Joy wakes up to hell on earth

When I wake up I let out a long low moan as I try to assess what’s hurting worse. Not what’s hurting as everything seems to be sending in reports of pain, but what’s hurting worse. Is it my head? My forehead specifically is feeling a sharp pain that I’m hoping isn’t a cracked skull. My entire head is throbbing with the worse headache I’ve ever experienced. My ears are ringing as if I were just at a rock concert. My shoulders have an oddly specific pain and I don’t seem to be able to move my arms in order to alleviate it. My chest hurts and I feel my breasts hanging freely, adding another ache. My stomach feels nauseated, as though I’d eaten something bad and it was desperately trying to get back out. My hips and legs feel like their being stretched and therefore throw their report in on the growing pile of problems, and finally I feel like I’m swaying side to side as if I can’t keep my balance.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I open my eyes. As I feared, the light hurts. Definitely a concussion. I keep opening my eyes more but keep their rate enough that the pain doesn’t spike further. When the world changes from that washed out white to including shapes and shadows I try to look around. What I see scares the living hell out of me and explains some of the aches and pains I’m experiencing.

I see a row of women across from me. They’re all balancing on a small cylindrical object that looks suspiciously like an aluminum pail. Upon closer inspection, I can see that only their toes are touching the pail. Their legs are pulled taut. Looking higher, I see that they’re bent forward. Most of them have their heads bent forward with their hair covering their eyes, but a couple are bright eyed and looking around. All of them have their arms bound at the wrists behind their backs. A chain is attached to their bindings and attached to the ceiling. The binding is simultaneously bending them forward and lifting them up, leaving them with barely any purchase from their toes to not be hanging from their legs. And I can only imagine the pain of having both shoulders dislocated like that.

Turning my eyes downward, I confirm what I fear. I’m in the same exact position. I can barely feel my arms, but they’re distinctly behind me, bound at the wrist and being held up and away from my body. I try to stretch my feet, but stop as soon as I feel the beginning of a cramp in my calf.

Looking at one of the conscious women I say quietly “What’s going on here? Why are we…”

I let my voice fade as her eyes go bulging wide and she shakes her head franticly side to side. A moment later her eyes dart away from me as a door opens somewhere to my right. It’s far enough away that I can’t crane my neck to see, but soon enough one of the military men are standing in front of me. Looking up as far as I can, I can still only get my eyes on his collar and tie. He may as well be completely anonymous. I’m not sure if it’s my current predicament, my pains, or my history with these thugs, but his voice sounds ominous. “You’re the new girl. I’ll give you a pass this time, but you’re to remain quiet. Cattle don’t speak. You’ll get treated once we reach our destination. Just stay still and wait until then.”

As he’s turning away I call out again, hoping to convince him that I’m not supposed to be here. “Hey, I’m sorry this is happening but there’s been a mistake. I’m…. Mmmmffpphh!!!!”

Quick as lightning he turns back to me and pulls it from his pocket. I don’t even recognize what it is until he’s stuffing the thing into my mouth. Biting down, I feel that it’s some kind of rubber device, but the texture on my tongue is leaving the distinct fear in my mind that it’s actually a dido of some sort. It reaches far enough into my mouth that it’s pushed into my throat, causing my muffled speech to quickly change to gasps and gags. Instead of taking pity on me and pulling it even a bit out, he pulls the two connected straps and wraps them around my head. With quick work he’s tied them together, and turns to walk away again, leaving me wide eyed and panicking as I’m dealing with something **** me.

I try not to panic, but can feel my body starting to quiver in response to the situation. I need to breath, but any movement of my mouth to get air around the wicked device causes it to move, which makes me gag even worse. Just as I’m afraid I’m going to lose all ability to keep myself calm I catch the bright eyed girl across from me. She’s staring at me, obviously trying to silently get my attention. She opens her mouth wide, holds for a second, closes her mouth, waits for a second, then breathes in deeply from her nose. I try to ask what she’s doing, but the tiny act of trying to create speech sends me into another gag and I only barely scratch myself back from outright panic.

When I focus on the girl she’s again staring at me and repeats the same motion. I hold and barely shake my head negatively, fearing even that moment might be bad. My lungs, however, are starting to burn, and I’m afraid that I’m going to simply start thrashing around like a drowning man, leading to two dislocated shoulders and no change in breathing status. When the girl repeats the actions a third time though, it simply clicks in my head. My mouth is full. It’s unavailable to breathe, just as if it were firmly closed. How do I breathe when I do that?

I take a long deep breath in through my nose. If I were smelling the roses, I’d have pulled the entire flower up into my nasal cavity. It’s a small amount of air and doesn’t feel like nearly enough, but it reduces my panic by a bit. A second deep breath reduces it further. The next reduces it some more. It takes a long long time for me to feel like I’m not suffocating, but I finally get my breathing under wraps. I’ve never had to consciously breathe before, but any attempt to use my mouth for breathing, sends me into another gag and threatens another panic attack. The only way to avoid it is to breathe consciously. Breathe in through my nose. Hold. Breathe out through my nose. Hold. Repeat.

The trip seems to take forever. By the time I feel the train slowing down I have cramps stating in both my calves, my arms are completely numb, my shoulders are screaming in pain, and I feel the need to breath normally. When the train stops I try to be patient, but it feels like we’re just left hanging for another hour before a group of men come in. They’re chatting with each other and don’t seem to mind the naked bound women around them. One, the tall one, is dragging a hose behind him while the other, the short one, has a long fluffy brush held over his shoulder. They pass, right to left, in front of me, evidently talking about some kind of sport they both watched the night before.

“Can you believe Kintowski missed that goal? I mean, he’s not one of the best paid players to screw up like that. If he’d had made that one goal I’d at least have covered the spread. But does he? Fuck no.”

“I don’t know why you take stupid bets like that. They haven’t made the playoffs for twenty years. They’re not going to make it for the next twenty years, no matter how many Kintowski’s they have on the roster. You know, you don’t have to root for them just because they’re the hometown team. I put some credits on the Memphis Temples and I won big last night. I bet if you’d just….”

The rest of what they said was covered up by the sounds of the hose coming to life and spraying. Looking down I can see the hose has expanded to nearly the size of a fire hose. And then my eyes widen further as underneath the spray I hear another noise. A woman screaming.

After a few moments the hose stops spraying and I hear the short guy shout out cruelly “Hey babe, just be happy that you didn’t have lice. We’d have had to REALLY spray you down then!”

The two men laugh, move a bit, and the spray turns back on. And another woman’s voice starts screaming.

By the time they’re moving in front of me, my whole body is shaking. Between not being able to breath, the conditions of my feet and legs, and my shoulders aching so bad, I’m not sure how I’m going to get through this. But when I look at the two men, I don’t see an ounce of humanity in their eyes. At least no humanity directed my way. With only the shortest of looks at me, the tall one points the nozzle at me and cranks the handle, spraying me with very cold water. Like all the women before I let out a scream, except my scream is caught by the invader in my mouth.

My fear of falling off the bucket turns out to be unfounded as the water has enough pressure that it actually pushes me backward, pushing my feet more firmly onto the bucket. While the cold water rushes over me and I try to remain still, the short one starts rubbing me all over with the fluffy brush. It only lasts a few moment, but it still is awful and terrible and leaves me shivering and wet and even achier than I was before. And somehow, knowing what the girls are going through from firsthand experience, makes hearing them all get cleaned feel worse.

Once all of us are cleaned the two men simply pick up their equipment and leave, still talking about the game and their betting strategies.

Another half hour or so passes agonizingly by before the door opens again. I hear another two men’s voices, but they’re just quiet enough that I can’t make out what they’re saying. Once they stop talking I hear some chains rattling followed by something heavy being moved around and then a squeaking heading back toward the door. This is repeated several times before they step into my view. I see them, along with a wheel chair, looking at one of the girls across from me, the one who helped me breathe, and seem to be checking things off of a list.

“Her hair is not longer than regulation.”

“Check.”

“Her hair is normal and does not warrant special attention.”

“Check.”

“Her skin is clean and non-oderous.”

“Check.”

“Her skin is normal and does not warrant special attention.”

“Check.”

“Her limbs look numb and or cramped and unable to move voluntarily.”

“Check.”

“Her limbs are intact and do not warrant special attention.”

“Check.”

Just as their words are said mechanically without seeming care that they’re dealing with a human being, their actions are the same. One of the men step into the stall with the woman, harshly pull her arms further up, unlock her wrists, and finally lifts her into the wheel chair.

As they step to the next girl, another man comes and collects the girl and wheels her out toward the door. This process is repeated for all the girls across from me, and then they start the same for the girls on my side of the car. When they’re standing in front of me, they seem to pause as they both look at the list for a moment, look at each other with a slight smile, and then begin.

“Her hair is not longer than regulation.”

“Check.”

“Her hair is not normal in color and warrants special attention.”

“Check.”

The list goes no further as the man steps behind me and wrenches my arms up in order to unlock me. It takes all my effort to not try and call out which I know will simply send me into yet another **** gagging fit. When he lifts me roughly and sets me in the chair he leans forward and rubs a few strands of my hair in his fingers. With a quick jerk he pulls the hairs out, causing my eyes to tear up from this new insult and pain. Before I can give any further thought, I feel the man behind me grab the wheel chair and start pushing me toward the door. As soon as we’re at the door he turns and pushes me outside of the train and onto a platform.

Where the station in Angel City reminded me of a futuristic, minimalistic train station from our time, this stop seemed more like a modernized version of one from the wild west. We were out in the wide open, although on a finely smooth concrete slab. The lone building looked worn down and decrepit but it was still full of people. Ahead of me, on an adjoining slab, were all the other girls from the train car. As they were all bound with several large leather straps to their chair it was no surprise when the man approached me and started binding me to mine.

The first almost kind act I experienced since stepping foot onto the train was the man roughly pushing my head forward, untying the straps to my gag, pulling my head back, and pulling the now obviously dildo gag from my mouth. He doesn’t seem kind in any particular way, but I still thank God for his kindness as I take in breath after deep breath of air through my mouth.

Where the other girls were being lined up in their chairs, I’m immediately pushed to the front of the group. The man takes a clipboard from his belt, writes something using what looks like an old pencil, then rips the paper off and fold it under one of the belts holding me to the chair. To one of the guards standing nearby he says simply “Special processing. Hair.”

And then nothing happens. I can hear more girls being brought off the train behind me, but all I can see are the dozen or so guards making a line in front of me. I’m so far ahead of the other girls that while I assume they’re still behind me, I actually don’t know. I’m half tempted to look over my shoulder and just confirm that I’m not alone, but if this experience has taught me anything it’s that these people don’t care and are so far beyond cruel that I don’t dare do anything that even might upset them.

So there I sit, warming under the late morning sun, waiting to see what the future holds for me.