Backup Quiet Time
Back To Basics
My last adventure, due to a highly unpredictable backup by the name of Sally, ended on a sour note. I wasn’t exactly angry with her, but I wasn’t overly appreciative of her actions. She had convinced me I was going to be left to die, staked out on the side of a hill in the middle of nowhere.
She didn’t abandon me, much to my surprise. At the end, over dinner in the camper, she pointed out I was never more alive than the moment I thought it was all over. I had to give her credit for a mind game well-played. Nevertheless, I was extremely reluctant to use her as a backup in the future. For that reason I hadn’t told her about my plans for tonight.
It was back to basics for me. For now I’d stick to my basement instead of some remote hill. I also planned to stay with my tried and trusty tools, though I was going to add in a few of Sally’s suggestions. One does not throw out the baby with the bathwater. Just because I didn’t want another experience like the one she subjected me to, didn’t exclude elements I wished to repeat.
So there I was, stripped down to my birthday suit, ankles and wrists taped up to prevent bruising, and my implements of obstruction laid out on the floor. I started in on my legs, beginning with the leg irons and security cover. Four sets of short chain cuffs, really just oversized handcuffs, neatly stacked up on my ankles and enclosed in my custom billet aluminum machined box cover. It was far more than necessary, except I loved the weight. Any plans I had for a stroll would be limited to crawling on the floor.
Next was the cock cage, needed for the anchor at one end of my Rod Of Discipline. It was the classic design, a tight ring around the base, a bar trapping my balls against the ring, and the tube over the shaft of the penis. No sexual gratification allowed even if I was able to reach it.
Next were the wide leather straps above and below the bent knees. The primary intent was simply to hold my legs together, although I was going to expand usage tonight. There was the metal ring underneath, holding the two straps together. This would be used to help support the weight of the Rod Of Discipline, by running a short chain from the ring to the rod underneath. If it worked out, that ring under the knees would also serve to help control my hands.
Next came my favorite restraint, a steel rod running between the cock cage and my ankles. The length was precise, to form a triangle forcing me to keep my legs at an exact bend of ninety degrees. It was in two parts: an inner, solid steel rod, heavy and rigid, with very little slack as the base of the triangle; and the second part, an outer stainless-steel tube with a shroud at one end to prevent tampering with the connection to the cock cage. It slid over the inner rod, with a threaded cap at the ankle end to keep the outer tube snugly in place when screwed on tight. The cap fitted into a slot on the security cover, where it was secured with a padlock. When it was all assembled, my legs were nothing more than dead weight. Any attempt to use them to move was extremely painful to my male anatomy.
Up to now I’d used a single handcuff at the cock cage end. It worked, but I was not satisfied with the poor fit of the wrist cuff to the cock cage base. Tonight I was trying out a new modification. Gone was the wrist cuff. In its place was a common automotive radiator hose clamp, one with a wide band but a relatively small diameter. Hose clamps have a horizontal screw mounted at one end, through which feeds the band, cut with grooves. Tighten the screw and the diameter of the clamp gets smaller, and tighter. Some experimentation resulted in the ideal mix of a few turns of athletic cloth tape below the cage ring, the clamp slipped around it, and tightened to a point where I could feel the pressure but wasn’t painful. The cock cage prevented it from slipping off. I finished by screwing on the end cap, with its squared off connection block, to the end of the outer tube.
I had changed the shroud over the outer tube so it completely covered the screw mechanism on the clamp. That would be sufficient to prevent tampering. I used the rod to pull the cage through my legs. One added benefit was an incentive not to bend back my waist too far, lest I apply pressure on my groin where it definitely wasn’t desired.
Last time I had been staked out on a hillside by running the rod through the rings on two stakes augured into the ground. It had worked so well I decided to keep the concept. Parallel to the back wall I’d sunk two anchor rings into the concrete floor, spaced slightly shorter apart than the length of the rod. They ran alongside the wall, but far enough out to leave me room. Backing up I lined up the loose end of the rod at the first ring. Carefully threading it through, I guided it into the second ring and on to my ankles. I reached forward and padlocked the end of the rod to the ankle cover.
The results were dramatic. My legs, and the rest of me, were going nowhere anytime soon. I had placed the rings in the floor just far enough apart that there would be no slack in the rod. I had no sideways motion, nor front and back. Bracing my hands on the floor I tried to lift up my feet. Nothing happened except a few pangs to remind me why it was called the rod of discipline. I was properly scolded and did not try it again.
My arms were going to be in front. One of my favorite positions is to pin my upper arms using a medical restraint belt and leather ankle cuffs, which fit quite well around my elbows. It confines my arms against my torso, limiting my reach to the distance of my lower arms from my waist. The leather cuffs have metal staples which holds the cuffs closed when the belt is run through them. Normally I can slip my elbows around the belt to give me some leeway with my hands, but tonight I have a scheme to reduce that unwanted freedom.
I had previously made up a pair of diagonal cutters with extra-long handles attached. I used two zip ties to link the elbow cuff staples together. Tightening on the zip ties would pull my elbows close together in front. This would be an issue later, since I couldn’t bend my arms to reach the ties to cut them off. Thanks to my special cutters, that won’t be a problem. But I had more to do before then.
I decided to forego the gag. No one could hear me in the basement anyway. Much as I liked the loss of speech it was uncomfortable. I still put on the hood, except I had a new version, without any cutouts for eyes. Once I pulled it over my face and down my neck I was in total darkness. By touch I located the sturdy posture collar and slipped it around my neck. I pushed together the latch in back, locking it on. My head was forced up and back, with no motion to either side or up and down. From now on I’d be flying blind, so to speak. I had a mental picture of where everything was, laid out on the floor.
All that remained was securing my hands. But first I reached down and began pulling on the zip ties between my elbows, with some pliers. I felt them being drawn together. I stopped when my arms lined up with my legs. I didn’t want to overdo it and dislocate a shoulder.
My release depended on my ability to use my hands to remove my impediments. Coming up with a suitable compromise, restricting use, but at the same time allowing for an exit, was never easy. Sally had demonstrated one solution, by taking away my keys and leaving me trapped. While her option was effective, it was not my first choice, nor practical without a backup to let me go.
Tonight I planned to sit up, for an extended period of time. My task was to be endurance rather than travel. I was rigidly anchored to the floor, thanks to my rod, so any movement was out of the question. My plan was to fix my hands in a fixed pose, helped along by the confinement of my elbows.
My general notion was a mounting post for the handcuffs, against my knees. I had fabricated a narrow steel plate, slightly curved, with holes at each end where I welded in place short lengths of chain. Holding the plate against my upper knees I reached around and fastened the two short lengths from the plate to the ring under my knees, with a padlock. That was enough to anchor it in place.
At the top center edge of the plate I had welded on the edge one of those “Martin Link” aluminum bars, typically used with waist chains to secure security covers over regular handcuffs. This was a long bar, with an oval cutout in the center extending to nearly the other end, upwards and away from the plate. This was to be the anchor point for my wrists.
I returned to my old standby, standard police hinged cuffs. Hinged cuffs have some side-to-side motion, but no twisting. The idea is to keep both hands pointing in the same direction. As usual, I put on two pairs, for that extra weight I cherished. Over the cuffs went the ubiquitous steel U-shaped metal clips, covering the keyholes. This had the added benefit of removing most of the hinge movement, turning them into rigid cuffs.
Working by feel I maneuvered the slots on the bottom of the security covers to line up with the bar sticking up from my knees. Carefully I slid my hands down until I felt the end of the bar exit from the front cover slot. I quickly slipped my heavy duty, armored padlock through the oval in the bar, snapping it shut. This was my linchpin, the one lock I had to open first before I could escape the clutches of all the other restraints imposed on my body. One firm jerk confirmed my hands were now solidly bound to the center of my knees.
As a precaution I had tied a length of string to the end of the padlock key, with a loop on the other end. I draped that loop over my right hand before I removed the key to my freedom. If I dropped it there was no way I could lower my legs far enough to reach it on the floor. My friendly Rod Of Disciple would remind me that wasn’t permitted. It didn’t allow me to go anywhere else either. For better or worse, I was rooted to the spot on the floor.
I was proud of myself for having finished without the benefit of sight. The light in the room was on, yet I was in complete darkness. I had some freedom to lean forward or back, but not turn my head. My arms, wrists and hands were firmly locked in place, placing all my keys out of reach save the critical one. I could wiggle my fingers, but that was about all.
I had to test my legs. That was a bad idea; the anchors in the floor exacted a heavy price for my attempt. The only question now was how long I could last before giving into the temptation of the key dangling from my wrist.
One Small Detail
It was peaceful sitting there on the floor, letting my mind wander, free of distractions. Nothing I had to do…because there was nothing I could do. No outside noises filtered into the basement, nor were there any visual disruptions to the flow of my stream of consciousness. The other senses? Smell was primarily the hood, a faint chemical odor mixed with a mustiness of old leather. Taste? Nothing happening there, again due to the hood, denying access to my mouth. There wasn’t even the unpleasant, slightly rancid bite of the gag that normally kept me occupied.
Then there was touch. That one avenue opened up a world of sensation to my otherwise deprived senses. There was the insistent weight and constraint of the cuffs on my wrists and ankles. “This far and no further” the metal bracelets spoke to me. They were simple machines, dutifully imposing their despotic grip upon me, oblivious to my wishes. They would continue fulfilling their function until removed, no matter how fervently I desired for it to be ended.
And then there was the Rod Of Discipline. Spare the rod, spoil the penitent, or something to that effect. It was well-situated to deliver anything from a slight pressure to be mindful of my boundaries, to searing agony if I ignored the warnings. A strict but fair disciplinarian, meting out punishment proportional to the offense. It had one purpose, to dictate how I must pose my legs, and to hold that position for as long as necessary. I had little choice but to be its obedient supplicant, prepared to be the contrite repentant begging for forgiveness at the first sign of its wrath over my apparent disobedience.
I took a deep breath, settling in for a long night. I figured I’d last until my back began to ache, at least two hours. Not that I had a way to tell the time. I’d deliberately excluded any means to alert me as to how long I’d been there. It would be interesting to see how the actual time compared to what I perceived in a state of sensory deprivation.
It All Goes Wrong
“You’ve adopted many of Sally’s suggestions. Sally is so pleased to see you took her advice.”
I jerked in shock, which brought forth a painful reminder from the rod to hold still. There was no mistaking that lilting feminine voice, about as charming as a cobra with head reared up. What was she doing here? How did she get in my house?
Dumb, Dumb, Dumb. I wanted to bang my head against the wall. I forgot I’d given her a key, since she was supposed to be my backup.
“Sally is so happy to see you returning to your favorite pastime. You must have forgotten to tell Sally to look in on you. No matter, Sally was sure you’d indulge yourself.”
I was really beginning to hate the way she spoke in the third person, and that odd pattern of stressing certain words. In fact, if pressed I’d have a hard time coming up with anything positive to recommend concerning Sally.
I heard a chair scrape against the floor, behind my back. She clapped her hands together. “You took Sally’s suggestion about the hood! And the rings in the floor, isn’t that so much better than crawling around? Did you use the gag tonight?”
“No, I didn’t,” I replied. “Look Sally, I didn’t forget. I’d prefer to be left alone from now on. I appreciate your time as my backup, but I don’t see it working out…”
“Nonsense!” she interrupted. “You need Sally to help you. You take too many risks. It isn’t safe without Sally watching over you. There’ll be no more talk like that.”
She bent over to softly whisper in my ear. “What you started to say was very hurtful. It upsets Sally. That isn’t very nice. If you don’t treat Sally with respect, then you don’t deserve it either.”
That wasn’t even a thinly veiled threat. I had to do some damage control, and fast. There was no doubt in my mind she was mentally unstable.
“I’m sorry, Sally. I’m glad you’re here, to rescue me if I get into trouble. Your help is always welcome.”
“Sally accepts your apology. Now, let’s see what you’ve accomplished. It seems to Sally you’ve pushed yourself to the edge. A single point of failure and you’re left caught in your own trap. Fortunately Sally is here to make sure that doesn’t happen. Sally will help you.”
I cringed every time she claimed to be helping me. A single point of failure? Sure, it was not anticipating Sally would make an appearance.
“Your mounting post for your hands is very clever. Sally would have added a short length of chain, or even better a solid bar, between your posture collar and your knees. You don’t really need that extra freedom to lean back, do you? A fixed, inflexible posture is much more enjoyable, don’t you think so?”
I didn’t answer. Yes, I’d thought about it, and rejected it. My back would give out that much faster if I lost that last tiny bit of flexing muscles.
Suddenly I felt the thumbcuffs close on my fingers. I hadn’t planned on using them, although they were in my box. Sally squeezed them tight, painfully so.
“When Sally asks you a question, she expects an answer. Sally doesn’t like to be ignored. It makes her very, very angry. We were having a nice conversation. Why are you suddenly so rude to Sally?”
Now you stepped in it, I admonished myself. With my thumbs locked together there was no way I could open my critical padlock.
“I was thinking about your question.” I tried for a save. “Yes, you’re right. Ideally it should be a full metal collar, one that fits over the posture collar, with a steel bar mounted on a swivel in front. The plate that holds my wrists? I could add a fixed point to fasten the rod from the collar to it. It would have to be long enough to keep my diaphragm free to work my lungs, otherwise I’d suffocate.” My hope was she’d accept my explanation once I’d gone into detail.
I waited in silence, unable to see her face to gauge how she might react.
“Alright, maybe Sally was too quick to anger. You have a good idea. Sally hopes you will put it into practice soon.”
There was no question, so I figured it was better to wait for her to continue. Meanwhile my thumbs were going numb from lack of circulation. Then I felt them loosen, enough to restore feeling in my fingers. Sally didn’t take them off, but she backed off a couple of notches. It was still a close fit, although I think I could slip them off with some work.
“Sally is still disappointed in you. If you behave, prove to Sally you are genuinely sorry, Sally will consider taking the thumbcuffs off.”
I didn’t need any more reminders about who was in charge. She might be half my size, but all my superior strength and weight was useless for the moment.
I heard her sigh. “Sally can’t stay mad at you. Sally is here to help, not punish you.” A turn of the key and the thumbcuffs were gone. “Sally trusts you to show proper respect, answer her questions, and especially follow the rules as they apply to the prisoner.”
I certainly was her prisoner, by my own hand. Those vague rules she kept mentioning; I was never sure exactly what they were. Maybe she had a clearly defined list in her head. That was ominous once I thought about it. Who knows what went on inside her head anyway?
In The Bag
I heard Sally stand up and walk around the room. I thought she might be over by the door. I couldn’t actually see where she was, but I felt I had to take the chance. Using my left hand I fumbled for the string around my right wrist. I wanted to use the key before she snatched it out of my hand, like she did in our last encounter.
“Sally isn’t going to take your key away.” So much for that idea. She must have been looking right at me. I stopped, mostly in fear of antagonizing her. I was hardly in a position to argue with her, especially since I had doubts she would react in a rational manner. My best option was to go along with whatever she said.
“Do you recall a conversation you had with Sally, about how the police control a prisoner’s hands?” I didn’t like the sound of that. I hoped it didn’t mean I was about to be subjected to those thumbcuffs again. I swore if I got out of this I’d throw them away the next day.
Suddenly I felt some kind of bag being pulled over my hands and down past my wrists. It was a woven net, probably nylon, definitely not a plastic bag. She wrapped a wide strap around my wrists below the handcuffs, where the ends of the bag rested against my arm. Sally pulled the strap tight, preventing me from pushing it off. Another strap ran from the bottom of the bag, close to my little fingers, then behind the security covers, and ending at a point below my thumbs. Once again Sally pulled it tight, drawing down the bag over my hands. A third strap, attached loops in on the bag, was wrapped around my hands under my thumbs, forcing my hands to press together. I could feel my heavy-duty padlock between my palms, held there by that last strap.
“It’s really very simple,“ Sally continued. “A covering made of loosely woven nylon strands, held in place by web belts and buckles. Not really very secure, although as you can tell the way your hands are confined there’s no leverage to take it off if you are also wearing handcuffs.”
I struggled to free my hands, without any success. True to her word, she hadn’t taken my key away. Instead she made it impossible for me to use it.
“What is it you said to Sally? If one is sufficient, then two is so much more enjoyable?” A second bag slid over my bound hands. The straps weren’t quite as snug this time, but that one between my wrists guaranteed I couldn’t remove it.
“How am I supposed to unlock myself with my hands covered like this?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear her answer.
Sally didn’t answer right away. I heard her walking around me, until she stopped behind my back and sat down. “Sally doesn’t see how that’s possible. Do you think that’s why the police use the same technique? Sally thinks if the hand bag, that’s a brand name, was easy to remove by the prisoner then the escorting officer would choose something else.” She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “However, you are the engineer. See if you can figure it out.”
I didn’t appreciate the way she was pointing out the obvious. “How am I supposed to see anything with this hood on? The key to the posture collar is on the floor, by my right side. Could you take it off and remove the hood? I’d like to find out what I’m up against…”
Before I finished my thought the plastic trash bag was over my head and pulled tight behind my neck. When I inhaled the plastic pressed against the hood in an airtight seal. Sally had cut off my air. In a panic I fought my restraints, without the least chance of success. Faster and faster I tried to draw in lifegiving oxygen.
“Sally warned you about breaking the rules. You are not permitted to ask to be released. Sally is here to help you. When you misbehave, Sally must teach you the consequences.”
Oh, I was learning all too well. In desperation I tried to lean forward, thinking I could somehow tear the bag over my head with my imprisoned hands. It was a stupid idea. Sally’s grip on the bunched-up bag was too strong for me to overcome.
“Stop that!” she snapped. “Sally is becoming annoyed with you.”
She loosened her grip on the bag. I gulped in a deep breath, staving off imminent unconsciousness. I was terrified she would suffocate me. A normal person would never do that. Sally was far from normal. I had an uneasy feeling she let me live only because she wasn’t done with whatever her deranged brain planned for me.
I was breathing again, except she had not removed the trash bag. The significance was not lost on me. One wrong move on my part and next time might be the last. I had the full measure of Sally now. All sweetness and light…until she had her victim in a vulnerable state. Then the true Psycho Sally emerged. Unfortunately that particular revelation came too late to do me any good.
“Are you afraid of Sally?” she whispered in my ear. “You must learn to put your faith in her. You feel powerless, trapped, terrified you will be punished again? Don’t worry, Sally isn’t a sadist. As long as you conduct yourself in an approved fashion, follow the rules Sally has explained to you, you are safe in her hands. Sally’s only wish is that you trust her, to accept she acts solely to enhance your bondage adventure.”
I trusted Sally all right, but not in the way she described. I was convinced she’d suffocate me if I didn’t do exactly as she said. She was helping herself, not me. And yes, I was terrified that Sally was both a sadist and a psychopath, with me as her neatly packaged victim.
Timer
“Sally knows how much you enjoy having some task to perform, to win your release. Tonight will be no different, except Sally will choose your mission for the evening. Sally has brought along a little gadget of her own devising to assist you.”
I prayed it didn’t involve the plastic bag still wrapped around my head. I tried to push my hands apart, without any chance of success. Whatever she had in mind, I had to go along. All she had to do was walk away. I did not look forward to sitting on the floor for several days, waiting for thirst or starvation to do me in.
I heard her place something on the floor, at my feet. “It’s just a timer,” Sally explained. “When it starts it chooses a random delay and counts it down on the display. Oh…you can’t see the display, can you? Sally forgot about that. Never mind, it’s information you don’t need to know.”
Yeah, I’m sure it slipped her mind. Don’t need? More likely it was vital to whatever she had planned for me.
“This is what you must do in order to free yourself. Sally will start the timer and then leave you alone. When the count reaches zero, it will send a message to Sally’s phone. She will return and remove the covers on your hands. You like that, don’t you? Having a cover over all the locks, to add to the difficulty?”
That was simple enough, unless this timer of hers was set for days instead of minutes. Yes, I did have a fixation on covering up keyways, to frustrate any temptation on my part to end a session early. That didn’t include my hands.
She asked a question. If I didn’t answer she’d exact some penalty. “Yes,” I told her. “Handcuff locks are not very secure. The covers around the leg irons, and on my handcuffs, block out the handcuff keyway. Instead I have to overcome an additional layer of security, preventing my escape. This bag imprisoning my hands,” I waved my closely held hands back and forth, “is the ultimate. As long as I have it on, both of them, I am at the mercy of my backup.” I hoped that satisfied her query.
She put her hands over mine. “You do have the means to free your hands. All you have to do is work with the timer, be patient, and it will inform Sally when you have finished your task.”
That sounded promising. I could manage a few more minutes on the floor. After all, what else could I do?
“One thing you do need to know,” she continued. “The timer has a sensitive microphone. If you speak, or make any sound at all by shifting around, the timer will reset to a new random delay. It will announce the reset, without telling you whatever random interval it selects. As long as you don’t move or make any sound, all you have to do is be patient.”
So much for it being simple. I had to sit there, frozen like a statue, for who knows how long. If I could see the timer display I’d know, but the tantalizing digits were on the other side of the hood. It was a safe bet the interval would not be for just a few minutes. Knowing Sally, the minimum might be measured in hours. There was no point in asking, unless I wanted another session with the trash bag cutting off my air.
I heard a beep. “Get comfortable,” she told me. “You have thirty seconds before the timer starts. By the way, every time it resets the count will be for a longer period, so Sally doesn’t recommend trying to beat the odds by deliberately trying for a short wait.”
I heard the door close. Not long after I heard a beep again. “Count begins,” the mechanical voice announced. Okay, I thought, I can manage.
Just how sensitive was that microphone? I wasn’t daring enough to find out. I could count the seconds in my head, maybe even the minutes without getting lost…but what good would it do? I had no idea when it would stop.
That’s when I realized this was one of Sally’s mind games at work. No physical torture, oh no that was too crude for Sally. This was putting the brain in the Rack, slowly tightening the ropes, pulling my head apart. If I could hang on for just one more minute, and then another, and another, and another. The slightest mistake on my part and all my patience was for nought when the timer started all over again. It was the Greek curse of Sisyphus, doomed to roll an immense boulder up a steep hill, only to have it roll back down as it neared the top, forcing Sisyphus to start all over again, for all eternity. Elegant in its simplicity, viciously cruel in its implementation.
My hand gave an involuntary twitch. A handcuff rattled against the security cover. Beep, followed by the dreaded “timer reset” announcement. I wanted to clench my hands in frustration, but even that small pleasure was denied me, thanks to Sally’s contribution. Now I knew exactly how Sisyphus felt when he saw the boulder roll downhill.
Well, Sally wasn’t kidding about the reset. At least I had a good idea of how sensitive the pickup was on that microphone. I stared into the hood, summoning every ounce of resolve to best Sally at her own game.
I tried to think of other things, to keep my mind off what was happening to me. Christmas as a kid, that first science kit, the Erector set, the vast new world that opened up when I learned to ride a bicycle, later on that business trip to Asia, all pleasant memories I could focus on to distract me.
Beep, “timer reset.”
I couldn’t help it. I began to cry when I heard that dreadful machine’s voice of doom. I had worked so hard to hold still, only to lose it all without even knowing what happened. It must have been another of those muscle twitches. The enforced positional stress was getting to me.
Tyranny of the Machine
I sat there, focusing on one goal, don’t move, stifling the urge to scream in rage at what Sally had done to me. Electronic oppression, I was forced to obey the dictates of a bunch of wires and electronic circuits. What was Sally doing while I suffered in silence? No doubt watching a movie upstairs, unconcerned about my welfare.
Not a sound reached the basement from the rest of the house, much less outside. That was intentional on my part. Any calls for help on my part wouldn’t travel very far, certainly not enough to do any good. Someone would come to check up on me eventually. Sure, I’d made the emergency backup arrangements myself…Sally.
The mind works in a perverse way. I’d set up the perfect crime. Sally takes off the bags freeing my hands, but unties the string to the key first, letting it fall to the floor. A classic demise caused by my misadventure, even more clear cut than being staked out on the hillside like last time. No trace of Sally or anyone else but me. A nice self-inflicted scene, wrapped up neatly by my own actions.
How much longer? One minute, five, two hours? In a way I had to admit Sally was a genius. Not knowing, that was the cruel part. Just beyond the barrier in front of my eyes was that timer display, happily counting down to the moment Sally promised to come back. So close, yet so far, I laughed to myself. Every remaining minute could be the last one. That’s what I constantly told myself, to keep from giving up.
Would Sally really let me go? She kept her promise the last time. If I didn’t trust her, then I had no hope at all. It was a deal with the Devil, a classic Faustian bargain. I had wagered my life, my future, to pursue the pleasures of the flesh, for a brief moment. Lente, Lente, Currite Noctis Equii, “slowly, slowly run the horses of the night”, the classic line from Goethe, came to mind, when Faust is watching the clock hands, the horses, slowly gallop toward midnight, the moment his soul departs for Hell. I didn’t even have the benefit of watching the minutes tick by.
I was starting to lose it. I almost shook my head, to clear the mental cobwebs, before remembering the consequences arising from the inevitable noise. Time was slowing down for me as well as Faust. Seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, all much to Sally’s delight.
Don’t move, don’t move, I kept repeating, over and over. If that thrice-damned timer reset again I was sure to crack under the strain.
All Over
I heard the door open. I cringed, waiting for that soul destroying beep.
Nothing happened. I had been so obsessed with the timer it hadn’t dawned on me the door had swung open. That could only be Sally.
“Only two resets, that’s a remarkable feat given the difficulties you must be suffering. Sally is pleased to see you passed your lesson in patience.”
I heard her kneel down next to me. Suddenly there was a sharp jerk on the Rod of Discipline. The pain was agonizing, but I held it in. She wasn’t going to trick me like that. If I broke my silence she’d have every justification to turn on that timer again. I wasn’t going to let her win this one.
“Nothing to say? Sally is so glad she has been able to help you. Once you set your mind to a task, and you have the incentives to keep at it, doesn’t it become easier over time? Sally thinks that’s true.”
The trash bag came off my head. I felt her loosening the straps binding my hands. First the outer, and then the inner cover came off. I didn’t immediately grab for the key. This might be some trick on her part. Sally was still very much the one with all the power.
“You may start releasing yourself. Sally has fulfilled her part in being your backup. Have a good night.” The door closed behind her.
I wasted no time in getting out of the restraints. When I was able to pull off the hood I was surprised to see the timer at my feet. Did she leave it for me deliberately? Temptation, get thee behind me.
By the time I finished Sally was long gone. This had been memorable. She had done it to me again. Curse her and her Jedi mind tricks. I had made it through and was able to walk away from yet another potential disaster. Could I ever go it solo again, without her help, as she called it?