The Art of Submission
By Helotage
Chapter 10: Roy’s First Morning
After a while, Mollie grew concerned. When she had experienced her waking dreams, what seemed like hours in that world were the equivalent of five or ten minutes in real life. Now it was one in the morning, and Roy had spent hours with his hands on the sculpture. That could be days in the waking dream. She had tried several times to remove his hands, but he was rigid. She attempted to push him away. She pinched him. She even slapped his face. Nothing would budge him. She also placed her own hands on the sculpture, a reckless act given his state, but nothing happened to her. There was no waking dream for her this time, just a cold marble sculpture and a catatonic boyfriend.
Then, without warning, Roy lifted his hands and opened his eyes. He stayed in that position, hands outstretched, staring and blinking. He seemed to be processing the experience. “Roy?” Mollie asked. “Roy? Are you okay? Where are you?” He blinked a few times more, withdrew his hands, and glanced around the room.
“Mollie?” He began crying, bent over and sobbing loudly. He looked defeated. Mollie put her arm around him and pulled him close.
“I am so sorry, baby,” she whispered. She really was.
He stopped crying abruptly and looked at her with puzzlement on his face. “What? Why sorry?” He straightened. “Thank you. It is such a release and relief to finally know who I truly am.” His lengthy contact with the sculpture, his hours and days spent in the dream state all at once, had transformed him even more profoundly than Mollie’s staccato visits. She wondered if his experiences were similar to hers. She asked what he experienced.
“Mistress taught me that I am nothing but a submissive sex slave who exists solely to serve her and anyone she deems to give me to.” His voice was mechanical but sincere. He had been trained well in a relatively short time. “She owns my body, and she owns my mind.”
“Wait. Mistress?” Mollie was confused.
After some conversation, she learned that Roy had been dominated by a powerful Frenchwoman in late eighteenth-century garb. She beat him and then turned him over to the care of two slave boys. He had his first gay experience with them, which he at first resisted and then acquiesced to. Then he was raped in various ways by three guests. One was a fat woman, one a very fat man, and one a tall woman with a giant dildo. All of them were ugly. Mollie recognized the similarities between their adventures, but Roy’s were adapted to his orientation even as they adapted his orientation. And, his ordeal took place all at once. He was clearly shaken.
And broken.
Roy was amazed that his body did not display the welts and bruises that he earned during his waking dream, and he expressed disappointment. He had learned that he had always been a slave in his nature, and he felt that obvious marks on his body would expose his true self to the world. After some conversation, Roy asked for water. In a bowl. On the floor. He still had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was somewhere else, like he longed to be somewhere else. Mollie understood.
After a drink and without a word, Roy returned to the sculpture and knelt before it. Mollie watched as he placed his hands on its surface and his eyes fluttered shut. He stayed like that, frozen in place, until morning. Mollie touched the sculpture several times, but nothing happened. She was sad, but she knew instinctively that her purpose in life had shifted.
After a long time with Roy enthralled by the sculpture, Mollie curled up on the floor and slept while Roy knelt. When she awoke well past dawn, Roy was curled up next to her. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. He had never appeared more content. “I have a message for you,” he said softly but firmly. He sat up. “And I have returned to deliver it. The message is from your master. He says that you have done well to fulfill your service by delivering me to my mistress. He wishes you well in your life of servitude as you find your new purpose, which he says is at hand. He releases you from his service.”
Mollie listened intently. Suddenly, she sat up with an anguished look as the implication of Roy’s words sank in. It was true. No more access to the waking dream world! She grabbed hold of the sculpture, her grip tight and desperate. Cold marble, nothing more. Tears welled up in her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.
“I am sorry, Mollie. I truly am. I understand.” Roy rubbed her back. He was affectionate but distant, exactly like a naked collared brother chastely comforting his naked collared sister. “My mistress showed me who I truly am, opened me to her world. I can’t imagine not being able to go there to serve her. I am really sorry.” He got up and started collecting his things and stuffing them in his bag. He pulled on his jeans, no underwear, and a tee-shirt. The iron collar stayed in place. Mollie wrote the combination on a piece of paper and handed it to him. He chuckled as he pushed it into he pocket. It was the first time he smiled since he had touched the sculpture.
He draped the towel that Mollie had used to hide the sculpture back over it. Mollie handed him the cardboard crate it had been it, and Roy muscled it into the box, careful not to come in contact with the marble. Later, Mollie realized with a twinge of regret that she could have done it for him without the towel. Roy put his bag over his shoulder and left with the crate. He was still wearing the iron collar.
Before leaving, he explained his mission. Just as Mollie had been deemed the perfect slave to locate a new slaver, Roy was deemed the perfect slaver. He would return home with the sculpture and choose among his acquaintances who would be transported to the waking dream world. Some of these new transfers would be permanent. He was charged with populating that world with new slaves. Mollie’s services were appreciated, but her slave nature was different from his. Hers was more connected to the world of real life even if it did not seem that way. Roy was more of the waking dream world, and so he was chosen to be its chief slaver. He already knew who his first candidate would be: a wealthy friend who would find herself enslaved and would be compelled to fund his efforts to enslave others. Soon the waking dream world would be teeming with slaves, willing and unwilling. Most would never return to the world of real life, their minds trapped forever, Their bodies withering away. Those who did return would envy them. Eventually, his real-life work complete, he would join the waking dream world himself forever.
Mollie’s reward for her devotion and for delivering Roy to servitude would be to continue to live out her destiny in real life, where she was best suited. She only needed to learn what that destiny entailed, but she already had an idea. The opportunity to betray her boyfriend was the final nudge Mollie had longed for.