Sign on the dotted line

"Please," you whisper, voice breaking. "Let me go."

Dan's henchmen look uncomfortable, hanging back and avoiding your looks. You don't care about them or their muscles or their cocks. You don't care about on-upping Dan or taunting him or putting him down. He'll never be the pitiful small-dicked letch of a neighbour again in your mind. You want to be free, to put ice packs on your breasts, to find some clothes, to forget this day. You want, most of all, to get far far away from Dan.

But Dan, it seems, won't let you.

"Sign," he says, and points to the folder on the roof in front of you.

Rubbing your wrists you watch him warily, and tentatively move the cuffs aside before opening the folder.

"sign the marked places within ten seconds or I will keep you fastened to the car until the circulation in your breasts stops completely, the blood coagulates, the cells start to die, and eventually," he smiled like he liked the thought, and it terrified you even more than his words, "eventually your tits will need to be amputated.

You wince, staring at him in horror. He meets your eyes with a cold stare and raises his wrist. "ten, nine, eight, seven, six...." he counts.

Shaking yourself free you snatch up the pen attached to the folder, scrambling to scratch your signature everywhere that there's a post-it. You know that you couldn't possibly have completed them all in the five-seconds left, and when Dan approaches you you cringe.

He smiles, taking the folder with one hand, and pats your ass in a proprietary way before walking away.

It takes several moments for you to work up the nerve to speak, and by that time he's nearly at the door. "Dan? Please? Dan? I'm sorry, please let me go."

Dan doesn't stop, but he does say over his shoulder, "Bring the cuffs inside with you," and presses a remote.

Nothing has ever felt better in your life, and yet nothing worse, than that one moment. The window rolled down and your poor purple breasts came free, two enormous, numb lumps that you couldn't even tell were part of you. Tears poured down your face and you slid down the side of the car to the asphalt, cradling them with both hands, massaging them back to life. Liquid fire poured into them in the form of blood circulating through their starved veins. Your head tilted back, a scream clutched within your mouth but never uttered.

With deadened flesh returning to life and handcuffs dangling from one hand you couldn't help but whisper over and over, "What have I done?"