Progress

Every 30 minutes, a bell dings. Until then, the ticking is painful. I don't know how he's still working so calmly when the ticking, the seconds disappearing, continues. The first half hour in I was told to remove my clothes. I gladly stripped down to naked save my glasses. I folded each piece of clothing diligently and put it aside. As soon as it was complete, the timer was reset and the ticking continued.

30 minutes. The bell dings and I had almost forgotten, working away on my laptop, reading reports and trying to form an advocacy argument out of it. I am editing rapidly, completely engrossed in the world before me and not around me. I am told to move to the ground. I have lost privileges to the furniture. I nodded, scooting down to the floor, placing my laptop on the chair, continuing to type and read and edit.

It only takes a few minutes before my knees begin to ache. I shift into a curl on my legs and try again to lose myself into my notes. I am curled at his feet, leaning against his leg. He feels so comforting as he works. I can feel as he looks down sometimes, and that is all I need.

30 minutes. He steps behind me and slides a hard posture collar round my neck. My shoulder sink and my neck lengthens to accommodate. As he sits back down, he sets the time and the ticking becomes more present. I try and focus on my work, but it's useless. The collar chokes me every time I look down at my laptop. I shift, trying to sit lower, trying to move my laptop higher, but it only works for a few minutes before I have to try again.

30 minutes. The bell dings and I look up, nervous. Without a word, he points towards the wall in front of me and I look forward, my face freezing in that moment. My fingers are poised on the keyboard in front of me, held in the perfect waiting position from years of piano lessons. Practice, practice, practice. He takes a pair of cuffs and secures them to my wrist. I wait for another step but he goes back to work. I lean over and kiss his leg softly for being so kind in this round.

30 minutes. He leans over and takes my wrists behind my back, clasping them together. I look up at him, opening my mouth to ask.

"Keep working."

I nod and lean down, typing in awkward jerks with my tongue and nose. I try and switch back to reading but moving the mouth with my face frustrates me and I fight not to cry at my own inabilities.

30 minutes. I have been struggling, the ticking of the seconds feel like a cruel teasing. They are becoming torturous as I feel like a failure in this round. I have written a few words which are just barely removed from gibberish, and have been trying to read, mostly unsuccessfully. But the bell has tolled. He grabs my hair and has me stand. He kicks my legs open and locks a cuff to each ankle, and a spreader bar to each cuff. He grabs my long ponytail, knotting it tightly around a ring and pulls the ring tightly up, hooking it onto a post I didn't even notice above me. I am simply supposed to stand and wait. I can barely move my head, forcing me to do so whether I like it or not.

He walks back but not to his desk. He returns with a piece of metal which makes me shake my head violently. I want to scream, my mouth tightly shut.

"Stop."

I shake harder, whimpering and he grabs my face.

"Open."

I start to cry, feeling my mouth open whether I like it or not. Once it is cracked, I feel his feelings push my teeth in either direction and the metal dental spreader slide in. He forces my mouth open and locks it.I stand perfectly still, tears still streaming down my face. He sits down and re-sets the timer. As the ticking feels slow and fast at the same time, I continue to cry, waiting, legs spread and standing, just staring forward. I don't know what is coming next but I know there is no fighting it and I will accept whatever is next on the list. Sometimes my own submission frightens me. While the ticking is making me more and more anxious, it is still a marker that I have time left before the next stage.

My legs struggle not to give out, wanting to simply curl up at his feet and beg him to stop. I am terrified of what is in store. I move my tongue around a little, trying to see if I can form words enough to beg him for no more, that I am done and I can only couch and gurgle a little. I want to beg for release, but it will not come. I don't even have the words to ask for mercy.

I hear the bell.