He lay naked on the cold hard floor. He held his eyes closed, then opened them again. There was no difference, the room was utterly dark. He felt his heart beating.

He had chosen this, he told himself. He had decided to see V of his own accord. But now, he realized, it was no longer a question of choice. He couldn’t change his mind. His mind was no longer his to change. V had already taken possession of it. She had demanded that he lose his name; he was to be just “216”, a meaningless number.

---

It had been almost a month since he had first heard news of his brother’s heart attack. His brother was only thirty-nine years old, just three years older than him. Although the attack was not serious, it had started him brooding. He suffered from clinical depression, which was kept in check with medication. But news like this tended to trigger one of his black moods.

His wife had noticed the change in him almost before he had. She told him once after their lovemaking that he had seemed “in a bit of a hurry, like there was no tomorrow”. She realized too late that it was a tactless remark, as this was probably exactly what he had in fact been feeling.

“Sorry, I… Sorry.”

Why did she have to say that at all times? He reached for the lithium tablet on his bedside table.

A year before that, his wife had had a brief affair with one of his employees, during a period when the company was demanding a lot of his time. Afterwards she had apologized tearfully. “Sorry, I broke our trust, I felt lonely, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I’m so sorry…”

He hadn’t asked for an apology, or even an explanation. He hadn’t felt angry with her, although she probably would have preferred it if he had. Instead, he became morose. After weeks, he was undeniably in the grip of a depression.

She felt guilty about this, although they had been told by his psychiatrist that her infidelity was not really the cause of his depression; it was at all times latent in him, and could be triggered by any stress.

Over the months his depression showed no sign of lifting. They stopped having sex. And now it was still “sorry” he heard from her, but it had become “Sorry, I’m so sorry for you, I feel so sorry that you’re still so upset…”

He knew what would come next. The word would metamorphose again: “Sorry, I’ve had enough of this. Sorry, but I really just can’t live with you wallowing in self-pity. Sorry, but it’s over…”

He started browsing, just casually, at the personals on the Internet. Before long he’d somehow started gravitating towards sites advertising escorts.

His surfing led him towards professional dominatrices.

Then he found V.

On the front page of her website V proclaimed she was an “annihilator”. By then he’d learned the meaning of the most of jargon of this new and exciting subculture, but this for him was an unfamiliar and strangely arresting word for a dominatrix to use in describing herself. He clicked the mouse and entered the site.

Even as a still image on the screen, nothing more than an array of pixels, she held his gaze. Almost as though it was not he who had found her, but she who had discovered him. All of a sudden he felt as though he were a doomed fugitive, caught in his pursuer’s searchlight.

That night he sent her an email:

V,

I have seen your web site. I am captivated. I would very much like to visit you. I have not done anything like this before, and I am nervous.

I don’t really know what I should tell you about myself.

I run a software engineering business. I am married, with no children. I am unsure why I am writing you, I just feel that you can make me happy. I don’t know why. I hope that is not ridiculous.

As a child, I used to enjoy it when a certain girl from my class used to sit on me and pin my shoulders with her knees.

I just remembered that, I’d forgotten about it all these years. I guess something about you reminded me of her.

Hopefully yours,

For some reason he could not find out, he wept while he composed this.

Within half an hour he received a reply:

I have read your email. I permit you to come to me.

Read these instructions carefully as they will not be repeated.

You will call this number for an appointment, and to be given the address where you are to come.

At the appointed time you will bring £500 in notes with you as a tribute, but no form of identification.

V.

He programmed his mobile phone with the number before retiring to bed.

Next morning, he awoke with his mood strangely lifted. He remembered the email he had sent, and felt a bit foolish. He smiled. Perhaps simply sending the email had been a sort of release, he wondered.

His wife was looking tired these days, exhausted, he knew, from the strain of coping with him. He felt remorseful. He still felt their marriage was salvageable. He decided to cease his Internet activities completely, to give her more attention in the evenings.

That week they started to have sex again. Although it felt a little awkward after so long, it was a glimmer of hope.

He suggested a vacation together, a chance to “get to know each other again”. But almost immediately after the plane tickets were booked his chief financial officer warned him about an imminent hostile takeover bid of his company.

As the CEO, the captain of the ship, he couldn’t be seen to deserting. He was forced to cancel the vacation at the last minute. His wife was taking her father along with her instead.

At the airport he held her tight and kissed her goodbye, a warm, affectionate kiss. Smiling, she asked him if he could manage the dishwasher. He told her he’d call her if he couldn’t figure it out.

But driving back in the rain, he suddenly panicked. He couldn’t face the house alone. Almost automatically he fumbled with one hand for his mobile phone, and scrolled through the stored numbers until he reached “V”. He called. A cold, emotionless woman’s voice answered.

“Name, or Number?”

“Excuse me? I don’t understand. My name is —-, I saw your web site, I emailed you. I wondered if I could visit you sometime during the next few days… “

There was a ten-second pause. A speeding truck overtook him. He slowed down to forty miles per hour.

The Voice finally returned. “Next Thursday at six, or today at six.”

Next Thursday was out, his wife would already be back. But…today? That was too soon, he wasn’t ready! He needed time.

The Voice wasn’t gonna give him time. “Answer now. Thursday, or today. Or Never.”

“Okay, Today. I…”

The Voice interrupted. “You must arrive promptly. Here is the address.” She told him the address, speaking clearly but quickly. He mouthed it to himself in order to remember it. “Lateness is not tolerated. At the door you will identify yourself with the number 216. You are 216. Do you understand?”

“216. Yes. I…”

But the Voice had hung up.

He thought at her peculiar demand. Did she perhaps have a ticketing system? Had she had two hundred and fifteen previous clients? Having a mathematical background, he recalled that the number was six times six times six. Maybe there was a numerological significance. Or perhaps it was simply some kind of safeguard against clients becoming over familiar, an additional preservation of their anonymity. In any case, his curiosity was piqued.

He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Frantically, he planned his time. He’d have to withdraw the cash from an ATM, rush back home, discover the address on the map, shower, shave and change his clothes. Not enough time. His resolve threatened to crumble. “What the fuck am I doing?” he said to himself aloud as he stepped on the gas pedal. He overtook a car occupied by a nuclear family. The father drove, the mother slept. A little boy sitting in the back looked at him with idle curiosity as he sped past.

---

There was an intercom at the door of the anonymous suburban apartment block. “It’s me. 216,” he announced after the buzzer was answered. The door opened and he stepped into a slightly dingy corridor. He felt a slight disappointment at the lack of affluence. Surely, if she was charging five hundred pounds an hour for her services she could afford a better property? Once more he doubted the whole venture. Would this turn out to be a scam of some sort?

Her apartment door was ajar as he reached it. He looked inside into a completely dark room. He rechecked the number on the door. Suddenly a voice spoke from within.

“Enter and shut the door.”

He did so, and was instantly in total blackness.

“Get out your money, and place it on the floor beside you. Then step forward two paces. Then undress completely, placing your clothes in a pile on the floor.”

He followed these instructions, undressing hurriedly and with trepidation. The floor was cold and hard against his bare feet. The Voice began again, this time from behind him.

“You cannot see, but I can see you. I can see your naked body. I can see inside you. I know so much more about you than you imagine. I Know you have come to me carrying doubt and fear inside you. But this doubt and fear has been part of you long before you knew of me. It has always been there.”

She continued to talk. It sounded almost as though she were giving a rehearsed speech, or rather, a recitation from some sacred text; slowly the words rolled over him like ocean waves, breaking over him in a slow, inevitable procession.

“You bear a heavy burden of responsibility. People look to you for guidance and strength, but you feel you cannot provide that strength. You wish to surrender, you wish you could give up and just let them know that sometimes you are not the powerful man you pretend to be.

“Your world is complex and full of tough decisions. You crave order and rules. You crave simplicity, because your world is chaotic and anarchic.”

He could hear that she was circling him slowly as she spoke. He started to feel that there was nothing in the universe except that Voice. It seemed to bypass his hearing, and speak directly to him from within his own head. He felt slightly dizzy, as though he were in a descending elevator.

“You are unhappy. You have no children, but you wish for them, for they might give you strength, give you love without judgment, at least until they are grown. Your wife does not, can’t, give you the simple love you need. You feel abandoned. You feel alone.

“You came to me in doubt and fear, in the hope that I will rid you of those feelings.

“You have done well to come to me. I will indeed rid you of doubt, and of fear. I will build order in your life. I will give you joy and happiness. But this will come at a high price. You will pay, but not with money. The money you have laid down is not payment: It is a tribute, a gift of gratitude that you will gladly give. No, instead you will pay me by giving me your strength, your power, which you have worked so hard to acquire, but which are the cause of your unhappiness.

“You must give me your entire self. You will have no name, you will be no person. You will become nothing. You will be annihilated. This is the price you must pay. It is not death of your body that will release you, it is the death of your will, of your ego. Surrender yourself to me.”

She paused. He was weeping uncontrollably. She began again, in a slightly gentler and soothing tone.

“You weep. That is good. Already you are relinquishing yourself a little. But I know that you are a man of intelligence, and you use your mind as a weapon. A part of your mind is trying to fight me, to defend the castle of your ego from the relentless waves of my words lapping against its walls. I can see it attempting to resist, by questioning my motives. ‘Remember’, your mind tells you,’ she is only a prostitute, a mere actress, paid by the hour to play a part in men’s fantasies.’

“But you are mistaken. You will learn that there is far more to me than you will ever find out. My motives are beyond your mind to fathom. I am V, and V will soon be everything to you. You will dwindle, and I will grow, until I will become your universe. Already you’re almost mine. Feel it. Now. Already it feels good. I see you want to continue to feel this way. Will you stay? Nod yes, or leave.”

In the blackness, he nodded.

“Good. Lie down on the floor, on your back, and wait. Stay completely still.”

He lay down, shuddering slightly at the sudden coldness against his back.

He waited.

---

As he waited, he heard a door open and close. Minutes passed, and again the door opened and closed. He heard quick, staccato footsteps, and a metallic tinkling sound which he could not identify.

Without warning, his wrist was gripped roughly, and then he felt a shackle of some kind being clamped around it. The same happened to his other wrist, and then to his ankles.

He heard the metallic sound again and realized it was the noise of rattling chains. One by one his four limbs were forcefully stretched outwards until he was laid out like a man prepared for quartering. The shackles dug sharply into his skin.

He heard what he guessed was a table being maneuvered so he was directly under it.

Suddenly he was blinded by dazzling light.

She had switched on a lamp. It was an ordinary room lamp, but it seemed to blaze like the sun after such a long period of darkness. He involuntarily shut his eyes and screwed up his face.

When he opened them slowly, he saw that he was indeed under a sort of table. It was long, like a masseur’s couch, but low as a coffee table, so that its underside almost touched his face and chest.

The bench or table had a large elliptical hole cut out of it at the end directly above his head, larger than the face-sized hole in a masseur’s couch. A sheet or cloth had been placed over the hole so that he could not see through. It reminded him disturbingly of a hole in a toilet.

He turned his head to one side. His low viewpoint allowed him to see only a very little of the room. The floor was laid with terracotta tiles. He saw the legs of what looked like an antique chair. The walls were salmon pink above the varnished wood of the skirting board.

Then a pair of boots came into view. From the shins upwards they were completely obscured by he bench.

The boots were of patent leather, with long heels tapering almost to points. They approached him until they were just a few inches from him. From above, he heard V speak once more.

“Now, you will learn the ways by which I will annihilate you:

“Firstly, you are contained. I will confine you, both physically, and mentally. You will yield your body to me, just as your mind is already yielding.

Secondly, there are the Laws, which must never be broken. Follow these at all times on pain of punishment. By the Laws you will achieve the simplicity and order you crave so dearly.

“Thirdly, there are punishments for disobeying the Laws.

“Punishments are varied, and may be psychological, or physical. The most severe punishment is banishment, and you will soon know that it is a worse penalty than death.

“You do not come to me in guilt or shame; you are not one of those for whom punishment is a pleasure. You will nevertheless learn to obey the Laws quickly through their swift administration. And it is by the Laws that you will live.

“Fourthly, there will also be rewards. You will learn that I am not cruel. You will learn from the rewards that I am your path to joy.

“I could, if I wished, avoid meting out rewards entirely, instead quickly torturing you into submission, as the Nazi concentration camp commandants did so scientifically. I know their techniques well. But the annihilation they achieved in their victims was the annihilation only of their lives. The victims preserved their will, many choosing suicide when the opportunity arose. In making that choice, they were defiant. They showed their torturers that they had not been truly annihilated.

“Your annihilation will be complete. You will neither desire to die nor desire to live. You will have no desire at all, and will thereby achieve your desire.”

“Now I will state the Laws. They are ten:

“One. I am V, but you must never utter my name. You must at all times address me as “My All”.

“Two. You will always obey my command.

“Three. You must never speak unless I grant you leave to do so, or unless I demand a response.

“Four. When you do speak, you must always speak the truth. This is the only Law which I too always obey.

“Five. You have no name, no past, no future. Here you are 216. You must never speak your outside name, nor speak of anything of your life outside these walls to me, nor bring with you anything other than your tribute.

“Six. You must never laugh, as laughter is an attempt to build a wall around your ego.

“Seven. You must not turn your back to me.

“Eight. You must never touch me.

“Nine. You must never touch your genitals.

“Ten. You must not speak of me, or of your life here, to anyone.

“Are the Laws understood?”

He had not spoken for so long, that his tongue clove to his palette. He swallowed. His throat was dry. He felt as though he had almost forgotten how to move his tongue and lips to speak. With great effort he managed to utter “Yes”.

Instantly the pointed toe of a boot struck him sharply on his cheek, jolting his neck sideways. He winced.

“The first Law,” she reminded him.

He corrected himself. “Yes, My All.”

“Recite it! The exact words of the first Law.”

“You are V,” he began but was abruptly checked by a violent jab in his arm. She was digging the heel of her boot into the tendons of his forearm. He cried out in pain.

As she continued to grind her heel into him, she explained coolly: “You will now learn a very crucial lesson which I’m sure will not be forgotten: When I give you an order which contradicts one of the Laws, you will obey my order over the Law. I am above the Laws. You were right to follow my last order, even though it led to your punishment for disobeying the first Law. You see, sometimes punishments are unavoidable.” She released her heel.

“Now, disobey the second Law.” His mind struggled with the paradoxical directive.

He heard for the first time her full, ribald laughter as she dug her heel deeply into him again, this time into the palm of his outstretched hand.

As he writhed in agony, a small part of him told him to stop this nonsense and demand to be released. With a small spasm of fear, he realized that he could do little but humor this crazy woman until she chose to free him. He would then, he decided, overpower her and report her to the police, no matter how embarrassing the consequences.

But she must have read his mind just then, for she suddenly stopped and spoke to him calmly, almost sweetly.

“You see, fear, torture and punishment are not the way to your annihilation. Although you are trapped in your chains, your will actually strengthens, rather than weakens if the punishments are handed out too often, or too haphazardly for you to learn how to obey me. But you will remember that I can, and may, give punishments that are hard to bear. Was my punishment hard to bear, little 216?”

“Yes, My All.”

“Do you enjoy your punishments, little 216?”

“No, My All.”

“Would you rather a reward, little 216?”

“Yes, My All.”

“Then recite for me all the Laws. If you recite them all to my satisfaction, you shall be rewarded. If you do not, you will forfeit your reward, however I will not punish you. And I will not trick you this time. You have my Word.”

The power of her Voice was so irresistible, that immediately he trusted her to keep her promise. And so deeply had her words carved themselves into his consciousness that he found himself reeling the Laws off almost verbatim, as though he had known them all his life.