She woke up in a cozy bed. A thick, heavy blanket lay atop her naked body. The sheets felt nice.
The light was soft and warm. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept that well. She sleepily ran her fingers between her body and the bedsheet and jolted awake in a confused panic when she found her vulva totally shaved.
She sat up and looked around. This wasn't her bed. It wasn't her room. There were no windows, and the walls were painted cinderblocks. The temperature was perfect, but she felt cold and scared. Her lip trembled and she was covered in goosebumps. She clutched the covers to her neck, facing the door.
A chrome-plated slot opened at the bottom, and a hand presented a well-appointed tray of food. Avocado, bacon, a healthy slice of toast, and eggs the way she liked them. Juice and coffee sat in identical, double-walled glasses on two corners of the tray.
"Good morning!" the voice called out. The hand that left the tray then gently closed the slot. Footsteps faded away quickly, and she sat there, looking at this tray of food, listening to her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears. There was no sound other than that and her occasional whimper.
The smell of breakfast made its way to her nose. Her stomach growled. All she could remember is finding two flat tires on her car when she came out of the grocery store. She looked down at her vulva. It was perfectly barren. She never shaved it that well herself, and she certainly hadn't done it in weeks. She felt around her labia and her anus. All perfectly done. She closed her eyes and breathed consciously.
She was successfully calming herself - something about the light, and the bed, and the smell of the food was comforting her, despite her drawing a complete blank as to how she had ended up there. She laid back down, and fell asleep, completely covering herself in the heavy blanket.
She woke up hours later. Stomach sticking to itself with hunger. She peeked around the edge of the blanket towards the door. The food was still there. Across the room was a single wooden chair and a small table, upon which lay, perfectly folded, a pair of grey sweat pants and a sweatshirt. She walked over. The floor felt pleasantly hot and the whole room was perfectly warm. The fabric was incredibly soft. They smelled very clean. She put them on, picked up the tray, and sat down to eat.
The bacon was cold and the avocado was warm. But it was positively delicious. She savored every bite. The flavor was...intense. Eating was calming her, despite the undeniable likelihood that she was being held captive. She shifted in her seat as she took a bite of the toast. The way the sweatshirt rubbed on the side of her breast made her pause for a second, and repeat the motion. She ran her hand along the inside of her thigh as the salted butter coated her tongue. The bread was buttered on both sides, lightly toasted, and absolutely delectable.
The meal was extremely satisfying. She felt like it has been a long time since she had eaten that well. She wiped her hands off on the cloth napkin and slipped one under her shirt. Her fingertips running along her skin felt electric. She touched the bottom of her left breast and felt an intense heat in her vulva.
She pulled her hand away, startled by the opening of the slot in the door. It made a good sound. It was a well-built slot, and the man opened it carefully.
"If you're done eating, you can put the tray here so I can take it away," the man said. She sat quietly. He delivered another tray with some sort of device on it and an envelope. He waited for a moment, then closed the slot. His footsteps faded.
She sat for a moment - as if to ensure that he wasn't coming back. She went back to touching her breast. Her nipple was hard. She gently grabbed at her breast, caressing her nipple against the fuzzy interior of the sweatshirt.
She made her way to the door and crouched down to examine the contents of the tray. As she did so, she caught her reflection on the slot in the door, surprised to see the crotch of the pants darkened. She pulled at the waistband and reached inside to find that she was soaking wet. She ran her middle finger along her slit and over her clit on the way up and out of the waistband. She looked at her wet finger. She smelled it. She put it on her lips, then licked her lips. She had never liked her own taste as much as she did that instant. And with a deep breath, she stuck the wet finger in her mouth and sucked it dry. She felt the heat in her crotch again.
She was confused but didn't care. She didn't know where she was but felt no danger. Thoughts darted in her head about even the length of time she'd been held. But it didn't seem to matter. She loved her breakfast, and now she couldn't wait to spend the day making herself cum. This was certainly not part of her normal routine, but her body's response was undeniable, and she let her mind take a back seat to that.
She looked down at the tray again. The plastic device looked a bit like a large dragonfly with a very short tail, with elastic straps instead of wings. There was an old-timey three-position power switch on one side. It had some heft and was most definitely homemade - but well built. It smelled like new plastic.
She opened the envelope to find several polaroid pictures. They were numbered. The first one was a picture of the device on the tray. The second showed the elastic straps around a thigh and a hip. This caught her attention. The third image showed the "eyes" of the dragonfly placed on either side of a clit. Her eyes widened when she saw the mole at the edge of the photo. She looked down her pants in disbelief - that was definitely her mole.
The fourth photo showed the switch in position 1. The fifth photo showed a view from her feet, the tail of the dragonfly curled so that its tip rested against her anus. The last photo showed the switch in position 2.
