Locked.
Locked in chastity, locked in his bedroom, locked out of his computer with only a blank screen staring at him like a ghostly emissary destined to haunt him for life. She had done it. Jack didn't think Greta had it in her but Jack was often wrong about many things. This was but one of many and one that hurt.
"You are to write me an essay," she had said, masquerading the punishing sentence with the most beautiful of smiles. "The topic is your submission and what it means to you. Until you write it, your computer remains locked and so do you. I'm heading out to work now and I expect you to be done by the time I arrive home. Should you fail me, I guarantee you won't like the consequences so get busy!"
And just like that, she had left. For the first time, Jack was beginning to understand what a true FLR was, and he was... terrified.
Yes, terrified was a good word for it. He loved Greta more than anything; he wanted to carry out her bidding and keep her happy at all times and yet, the fact she now had the power to block him out of the Internet with no remorse shook him to the core of his being.
Perhaps this feels like a strange thing to complain, especially considering the heavy cock cage that kept his manhood in check, but going online was a fundamental part of his existence. He loved the funny tweets, the dog videos, the random spam e-mails he received urging him to invest in a Tanzanian gold mine or help out a rich widow suffering from a terminal disease. He wasn't addicted to the Internet - or at least he didn't think he was - but it allowed him to unwind, to endure the flow of stressful thoughts and carry on another day like everything was perfect. Without his favorite release valve, the pressure would build up again more and more and the subsequent explosion would lay down to waste all the surrounding blocks.
"Overreacting much?" his consciousness nudged. "Just do as you're told. She owns your balls, remember?"
He sure did, but the Internet... the pictures of scantily clad nymphettes even though Winter was raging, the music recommendations that turned every division of the house into an epic adventure like the world had never seen, the Book with a Face, and all the ones without... too many beautiful and pointless things combined that made him dream of better times. This was cruel. This was more than he had bargained for.
"Shit!" he vociferated, eyes glued on the screen. The program she had installed to lock him out of everything at her whim appeared to be laughing, somberly. The more he looked at the whiteness, the more its echoes intensified. One thousand words minimum, she had commanded, and all he could really think of was the number zero.
Zero freedom, zero control. If he complied, her power over him would become absolute. If he didn't, the wrath of her discipline would, more than likely, prove too much of a burden to bear. Being torn the way he was probably meant he wasn't as committed to the cause as he thought. Either that, or there was no inspiration left.
His submission to her? Ever since they had met, he had dreamt of nothing else. Greta had waltzed into her life on a lovely autumn day, her skin-tight dress matching the color of her eyes. A bump by the subway entrance had become an attraction in less of a flash. She was as beautiful as he was shy. A mischievous lock of hair brushed upon his chin and he almost exploded in creamy white right there on the spot. It almost felt too good to be true because...
... perhaps it was? How long had they been dating exactly? When had she placed that cage on him? It felt like yesterday but yesterday was Sun... no, Mon... wait...
Sitting by the computer, the screen remaining as white as ever, Jack scratched the small specks of beard that were dying to come out in the open. Greta was his world. He loved Greta. Greta had to be obeyed even if that meant sacrificing his beloved Internet but if anyone asked him how long had he really known her, his honest answer would have to be
"I don't know."
How was he supposed to write about his submission to her if he didn't even remember for sure how long they were together? The math should be simple because Winter follows Autumn but there was nothing simple about his memories. One minute they were there and the next they weren't, flashing in and out of existence like subliminal messages. It made no sense. Could David have been right all along?
David was his older brother, mid-forties, already going bald. He loved football as much as he loved hockey but had always been jealous of his sporting success. He also loved to complain a lot, most of the times with no cause for it.
"That woman is trouble, trust me," he had said. "Don't be fooled by her charms, she will destroy you."
"Right..." Jack shrugged, dismissing his ramblings like he always did. Everything and everyone was a trouble to him who enjoyed blaming others for his own shortcomings more than he cared to admit. For David, there was no "glass half-full" or "glass half-empty", only a broken glass in the making and that was exasperating. On rare occasions, his pessimistic ideas proved correct. Jack didn't want him to be right this time and yet...
He struggled against the cage, a once proud erection now turned into an instrument of shame. It was too tight, too humiliating, an impossible nightmare turned into a laughing reality. She was probably laughing at him at that precise moment, whispering to her closest friends how she had transformed her boyfriend into a total cuckold bitch before he realized what was happening. Most of his family would laugh too, starting with his father.
Unlike David, Richard had liked Greta from the start, especially her ass. Female asses were his thing, the rounder the better. "When you have the chance, you need to fuck it real hard, you hear? Because that's all a woman's ass is good for... a good old-fashioned fucking!" He had never said it out loud but his thoughts were well-known, his misogynist desires in full bloom. Jack believed in them for a while, drawn to the natural authority he exuded and yet now the illusion of power was gone, all because of a small object constricting his cock, and a series of rules she had instilled on him. The three words she loved the most were compliance, submission, and devotion. He had to love them, too.
"No, you don't." That was the voice of his older sister, Magdalene, a lawyer by day, submissive all the time. In the age of feminism, she scoffed at equality between men and women and was more than happy to assume her role at the bottom of the food chain, all her orifices exposed to true men. "You're a man. You should be Alpha, not whatever she has turned you into. Fight it, Jack! Fight the power!"
And then there was his mother, the bridge between both worlds. Diana was sweet, hated conflicts, and longed to see everyone get along, the same rights and duties in the eyes of the Law and God. Her religious views were the anchor that kept the family afloat when turmoil raged. She welcomed Greta with open arms, even whispered things in her ear when they were alone. He didn't know what they were, but he remembered the smirk, the knowledgeable intuition that a secret had been unearthed. This was on Thanksgiving... or perhaps his sister's birthday... maybe during Christmas dinner... or sometime between all that.
"Damn it! Why can't I remember?" He pounded the keyboard, the white space exploding in a string of random consonants and vowels.
