Entry XIV--Out of Body (Part 2)

When I come to, I'm not where I expected to.

And that really shouldn't surprise me at this point.

Cold and dark.

So cold because I've been completely stripped of my clothes and there's a draft in this room, or space, whatever this is.

So dark that I can't see in front of my face.

Also find that I can barely budge, and even the slightest movement of leg or arm is accompanied by the rustling of chains.

Feel the cold steel on my neck

Scared shitless. Figures it'd be on the night I wear my one pair of good pants.

So disoriented, it's a good five minutes till it occurs to me I'm no longer sitting down, but am affixed on my back to some flat surface, but not comfortable enough to be a bed.

Perhaps an operating table, though that possibility doesn't loom as optimistic.

What's even worse than what may happen to me is waiting for it to happen...

Sensory deprivation is a powerful thing.

Not even sure how long I've been here. Wherever the fuck 'here' is supposed to be.

Regardless of the duration of actual time elapsed, I give up what must be every five minutes.

Resign myself to the fact that I will be trapped here forever, chained in the frigid silent blackness, left to starve to death.

Although I'm not hungry at all, which probably means that I haven't been here very long.

Either that, or there was something in that tea which neutralized my appetite.

Am I still somewhere in Ms. Cabal's home, or have I been transported somewhere else?

Judging by the creeps this place is giving me, begin to question if I'm still even on Earth...



...And just when I'm ready to give up yet again, my ears pick up the faint but unmistakable resonance of approaching heels.

That tells me my hearing hasn't been tampered with--there just wasn't anything making a sound discernible enough for me to perceive.

Then, when the heels get within a few feet of me, they suddenly stop, as does my heart.

A match is struck against the wall and for the first time--illumination, as the match is used by a steady hand to light an open wall torch.

The sudden burst of flamelight blinds me momentarily, blinder than I was in the previous darkness.

When my vision returns, the incomparable outline of Ms. Cabal stands before me.

Also see the chains holding me tight.

And receive confirmation that I am, indeed, naked, with my junk on full display for Ms. Cabal.

Not that she has any interest. And not that I'm the least bit horny.

Just trying to get out of here alive.

"Look at me, worm."

Oh, we're back to referring to me as 'worm,' are we?

Despite my introspective bravado, obey without hesitation, twisting my neck as much as my steel dog--make that worm--collar will allow, the edge of the device scraping sharply against my neck.

Can scarcely believe it's Ms. Cabal in front of me bedecked in full Dominatrix garb; her body in a ecstatically formfitting black latex bodysuit, yes, like she was poured into it. At the end of her hand, a nasty riding crop. She dons a pair of six-inch stilettos that look like they could do serious damage.

Her hair, once modestly slicked back, is now spiked defiantly into the air.

Looking into her eyes, they're darker than ever, rendered even more sinister by heavy applications of eyeliner and mascara.

Even her lips play the part, painted black.

If Ms. Cabal weren't already filthy rich, she could take in a fortune by being a pro Domme for all the rich kinky guys in the Bay Area, who want to give up the stress of having to be in control for an hour every week.

And here I am, getting it for free, lucky me.

Lucky my prick isn’t chained down, ‘cause my jutting hard-on would get real painful and probably get skinned pressing against the cold steel.

Like she's scoping my thoughts as she looks down at my emerging cock.

"Do you wish to bow down and serve me, worm?" Ms. Cabal asks rhetorically.

"Yes."

Feel the chains tighten around every part of my body, as if on her mental command.

"Answer me correctly, worm."

"Yes, Mistress."

"That's better. Do not force me to walk over there and whack you across the face with my crop. Though, you'd probably enjoy that, knowing what a pain slut you are."

"Are you a pain slut, worm?"

Not sure how to answer. Pretty sure that's the first time in my life I've been asked if I'm a 'pain slut.'

"No, Mistress."

"Wrong answer. I think you are one, worm."

And with that, every chain holding me to this concrete slab tightens almost involuntarily and it hurts.

"Do you like my tight outfit, worm?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"You like everything tight, don't you worm?"

Chains tighten even harder, constricting any movement that much more.

"The only way you will ever be granted the privilege of serving me is by proving yourself worthy. Are you worthy, worm?"

The pain interferes with the volume of my response, "I want to prove myself worthy, Mistress." I answer meekly.

"I can't hear you, worm!"

Bypass the pain and resond at the top of my lungs: "I want to prove myself worthy, Mistress."

"That's better. It is critical for you to remain humble, worm. You see, I think the biggest problem with your latest writing submission was that you became too arrogant too quickly. You had a little bit of success, with the 'Hollow Knight,' and then your ego took over the writing. You thought you could just scribble a few lines here and there and I would bend over and accept it. But if you want me to be the one to bend over, Darwin, then you will have to put yourself in that position."

Hmm. First time Ms. Cabal's called me 'Darwin' since we've been down here. Does that mean anything? And what 'position' do I need to be in to get her to be the one to bend over?

No time to ponder those questions, though, as she speaks again: "For the time being, I think you must learn a lesson in humility, worm."

I've already licked her shoes, not sure how much lower she intends for me to go. Lucky there's not a toilet in sight.

And once again, with seemingly just a thought, the chains tighten to the point where the pain is excruciating.

To the point where I can't feel the pain...

Because I'm going numb...

Which means, it isn't long...

until I can't feel my body.

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, to escape the numbing pain of the ever-tightening chains, but feel my consciousness, my awareness, whatever the fuck you call it, ‘leaving’ my physical husk.

(Refuse to call it a 'soul' or 'spirit' That's unverifiable, but consciousness/awareness is readily verfiable).

Floating…above myself.

Must be having that proverbial ‘out of body’ experience masochists undergo during BDSM sessions.

But I'm not staying here...

Not voluntarily, but rather seem to be slipping into a realm of pure…thought.

Scratch that. No realm.

I…am…the pure thought.

My thoughts no longer restricted to my mind, thoughts are all I'm comprised of.

There are no more filters, my consciousness is no longer distracted by base functions of the brain.

But how can my consciousness exist without my brain?

Not seeing with my eyes, not hearing with my ears, everything is just consciousness, my consciousness, fully independent of the flesh.

There is no surrounding material reality, there is just my thoughts.

Mind is racing. No, I’m racing.

Am my mind now, gotta keep…uh, remembering that.

(Am also memory, taboot).

Have even moved beyond any sexual longing for Ms. Cabal in this state, removed from all physical, meaningless diversions of the flesh.

A being of thought. A unit of awareness.

And as I watch myself imprisoned, helpless below, I realize I had absolutely no right to be arrogant about any of this.

May be floating above my physical shell, but I’m not above any christians.

I’m just like they are. Worse, because I should know better. I'm supposed to be transcendent.

That's a joke. I’m pathetic. I need to submit, to surrender, to have a higher power sweep me along. In my case, it’s Ms. Cabal, not god/christ.

Earlier tonight, I wondered if Jarvis the butler got off on being submissive, not willing to admit that it's me who's the true submissive.

And even in this ethereal guise, it's hard to swallow my hypocrisy.

I can write all day and night about individual freedom being so superior to christian conformity, but if I'm conforming to Ms. Cabal's desires, how am I superior?

A flash of the hardcover Bye Bull before me; the book I've been waiting my life to write--but it wouldn't be written unless she was domineering me.

I'm not capable of self motivation nor self determination.

I'm not the master of my own destiny, she's the Mistress of my destiny.

She's not a mistress in the lowercase sense that a powerful man posesess, she's Mistress with a capital M and she is the power and the possessor.

And I am putty in her hands, helpless to resist.

And even though she hinted at the possibility that I could one day dominate her (her quote), I cannot imagine that possibility or how I would come within a galaxy of being Dominant over her.
And in my lowest moment, when I'm about to bury myself in a pile of psychic shit, for being so weak and powerless...another flash, this one of divine revelation.

Realize that I'm not writing this book for christians, or anti-christians or agnostics or the culture at large or history or posterity...or anything.

I'm writing it for myself.

To liberate myself.

Not from Ms. Cabal. But from christianity.

My need to submit was reinforced, if not essentially imposed, by my christian upbringing.

Ms. Cabal's hold on me is just an extension of that.

My bowing to her just reveals that I'm still harboring all the same guilt and fear that christianity filled me with as a little kid.

Psychic child abuse. With the scars still in evidence.

And it finally dawns on me that this is how to approach this book, with my senses all flushed open, my mentality humble. Always remembering that I've got as much to learn myself as I do to impart to the reader.

Never forget that I need this book more than anyone ever will.

And just like that, am transformed to some place I haven't been before. Not anywhere in Ms. Cabal's mansion, certainly not the dungeon, but outside, on a familiar street corner. On the corner on Snob Hill where the St. Whatever church used to be. I say 'used to be' because it's...not there anymore.

It's like being in one of those alternate realities you read about. A world without christianity.

Freaking pair of dice.

And yet, a wave of apprehension sweeps over me.

Along with another realization about myself. All this time, for all my bravado and essays, there is still a part of me that is comfortable enough with christianity that I want it to stay around.

Like part of me is afraid of losing christianity, on some level I need its familiarity.

Can't write this book until I am unified in my conviction that christianity has to go if humanity is going to legitimately evolve.

Have to leave the fuzzy childhood memories behind, they don't mean anything now. I didn't have control as to how I was raised, but I can control my destiny from here on out.

And with that acceptance, don't really need to linger on this windy chilly street corner any longer, and my awareness departs, feeling myself becoming more than just an entity of consciousness...

Or is it less than such an entity..?

Either way, I'm reunited with my chained, immobile body bound in this dank dungeon, the flickering torch the only source of light.

Seeing through my eyes once more, Ms. Cabal re-enters my vision, sporting a strange knowing grin.

"Welcome back, worm."

Damn, she said that like she knows what I just experienced. But how could she, unless she really is some dimension-tripping goddess?

And I'm not prepared to accept that yet, despite the weirdness my life has become since xmas eve.

Then she finds me with those perpetually piercing eyes, and sets them upon me with a fiery intensity that underscores her gentle reminder: "Despite that which you have just experienced, you still must prove yourself worthy to truly serve me."

And before I can register a response, Ms. Cabal whips her head to the left and with a single breath extinguishes the torch, and all is blackness once more.

Except that, and if I had a god to swear to, then I could, I still see her eyes that are even darker than the blackness, burning through to meet mine and drive a stake through my heart and soul.

And then my hearing becomes the only sense that is rewarded, as I listen to her stilettos leave the dungeon and back to wherever she came.

Echoes of her heels soon fade into silence and I am left with nothing.

Chains have loosened noticeably, as if willed by the departing Mistress Cabal. Loosened to the point where I can actually relax.

Inexplicably, drift off to sleep. Never thought I'd get comfortable enough in shackles to actually slumber...