Meghan slowly opened her right eye. It was crusted over. When she tried to wipe it with her right hand, she found that her arm was immobilized. Panic shaking loose the cobwebs, she struggled to free it, only to learn that her entire body was immobilized. She couldn’t turn her head but, once she got her bearings, realized that she was suspended somehow, her limbs and head held in stasis, with her head cocked backward slightly. She couldn’t even see her body.
What was happening? The last thing Meghan remembered, she and her friends Alyse and Stacey were at Bonnaroo, making plans to see Cashmere Cat in the night. People used to call Meghan, Alyse, and Stacey the triplets, on account of how similarly they all looked and dressed - each was blonde, between 5’ 6” and 5’ 8”, solid B cup, abs and asses made of bronzen steel, clothes straight off the runway, just a single, small, discretely-placed tattoo, etc. They even had a small business together - a blog / social media empire (“FashionBitches.com”) where they took turns modeling expensive clothes other folks paid them to wear. In fact, they had spent weeks coordinating their outfits and sponsors for the festival. How did Meghan go from there to here? It was so hard to remember.
Meghan decided to table that question - she sensed that she was in danger. She didn’t know how she wound up in this predicament, but she was going to figure out a way to escape. Quietly, she took in her surroundings. She was being held in a fairly dark room. A sliver of light descended from the ceiling and illuminated a nondescript wall and door.
Meghan again struggled, to no avail. With little to lose, she opened her lungs and started screaming. That’s when she felt the gag in her mouth.
After a minute, Meghan heard footsteps ascending stairs to her right. She couldn’t turn her head but felt a swoosh of air as a door opened outside her line of sight.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
The voice was familiar, deep, and feminine. Meghan felt pressure on her back and realized she was naked. The pressure mounted and squeezed the air out of her diaphragm, and Meghan realized that her captor had sat on her. From the feeling and the scent, Meghan knew the woman was wearing leather. Pressure turned to pain as the mystery woman put all of her weight on Meghan’s suspended back, shifting her position several times. Meghan cried out in pain.
“No one can hear you, you know.”
Meghan heard a snap and smelled a lit match, followed by cigarette smoke. The woman breathed deeply, held her breath a moment, then exhaled in the direction of Meghan’s face, making Meghan cough and her eyes water. There was little she hated more than cigarette smoke.
As the mystery woman continued silently smoking and exhaling on Meghan for the next several minutes, Meghan felt the woman swivel her body so her legs rested on Meghan’s shoulders. With nothing else to look at, Meghan examined what was before her: bare legs, ivory white except for dozens of tattoos - many graphic depictions of sex acts between women - ending in ghostly pale feet. Those feet themselves were heavily tattooed, with long toes, even longer, black-painted toenails, and at least four toe rings between the two feet. Encasing those feet were what even Meghan had to admit were exquisite stiletto heeled sandals, albeit ones that were far too BDSM for Meghan to ever try on.
Putting two and two together, Meghan deduced that she had been captured by some kind of a lesbian/fetish/sex slaver. Wait - did those things actually exist? Her present predicament argued in favor of NO SHIT THEY EXIST!
****
Her mind raced back to the last events she remembered. She and her friends were at Bonnaroo planning their evening. Stacey had made arrangements to meet with a sponsor about a new promotion. Some boot or shoe that FashionBitches.com was going to make famous. The three went to the sponsor’s tent, away from the hustle and bustle. When they opened the tent flap, they were surprised to recognize the face before them - Liz, an acquaintance from the small college they all attended.
Despite the fact that the four of them together comprised about 1% of their total class, Meghan and her friends had studiously ignored, avoided, and belittled Liz. Whereas the future FashionBitches.com impressaria spent college looking cute and chasing boys, Liz was a dyed-in-the-black-wool goth dyke. She was glamorous in her own way, with her long, black hair, porcelain skin, impeccably dour makeup, towering heels, and closet of leather and plastic, but she was from a world separate and apart from the world of Meghan and her friends. Meghan’s squad loved to go to dive bars and dance on the bar in their cute cowboy boots; Liz spent all her time eating pussy, Meghan assumed. “I’m not homophobic, but…” Meghan would frequently begin sentences.
But now they were all graduates, and there was no reason they couldn’t do business together. Liz was wearing a black corset as a top, proudly displaying a large crystal that had been implanted just above her bellybutton, and bare shoulders and arms coated with elaborate tattooed designs. Each nostril was pierced, as were both sides of her mouth and her left eyebrow. The corset accentuated her breasts, which Meghan gauged as size Ds. She had on a lewdly short leather skirt, from which pale, tattooed legs emerged. Those legs ended in … exquisite stiletto heeled sandals.
The last thing Meghan could recall was stepping forward, extending her hand to Liz, and saying “Nice to see you, Liz. Looks like you’re doing well.” Liz returned the handshake vigorously and responded, “I think we’re going to work well together, Meg.” “No one calls me thaaaaaaa…” Meghan trailed off as she went unconscious.
****
Back to reality - Meghan knew Liz had done something to her and was now her captor. Mustering up all her energy, Meghan bucked her body, moving just enough to throw Liz from her back onto the floor. As Liz stood up, Meghan saw that she was wearing that same leather skirt, but without any underwear - and was she wet? “Had she been playing with herself on top of me?!?” Meghan wondered. The thought made her dry heave.
“THAT WASN’T NICE, YOU CUNT!” Liz slapped Meghan’s cheek, then grabbed her right nipple and twisted. The pain was excruciating. “I was going to let you eat my pussy tonight, you fucking bitch, but now you’re going to have to earn it.”
“Eat pussy?? Huh?” Meghan thought to herself. She was straight and had no interest in sex with women.
That was the last thought Meghan had before Liz put something over her head that obscured her vision again. A flick of something on the object and all Meghan could see was a pattern of lights. Meghan drifted away again.
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