This is the second part in a series of indefinite length. This story reads like chapters in a book, so if you are interested in reading Ch. 02, please read Ch. 01 first for a full understanding and appreciation of the material. Please don't forget to vote, and I look forward to any comments that you wish to leave, good, bad or indifferent. Let me know what I can do to make your reading experience more pleasurable.
Dear Obedient One,
Congratulations, Katie. You've made it to Round Two.
I didn't have any doubt that you would get here. You're strong willed, always rising to meet a challenge, for better or worse. No, there was never any question about whether or not you would get here. The real question was how many tries it would take you.
You told me you made it through with one attempt, but I'm not sure I believe you. Let me take a moment now to remind you that if you are not honest and forthright with me, this will not work. For a good while, your cunt will drip without my permission, and there's nothing I can do about that, but do not waste my time. You either want this or you don't.
As with the first chapter, you are not to come without my permission, only I'm raising the stakes a little bit. This time, if you do come without my permission, you are to post to this final product, and let me know what set you off...with an apology for an attempt to express control that you know you don't have. I'm sure my readers would like to be able to put a post to the name. Last I checked, Chapter One had 1,800 hits on it, and I expect this story to accrue nearly twice that. It would be in your best interest to stop and think of hockey when you feel yourself needing to be disloyal, and continue reading when you are able to serve me, again.
Now, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
I raise the microphone to my lips again and the feedback cuts through the black room like a knife. You don't wince against it. You look for it. Feel for it. Listen for it, and it is everywhere. My breathing is slow and predictable. Yours is accelerated. I have no intention of overloading your senses just yet, so please relax. This is as much about you trusting me as it is about my deceiving you, and I promise you that nothing will happen in the next ten seconds.
So start counting back from 10...9... 8...
"Can you see me, Katie?"
This is the first time that you have heard my voice since you woke up, and I watch your body jerk a little bit, trying to adjust to it. I give you a few seconds to come up with the answer, though I know what the answer is already. Your brain is as overwhelmed by the persistent lack of sensory input as it is by the sudden injections of it. Remember, you wanted this.
"No, Master." You tell me, and I know that your heart rate is up. I know this because in this half-baked, worthless response, you lose almost all of your breath, and take a few deep gulps of air to make up for it. I watch your chest rise and fall, as your wrists curl against the restraints. Part of the reason you're breathing a bit harder than normal is the position that you are in physically. Your knees, slid back against your chest and spread apart, with your ankles suspended above your stomach, puts the tiniest bit of pressure on your lungs. This pressure, however feint, will serve only to intensify in effect the harder you breathe. It's like a thorn in your side, not as painful but just as debilitating, and worst of all, bearable. It will train you to slow your breathing, or suffer for your efforts.
I pause for another few seconds, waiting to see if you'll say something else. You don't.
