Household Prologue

The day I was kidnapped was a cold day, so I was wearing a lot of clothes. I know I was wearing jeans (and underwear obviously), but I can't quite remember what my top was. I was for sure wearing a scarf--a blue one my friend Jessie made for me--and a gray beanie, but I've lost memory of whatever shirt or blouse I had on. Whatever it was, I wasn't wearing it for too long.

I was heading to the store to pick up some groceries. Since I lived in St. Paul, MN, there was a store close enough that I could just walk to, and since I was still in college, I preferred that so I didn't have to spend more than I had to on gas. Money is no longer a thing to me now, and I can't remember what I was going to buy either.

I had gotten home after interning at a local law firm. There, I changed out of my work clothes into more casual wear. This is where I put on the last of

my

outfits that I'd ever wear. I left my small, shitty apartment, walked down the six flights of stairs, and began my trek to pick up grapes or soap or whatever.

I like to picture myself on that day. Five foot, five, my red hair leaking out of my beenie, blue eyes hidden under sunglasses, scarf pulled up to my chin. My B-cup breasts were hidden under a gray blouse. I think that's what it was. Or maybe it was just a graphic tee under a hoodie. I wonder if one of the people walking behind me took the time to admire my ass as I walked in front of them. My butt isn't the biggest in the world, but there's plenty to grab onto, and I liked the figure it gave me. One my master loves to stare at. But I wouldn't be seeing him for days.

First, I saw Big Guy. That's what I call him. I took a shortcut through an alleyway I typically use to get from one busy street to another without having to shoulder my way through too many people. Big Guy must have been watching me for a while because he was waiting there for me, hidden behind a dumpster and some crates that had always been layed there.

My dumbass walked through the alley, sun setting, without a care in the world because I had done so a thousand times. On the thousand-and-first time, Big Guy jumped out from the corner and threw a cloth over my mouth and nose. I reached up and grabbed his arms on pure instinct, but before I knew what was going on, I was out. Probably chloroform.

***

When I woke up, it was night time. There were no windows in the back of the van (or maybe they were covered by cloth), but the light coming from the windows up front showed the night sky and all the streetlamps we were passing. I was tied up, and in a cage. The urge to freak-out was almost as immediate as waking up, but before I could scream, I became conscious of all the shit in my mouth. It was stuffed. Probably some sort of cloth that was held in by some sort of harness. It covered my mouth and chin, with four straps. Two that went around my cheeks, and two that went around my nose, slightly over my eyes, and over the top of my head. I screamed anyway, but what little sound that did come out was muffled and vague.

My scarf was gone by this point. I occasionally wonder what happened to it, the scarf my friend so thoughtfully made for me. Did Big Guy keep it? If so, what did he do with it? Keep it for himself? It was a unisex item. Or did he give it away as a gift? Did his wife or niece receive the scarf my friend made for a birthday or anniversary? Or did he just throw it away? All I know is I never saw that thing again.

I shifted and struggled. My hands were tied behind my back, and my ankles were tied to one another. A rope went from one to the other, only just too short, so that I couldn't stretch my legs out all the way. That's why I was turned on to my side.

No matter how hard I tugged, pulled, yanked and kicked, I couldn't loseten the ropes. I rubbed my wrists raw trying to do so, but to no avail. After that didn't work, I began to do just about the only thing I could do; I started making noise. Well, as much as I could. With the little mobility I had with my feet, I kicked the giant cage that stood instead of seats. Again and again I kicked the metal, and each time a loud BANG rang out. Big Guy flinched the first time I did it, and then looking for something in the driver side seat. After about ten or so kicks, he found what he was looking for. A remote.

He pressed a button.

My neck was instantaneously stabbed by what felt like six knives all around my neck. It was only then that I became aware that a thick collar of some sort was around my neck. The shock was only for an instance, but the pain was anything but brief. I'm sure I screamed, probably much louder than before, but it was still muffled by my gag. After the initial yell, I cried. Or wailed, I guess would be closer to it. I bawled my eyes out, and felt my tears running down the straps of the gag.

"No more of that noise, okay? That was only setting five. Keep doing that, and I'll turn it up to ten and shock you every minute of the drive, got it?"

I was too busy crying to focus on him, so he shocked me again. "Listen to me, slut! No more noise! Got it?" I could see his eyes in the rearview mirror, staring me down. With tears streaming down my face, I nodded.

He set the remote down, and I cried some more. A lot. Big Guy drove on, listening to the soft radio and not caring a thing about me.

He drove for what felt like days, but was probably only four or five hours (and that was only when I was awake). Somehow I managed to cry for all of that time. You'd figure I'd run out of tears, but I didn't. They just kept coming. Master probably would have thought I looked just dreamy.

***

Eventually, I felt him get off of the interstate, and pull over. This offered a respite from my crying and, for some odd reason, gave me hope. If he was pulling over, there would probably be people around, and where there were people, there could be an escape.

After a great many turns, Big Guy brought the van into a warehouse. I could see its ceiling through the windshield, but little else.

Big Guy parked, then exited the vehicle.

My heart began to race. Instinctually, I felt this was going to be my chance to escape. I couldn't think of how, but I could feel that if I didn't escape here, I never would.

The back doors opened. Big Guy held a long baton with two points at the end (I knew it was a cattle prod) and a black bag. He undid the straps holding the cage to the floor of the van, and grunted as he shoved the cage back a few feet. Setting the bag down, he looked at me.

"Do you know what this is?" he held up the cattleprod.

I nodded.

"Good. I ain't afraid to use it, you hear? Now you give me any trouble, and I'll zap you till you're on the floor pissin' yourself, you understand?"

I nodded. Somewhere inside me, I could feel that urge to escape dwindling, and the terror and fear creep back in.

He unlocked the padlock holding the cage shut. Reaching in, he pulled my legs toward him, preparing to lift me out of the cage. The touch of him over my jeans was revolting, and drove home the physical nature of the threat. This wasn't a dream: this was real. Maybe that's why, when he had lifted me up and pulled me out of the cage, I attacked. When my head was under his, I shot mine up as hard as I could. I hit his chin so hard it actually hurt me as well. Though, I'm not sure what my plan was because, the moment I hit him, he dropped me.

The fall (and even more so the smack of the floor) caught me off guard, and I was just as stunned as Big Guy. He reorientated himself quicker than I did, and even if he didn't, it's not like I could have gotten up and ran. His leg wheeled back, and launched forward. I scrunched as hard as I could, bracing for what I would guess it feels like to be hit by a train. But nothing happened.

After a moment, I opened my eyes only to find his leg returning to the standing position. I felt the soft touch of the cattleprod on my stomach over whatever shirt I was wearing.

When he shocked me, those two metal points might as well have been open flames that shot streaks of fire everywhere from my head to my toes. Every muscle along in the path of the flames was left scorched and twitching by the shock, and after the charge was ended, I could still feel parts of my body moving on their own. I screamed too, of course, but I don't remember doing it. All I remember was feeling the electricity surge through me like white fire and turn my own muscles against me. Forcing me to even lose control of my own body.

Just when I gained enough sense, he shocked me again, sending me immediately back to the blind, disoriented, lost state of pained panic. Everywhere in my body hurt. The pain was like a warm blanket in how all encompassing it was.

Then Big Guy shocked me again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. At least, I think it was that many times. After the third one, I lost count, but that's how many it felt like. I was writhing in agony, trying to scream with all the stuff in my mouth and crying in pain. Each time, not enough respite from the last electrocution to prepare or recuperate. It was an unending cycle of pain. I don't think I've ever wailed that hard. And yes, by the time I was done, I could feel that I had pissed myself.

My thighs were wet, and my back was cold (the floor was the same type of laminated tile you see in all officious places). My mind was in shambles, and I was sobbing, of course. Big Guy let me stew there for a little while, I'm not sure how long, before he grabbed the black bag. He pulled something out of his pocket, and slipped the bag over my head. It was a hood, and I could hear him zip tie it to my neck over my collar.

***

I was draped over Big Guy's shoulder like a rug, and carried around to another room. Or a few rooms. I wasn't really sure. After a few minutes, I could hear people. Other people! They were far away, but talking to each other and walking around. My heart swelled, and I began to squirm and shake as I screamed as hard as I could, like my life depended on it. Big Guy stopped walking for a second before I felt the familiar six bites on my neck, three times in rapid succession. One, two, three. The pain was so bad, surely, I thought, this had to be setting ten, but Big Guy whispered in my ear, "That was only six. Everyone is twice as worse as the last.

Now

, are you going to behave.

I just creid again. A pathetic cry, the cry of a child that wants something to end but isn't getting their way. I wheezed and choked, a staple of crying too long. Big Guy was moving again. By this point, I was becoming too dehydrated, and I could feel a headache coming on, but before I had time to think too much about that, I was hoisted from Big Guy's shoulder and layed on a table. I could feel its cold metal through my clothes.

Had I been able to, I would have gone into the fetal position and cried even more, but with the rope still between my legs and wrists, I had to awkwardly bend and sob. Surprisingly, this is nowhere near as humiliating or dehumanizing as my story gets.

That's when Little Man walked in. I never saw him of course, I just call him Little Man because his voice made it seem like he was smaller than Big Guy. And like he had glasses too. "Did she pee herself?"

"I didn't piss on her if that's what you're asking."

I could feel fingers, probably LittleMman's, inspecting me and checking out the finer details of my figure. I shivered at his touch, but was powerless to do anything but sniffle and moan.

"Good," he said after a fashion. "I don't see any injuries."

"What'd I tell ya?" Big Guy said.

"This is just what the buyer is looking for." I made a sound of surprise at the word 'buyer.' "That's right, sweet thing. You're someone else's property now." That's when he gave me a sharp slap on the ass. If you can believe it, somehow this felt more personal, and caused me to throw another fit, which was quickly ended by a shock from the collar.

"I thought you weren't supposed to do stuff like that?" asked Big Guy.

"We're not, but who's she going to tell. Will you load her into the van?"

"Sure." That was the last time I heard Big Guy. He lifted me up, and when he set me down, I was placed on my stomach in a tight, padded box. I thought they were putting me in a coffin. Immediately, again, I began to freak out. Only this time, I wasn't shocked or even reprimanded. What could I do anymore? Nothing. And they knew this. I was totally and utterly helpless and at their mercy. The rope between my wrist and ankles was cut, and I felt the rough hands of Big Guy turning me from my stomach to my back, followed by the sounds of a lid closing above me and straps being latched.

Looking back, I'm fairly sure there was an air vent right above where my face was, but at the time, I thought this was death. In what small space I had, I shaked and bucked, but to no avail. I began to have a panic attack, and I'm not sure when, but I soon passed out. Again, looking back, the manner in which I was transported was incredibly dangerous. If I had thrown up, I would have certainly choked to death on the fluid, and Master would have been most displeased. But thankfully, I survived.