LadyYuki

The journey begins now. Thank you for the amazing response to the the teaser I released a few days ago. The teaser went to a page break and may have seemed rather short, but I can assure you that there will be a lot more to sink your teeth into from here on out as my average chapter length is between 5k-7k words. I hope you all like this as much as the teaser. Comments are always welcome ad appreciated.

Enjoy the opening to our dark tale.

Cheers

The dark shadows of a dreamless sleep faded as I slowly returned to a semi-conscious state. While my brain was going through the motions of its boot-up sequence, I couldn't help but notice how strange this situation I found myself in was; I felt the icy cold bite of the metal I was apparently lying on pressed painfully into my skin; I spasmed from the cramping of my muscles that couldn’t stretch out, and I shivered from the chilling air that crept along my naked skin like the touch of Death. There was no way of knowing where I was or what was happening, but I could tell I was in deep shit even with my half functioning brain.

Opening my eyes, I saw... nothing, not a single thing. The room was so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. With sight out of the equation for the moment, I figured that touch would have to do as my go-to investigation method. I shifted my weight to sit up. More than once, I bumped into bars on either side of what was apparently a cage. It only took a few minutes of groping in the dark to figure out the general dimensions I was working with, find the opening, and the latch. The space was less than generous; it was only about enough space to sit up, crawl, or lay curled up.

The really freaky thing about this whole situation, aside from kidnapping a person and putting them in a dark room in a freaking cage, was the door latch. While it had no lock that I could find, the damn thing wouldn’t budge a single inch. The bars were spaced far enough apart that I could just get my forearms out and have some leverage, but even with that I couldn't get the mechanism to move; not even a wiggle. It was as if someone had welded the cage shut instead of locking it. It made no sense whatsoever.

Now, I wouldn't say I'm necessarily claustrophobic. I’d like to think that I can handle enclosed areas with a relatively normal level of anxiety. However, when dealing with tight spaces, I like to know that there is some way out; otherwise, my rock-steady psyche gets messy. Once I deduced — thank you, my dear Watson — that I was more thoroughly trapped than a convict on Alcatraz, my rational mind left me completely.

For purely educational purposes, having nothing to do with a coping mechanism based on sarcasm, I need to pose a question: what's the number one rule of survival? That's right, don't panic. Yeah, ok. Maybe that’s actually that’s rule number two or three, but whatever. It’s not like I was an Eagle Scout or anything. Anyway, I didn't do that. In fact, I didn’t follow any of the known rules of survival. I did the exact opposite. I freaked right the fuck out and damn near went feral.

The first and only brilliant plan of action that my frothing monkey brain could conjure was to open the cage by any means necessary; this plan took place in several, increasingly deranged, phases. I first tried attacking the bars; pushing and pulling like a caged animal until my arm felt like limp noodles. Next, I tried pawing at the latch from every conceivable angle in the desperate hope that I might have missed something during my initial investigation and could find a lock or a mechanism; the only results were a few interesting bruises on my forearms and probably a sprained right wrist from getting my hand stuck so many times. My last idea was my most crazed, least likely to work, and by far most disastrous, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t attack it with some real gusto. 

I had exhausted myself by this point; the combination of panic, adrenalin, and mania left my muscles cramping like vise grips and my head spinning like a tilt-a-whirl. I decided that my last ditch effort would be to break the latch on the cage with whatever brute force I could muster by kicking at the door. I know now how stupid I was being, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It's not that my brute force option was necessarily the worst idea, more that my current situation didn't provide me with the elements required for a heroic door breach viable. For one, I was in a relatively small cage, so I didn't have the space available to get good extension with my kicks, thus robbing my “brute force option” of its brute force. The more damning element was the actual door I was attempting to “brute force.” Putting aside the irrefutable facts of what I know now, that my captors used magic to seal my cage, and that I had an exactly zero percent chance of ever opening it on my own, I was kicking at metal bars.

Have you ever heard that it’s easier to push your finger into the sand than it is to do the same with your fist? That's the nature of pressure; the smaller an area that one exerts a force over, the greater the pressure the person exerting creates. What I mean to demonstrate with this impromptu physics lesson is this: an action hero doing a heel kick in the movies may look cool, but there is an important reason they kick down nice flat wooden doors rather than cold round cell bars.

I shimmied as much of my body as far away from the door as I could to maximize my kick’s power, then unleashed with everything I had. In retrospect, I should have taken a few practice runs before going full force, as lashing out in the dark doesn't exactly lend itself to pinpoint accuracy. The moment my foot landed on that cold, unforgiving metal, I blacked out, but in the split second before I lost consciousness, I heard and felt my foot snap like a twig. Needless to say, my escape plan had gone the way of the Hindenburg. Crash and Burn.

———♤————♡————◇————♧———

As consciousness flooded back to my mind, I hoped, just for a second, that I'd experienced a terrible nightmare and would soon find myself within the warm, fluffy confines of my bed and the gentle embrace of my loving partner. Instead of rolling over to snuggle closer to my partner, however, I turned only to be greeted by cold metal, a pitch-black room, and a throbbing burn radiating from my foot that made my stomach knot up worse than a kinkster's bed posts.

"Motherfucker!" I grunted, trying to find some positioning for my foot that wouldn't make me want to amputate.

As I moaned and groaned, wishing for the soothing embrace of Death to deliver me from the pain, a voice obscured by the oppressive darkness whispered, "Quiet! Please, be quiet."

"Who the fuck is that?" I screamed.

I’d thought myself a lonely inmate, cast away in my little prison cell, but this appeared not to be the case. Who was this unexpected addition to my world? In the dark, I had no actual way of telling if they were friend or foe. For all I knew, this person had been watching me all this time with fancy goggles or something, with some form of nefarious agenda. The more likely explanation was simply that I wasn’t alone in my captivity. If someone had stolen me out of my bed while I slept peacefully next to my partner, it stood to reason that they would have no qualms about abducting anyone else.

Luckily, I didn’t have to stew in my confusion for too long before my shadowed stranger lay my suspicions to rest. This mystery man seemed keen to answer my screaming question.

“My name is Tobias. Now please be quiet.”

“Do you know what is going on?” I questioned, lowering my volume, in the hopes that indulging Tobias’ request might keep him talking. I needed to gather whatever information was available to me and right now, he was my only potential source of insight.

“I've got no idea what’s going on.”

“Do you know where we are or how we got here?”

“Look, man, I don’t know anything, okay? One minute I was closing up the comic book store I own, and the next minute I woke up naked in the dark, in a cage. Now please, please be quiet.” He whimpered.

A panic grew in Tobias’ voice as he spoke, as though each spoken word brought us both closer to the precipice of utter doom. My compassionate side wanted to oblige him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright, but I couldn’t. I’d already figured out the hard way that the cage I was in was inescapable via the methods I had at hand, so my only recourse lay in Tobias and whatever wisdom he could impart while I waited for something to happen.

“Tobias? That was your name, right?” I questioned. He responded with dead air, so I forged on ahead. Perhaps persistence could get him talking again.

“So you don’t know how you got here? You seemed to just appear in this place, Right?”

Quiet.

“Have you seen anyone else? Has anyone come in?”

Silence.

“What about outside? Have you caught any glimpses of the area outside this room?”

Crickets.

“Look, Tobi, whatever is going on here, we’re in this together. I broke my foot trying to escape to get out of this cage, so there’s no way I can do this solo. If we want to get through this, if either of us wants to see their friends or family again, we need to work together. I need information so we can come up with a plan and escape together.”

Zip. Zilch. Nothing. Natta. The fucker wasn’t talking, much to my frustration.

“Can you at least tell me why you've decided that now is a great time to clam up?”

I guess persistence pays off, because Tobias finally cracked, “Shut up!” he raged. “I’m not talking, because I spoke the last time someone came into this room, and my punishment for talking was something so horrible that I can’t even explain it. Now please, for the love of God and all that is holy, just shut the fuck up!”

There is an interesting thing that happens in the eye when in darkness. Our pupils dilate. They try to let in as much light as they can, so we can see. If you’ve ever seen an optometrist and left the office with their nifty plastic Doc Brown shades, then you know what I’m talking about. The results, however, are damn near laughable, at least for human beings. Whereas animals such as cats and owls have acute abilities to see in the dark, making them phenomenal nocturnal hunters, humans have such terrible night vision that it borders on having none at all. There’s also an unfortunate side effect that crops up when you are suddenly reintroduced to light; almost any amount of light becomes totally blinding, as I experienced when I became acquainted with the relatively mild yet disturbingly sun-like candle light of the dungeon’s hallway.

The moment Tobias finished his temper-tantrum, a searing light blasted into the room, leaving the both of us temporarily blind. The door to our cell slammed open, causing both Tobias and I to scream from the sudden terror.

“You two are a regular couple of Chatty Cathies, aren’t you?” A mysterious nasally voice rang out. I assumed it belonged to my captor. “I told you last time that I wouldn’t be so nice if I had to come back in here, didn’t I?”

He was talking to Tobias and, even without seeing him, I could tell that the poor guy was practically shitting himself.

“I’m sorry, sir!” Tobias cried out in panic.

“‘Sorry’ wasn’t good enough before. What makes you think it’ll suffice now?”

There was menace in the man’s voice as he spoke. He was in here to do us harm, with all his ire currently aimed at Tobias. My vision was completely out of whack and I’d hoped to wait for it to right itself, but I wasn’t being given that kind of luxury. I had to go in blind — both figuratively and literally — with no knowledge of what this guy what he was capable of or even what he looked like, but fault for this situation fell squarely on my shoulders, and I couldn’t let my only potential ally take the heat for something I’d so recklessly done.

Like most things today, my options were between bad and worse, yet I somehow chose stupid.

I screamed toward Tobias and our jailor, “Hey, you dirty old fucker! I’m the one you want! I made him talk, so come deal with me if you’re brave enough.” Deathly silence hung in the air. I imagined this mysterious man wasn’t used to being challenged the way I did.

I was slowly regaining my sight, allowing me to see a greyish blob standing about two yards away from me. I couldn’t be sure if it was my captor or not, as it was standing relatively motionless. For all I knew, it was a statue or some other poor prisoner who was still unconscious. I could only entertain that possibility until the blob started moving toward me.

“Well, well, well. It seems like you have some spirit,” the blob chuckled.

As he approached me, my vision finally became more acute. I saw a strange man wearing a black robe and hood standing right in front of me. The hood of his robes and the shadow it provided mostly concealed his face, but I could make out his lower jaw and he’d set it with the most disconcerting smile I had ever seen; a smile that read danger, menace, and evil all at once, yet exuded a twisted joy at the same time. There was no doubt in my mind, he drew immense pleasure at the opportunity to inflict suffering on others.

“I like the spirited ones.” He grinned. “It’s so much more fun to watch you break when you try to fight.”

Fear rendered me mute. I was brave not a moment ago, but the sight of this man took all my bravery away and replaced it with a pure terror befitting the scariest of King novels. It was primal; I knew with just one look that this man could kill me with a flick of his wrist and that he would enjoy every second.

“What’s the matter, hero? Cat got your tongue?” He stared me down, waiting for my response. “Or have you wised up after only a moment in the presence of your better?”

He was attempting to assert dominance over me, that much was certain, but I questioned why he hadn’t inflicted the “terrible punishment” that Tobias was so scared of me for yelling at him. Maybe something had changed, and he no longer had carte blanche to hurt us. Looking over at Tobias, I saw a rather gaunt-looking guy with ginger hair curled up in a ball, shaking like a palm tree in a hurricane. What I didn't see was any sign of injury: no blood, bruising, or even redness. He looked to be in pristine condition, given the circumstances. Maybe this “terrible punishment” was all in his head. At least that’s what I convinced myself while trying to regain my bravado.

“I asked you a question, you little bitch! Now answer me!” The black-robed man barked.

My animal instincts told me to cower, to hide away, and to hope for mercy. Unfortunately, I’d lived through abuse after abuse in my life and I knew that his man would not relent until he felt that he’d put me in my place. The only thing you can do with bullies is stand up to them, so that’s what I did. I put on a brave face and meet this sadistic bastard head on. “I heard you just fine, but I don’t answer questions from limp-dicked assholes dressed in bedsheets.”

The air between us crackled with energy. I expected to see the man rage at my defiance, yet he continued to smile down at me. Then he laughed; not a chuckle or an amused guffaw, but a deep, bellowing cackle. I’d expected to enrage him, yet I had only managed to amuse him.

The mysterious man leaned down until he was at my eye level. He challenged me, “Say that again, little bitch. See what happens when you try to act like a big man.”

“First of all…” I got out three words before my captor raised his hand and I found out first-hand what Tobias’ “terrible punishment” truly was. The moment the mysterious man moved, my skin boiled and burned in a fire hot enough to sear my flesh to the bone. I looked around in panic, but saw no flames at all. My skin remained firmly attached to my muscles and bones, even as the agony raged on. Somehow, this man could inflict all the pain of a Witch Trials burning, but bypass any physical damage to my body.

I screamed so loud, I'm certain that I damaged my throat and the ears of any local dogs. I writhed in my cage, trying and failing to quell the pain that made up my current world. Gone was the pain radiating from my broken foot; I completely forgot about it the moment my captor performed his mystical torture spell.

My torment went on for an eternity before he released me from my hell. As quickly as I’d drowned in the proverbial Lake of Fire, I surfaced just as fast, yet my torture continued. While I lay on the cold metal bars sobbing, a feeling of overwhelming sorrow and guilt hit me like a splash of cold water. I found my thoughts ripped away from my suffering and ushered to the sobering realization that I’d brought this on myself. If I had just listened to Tobias, if I hadn’t spoken out, if I hadn’t foolishly challenged someone who clearly held all the cards, then I wouldn’t have had to endure the hell I’d just known. Suddenly, I was crying big, fat, ugly tears for an entirely different reason. I was so stupid, so worthless, that I deserved to be punished. I only hoped that I could find forgiveness.

“There now,” the voice of my captor broke through the fog of my shame, like the beacon of a lighthouse on a stormy night, “now you look properly contrite.”

He stood back to his full height before stepping in front of my cage. Once there, the man waved his hand, and the lock clicked open. It seemed such a simple task, yet I’d only hurt myself while trying to do what this man did effortlessly. I was truly pathetic.

“If you promise to behave, then I’ll let you out.” He appraised me as he awaited my answer. “I may even be nice and fix the foot that you so foolishly broke.”

I nodded my affirmation. Even that minor acquiescence felt shameful. But what other choice did I have?

“Good, now that you’ve told me, you are going to show me you intend to be good.”

His level of condescension was making me vomitously ill, though the fog of shame seemed to lift off my mind a little more with every word he spoke. Still, I had no actual way to turn the tables yet, so my best bet was to follow his orders and wait for my moment to strike. No matter how sickening it was.

"First things first."

He spoke, and I felt an unnerving constriction around my throat. Had he changed his mind and decided that torture wasn't sufficient for my crimes? Was I about to die?

In a moment of panic, my hands shot to my neck, hoping I might prevent the demented machinations of my sadistic jailer. Upon inspection, I didn't find a noose or constricting snake, as my imagination had led me to expect, instead I found a thick strip of black leather and a little metal ring. This psychopath had magically placed a collar on me without even touching me. To be fair, he'd already inflicted the worst pain that I'd ever felt without touching me and unlocked my prison with a wave of his hand, so the precedent of fantastic acts was already well established. Even so, the existence of actual magic, along with being kidnapped by a sadistic culty guy, is a lot to take in all at once.

"There we go. You're all dressed up like a proper little bitch. Now, crawl to me and kiss my feet."

The cage door gently swung open. My captor didn't make a move. He simply looked down at me with impatience, waiting for my response.

I yelped as soon as I moved to exit the cage and flopped back onto my side. All the adrenalin flowing through my system from the overdose of pain and terror had somehow masked my still broken foot, but moving brought it screaming back to the forefront of my mind. I looked up, hoping to find any shred of humanity in the mysterious man, but found an impatient glare telling me that my pain was of no consequence to him. I had to move, or likely face further punishment, so I pushed myself back up with a grunt. Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, and crawled out of the cage.

“Very good,” the man condescended to me as I dawdled closer. “I’ll tell you what. If you complete a task for me without making a sound, I’ll fix you up, good as new.”

My groaning stopped immediately. It wasn't an easy feat, but I had to find the grit to do it. My options for escape or retaliation were dwindling at best, but being hobbled with a broken foot took my options from limited to nonexistent. I crawled, shifting as much weight away from my foot as possible. I would say that the pain was unbelievable, but I’d just lived through torture at the hands of a mystical sadist, so the throbbing pain radiating from my every twitch and turn was a walk in the park in comparison.

I made it to the mysterious man after what felt like a trek through a burning desert. Weak, hurting, and broken as I prostrate myself before him, I assumed that he still wore that disgustingly evil smile, but I couldn’t bring myself to look up and confirm my suspicions. After a moment, his robe lifted slightly to reveal a pair of surprisingly well manicured feet. I expected something gnarled, hairy, possibly stinking or dirty, but found little to be disgusted by aside from the act itself, some brown leather sandals, and normal feet.

Swallowing one's pride is never a light undertaking, though it is often integral to survival. Like eating bugs while lost in the jungle or recycling one's own fluids when absent from fresh drinking water, I did what needed to be done. My pride be damned. I debased myself and kissed both of that sadistic bastard's feet. The aroma of sweat and leather overwhelmed my senses as I went about my task, causing me to gag. Only once each, though, I would not indulge his perversion any more than absolutely necessary.

"Well done. Though, if I'm being honest, you lacked enthusiasm." The malice in his voice was palpable. "Now stay still while I inspect you."

Being that I was naked, save for the collar that he had forced upon me, and presuming that this man was my kidnapper, I wasn't sure how much more "inspecting" he could do. He'd promised to fix my foot, so long as I followed his instructions, and that was integral to getting out of here. I could only wait with anxious anticipation as the man circled around me.

Sweat beaded on my forehead as my anxiety grew from moment to moment. My "inspection" dragged on for what felt like hours; like sitting alone in front of a two-way mirror at a police station or waiting outside the office doors for a big interview. He was trying to rattle me. He offered no words, no sounds, no further degrading commands or insults, just casually paced around my hobbled form, drinking in my discomfort.

On his third pass behind me, he stepped on my injured foot. I saw white, nearly blacking out from the pain. I let out a momentary yelp, but bit back further expressions through sheer force of will.

"What was that?" The mysterious man joked. "I could have sworn that I heard something."

He steadily applied more pressure, hoping for another excuse to inflict his magical tortures. My knuckles were white from squeezing my hands, my mouth filled with the sickly, metallic taste of blood as I bit my tongue, tears flowed like rivers from my eyes. I was in absolute agony, but remained determined to bear this pain at all costs.

As the moments turned into minutes of twisting, burning misery, my resolve nearly faltered. He kept changing his approach to antagonizing my already broken foot. Sometimes he would pulse, other times the pressure would remain steady. The worst was when he ground and twisted his foot into mine, allowing me to feel the broken bones shifting and sliding against one another, grinding like wheat crushed under the weight of a millstone.

I was on the very precipice of breaking, of screaming out, of begging him to release me from his torment, when he finally relented. A wave of relief washed over me almost immediately. The pain remained a constant player in the back of my mind, but being released from that screaming agony was akin to reaching nirvana; my worries, pains, and cares flowed away as I basked in the warm blanket of relief, until he spoke and sent me crashing back to this mortal coil.

"Very good." The man offered while, once again, standing in my sight. "You made it through with only the slightest peep. You certainly have an iron will. That is to be commended, though I have to wonder how long it will last."

The man waved his hand again, but this time I found myself whisked away to a world of carnal desire. If I'd been in Nirvana a moment before, I’d descended to the most luscious pits of Hell now. I shook from the pleasure coursing through my veins, like lightning streaking across the sky. I'd never known that a body could feel this good before, but every time I felt like I had plateaued, the electric pleasures took me even higher. Hours felt like seconds as I basked in my unholy lust, and it left me staring up at my tormentor while wearing a goofy grin of self satisfaction.

"You see? I'm not all bad. You just have to follow the rules." He smiled down at me while attaching something to my collar. "Follow the rules and you get pleasure. Break them and you'll get pain. It's really that simple."

At the moment, I couldn't care less about his rules or his orders. I couldn't even bother to worry about my escape. The only thing running through my head while he prattled on was, "how can I get more of this feeling."

Pain radiating from my right ass cheek shook me from my euphoria. Apparently, my captor had asked something of me while I was busy surfing the waves of bliss. It wasn't in the same league as his previous abuses, more like a very firm spank, but it was certainly enough to garner my undivided attention and a feeling of shame for needing to be disciplined once again.

"I said stand up, you pathetic little bitch!" The man groused.

"I can't," I muttered. "My foot is b…"

This time my correction came as a pain radiating from the cheek of my face, instead of the ones behind me. It was the same slapping sensation, as though the man had struck me right across the face. I felt like my head should be reeling from the magical, teeth chattering slap, but the magic's nature left me with only pain and shame.

"I didn't ask if you could stand. I told you to stand." He fumed.

Still, I hesitated, not wanting to bring the pain of my broken foot back to life. It had been calm since my blissful journey to the outer realms of relief and pleasure; I wasn't keen to hurt myself again.

"Stand now or your punishment will exceed anything you've felt so far." He seethed. “I do not take well to open defiance.”

That got me moving. As bad as my physical pains might be, they didn't hold a candle to the magical pains my captor could inflict. His magic also came strange influxes of emotion and intrusive thoughts, further complicating my punishments. I don't know why, but every punishment came with an unhealthy dose of shame and regret that made me want to avoid not only further punishment but also disappointing my captor any further. It made no rational sense, but it was effective nonetheless.

I put down my good foot and pushed into a kneeling position, bracing for the pain my next move would bring. Steeled for the worst, I lifted myself to stand on my good foot and placed my weight down, lightly, on the bad one, hoping to be as kind to myself as possible. To my immense surprise, there was no pain. I applied more pressure, even shifting to stand normally, yet I felt fine. It felt like my foot had never suffered injury. I was, all things considered, as good as new, just as promised.

Noticing my surprise, the mysterious man offered, "Yes, I fixed your stupid mistake. The mending of bones is nothing more than a parlor trick to us, and you're no good to anyone broken." He turned toward the dungeon’s entrance and tugged on a leash that was now attached to my collar. "Come along now."

I moved in step behind the man, his black robes billowing as he went. We swiftly exited the dank, dark dungeon into an astoundingly regal looking hallway. The two locals, though close together, were as different as a back alley and a cathedral. As we walked, the dungeon’s door closed with a mighty "thud." I looked back and saw another man in dark robes standing guard next to the ornate wooden passage. I hoped to never return to that foreboding prison, but I couldn't be sure that what lay ahead was any better; my life had upended the instant I awoke, with scarcely the time afforded to process my moment to moment troubles, let alone my future. I couldn't be certain of anything.

The hardwood we walked on was smooth, warm, and almost comforting; a far cry from the rough, cold stones and metal bars of the dungeon. The walls continued the theme of opulence, with ornate carvings etched into the molding. There were even paintings of some regal looking men, wearing similar robes to my kidnapper, hung on the walls between beautiful candle sconces. It was a stark contrast between how lovely this place was and the behavior shown by my sadistic jailer.

Our March toward my dubious future dragged for several minutes, through a twisting, turning labyrinth of hallways, each new hall equally ornate to the last. As we went, we passed several men wearing similar robes of various colors. Normally, a cordial passing wouldn't be that significant, but in my current state of being collared, leashed, and very naked, I found myself increasingly unnerved.

If I weren’t grappling with the depths of fear and uncertainty, the litany of men taking in my unwanted nudity would mortify me. Each one glanced in my direction for a moment as he passed, observing me with lascivious smirks and grins. Was that what this was? Was I caught up in magical sex slavery for a bunch of gay wizards? 

My mind bristled, exploring the possibilities that awaited me, finding none to be advantageous. For one thing, there is no version of being kidnapped, tortured, and walked naked to an uncertain future that could be good for anyone besides the kidnappers. For another, I was afraid that my captors would be irate to find out that I'm not exactly a prime candidate to become a gay, male sex slave. Not that I have a problem with gay men, nor they with me in normal everyday life, but I wouldn't describe myself as their target demographic and I think most gay men would agree.

I certainly wouldn't say that I'm a bad specimen of manhood: I'm close to six-foot tall, I'm soft but not too heavy, I have a kinda pretty face, longish chestnut brown hair, and I have a nice butt if I'm being generous with myself. Yet, as I walked, with one hand trying to conceal my manhood and the other draped over my tiny tits, I couldn't help but fear that I wasn't exactly what they were looking for. They just didn’t know it yet.

The familiar sensation of a magical phantom slap on my ass shook me from my contemplation. The man in the black robes stopped and turned to me just as the shame I kept feeling hit home.

"Hands at your side, little bitch."

I hesitantly moved my hands to my sides and uncovered myself.

"Good." He patronized. "One of your station has not earned the right to cover yourself. Do it again and there will be more severe consequences."

I instinctively went to apologize for my transgression, but found myself unable to speak. My hands zipped up to my throat to investigate, yet I found nothing amiss besides an inability to make sounds. However, the man's laughter at my panic told me I wouldn't be finding my answer on my own. More freaking magic.

"Finally realized, have you?" He chuckled. "Yes. So long as I'm holding this leash, I own you little bitch. That means I can take anything I want, and I grew tired of your sass before we ever left the dungeon, so you won't be speaking for the remainder of our time together."

Anger flashed through me at his brazen declaration. I scowled up at him, daring the bastard to say something else. He didn't own me. None of the sadist perverts owned me. Despite what they may think, I allowed only one person to make that claim, and you wouldn’t find them in a place like this. I oscillated between fear and anger as my emotional and rational mind vied for control. Rationally, I should control myself and keep a level head, but the constant indignity of this place kept my emotions in a constant state of flux, bending and bowing like trees before a storm. I could see the dark clouds on the horizon, yet I couldn’t seem to calm myself so I might avoid the rain. I wasn't sure how, but I knew that I'd escape this place and when I did, I'd make each and every one of these magical fucksticks pay dearly.

I'm not sure if it was my change in demeanor, or if he'd simply finished reprimanding me, but the mysterious man flippantly ignored my non-verbal challenge, turned away, and gave my leash a tug to start me walking again. With righteous anger fresh in my mind, I made my decision. I needed to put up a fight. I knew I'd probably lose, but I had to try, and my fury had just given me my best bad idea yet.

Marching behind the black-robed man, I studied him as I tried to light him on fire with the psychic powers I didn’t have and my hate filled gaze. I was watching, waiting, looking for a sign of relaxation in his gait that would tell me that I could attack with some probability of success. If this stupid plan worked, I’d have to mail my karate teacher a thank-you note for imparting the skills I never thought I would actually use

We eventually rounded the last turn in the maze of unfamiliar hallways. At the end, there stood a huge double door, immaculately crafted from what I suspect was the finest dark wood. That door became my deadline. With no way of knowing what lay beyond the portal, I could only assume it was my ultimate destination and, therefore, my doom.

I attempted to steel my resolve, but the lump in my throat and the queasy sloshing in my stomach made the task difficult. My captor was steady and strong, head up and shoulders back, walking with a powerful stride. There was no hesitation, no hints of weakness that I might exploit. I hoped an overreliance on magic might breed a weaker physical body, though nothing in his stance gave any hints of weakness. I broke out in a cold sweat, waiting, hoping, praying that something would change before we reached that accursed gateway.

The doors opened as we approached, revealing a darkened antechamber. My future was all but assured when another man in dark robes exited the shadows. Two is better than one in a straight up fight, so two wizards would likely be better than a standing army. Yet all I had at my disposal was me. As I stewed in my anxiety, my moment arrived and I had to make my decision. My captor's posture relaxed as he prepared to hand me off and, presumably, leave to retrieve Tobias. He raised an arm to greet his compatriot. I had to strike now or risk never having another chance.

Only a fool would think to mount a last ditch attack when reinforcements were only a stone's throw away, and that's how I got him. A surprise attack. In a flurry of motion, I planted my feet, grabbed the leash of my collar, and gave it a mighty tug. The mysterious man didn't expect such an idiotic move, so the tugging of my leash pulled him completely off balance, bringing him hurtling toward me. As the mysterious man fell, I mounted my counter. My feet gripped the solid wooden floor, and all muscles from my feet to my arms tensed as I drove my fist forward, using all the power my body could generate to throw a punch that would make Chuck Norris proud.

These bastards might have magic, and this plan may have only a fraction of a chance of working, but at the very least, I had the grit to show them I was not one to be trifled with. My fist connected with my captor's stupid jaw, knocking him to the floor with a mighty thud, but at the exact moment my fist made contact, I received the same hit I'd just dealt. My moment of victory cut short when a magical force hit me back with the force of a runaway truck. It sent me reeling. My world spun and momentarily went dark as I too fell to the floor, but I couldn't allow myself to falter at the finish line. I needed to continue my attack, lest I willingly accept my fate.

I could barely think as I tried to stand. My jaw throbbed where my mirrored punch landed; if I wasn't still currently clenching my jaw, I'd have thought I punched it clean off. As I opened my eyes to get my bearings, I saw the mysterious man was already standing and glowering down at me, a dark joy radiating from every fiber of his being. He stood there as if nothing had happened to him, as if he'd just shrugged off a gentle breeze rather than a right cross to the face.

Before I could take in anything else about my truly dire situation, every nerve in my body lit up with pain. It differed from the pain I felt in the dungeon; it was much, much worse. Instead of hellfire, this punishment felt like red-hot needles were drilling into every square inch of my skin, into every pore. I experienced agony in its purest form, a pain impossible to forget.

My screams echoed off the walls, filling the hallway with howls of a dying animal. At that moment, I could only wish to be lucky enough to die, that his anger or malice would cause my tormentor to slip and take me beyond the veil. Lady Luck had other plans for me that day. Death would release me, but it was only getting worse. The intensity ratcheted up and up until I could no longer scream, I could no longer see, I could no longer even breathe. My world was a blank void of pain and misery, from which there would be no rescue.

And then it stopped. My vision returned as the world came back into focus. I’d lost. The magical bombardment left me drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally. It felt like Atlas shouldering the weight of the entire world just mustering the will to hold my eyes open. I looked down, expecting to see blood pouring from every pore, only to find my body once again in pristine condition, though still covered in sweat and laying in a less than sanitary puddle.

The man growled, "That was quite clever, little bitch. You got my heart pumping for a second there, but I've grown tired of these games. If you so much as place a toe out of line before I hand you off to your new master, I will pull your body apart piece by piece and put you back together again, while you watch in a mirror." He tugged the leash to force me to look at him. "Got it?"

I nodded my assent. I had no doubt that this man could make good on his promise. He had had no problems dealing with me so far. Tears welled behind my eyes as I dealt with the overwhelming shame of my actions. How stupid could one person be? To think that I could take on wizards was nothing short of arrogant. He’d left me broken, defeated, with a swipe of his hand. So long as this man held my leash, I was lost.

He tugged up on my leash. Without a word, I knew what he wanted. It took me a moment, but I eventually made it to my feet. My legs wobbled like gelatin and my head was spinning like a pinwheel in a breeze, but I mustered the grit to remain upright.

The mysterious man sneered at me in disgust. I was a pathetic sight, standing before him as steady and sure as a baby foal. He waved his hand toward me, causing me to recoil in fear, but I felt no pain. Instead, it felt like a refreshing wind blew over me, cleaning away the sweat and grime I’d covered myself in.

"We want you to look presentable when you meet your master, now don't we?"

I nodded again. With that, my captor turned his back to me and continued on. I dutifully followed. Looking down the hall, I noticed that the other wizard hadn't moved an inch. I was so inconsequential to these people that even my violent escape attempt elicited no reaction. I was nothing to them.

I felt my feet padding forward on the hard wooden floor, I heard some light conversation, I even felt the tugging of the leash and collar that directed me when to move and when to stop, but none of it held any consequence in my mind. I was obeying their every command, but I was no longer present. My mind swirled in a roaring tempest of thoughts and fears of the dark future that lay ahead of me.

In an instant, they had taken everything from me. I would never again feel the warmth of my partner's touch or the gentle softness of their kiss. Never again know the satisfaction of putting pen to paper and creating worlds for people to enjoy. I would never know life outside of bondage or be free to make my own decisions. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I said my silent apologies to the ones I had to leave behind. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough."

"Let us commence The Trials and Training."

A booming voice shook me out of my haze, where I found myself kneeling in the center of a large hexagonal room with elevated seating, every bit as ornately decorated as anything else I'd seen so far. Wizards wearing robes of every color filled the room to the brim; I could only presume these men were wizards. One of which would become my master in short order. An older looking man in a white robe, still incredibly fit for his apparent age, stood at a higher platform and commanded the attention of all others in the room; including myself.

"Sven Pierce, come forward." The old man commanded.

My heart skipped a beat, hearing the name of my old friend. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't be here because of him, could I?

A door opened on the opposite side of the room and out of the shadows came a man I thought I'd never see again after our break-up. He stood about six-foot tall to my five-foot tenish, short spiky brown hair matching his ruddy brown robes, wearing a sickeningly cocky smile on his stupid face. He looked different from the last time I'd seen him; fitter, more confident, he carried himself as though he were the most powerful man in the room, rather than the insecure nerd that I'd kicked out of my apartment a few years ago.

It was unnerving, but the moment he set his sights upon my naked form, I knew that everything I'd gone through since awakening was his doing. I knew what was going on. Bile burned the back of my throat as I realized that my old friend was making me a slave in order to get revenge.

Sven turned away, toward the man in white robes, and clearly announced, "I am ready for The Trials and Training."

I knelt as a broken shell or a person only moments ago. I saw everything falling away from me as I resigned myself to my fate, but now, knowing that my ex-best friend was at fault, I pulled myself back together. He ripped my heart out years ago when we broke up, and now he wanted what was left.

My resolve hardened like steel as I looked at that cocky piece of shit which all the disdain I could muster. My jaw clenched as I scowled and began plotting my revenge. No more bending, no more indecision or fear. The moment I laid eyes on him, I found the courage to face the storm head on. I had no way of knowing what was in store for me, but I knew two things for certain; I would to escape this place, and I was going to do so over Sven's dead body.