Troubled with a capital “D”; Part 2

With that another came up behind me covered my face with a rag I can only assume had some chemical like chloroform on it, and the world went black…

Waking up somewhere cold and dark was a shock to the system after the bright warmth of the office.

Overcome by confusion and fear, I struggled against the restraints, finding barely enough slack in the ropes and cuffs to allow me to stand.

The room was rectangular, with five doors, two on my left, two on my right, one behind me. In front of me a solid wall covered in cameras. Straining my eyes to see in the dark I surveyed the surroundings as best I could. I might have to describe where I was kept to law enforcement later, I told myself.

My bindings were held to the floor by metal rings arranged in a circle.  The ropes traveled through the rings and then circled around until they met each other. Then they wove together to form a single large rope, which wound itself around a winch in front of the camera wall.

Above my head, stage lights. Painted on the floor circling the restraining rings, large block letters in red, S.T.O.A..

The mechanical voice from before spewed forth from a speaker somewhere in the rafters. “And our star rises. Welcome to your debut performance.”

Fear and anger, welled up in side me. I exploded on the unseen puppet master. “What the hell do you want? Terrorists usually have a reason, a message, something political or religious to back their misguided actions.”  I screamed into the darkness. “You make no claims, no demands you just rob people, kidnap them, and make them fuck each other. No one deserves this. And, you? What do you get other than money and a higher view count? You’re a coward.”

The mechanical voice laughed. “Feisty little thing aren’t you?” The floor inside the restraining rings began to move. “Perhaps we can work that fire out of you?”

A subtle jerk beneath my feet and the floor began to rise. My bindings didn’t loosen, the ropes lost their slack as the small circle of floor began to act as a platform.

“Remember, if you can,” the voice said,”the whole world will be watching. Give the cameras some love will you.”

Soon the ropes pull on my arms and legs was too great. As the platform rose I was being pulled to it with unyielding force. The small circle that was to be my stage, tiny, so small my core barely fit upon it. As the ropes pull me to my back the dull edges of my stage cut into my neck and shoulder blades, as my arms were stretched out and down. My legs fell off the opposite side, if circles had sides. Pulled until I could barely flinch, the edge cut into my ass, the bindings chaffed my wrists and ankles. I was spread eagle being displayed like a buffet, but why?

A buzzer sounded and the doors to my left and right swung open. Through each door stepped a different man, each naked with the exception of masks and shock collars. They took positions around me like vultures circling a dying creature.

Then the fifth and final door opened. Behind it you stood banging on what seemed to be a glass barrier,also stripped of clothing.  Leaning my head back I could look directly into your eyes, the pain and fear screaming through them.

The voice spoke again. “I think this dog has feeling for her? Shall we test his loyalty? The true test of a man’s loyalty to a woman is knowing she is spoiled goods and loving her anyway. So let’s spoil her gentlemen. Let’s spoil her rotten.”

Each of the collared men knelt beside the platform to what must have been a hideaway or cabinet of sorts, and each stood again holding his own bag of tools and tricks.

One pulled out a gag. A small ball gag, large enough to keep me from speaking, but small enough my whimper, screams and cries would still be heard. As the strap tightened around my head, I looked back at you. Still ranting and raving trying to be heard or noticed. but it was like watching a TV on mute. No sound, just agonizing pacing, and the occasional fist meeting your glass walled prison.

Another collared man loomed over me for a moment and then nodded to a third. The later walked in a circle around the edges of the room, uncovering mirrors that had been obscured between the doorways.

The looming man pulled a switch blade from his bag and held it to my throat.  Still trying to be strong I focused on you. Banging like a mad man against the glass I could see you screaming my name , I just couldn’t hear you voice.

The steel blade started sliding, dull side against my neck to my collarbone where the wielding man changed its angle and began slicing off the buttons of my shirt. Inch by inch  the fabric fell to my side revealing my bra, my ribs, my stomach.

The fourth man brandished a pair of kitchen shears from his bag. Starting at my ankles he began to cut my pants at the seam lines.

I fixed my eyes on you, I didn’t have the strength or the courage to look at the mirrors, and fear had my eyes too wide to imagine them ever closing again.

The anger welling up behind your eyes was intense. I couldn’t imagine your actions had you been free to act upon that emotion.

As I watched you threaten the world from your sound proof cell, I felt a new terror. The first set of hands had caressed my flesh.

Return to part one.              Skip ahead to part three.



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