The Instrument - Chapter Seventeen - My Night of Freedom
By Big Brother Alan
A mini-novel about sexual slavery, humiliation, degradation, redemption and escape


I returned to Kim's room with the wine. She was in bed with her book. I placed
the glasses of wine on her nightstand and stood waiting. She patted the bed
beside her, indicating that I should get into bed with her. I did, after
propping up the pillows so that I could sit up against the headboard like she
was doing.

She handed me one of the glasses and raised her glass in a little toast.
Strange. I wonder if she just did that out of habit or if there was something
in particular we were toasting. I decided to venture a question. "Mistress?"
She looked at me, waiting. "Are we toasting anything special?"

"Hmmm. Well, I don't know." She paused. "Let's make a pact. And we'll toast to
that." She paused again, longer this time, as if contemplating a risky
decision. "Let's say that whenever we're alone in here and that door is
closed, you're to call me 'Kim' and I'll call you 'Murphy.' I know you still
think of me as 'Kim,' even though I've told you it isn't my name."

"No. Please, ... Kim. Call me Joseph. It's my real name."

"All right, then. Joseph and Kim we'll be, as long as we're behind this closed
door." She raised her glass. I raised mine and tinked it against hers. It was
a pact. We sipped.

"Kim? How did you know that I still think of you by that name?"

She laughed. "Silly boy. You say my name often in your sleep."

This came as a shock to me. I didn't know I talked in my sleep. "What else do
I say when I'm sleeping?"

"Oh, don't worry. You haven't revealed any deep, dark secrets." She gave me a
playful look, but it was really quite funny. I have no secrets. Not here.
These girls know everything about me, from my bathroom habits to my sexual
likes and dislikes. They've seen every inch of me every day for months on end.
Any vices or habits I may have once had belong to the distant past. I have no
skeletons in my closet. I have no closets.

But then I started thinking. Wait, I do have secrets. I just told Kim one of
them. My name is Joseph. I wonder if they know my real last name. I wonder if
they know about my long-term locker with my cash and my ID. Surely they've
wondered why I had no ID on me when they took me captive. Did they simply
think it unimportant? Perhaps they had been stalking me long before we met.
Perhaps they had my locker open before I even ran into them on the slopes that
day.

God, that must be it. How stupid I've been. Otherwise, they would have assumed
my lack of ID meant I had a friend or a car or a hotel room or something that
would tell people I was missing. I really don't have any secrets. They've
known my full name all along. They've got my bag with my clothes. They've got
the cash that I had been hoarding. They've got the keys to my car, which is in
a long-term parking garage in town. This means that any escape which I had
been contemplating is much less likely to succeed. In the back of my mind I've
just assumed that the best thing for me to do if I could escape would be to
gather my stuff, get into town to retrieve my car and just go. I've assumed
the police would be no help here. I've assumed there were enough of these
women in high enough places to cut me off if I stuck around trying to get the
law involved - or even worse, use the law to bring me back if I were found in
town trying to make my escape.

All of this occurred to me in an instant. And now, I really do have a secret.
The secret is that they can't know my escape route will be away from the
resort, not toward it. It will be away from the town, into the wilderness.
This secret I must guard with my life, for losing it may cost me my life.

Charm. I must use my charm. "You mean I've only spoken your name in my sleep?
You haven't learned how I really feel about you?"

"And how do you really feel about me? I'm your captor and your mistress. You
can't feel anything but contempt for me."

Am I hearing her right? Does she really think that or is she just looking for
my reaction. No, she's not the type of woman who would fish for compliments.
She must truly worry how I feel about her. And if that's true, what position
does it put me in? I've seen how she cares for me, how she cries for me. She
nursed me to health and helped me to see the path I needed to follow to avoid
being discarded. She shared the shock of some of the more horrid aspects of my
training. If she hadn't encouraged me, I would have wallowed in self-pity and
I would probably have given up hope and been killed.

The thought entered my head long ago that she and Jessica have played good
cop/bad cop with me. It has always made me wonder just how much of Kim's
apparent affection for me was real and how much of it was fabricated. But now
I think I know. She has genuine feelings for me. She really is afraid that I
might hate her for the part she has played in my slavery. I must find a way to
reassure her, to convince her that I don't hate her. I can think of two
reasons why I should convince her that I love her: First, it might make them
both assume that their control over me is more complete than it is. Secondly,
it is the truth. Call it Stockholm syndrome if you want, but the truth is that
I feel an emotional bond with Kim that I've never felt with any other woman. I
want to escape my slavery... and I want to help Kim escape hers.

"How do I really feel about you?" I repeated. "Kim, if you weren't here I
would have given up hope. I might have even lost my will to live. I know your
role is to play good cop to Jessica's bad cop. But I don't for an instant
believe you're faking it. I think you play good cop because you are incapable
of the other role; just like I think Jessica plays bad cop because she's
incapable of anything else. Her only signs of humanity come when she
inadvertently slips into her minor personality. You, on the other hand, are
genuinely kind and loving. And I love you for that. Yes, you are my mistress
and I am your slave, but I love you nonetheless. I don't hold you responsible
for my condition. I know that sounds strange and I do hope to someday regain
my freedom, but we are all slaves to something, and we all look to throw off
our shackles. Maybe your affection for me and the kindness you've shown me,
are your way of throwing off your shackles."

I hope I wasn't too obvious. I just wanted to send her a signal that maybe we
can escape together. But I wanted to do it in a way that left room for doubt
as to my meaning. She sat staring at me for a long while. Then, as if wanting
time to contemplate things quietly, she said, "Let's go to bed. I just want
you to hold me tonight. I want to be held."

She turned out the lights, we sank into the covers and into each other's arms,
and for the first time in half a year, I fell asleep in a bed with no chains
on my wrists.

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