The Science of Slavery
I.
Nancy had not slept for a week. She hadn't even moved for a week for that
matter. She couldn't. Nancy had been bound to a chair in her basement, ankles
secured to the legs and her wrists and elbows bound together behind the
backrest. A rope also secured her middle to the base of the backrest where it
met the seat. Nancy was surprised that her B cup breasts and her shaven pubis
were not involved in the bondage. Nancy had checked out some bondage web sites,
and found that most of the time the beautiful woman's breasts were bound tight,
turning them purple and making them look like balloons. She also knew about
crotch ropes involved in Shibari, but she was tied in a most non-sexual way.
A final touch to the bondage was a rope wound around her neck several times,
then tied to the top of the backrest. This rope hurt the most, but it did not
cut off circulation or her air flow. Nancy did not check her bonds to see if
she could escape, for she has already tried the first few days she was bound
there. Her father had just sat and happily watched Nancy's frustration.
Her father didn't want Nancy to move. It was part of the torture. Immobility
complimented the sleep deprivation nicely. Nancy's father had pierced her
eyelids with needles, and used fine thread to tie the eyelids to Nancy's
forehead to keep them open. No blinking, not to mention sleeping, for Nancy.
No sir. Keeping somebody awake for too long is a great way to subdue them, to
shatter their hope and will. By this time, Nancy had no will or strength or
anything, except pain. Nancy had lots of pain.
Nancy's father liked the idea of needles and tying so much that he sewed her
lips shut with tough rawhide instead of gagging her. This meant also that Nancy
couldn't eat either, but that didn't bother her father. Anything to subdue her
daughter, anything to make her his slave and his guinea pig.
Nancy, besides being physically tired, was mentally tired as well. Her mind
hurt from looking into the same dingy corner for seven days in a row. Of
course, she didn't know it was seven days. When you don't sleep, and the lights
are always on preventing you from distinguishing night from day, time just drags
on, unmeasured. The rest of the basement which she couldn't see, but knew well
from fifteen years of living in the house, was less dingy. Her father, a
scientist, had converted much of the room into a lab. It was a stereotypical
lab filled with gadgets and beakers and things emitting puffs of steam. The
irony of course being that Nancy's father was not a stereotypical scientist.
How many scientist research ways to subdue their daughter, keep her weak and
experiment on her?
The answer is not many. Nancy knew this, and for the millionth time though
about how unlucky she was that it was her that landed with the psycho parents.
Parents, because her mother was in on this as well. Yes indeed. Mothers are
supposed to protect their daughters, aren't they? Supposed to love them.
Nancy, until a week ago, thought that was the way of things. How wrong she was.
In fact, it was her mother that subdued her initially.
"Nancy, you have some chocolate on your face. Here, let me wipe it for you
(with this rag I soaked in chloroform)" How did she fall for that? Her mother
hadn't cleaned her face in years! Nancy was crumpled on the floor before she
could make any move to stop her mother. Nancy wished with all her heart that
she could go back in time.
That incident lead to this, a week later, starving, tired out of her mind, weak,
bound and gagged, and here comes her father now. Great, she thought, now what?
