It's Not Even Started...

Zoe didn’t dare move again until she heard Katie leave for work. She couldn’t face her, couldn’t face anyone.

She took a shower, her body weak. Whimpering as she took off her clothes and gathered enough to courage to check her ass in the mirror. It made Zoe sob again, mewling in horror as she stared at the clear red lines that criss-crossed both her tight ass cheeks. She ran a trembling finger along one of the marks, biting her lip and staring in muted shock at the evidence that the cane she'd felt had been frighteningly real.

Mercifully they were fading, she hadn’t been beaten to the point of it breaking her skin but she felt the existential terror in the knowledge that somehow, the strap hadn’t just made her feel like she had been whipped, it had apparently, actually whipped her. She was grateful the marks didn't seem to have left anything that might be permanent - how could she ever hope to explain them to anyone?

"Oh those? When I was 23 I wished for a magical watch that whipped me for not running enough..."

She felt violated, that cursed little activity tracker had taken her and **** her to run, to perform for it against her will. It had made her run, whipped her, humiliated her.

Controlled her.

She scrubbed at the place on her wrist where it had been over and over until the skin was pink, trying to block out the memory of it. She’d used it as a sex toy – whatever it was, wherever it had come from, Zoe whimpered knowing she’d been dumb enough to not only think she had figured it all out, but that she had then used it for something so… humiliatingly animalistic...

Idiot… Stupid… Stupid idiot slut…

She cursed herself for ignoring its prompts and not paying better attention to what it had said.

"Run now to earn a reward" - It hadn’t ever been just a prompt, it had been an instruction... The realisation made her cringe.

The red-head towelled off, wincing as even the soft material of the towel felt rough against the tender skin of her ass. She climbed into the softest, cosiest clothes that she owned and headed back to her room to bed, burying herself in the covers and doing the only thing she could think of at a time like this for reassurance – she called her mom.

Or she tried to.

Zoe whimpered when she tried her mom’s number and it rang without answer before disconnecting. After several tries she gave up and called her Dad, only to get the same.

She cringed - What would I say anyway? - “Hi Mom, my magical fitbit whipped me so I cut it off – what did I use it for? Oh it just gave me orgasms! How was your day?”

She shuddered and put her phone down despondent.

Mentally, physically and emotionally drained, the girl struggled to keep her eyes open. The relief from everything – all the pain, the embarrassment and fear, the adrenalin from the morning and the pain of the run it had all sapped every last ounce of energy from her.

She didn't even want to contemplate the more horrifying truth that, apparently, magic or wishes or powers beyond her previous imagination were real...

She hugged the sheets to herself as tight as she could and, even as sunlight streamed in from behind the shades, she drifted off to sleep.

Zoe was in an arena – all around her she could hear the thunderous cheers of a crowd stomping their feet rhythmically. But it was like no arena she had even been in before. Stretching before her was what should’ve been the familiar straight of an athletics track, the white lines clearly numbered and marked – but what disturbed her was the material of the floor, the walls, the stands, and even the arena’s domed roof high above…

It was all jet black obsidian.

The edges of the track were marked with stark white rails – like those on a race track for horses, and a purple mist seemed to drift in wafting clouds through the air. There were no lights, and yet everything was lit – flat and uncomfortably without shadows.

The girl tried to turn her head to look up at the crowd, but she couldn’t – she found herself staring straight ahead at the finish line.

Something was very wrong.

Zoe felt it – panic.

She was naked but as she tried to cower or cover herself she found her arms were numb and wouldn’t respond. Her bare feet felt cool against the pristine black floor. She tried to scream but no sound escaped her throat.

A starter’s pistol sounded.

Zoe bolted. She couldn’t help it, she couldn’t stop – her legs carried her terrified body forwards, faster and harder than was comfortable. She had no control of herself – her bare feet pounding the cold unforgiving ground in step after step after step...

She couldn’t look to see but she felt them – something to her left and right, running with her – chasing her. Zoe tried to scream again as the track started to stretch impossibly away from her – longer and longer and longer towards the horizon as a distant bell sounded…