adding to the tight space.

She felt herself pass through a new level of emotions. Anger. Why hadn’t she been rescued yet? What were they thinking? Frustration. She wanted to kick and scream. Problem solving. Can I open the door? Can I try knocking again? And finally, acceptance. If this is what they wanted, this is what she has to take. They wouldn’t give her anything more than she could take.

Nikki inhaled deeply. The smell of her own urine pervasive. She was a dirty little animal. They wanted her to feel it. She felt it. The blanket of her submission heavy on her shoulders. She exhaled. Accepted. Whatever they wanted to give her. She accepted.

And just as she felt the comfort of that acceptance, she heard the sound of somebody at the door.