Locked.

“You are to write me an essay,” she had said, masquerading the punishing sentence with the most beautiful of smiles. “The topic is your submission and what it means to you. Until you write it, your computer remains locked and so do you. I am heading out to work now and I expect you to be done by the time I arrive home. Should you fail me, I guarantee you won’t like the consequences so get busy!”

Yes, terrified was a good word for it. He loved Greta more than anything; he wanted to carry out her bidding and keep her happy at all times and yet, the fact she now had the power to block him out of the Internet with no remorse shook him to the core of his being.

“Overreacting much?” his consciousness nudged. “Just do as you’re told. She owns your balls, remember?”

“Shit!” he vociferated, eyes glued on the screen. The program she had installed to lock him out of everything at her whim appeared to be laughing, somberly. The more he looked at the whiteness, the more its echoes intensified. One thousand words minimum, she had commanded, and all he could really think of was the number zero.

His submission to her? Ever since they had met, he had dreamt of nothing else. Greta had waltzed into her life on a lovely autumn day, her skin-tight dress matching the color of her eyes. A bump by the subway entrance had become an attraction in less of a flash. She was as beautiful as he was shy. A mischievous lock of hair brushed upon his chin and he almost exploded in creamy white right there on the spot. It almost felt too good to be true because...

Sitting by the computer, the screen remaining as white as ever, Jack scratched the small specks of beard that were dying to come out in the open. Greta was his world. He loved Greta. Greta had to be obeyed even if that meant sacrificing his beloved Internet but if anyone asked him how long he had really known her, his honest answer would have to be

How was he supposed to write about his submission to her if he did not even remember for sure how long they were together? The math should be simple because Winter follows Autumn but there was nothing simple about his memories. One minute they were there and the next they weren’t, flashing in and out of existence like subliminal messages. It made no sense. Could David have been right all along?

“That woman is trouble, trust me,” he had said. “Don’t be fooled by her charms, she will destroy you.”

He struggled against the cage, a once proud erection now turned into an instrument of shame. It was too tight, too humiliating, an impossible nightmare turned into a laughing reality. She was probably laughing at him at that precise moment, whispering to her closest friends how she had transformed her boyfriend into a total cuckold bitch before he realized what was happening. Most of his family would laugh too, starting with his father.

“No, you don’t.” That was the voice of his older sister, Magdalene, a lawyer by day, submissive all the time. In the age of feminism, she scoffed at equality between men and women and was more than happy to assume her role at the bottom of the food chain, all her orifices exposed to true men. “You’re a man. You should be Alpha, not whatever she has turned you into. Fight it, Jack! Fight the power!”

“Damn it! Why can’t I remember?” He pounded the keyboard, the white space exploding in a string of random consonants and vowels.

She had done something to his memory; she had to. His perceptions were far too skewed to be anything other than that. But when? How?

Brainwashing?

A spell?

Locked.

“It will be your ego, of course,” she cooed. “I’ll break you in so many ways you will eventually grow mindless. In fact, are you sure you’re not mindless right now?”

“Stop fighting, you’ll never win,” she continued, the phantom of her voice as seductive as the real one. “You’ll remember what I want you to, accept what I tell you to accept. This is how it’s always been and nothing you do will change that.”

“That’s not for you to know. All you need to do is obey.”

“I know it does. You are thinking. Thinking is the opposite of accepting. Your submission means you shouldn’t think at all unless you’re thinking of me, thinking what I want you to think. Stop thinking about the whys and hows and just drop deeper. It is what you need. It is what I want you to need. Obey.”

“I don’t think so, my dear. I know your father wants to fuck my ass silly, but I was the one that planted that idea. Whenever he thinks of my ass, he sinks like a rock and he does what I want. Your sister loves cocks in her mouth but a good old pussy makes her wet beyond belief, too. Your mother - well - the more devote she is, the more she wants to worship and if God does not answer her prayers, a Goddess surely will, sooner or later. And as for your brother...”

“... because I told him to. He was the one that introduced us in the first place and when he did, he was already my servant.”

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I’m not. Either way, you will believe it when I want you to, just like you believe you are locked right now. You are so much fun to play with, my slave. I am your real family now. Wake up in 3, 2, 1...”

“How are you feeling, Jack?” she queried, silver nails fiddling with her honey blonde hair, voluptuous breasts in plain view. A spiral locket dangled from her other hand.

“You did,” she replied, wrapping the locket around her neck once again. “You went deep this time, I saw right through you.”

“Not surprising. Highly suggestible people like yourself forget things spontaneously if they get too intense. It’s okay not to remember. I’ll remember it for you.”

“False memories are also a common thing, I’m afraid. Like I said, don’t worry about it. I know exactly how to help you now.”

“Yes, but it will take a while, perhaps longer than you hoped for. Old thoughts and outdated ideas don’t just change overnight. We will have to do this daily for at least three months straight before the results become visible. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a hefty discount, so you don’t go broke trying to become a better man.”

"That’s me, always willing to help out those in need. But I am more than generous, isn’t that right, Jack? I’m also lovely.”

“Call me Greta from now on,” she suggested. “You can do that, can’t you?” 

“I feel much more confident already,” he admitted. Standing up, he dusted his old denim jacket and gazed lovingly at her stockinged legs. “You look more beautiful than ever...” he blurted, the blush response almost immediate. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

“Shhh...” she interrupted him. “I’m the professional here and I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with your feelings. Off you go now. Think of me and dream of our next session.”

“That’s a good boy…” she purred.

“Soon, Jack. Very soon. Your mistress is coming, and I’ll lock you up for good!” Greta grinned.