They had put Cassidy into the White Room again.

The White Room wasn’t a real room, of course. Cassidy knew that whatever her senses might tell her, she was only seeing featureless blank walls and hearing echoless silence inside her head. Her body was walking, talking, performing actions in perfect compliance with her handlers’ instructions that she would never even know about. It was the perfect brainwashing technique; Cassidy couldn’t resist what she wasn’t aware of, and she wasn’t aware of anything when her mind was in the White Room.

She tried to wonder what her body was up to, out in the real world where she was obediently following commands with a blank and thoughtless expression on her face. She sometimes came out of the White Room to find rope burns on her wrists, scrapes and bruises on her buttocks, soreness in her vagina, but she couldn’t imagine that kinky sex was all they used her for. They could have found a willing woman for that, or at least a desperate one. Nobody would have gone to all the trouble of making a White Room for Cassidy if they didn’t have a use for her, something that nobody would do voluntarily.

But Cassidy knew better than to protest. She had long ago learned that the White Room had its attractions; the same soothing, peaceful silence that lulled her into docile acceptance also soothed her ‘body’ into lazy, mindless bliss. Her handlers never allowed her to suffer true injury, and any pain she might be feeling in the real world never made it to the White Room. The White Room was quiet joy, endless sweetness, placid ecstasy. All Cassidy needed to do was let her mind and body be still and accept it.

And it was better than the alternative.

Cassidy had learned that the hard way, back in the beginning. Back when she tried to resist, pounding on the walls of the White Room with her imaginary fists until she finally broke through and she found out that her handlers were fully prepared for her resistance. When she found out about the Black Room. She couldn’t get back into the White Room once she found the Black Room, not until her handlers let her out. By the time that happened, Cassidy never wanted to resist again. Time worked…differently in the Black Room. So did sensation. So did memory. Cassidy couldn’t describe it, not even to herself, but obedience was a welcome alternative.

So she stayed in the White Room. And she waited. And eventually, her fingers drifted down between her legs again.

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