Imagined conversations.

I don't know how long I knelt on that hard piece of wood with my head in the box. I might have started to doze off now and then, but the band around my neck would dig into my throat and wake me.

I felt detached from myself. The aching in my arms and legs and the maddeningly unattainable release of pleasure felt far away.

"Well I hope you're happy." A female voice broke me out of my trance.

I jumped. That had been imagined, I was sure of it. I couldn't hear anything outside of my box, and this voice was different than the words from earlier. It sounded familiar... it sounded like me.

"Yeah, it's me." The voice was definitely inside my head. I'd gone crazy.

I tried to speak using my mouth, but my jaw hurt and my voice wasn't working. I vaguely remembered I was gagged.

"Shhh. Don't trouble yourself. You don't have anything to say I need to hear anyway. I'm here to talk, not to listen."

My body relaxed. Why fight it? Why fight anything? I was weak. I was small. And now I was hearing voices. Why not?

"You fucked up."

I thought back over the days since the change and I had done everything I was asked. I'd been obedient. I'd been good. I didn't understand.

"No, stupid. You fucked up long before any of this happened."

I suddenly remembered being thirteen. I remembered discovering my body. I remember thinking if there was a way to feel so good, why wouldn't I want that all the time? I remembered spending a lot of time pursuing that goal, hiding in my room.

That made sense. Why hadn't I let that happen?

I remembered my mother. She had discovered my secret and punished me. Hit me. Made me feel ashamed of myself. Told me I was a bad girl. I buried that part of me back then.

"That's me, by the way. The part you thought you left behind so long ago. The part of you that lets you enjoy things. I'm still here. You fucked up."

I felt ashamed all over again, but not for seeking pleasure. For running from it. I had been a fool.

I suddenly remembered being sixteen. I had become a young woman and I liked to flirt with boys. I liked the way they looked at me. I liked to know I could please them with a look or by showing a little skin. I put a lot of effort into making everyone around me happy, I thought that's what good girls did.

I remembered my mother again. She told me I was a disgrace, that only bad girls showed their skin the way I wanted to. She threw away most of my clothes. Made me dress more respectfully. I learned to avoid men's eyes. It was shameful. I was a good girl.

"It's not too late, you know."

I remembered suddenly the beginning of my orientation with Mr. Jacobs. The way he made me crawl to him and please him. I remembered past lovers and boyfriends I'd had. Always I wanted to please, to serve, to be good, but always I'd made myself feel ashamed. I'd been afraid, confused. I didn't know what was expected of a good girl anymore.

Cover up. Be polite. Don't flirt so much. Be friendly. Don't be so prudish. Don't show too much skin. You need to wear makeup. Don't wear so much makeup. That skirt is too short. Your cleavage is distracting. That dress is too long. That collar is too high. Your pleasure is sinful. Bad. You're being bad. You made the wrong choice.

I realized I was crying. All my life I'd only tried to be good. Do this, don't do that. I wanted to be a good girl. I only wanted to make people happy. It was so confusing knowing what was right and what was wrong. I hated it! Why did all the wrong things have to feel right? Why did I have to feel so bad to be seen as good?

I felt a hot rage fill my body. But my other self was right. It wasn't too late. This change that had come over the world had given me the one thing I'd always needed but always been afraid to want.

It took away all my responsibility.

"Now you're getting it."

I didn't have to worry anymore. About anything. I could enjoy the pleasure of my body. I could enjoy making others feel good because it made me feel good. There was no right or wrong in anything anymore. There was only obedience.

Submit. Obey. Serve.

A ****.

That was the answer. If I were a ****, a nothing, then I wouldn't have to choose. There would be no wrong choices. No complicated dilemmas. Others would decide all that for me. I could just be a good girl.

I would be free. From everything.

The realization fell upon me gently, but it excited me so much that I finally tipped the scales and achieved orgasm.

It was intense. It rocked my entire body like an explosion. It ripped me apart and crashed the pieces of me back together over and over, wave after wave of inescapable pleasure eradicating all my problems, destroying me with ecstasy.

And you know what? I enjoyed it.