(First and currently only story - testing the waters, so to speak)
Waking up from a deep sleep was always a long, drawn out process. Convincing herself that
getting up was something actually worthwhile to do. Especially after a long night out working.
If what she did could be considered working - after all simply taking what others had worked hard
for wasn't exactly difficult.
She wasn't even certain, those rare times that she thought about it, that really those she took
from did work hard - she was careful to only take from the richest, the most extravagent, those
that could afford it, she was sure. Hell, she bet some of them didn't even notice the odd missing
piece of jewellery, the loose cash left around. Never too much, never too often, never a problem
was her motto.
Still, something about this awakening was different. Something was causing a niggle, a little itch
that said that she really needed to get moving. Once that realisation had hit her the reason for
her discomfort was immediately apparent. Moving. She needed to. But she couldn't. Not even to open her
eyes. The attempt to make a sound next just confused her further - not only was there barely a sound,
she couldn't feel her tongue or throat. Her lips tho - they tingled. Slightly.
Despite the looming panic and sleep befuddled state, she started a quick mental checklist, starting
with her legs and moving on. Toes - well, they could wiggle slightly, maybe a couple of millimeters,
before hitting a smooth and very slightly flexible surface. They were also bent downwards, she could
feel the stress in her legs. Not overly - just like she was wearing a pair of high heels. High high
heels though - and those definitely were not the normal wear for a thief like her. Not on a job,
anyway.
Moving on - ankles? individually she could feel the compression around them, not only some kind
of material but something harder. She would normally be wearing black tights or leggings for "work",
but this was different. Smoother. Stretchier. Tighter. The harder band she could feel was neither hot
or cold - her thought then was that it had been next to her skin for a while, to reach the same
temperature as her. A while? How long had she been asleep? Without being able to open her eyes she
had no concept of time. Maybe - sound? Nothing. No - not nothing, a gentle hissing sound, just at the
level of audibility - enough that anything more defining was masked, but not enough to keep her
attention - except when she tried to listen. Pointless again. Nothing there to give her a clue.
OK - legs. Still that same material. Actually, she could feel that pretty much all over, except
for .... her face. That had something else. Tougher. Tighter. Skin tight. Stemming the panic
meant keeping to her checklist though, so back to the legs. Keep focus. Had she been in an
accident or something? The fog of sleep was slowly lifting - she definitely remembered
going on an "out of town" job last night, so she travelled by car. A crash, maybe?
More of those harder bands. Around her knees. Above and below. And on her thighs. Maybe pushing
against them would help. Nope. Literally no movement. There was something else she could feel
at the thigh level though - maybe if she concentrated, flexed the muscles slightly? Yes, it
felt like a line of something - like a bar, round, that went down her thighs, to the floor.
Floor? Yes, she must be lying on something, as she realised that her ankles, thighs, back and head
were all supported. Not floor - it wasn't cold, and hard - but whatever she was lying on was both
supportive, relatively comfortable, and conforming. It definitely didn't move when she tried to
push down. Strange. Not her mattress then, or any mattress she'd ever lay on. Dammit, distracted
again. Back to the survey checklist.
The bar. No. Not a bar. It felt like it went into her down there. What would go in, other than
her toys at home. And go down to the floor. Nothing should! But - an accident thought again -
what about the tubes that hospitals put in? Getting rid of waste. Those. A catheter, that was
it. Oh god, a really bad accident then, if I needed tubes. But why can't I move? Hospitals don't
get you dressed in skin-tight clothes either. Well, bandages, but this didn't feel like that. Oh
god, the panic rising again. Concentrate!
Stomach? Deep breath, see if it raises. Slightly. Like desperately needing to move slightly.
Compressed by the clothing then, and not much stretch left. The deep breath also expanding
her chest against the material - and again, tight, not a lot of stretch. She could feel something
new though, around her breasts. A tighter band, and small harder areas around the base and across
her nipples. Oh god - they were sensitive at the best of times, and her thinking about them just
brought them to attention. Oh, fuck! Ow! Ouch! Like a thousand needles jabbing them! She was
sensitive, but never had she been that sensitive!
Elephant in the room problem now though - you know, when someone says not to think about something,
and it's all you can think about. All she could think about now was don't think about her nipples,
and they responded pretty much every time she did. Which felt like someone was sandpapering them as
they expanded against the tight material. Holy shit! Stop!
At least for a few moments the panic was pushed away by the pain. Yeah, great silver lining. The
realisation that she'd been trying to scream each time and hadn't really heard anything stuck her
like lightning. She simply stopped thinking whilst that sunk in, breaking the cycle for now. Now
she could feel a slightly cooler sensation in patches across her body, like something was
pressing against her skin but inside the material. No idea what.
Hands and arms. Much like the legs. Felt like she had gloves on, although wearing gloves when
working was second nature. Leaving fingerprints had never struck her as a good idea. But these
were not her normal latex or nitrile gloves, but the same material. A bodysuit! That's what
this felt like. An all over bodysuit, maybe a size or two too small though, to be that
compressing. What hospital would do that? Fuck. Really. What happened?
Driving up to the start of the cul-de-sac, walking the length of the street to get to the
house at the end. The one with the long driveway. Over the wall, up the driveway. Check
the windows - yes, one that was loose in the frame, a place to insert her jimmy and flip
the latch. Silently raise, climb over and in. Normal, for her. She remembered that far. So
what happened next?
Back to the hands. Fingers. Curled over. Curled around something, like she was gripping a ball
or barbell. Not able to ungrip though - like with her toes, something held them in place to within
a couple of millimeters. Something was different with her fingers ... although it took a few
moments to realise. Her nails. They were normally nicely manicured, and with her hands
curled she would have thought she'd feel them on her palm. Nope, nothing. Couldn't feel
them at all.
Material. Tight bands - wrists, elbows, top of arms. Shit. What was this?
OK - neck and head. Can't move side to side. Can't look up or down. The neck had the same hard
feel to the band that was around it, but the face still had that hugged feel. Randomly, the
thought of an alien facehugger came to mind, along with the first sign of the kind of manic
laughter that she knew wouldn't stop once it started. Pretty sure she hadn't been abducted
by aliens, or cut any open last night. Cue the laughter. Oh god, she was going mad already!
Those tingling lips - well, that was getting worse, like when you sleep on an arm and it wakes up.
And that means that some sensation was returning, enough to feel the round tubes there too.
Two of them, her tongue - now also returning to life - told her. Not making her gag though. Odd,
because she could tell they went right down her throat. Oh no - please - not like in hospitals
again where they pass a tube down into lungs or stomachs? What the hell? If that tube went
down her throat then the lack of sound made sense - you needed to be able to put air past
your vocal cords for sound. Shit. She was wearing the most effective gag ever. And if that
was the case, where was she?
The room had been dark, some kind of night-lighting showing the open-plan design of the downstairs
guest bedroom. Guests that had gone out, with the hosts, earlier that evening. She'd seen them leave,
and knew that they hadn't yet returned. Guests with money and jewellery, that they wouldn't
have had a way to lock away as securely as normal. Yes, she was right, because there on the
dresser was what she'd come for. A quick appraisal before dropping them into the pouch at her
waist, before turning to leave. There. That was something - when she turned she felt a small
stabbing pain in her thigh. Hell, now she had that memory she realised that the pain was
still there, like she'd been poked with something. And that was it. It was the last memory
that she had of the night, before waking up here.
Now the panic struck - that random attempt to move every limb, her head, make a sound, do anything
to attract attention. Trying to take deeper breaths, stopped by the material compressing her,
draining her energy, sapping her will. Again and again. Something had to move. Something had to
give way. But, nothing did. No change. No movement. No freedom. Not got up. The thought occurred that
this might be a dream, a thought clung to briefly until that hope was shattered in the simplest way.
The hissing sound she could hear suddenly stopped - the complete silence drawing her attention
as much as a shout or call would. Then something different. The silence was suddenly filled
with gentle, spoken words.
- I can see that you're awake, and I'm thinking that by now you've worked out that you're not going
anywhere soon. Anywhere for a good while really. Think of this as your penance for past misdeeds -
What? Male, from the tone. It was odd, that tone. Sad. Disappointed. Like she was being gently
told off by a parent.
- You've been annoying quite a few of my friends, and we felt that it was finally time we
did something about it. I'm guessing that you can recall some of last night, watching us
leave the house, breaking in, taking the jewels we'd left there. Then that little stab
into your leg. A fast acting anaesthetic - short lived, but long enough to give you something
more appropriate. We caught you before you hit the floor, or the dresser. We didn't intend
to hurt you - at least, not then, but maybe later. Have you thought about your nipples yet? -
Not then? Hurt? What the fuck? Nipples - oh NO!
- Sorry, we may have added a few more fun drugs in the mix. Aphrodisiacs. Sensitisers. You'll
find out more of those as the numbing agents wear off. Actually, most of them should be gone by
now, maybe your mouth and tongue still -
Again, what the fuck? Who is this crazy? Let me out! Of whatever this is!
- Please, continuing to struggle isn't going to get you anywhere. Yes, I'm sure it's over
the top but the steel bands are chemically welded closed, so you'll need to get them cut off
before you try to leave. Oh, and that means getting out of the box you're sealed into, and having the
gel dissolved away that you're lying on, um, actually lying in really, as it's all around you.
we don't want you to get pressure sores, and we can't really get in there in a hurry to help you,
so please take care -
Box? Gel? Panic! Struggle! Nothing. Simply nothing.
- Oh, you'll have felt the tubes, I'm sure, but let's be clear here. Some of those you annoyed
are medical practitioners. We thought about this carefully. We can keep you there for
your entire sentence. Growth of hair and nails can be a problem, so unfortunately we had to
do something about that in advance. No more nails for you - we had to remove them. Body hair
will flush away when we wash you. Yes, we'll keep you clean - we can flush between your skin
and the suit you're wearing. We can take away your wastes. You're breathing filtered air
through a tube that we can keep lubricated with an anaesthetic gel, and we can pass food
into your stomach. Liquid food - solid waste is such a bore to have to deal with. I hope you
appreciate how much we've considered your ongoing comfort -
Sentence? Comfort? What the ever loving hell is this? LET ME OUT! LET ME MOVE!
- Oh, and me - well, I'm a judge. A real judge, so we gave you a real trial whilst you slept.
We couldn't really raise a jury of your peers I'm afraid, as so many of them are incarcareted.
Actually, incarcarated here with you, in case you feel lonely. But, like I said, you were
judged, and we felt a sentence of five years to be appropriate. Five years solitary.
Followed by a lifetime of servitude and restitution. Yes, we felt that fit nicely -
5 years? You have got to be joking? I can't do five years in here!
- Oh, time. Yes, my time is running out, even if standing her chatting is such fun.
Did you know that you've only been awake for 15 minutes? Slept for a few days mind.
I want you to be able to feel the time pass. We won't let you get bored, you'll have
lessons occassionally - you know, how to obey, how to be useful, that kind of thing. Enjoy them,
it'll help you pass the time. When you're not exercising anyway. I'll start your first
exercise session as I leave -
15 minutes? That's all? 5 years! No fucking way! And how am I meant to exercise?
- So that's me for now. I'll speak to you again at your parole hearing. Please enjoy your
stay. -
And the hissing returned. As did the panic. As did the struggle. As did the ever growing
realisation of the futility of her efforts.
The speaker looked around the spare room, at each of the panelled walls. It wasn't a
night-light that lit the room at night, but the small indicator on each panel that
showed that the occupant within was still with them. Three panels per wall, one was the door,
one the window. That left 10. And now, 10 little lights. The room looked so pretty
at night, he thought. Hope they enjoy each others company.
He walked though the door, flicking the lower right switch on the panel of 10 switches
next to it as he passed. The one that activated their new guests EMS machine, cycling through
her muscle groups and keeping them moving. Exercise is important, they didn't want their
investments to be useless when they finally got released.
Then, closing closing the door gently - not that the occupants cared, or even
noticed, he went back to his friends. They had work to do. Number 1 was due to
finish their sentence tomorrow, and they had plans for her re-entry into their
rather specialised society.
