Some kind of closet.

I don't remember anything until I woke, feeling groggy and clumsy. Whatever Lucy had given me had been very strong; I felt like I'd been asleep for a year. I willed my body to move and thankfully, it obeyed. I was no longer strapped to my bed. For that matter, I wasn't even in the same place. Not even close.

I took stock of my surroundings. I was lying on a bed in a small room, not much larger than a small walk-in closet. The bed filled one end of the room, and the only other furniture was a small rack that looked like it could serve as a place to hang clothing and beneath it, a small dresser. A row of dim lights ran along the bottom of the wall, near the floor, allowing me to see the interior space well enough to navigate it.

Sitting up, the thin sheet covering me fell away, reminding me that I was still very naked. I was surprised to find myself unconcerned with that, but a sudden, related fear gripped me. I lifted my fingers to my throat to find the satin band still there where it belonged. I couldn't know it was still the black one but Lucy had assured me that I was wanted; I had no reason to think they'd demoted me, if that's something they could do or would do. I still didn't really know.

Satisfied that I still wore my indicator, I briefly explored my body with my fingers. I was still freshly waxed everywhere, so either I'd only been out a brief time or someone had been grooming me. I assumed it was more the former, that my deep feeling of prolonged rest was just a result of the **** they'd given me.

I felt strangely at peace with everything that had happened in the few days since the TRAP had come into existence. I'd hidden in a closet then, and been terrified. Now, having been placed in an unknown closet by who-knows-who, I felt content. I was a ****. I knew that now. I understood my station and accepted it. It made everything so much easier to cope with. Why bother running when I had nowhere to go? Why fight what couldn't be fought? And what's more, deep down, I knew I wanted this. This was the thing that had always been missing from me.

As a free woman I'd been miserable. As a ****, I could finally be free.

I pushed myself to my feet and my legs wobbled awkwardly beneath me for a moment before my strength returned. My head was fuzzy; I felt a little light-headed. Maybe I'd woken too soon. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't walk around or take care of myself, and I was eager to begin... whatever came next.

I found a light switch and was pleased to note that it had a dimmer. I had no idea how long I'd been in this dark room but with how clearly I could see in the dim light, I wanted to avoid the sudden shock of bright lights. I eased the light level up and poked around the small quarters. It was probably going to be my home for the foreseeable future. The small dresser was empty and there were no clothes hanging from the rack. There was a small mirror on the dresser that showed me my slender body, slightly paler than usual. The black band stood out proudly on my throat and I felt pride.

I was valuable property. The black band proved it. I wanted to find Ruby and rub her stupid nose in my success.

The only other thing in the room was a stack of papers on my dresser. It looked like a handbook. Four or five pages stapled together. It reminded me more like a high school class syllabus than anything I'd expect to see in my corporate office, but I flipped through it just the same.

It was full of rules and expectations for me as a black band-wearing ****. The document referred to me as a "Corporate Unperson Needing Training", or CUNT for short. I rolled my eyes but couldn't ignore a growing warmth in my blood as I browsed the document, jumping from phrase to phrase.

"...must follow all instructions without delay..." Mmhmm. Pretty straightforward.

"...severe punishment..." I recalled the discipline button and shivered. No, thank you.

"...three week training period..." Three weeks??

"...physical and mental limits of the asset..." Asset. That was me. I was an asset. Not a person, just a thing.

"...allowed no bodily autonomy..." My stomach churned a little, but again I felt arousal at the inescapability of my station.

There was nothing to paint a picture of exactly what was going to happen to me, only how I should behave. In short, I should do what I'm told. There was a set of dress and grooming standards in the absence of specific directions, including mention of a uniform. But there was no uniform in my little space. What was I supposed to do? Stay here? Venture out? Would my door even open? I hadn't thought to look.