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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.
