0 comments/ 34834 views/ 1 favorites Annihilation Ch. 1 By: NoJo He lay naked on the cold hard floor. He held his eyes closed, then opened them again. There was no difference, the room was utterly dark. He felt his heart beating. He had chosen this, he told himself. He had decided to see V of his own accord. But now, he realized, it was no longer a question of choice. He couldn't change his mind. His mind was no longer his to change. V had already taken possession of it. She had demanded that he lose his name; he was to be just "216", a meaningless number. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It had been almost a month since he had first heard news of his brother's heart attack. His brother was only thirty-nine years old , just three years older than him. Although the attack was not serious, it had started him brooding. He suffered from clinical depression, which was kept in check with medication. But news like this tended to trigger one of his black moods. His wife had noticed the change in him almost before he had. She told him once after their lovemaking that he had seemed "in a bit of a hurry, like there was no tomorrow". She realized too late that it was a tactless remark, as this was probably exactly what he had in fact been feeling. "Sorry, I... Sorry." Why did she have to say that all the time? He reached for the lithium tablet on his bedside table. A year before that, his wife had had a brief affair with one of his employees, during a period when the business was demanding a lot of his time. Afterwards she had apologized tearfully. "Sorry, I broke our trust, I felt lonely, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I'm so sorry..." He hadn't asked for an apology, or even an explanation. He hadn't felt angry with her, although she probably would have preferred it if he had. Instead, he became morose. After weeks, he was undeniably in the grip of a depression. She felt guilty about this, although they had been told by his psychiatrist that her infidelity was not really the cause of his depression; it was always latent in him, and could be triggered by any stress. Over the months his depression showed no sign of lifting. They stopped having sex. And now it was still "sorry" he heard from her, but it had become "Sorry, I'm so sorry for you, I feel so sorry that you're still so upset..." He knew what would come next. The word would metamorphose again: "Sorry, I've had enough of this. Sorry, but I really just can't live with you wallowing in self-pity. Sorry, but it's over..." He started browsing, just casually, at the personals on the Internet. Before long he'd somehow started gravitating towards sites advertising escorts. His surfing led him towards professional dominatrices. Then he found V. On the front page of her website V proclaimed she was an "annihilator". By then he'd learned the meaning of the most of jargon of this new and exciting subculture, but this for him was an unfamiliar and strangely arresting word for a dominatrix to use in describing herself. He clicked the mouse and entered the site. Even as a still image on the screen, nothing more than an array of pixels, she held his gaze. Almost as though it was not he who had found her, but she who had discovered him. All of a sudden he felt as though he were a doomed fugitive, caught in his pursuer's searchlight. That night he sent her an email: V, I have seen your web site. I am captivated. I would very much like to visit you. I have not done anything like this before, and I am nervous. I don't really know what I should tell you about myself. I run a software engineering company. I am married, with no children. I am unsure why I am writing you, I just feel that you can make me happy. I don't know why. I hope that is not ridiculous. As a child, I used to enjoy it when a certain girl from my class used to sit on me and pin my shoulders with her knees. I just remembered that, I'd forgotten about it all these years. I guess something about you reminded me of her. Hopefully yours, For some reason he could not understand, he wept while he composed this. Within half an hour he received a reply: I have read your email. I permit you to come to me. Read these instructions carefully as they will not be repeated. You will call this number for an appointment, and to be given the address where you are to come. At the appointed time you will bring £500 in notes with you as a tribute, but no form of identification. V. He programmed his mobile phone with the number before retiring to bed. Next morning, he awoke with his mood strangely lifted. He remembered the email he had sent, and felt a bit foolish. He smiled. Perhaps simply sending the email had been a kind of release, he thought. His wife was looking tired these days, exhausted, he knew, from the strain of coping with him. He felt remorseful. He still felt their marriage was salvageable. He decided to cease his Internet activities completely, to give her more attention in the evenings. That week they started to have sex again. Although it felt a little awkward after so long, it was a glimmer of hope. He suggested a vacation together, a chance to "get to know each other again". But almost immediately after the plane tickets were booked his chief financial officer warned him about an imminent hostile takeover bid of his business. As the CEO, the captain of the ship, he couldn't be seen to deserting. He was forced to cancel the vacation at the last minute. His wife was taking her father along with her instead. At the airport he held her tight and kissed her goodbye, a warm, affectionate kiss. Smiling, she asked him if he could manage the dishwasher. He told her he'd call her if he couldn't figure it out. But driving back in the rain, he suddenly panicked. He couldn't face the house alone. Almost automatically he fumbled with one hand for his mobile phone, and scrolled through the stored numbers until he reached "V". He called. A cold, emotionless woman's voice answered. "Name, or Number?" "Excuse me? I don't understand. My name is ----, I saw your web site, I emailed you. I wondered if I could visit you some time during the next few days... " There was a ten-second pause. A speeding truck overtook him. He slowed down to forty miles per hour. The Voice finally returned. "Next Thursday at six, or today at six." Next Thursday was out, his wife would already be back. But ...today? That was too soon, he wasn't ready! He needed time. The Voice wasn't going to give him time. "Answer now. Thursday, or today. Or Never." "Okay, Today. I..." The Voice interrupted. "You must arrive promptly. Here is the address." She told him the address, speaking clearly but quickly. He mouthed it to himself in order to remember it. "Lateness is not tolerated. At the door you will identify yourself with the number 216. You are 216. Do you understand?" "216. Yes. I..." But the Voice had hung up. He wondered at her peculiar demand. Did she perhaps have a ticketing system? Had she had two hundred and fifteen previous clients? Having a mathematical background, he recalled that the number was six times six times six. Maybe there was a numerological significance. Or perhaps it was simply some sort of safeguard against clients becoming over familiar, an additional preservation of their anonymity. In any case, his curiosity was piqued. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Frantically, he planned his time. He'd have to withdraw the cash from an ATM, rush back home, find the address on the map, shower, shave and change his clothes. Not enough time. His resolve threatened to crumble. "What the fuck am I doing?" he said to himself aloud as he stepped on the gas pedal. He overtook a car occupied by a nuclear family. The father drove, the mother slept. A little boy sitting in the back looked at him with idle curiosity as he sped past. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There was an intercom at the door of the anonymous suburban apartment block. "Its me. 216," he announced after the buzzer was answered. The door was opened and he stepped into a slightly dingy corridor. He felt a slight disappointment at the lack of affluence. Surely, if she was charging five hundred pounds an hour for her services she could afford a better property? Once more he doubted the whole venture. Would this turn out to be a scam of some sort? Her apartment door was ajar as he reached it. He looked inside into a completely dark room. He rechecked the number on the door. Suddenly a voice spoke from within. "Enter and shut the door." He did so, and was instantly in total blackness. "Get out your money, and place it on the floor beside you. Then step forward two paces. Then undress completely, placing your clothes in a pile on the floor." He followed these instructions, undressing hurriedly and with trepidation. The floor was cold and hard against his bare feet. The Voice began again, this time from behind him. "You cannot see, but I can see you. I can see your naked body. I can see inside you. I know so much more about you than you imagine. I Know you have come to me carrying doubt and fear inside you. But this doubt and fear has been part of you long before you knew of me. It has always been there." She continued to talk. It sounded almost as though she were giving a rehearsed speech, or rather, a recitation from some sacred text; slowly the words rolled over him like ocean waves, breaking over him in a slow, inevitable procession. "You bear a heavy burden of responsibility. People look to you for guidance and strength, but you feel you cannot provide that strength. You wish to surrender, you wish you could give up and just let them know that sometimes you are not the powerful man you pretend to be. "Your world is complex and full of tough decisions. You crave order and rules. You crave simplicity, because your world is chaotic and anarchic." He could hear that she was circling him slowly as she spoke. He started to feel that there was nothing in the universe except that Voice. It seemed to bypass his hearing, and speak directly to him from within his own head. He felt slightly dizzy, as though he were in a descending elevator. "You are unhappy. You have no children, but you wish for them, for they might give you strength, give you love without judgment, at least until they are grown. Your wife does not, cannot, give you the simple love you need. You feel abandoned. You feel alone. "You came to me in doubt and fear, in the hope that I will rid you of those feelings. "You have done well to come to me. I will indeed rid you of doubt, and of fear. I will create order in your life. I will give you joy and happiness. But this will come at a high price. You will pay, but not with money. The money you have laid down is not payment: It is a tribute, a gift of gratitude that you will gladly give. No, instead you will pay me by giving me your strength, your power, which you have worked so hard to acquire, but which are the cause of your unhappiness. "You must give me your entire self. You will have no name, you will be no person. You will become nothing. You will be annihilated. This is the price you must pay. It is not death of your body that will release you, it is the death of your will, of your ego. Surrender yourself to me." She paused. He was weeping uncontrollably. She began again, in a slightly gentler and soothing tone. "You weep. That is good. Already you are relinquishing yourself a little. But I know that you are a man of intelligence, and you use your mind as a weapon. A part of your mind is trying to fight me, to defend the castle of your ego from the relentless waves of my words lapping against its walls. I can see it attempting to resist, by questioning my motives. 'Remember', your mind tells you,' she is only a prostitute, a mere actress, paid by the hour to play a part in men's fantasies.' "But you are mistaken. You will learn that there is far more to me than you will ever understand. My motives are beyond your mind to fathom. I am V, and V will soon be everything to you. You will dwindle, and I will grow, until I will become your universe. Already you're almost mine. Feel it. Now. Already it feels good. I see you want to continue to feel this way. Will you stay? Nod yes, or leave." In the blackness, he nodded. "Good. Lie down on the floor, on your back, and wait. Stay completely still." He lay down, shuddering slightly at the sudden coldness against his back. He waited. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As he waited, he heard a door open and close. Minutes passed, and again the door opened and closed. He heard quick, staccato footsteps, and a metallic tinkling sound which he could not identify. Without warning, his wrist was gripped roughly, and then he felt a shackle of some kind being clamped around it. The same happened to his other wrist, and then to his ankles. He heard the metallic sound again and realized it was the noise of rattling chains. One by one his four limbs were forcefully stretched outwards until he was laid out like a man prepared for quartering. The shackles dug sharply into his skin. He heard what he guessed was a table being maneuvered so he was directly under it. Suddenly he was blinded by dazzling light. She had switched on a lamp. It was an ordinary room lamp, but it seemed to blaze like the sun after such a long period of darkness. He involuntarily shut his eyes and screwed up his face. When he opened them slowly, he saw that he was indeed under a sort of table. It was long, like a masseur's couch, but low as a coffee table, so that its underside almost touched his face and chest. The bench or table had a large elliptical hole cut out of it at the end directly above his head, larger than the face-sized hole in a masseur's couch. A sheet or cloth had been placed over the hole so that he could not see through. It reminded him disturbingly of a hole in a toilet. He turned his head to one side. His low viewpoint allowed him to see only a very little of the room. The floor was laid with terracotta tiles. He saw the legs of what looked like an antique chair. The walls were salmon pink above the varnished wood of the skirting board. Then a pair of boots came into view. From the shins upwards they were completely obscured by he bench. The boots were of patent leather, with long heels tapering almost to points. They approached him until they were just a few inches from him. From above, he heard V speak once more. "Now, you will learn the methods by which I will annihilate you: "Firstly, you are contained. I will confine you, both physically, and mentally. You will yield your body to me, just as your mind is already yielding. Secondly, there are the Laws, which must never be broken. Follow these at all times on pain of punishment. By the Laws you will achieve the simplicity and order you crave so dearly. "Thirdly, there are punishments for disobeying the Laws. "Punishments are varied, and may be psychological, or physical. The most severe punishment is banishment, and you will soon know that it is a worse penalty than death. "You do not come to me in guilt or shame; you are not one of those for whom punishment is a pleasure. You will nevertheless learn to obey the Laws quickly through their swift administration. And it is by the Laws that you will live. "Fourthly, there will also be rewards. You will learn that I am not cruel. You will learn from the rewards that I am your path to joy. "I could, if I wished, avoid meting out rewards entirely, instead quickly torturing you into submission, as the Nazi concentration camp commandants did so scientifically. I know their techniques well. But the annihilation they achieved in their victims was the annihilation only of their lives. The victims preserved their will, many choosing suicide when the opportunity arose. In making that choice, they were defiant. They showed their torturers that they had not been truly annihilated. "Your annihilation will be complete. You will neither desire to die nor desire to live. You will have no desire at all, and will thereby achieve your desire." "Now I will state the Laws. They are ten: "One. I am V, but you must never utter my name. You must always address me as "My All". "Two. You will always obey my command. "Three. You must never speak unless I grant you leave to do so, or unless I demand a response. "Four. When you do speak, you must always speak the truth. This is the only Law which I too always obey. "Five. You have no name, no past, no future. Here you are 216. You must never speak your outside name, nor speak of anything of your life outside these walls to me, nor bring with you anything other than your tribute. "Six. You must never laugh, as laughter is an attempt to build a wall around your ego. "Seven. You must not turn your back to me. "Eight. You must never touch me. "Nine. You must never touch your genitals. "Ten. You must not speak of me, or of your life here, to anyone. "Are the Laws understood?" He had not spoken for so long, that his tongue clove to his palette. He swallowed. His throat was dry. He felt as though he had almost forgotten how to move his tongue and lips to speak. With great effort he managed to utter "Yes". Instantly the pointed toe of a boot struck him sharply on his cheek, jolting his neck sideways. He winced. "The first Law," she reminded him. He corrected himself. "Yes, My All." "Recite it! The exact words of the first Law." "You are V," he began but was abruptly checked by a violent jab in his arm. She was digging the heel of her boot into the tendons of his forearm. He cried out in pain. As she continued to grind her heel into him, she explained coolly: "You will now learn a very important lesson which I'm sure will not be forgotten: When I give you an order which contradicts one of the Laws, you will obey my order over the Law. I am above the Laws. You were right to follow my last order, even though it led to your punishment for disobeying the first Law. You see, sometimes punishments are unavoidable." She released her heel. "Now, disobey the second Law." His mind struggled with the paradoxical directive. He heard for the first time her full, ribald laughter as she dug her heel deeply into him again, this time into the palm of his outstretched hand. As he writhed in agony, a small part of him told him to stop this nonsense and demand to be released. With a small spasm of fear, he realized that he could do little but humor this crazy woman until she chose to free him. He would then, he decided, overpower her and report her to the police, no matter how embarrassing the consequences. But she must have read his mind just then, for she suddenly stopped and spoke to him calmly, almost sweetly. "You see, fear, torture and punishment are not the way to your annihilation. Although you are trapped in your chains, your will actually strengthens, rather than weakens if the punishments are handed out too often, or too haphazardly for you to learn how to obey me. But you will remember that I can, and may, give punishments that are hard to bear. Was my punishment hard to bear, little 216?" "Yes, My All." "Do you enjoy your punishments, little 216?" "No, My All." "Would you rather a reward, little 216?" "Yes, My All." "Then recite for me all the Laws. If you recite them all to my satisfaction, you shall be rewarded. If you do not, you will forfeit your reward, however I will not punish you. And I will not trick you this time. You have my Word." Annihilation Ch. 1 The power of her Voice was so irresistible, that immediately he trusted her to keep her promise. And so deeply had her words carved themselves into his consciousness that he found himself reeling the Laws off almost verbatim, as though he had known them all his life. After he had finished, his anticipation of his unspecified reward was almost heart-stopping. He heard her footsteps again, this time behind his head. Then, turning his head to left and right, he saw that her boots were to each side of him; she had straddled the bench, and was directly above him. He literally held his breath. He saw that the hole in the bench was slowly being uncovered. Then, bathed in pinkish light, her pussy was revealed to him. Her long, smooth fingers teased her labia, now rolling and pulling them around and apart, now pinching them tightly together. She spoke to him, this time in a deliciously soothing, cooing tone. "Look at V. This is just a little, tiny, glimpse, a hint of the pleasure V can give to you. Can you imagine it? Don't you wish you could feel these sweet lips about you? Look how full and soft they are. What kisses they will give you! And they are only gates to your ecstasy. Behind them there lies a warm, cozy prison that will keep you locked up safe and sound for ever! You will be lost, forever mine, forever inside me. You will wish for nothing, for you will be nothing. "And all you need to do to attain this is simply to listen to my Voice, obey my commands, and follow the Laws. It's so simple, little 216, so simple. "Will you come to me again, to continue on your journey?" Her middle fingers now lightly flickered and padded at her clitoris. "Will you come? Will you?" "Y-Yes, My All." "Good," she said briskly, suddenly rising and replacing the cover on the hole. She walked across the room, flicked a switch, and he was once again in pitch blackness. In the darkness, she ordered him to remain still. She removed his harnesses. She made him stand. Again he was left for many minutes. His hand strayed to his genitals, before he remembered the ninth Law and stopped himself. She told him his clothes were now returned to him and were by him on the floor. He dressed in silence, and with some difficulty, as he was unable to see what he was doing. Suddenly a stream of daylight from the corridor appeared from the open door, although he had not heard her opening it. He left, and returned to his car. Once inside he masturbated, bringing himself to orgasm almost instantly. Immediately afterwards he felt an overpowering need to hear her Voice once again. He retrieved his mobile phone from the glove compartment. He pressed redial. V answered. "Name, or Number?" "Its me, My All. 216. I... I..." "You may come to me tomorrow at four, or tonight at ten." "Tonight. Please My All, tonight." For the second time he heard her loud, vulgar laugh. "I thought so. Do not forget to bring my tribute." Annihilation Ch. 2 216 checked his watch. Seven-fifteen. He was to return to V at ten. He had spent almost exactly an hour with her. She was a real professional, he thought: while he had been transported out of space and time, she had been carefully making sure that his session hadn't overrun. He suddenly felt hungry. He looked along the row of suburban shops in the street where he'd parked for somewhere to eat. At a corner was a rather shabby looking cafe that was still open. He ordered a meal. As he waited for the food to arrive, he sipped his tea and thought. What was happening to him? He felt elated, as though a great dread, which he had until now been unconscious of, had abruptly passed. Then his doubts started to resurface. He knew nothing about her. He hadn't even seen her face. She might be nothing like the photos on her website, which could have been doctored, or been pictures of someone else entirely. He tried to think logically. She had been able to read his mind with uncanny accuracy, and without any visual clues, as they had been in complete darkness for much of the time. How could she have accomplished this? Perhaps she had used night-vision goggles to spy on him. He recalled the email he had sent. There were probably enough clues there to construct a reasonably accurate assessment of his character. Besides, she must have built up a good picture of typical types of client, and was able to pigeonhole him. Her voice was certainly extremely hypnotic, but hypnotism is not magic, but simply a skill, he told himself. And she had managed to relieve him of £500, an amount that was soon to double. But he didn't have to go back. He could forget it, drive home, watch some TV, and sleep. He picked up his fork to start on his food, and grimaced. His left hand hurt. He looked at the ugly bruise in his palm. He found himself automatically repeating the Laws. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Naked once more in the darkness of her domain, 216's mind slowed, and his doubts ceased nagging. The black stillness stifled his thoughts. She had ordered him inside, and told him to undress. Now he waited for her to speak. He heard quick sharp footsteps ringing on the hard floor as she approached. Then... nothing. Silence. His throat tickled him, but he dared not clear it. Similarly to the first session, she circled him, but this time she didn't speak. All he heard was the steady tap of her heels. The footsteps stopped. She was directly in front of him. He held his breath, and although he heard nothing, he somehow felt her leaning close to his face, examining it. But for what? Finally she began to speak quietly to him. There was something ominous in the tone of her voice that made his skin crawl. "You have come back to me, but you have also hidden yourself from me deep inside your mind. You hide in your hole like a rabbit. But I will dig you out of your burrow with my claws, until your belly is exposed to my fangs. You haven't yet felt my claws, 216. You are doomed. They will tear you apart." Was she speaking literally or figuratively? A crazy impulse came to him to voice this question aloud to her. Without warning he felt an excruciating blow across his face, as though an eagle had lunged at him with its talons. He felt another blow, like a hammer, to his groin. He crumpled to his knees. As he reeled, disoriented in the blackness, his arms were forced behind his back. He heard a tearing sound. She bound his hands together and shoved him to the hard floor onto his front. Now the flesh-rending blows resumed, across his back, his ass, and the back of his legs. It felt as though she were flaying him with a sharpened metal comb. He arched his back and convulsed with each strike. He felt V straddle him widely, across his shoulders, and dig and tear sharply at his lower back and buttocks. She really did seem to be using claws. She spoke to him, in a quiet, vicious snarl, continuing her rhythmic torment all the while: "I have made a mistake, little 216, I misjudged you. Your mind yields to me less easily than your body. I am now stigmatizing you, so the world will know you belong to V. What will your little wife think? How will 216 explain these marks to her? What will they all say in the office? Did you think I was playing your game? Your game? Don't you understand? There is no you." Eventually the blows stopped, but he barely noticed. He was dragged upright, and guided roughly to another part of the room. Then the room was illuminated. His eyes slowly recovered. He had been positioned directly before a large mirror, which stretched from the ceiling down to the floor. He hardly recognized his reflection. His face and body were lined with bloody scratches, as though he had been dragged over barbed wire. His nose bled and his eyes were blackened. But more than anything, it was the expression on his reflection's face that was so unrecognizable. Its half-closed eyes were those of a stranger. He'd seen such eyes before, but never staring at him from a mirror. They were the eyes of a derelict, or of a condemned man, hopeless, resigned to a life of misery. From behind him, in the far corner of the room, V spoke to him, in a half mocking, half pitying tone: "216, you forget the seventh Law: Turn around and face me." He turned, and he saw V. She was tall. She stood so motionless that she seemed almost inhuman, a store mannequin. She was dressed, or rather wrapped, head to foot, in a black metallic material. Not a single part of her skin was visible. Her gloved fingers terminated in short chrome blades, some of which dripped blood. Her domed head was totally covered also, so that she appeared bald. There was a small grille where her mouth would be. There were no eye-holes. He had seen stylized images, drawn or painted, of dominatrices wrapped in leather or plastic, almost as though they had been dipped into a vat of black shiny paint, like car bodies in a factory. He had found these images exciting, but had never really understood why. But to face V, in reality, before him now, was overwhelming. He felt as though the images he had seen had all been based on her. But they had all been such feeble, childish attempts at rendering her terrible beauty. She resumed speaking, this time in her slow, rhythmic, hypnotic voice, which seemed to issue within his own head. "You understand so little of why you are here. You know so little of life, of pleasure, or of pain. Your mind, your silly little fluttering mind, has imprisoned you. "I will teach you now. You will see that your desire, your fear, your pleasure and pain, your birth and your death are all one. Come to me now. We will begin." Mindless, he approached her. He felt drawn in towards her by a gravitational pull, like a rock in space drifting inevitably into a black hole. She motioned for him to kneel. She gently placed around his neck a twisted chiffon scarf. "Very pretty, 216. Blue suits you." He looked up at her, surprised at her jocularity. But her face was hidden, replaced by the expressionless mask of her black hood. Holding the ends of the scarf, she twisted until it tightened. He put his hands up to his neck and swayed from side to side. With a jerk, she tightened the scarf even further, and pulled, as though he were a wayward dog. He started to choke. He didn't like, this, no he didn't like it at all, he wanted to go home. He wanted to stop playing now and go home. Again she spoke, half-taunting, punctuating her words with ever-tightening twists of the scarf. "What is it that you seek? What is your end? Do you seek to become one with V? Do you wish to crawl inside me? My womb is your tomb, 216, you will end as you began, as nothing, and all your worries, your silly little life, will all be over. Would you like that, 216? Would you like to end it all? Will you come inside me? Will you come inside?" He began to lose consciousness. Around the edge of his vision a blackness grew, as if he were withdrawing backwards into a dark tunnel. Now the light that was the room was no more than a dot of white before him. The walls of the tunnel were not quite dark, but were of a deep brown, and swirled like clouds, as though he were caught in a smoky tornado. Suddenly he felt that he was leaving his body, and perceived himself from above, kneeling before her. They looked so small, so silly, two little people playing silly games in a silly little room. The room vanished into the white dot, and the dot shrunk, and dwindled, as he felt his life drifting away like a sigh. But the dot remained, and grew. But he knew he was now on the Other Side, he was hurtling out through the other end of the tunnel towards his new Life, in a green and pleasant land. He raced towards the end of the tunnel, and he saw that the edge of it where it gave out was lipped with deep red. And it was not a circle but a red lidded eye. And then he saw that it was inside her, into her womb that he raced. As he died, he exploded inside her, a blinding, cosmic orgasm that shot him like a cannonball into the dazzling bright world inside her, where he was to begin his new life, safe inside her… 216 came to. He was alive. He was lying, curled up on his side, on the tiled floor of her room. He opened his mouth to stretch his face muscles. He felt that he had dried semen on it. He stirred. He looked up, and saw her. She sat on an armed chair, with one leg casually swinging over the other. She rested her elbows on the arms of the chair, her metal-nailed fingers pressed together and touching the part of her mask that covered her lips, as though she had been waiting patiently for him to awaken. Although her face was hidden, there was something in her posture that convinced him that she was smiling behind it. "I hope you had sweet dreams, 216. You died and saw the gates of heaven, but like Lazarus, you are reprieved. It is time for you leave my domain now, and return to me another time." He tried to stand, but felt he was going to be sick. He remained on all fours, breathing heavily. He felt as though his body were a lump of inanimate matter. He puzzled over how he had ever been able to move it at all. Somehow his mind had been separated from it. He watched helplessly as the body refused to move when he willed, like a driverless car. V waited, her leg swinging slightly. She asked, "Does 216 need a little assistance?" With a huge effort, he replied hoarsely, "I can't move my body, my All..." "It is no longer your body. 216. It is mine. And only I have power over it. I could make it jump from the window, or pick up a knife and slit its wrists. But I wish it to live -- for a while. I will play with it, until I tire of it. But not now. Now V has other business, and 216 must leave her domain, and return to her tomorrow morning, with a nice, fresh tribute." She stood. "But first, I wish it to crawl to me, and kiss my boot, and thank me for freeing it from its mind. Come. CRAWL TO ME!" 216's body crawled. It kissed her boot, and thanked her. "Now dress. There are your clothes. The body obeyed, as V sat, her foot flicking with impatience like a cat's twitching tail. Then V stood. From the floor beside her chair, she picked up a long whip and began to walk towards him. Disembodied, 216's mind watched with idle curiosity as she advanced. Her high heels wobbled unsteadily. All of a sudden she slipped and fell to the floor, landing awkwardly on her side. The whip left her hand and rolled across the tiles. On witnessing her fall, a wave of shock immediately overtook him, and with a jolt his mind reunited with his body. He suddenly felt a great sadness, mixed with a pang of anger, as though he had been woken from a pleasant dream. Involuntarily he started to go to her to help her up. She screamed at him to get out. Her voice was shrill. Confused, he turned and left, and shut himself out in the corridor, where he stood indecisively. From within her apartment, he heard the sound of her quick footsteps, then a door being slammed. He was already by the door of his car before he became fully aware of what had occurred during the last hour. He felt his neck. The scarf had chafed it. His face and body stung with the still raw scratches. Trembling, he opened the passenger door of his car and sat down heavily. He opened the glove compartment and retrieved the identifying items that V had disallowed him from bringing in with him: His wallet, house keys, and mobile phone. He looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. V was simply evil, he decided. She had ensnared him, taking advantage of his fear and loneliness. She had taken his money, crushed and abused him, all the while pouring lies in is ear that she was his salvation. She had used her overwhelming personality and her hypnotic skills to render him vulnerable to her sadistic urges. She had enjoyed torturing and nullifying him, but had cleverly convinced him that it had been his desires she was satisfying. But she had tripped and fallen, and the spell had been broken. He could escape. He felt strangely empowered and euphoric. It was ironic, he thought, that spite of her intention, she had somehow managed to cure him of his gloom. And as he came to this realization, a new doubt overtook him. He opened his eyes. Had this all been some elaborate therapy? Perhaps even her fall at the end of the session? Was the "annihilation" of his ego she had continually spoken of actually the destruction of his depressive psyche? So, perhaps she was not evil after all. She had been harsh, extremely so, but maybe his disorder required such severe measures. After all, a year of antidepressants had had little beneficial effect on him. Inside his head the debate raged to and fro. She was heroin, turning him into a helpless addict, in return for sweet oblivion. No, she was an Angel of Mercy, freeing him from his evil heart. She was simply a professional dominatrix, trying to make a living. In the end there remained only one fact he was sure of regarding V: It didn't matter any longer whether it was his will or hers that drove him to her; until he had visited her just once more, he would never be free of her. He would to go back to her tomorrow morning, and this time he would see her unmasked. He lowered the back of the car seat. He leaned back, folded his arms, and waited for the dawn.