Sanzaru

Miriam hadn’t seen, heard, or spoken anything for a long time. She guessed three months, but there was no way to be sure. The hood that encased her head didn't let in any light or sound, and her captors never let her sleep long or consistently enough to establish any sort of circadian rhythm. Sometimes she couldn't even tell if she was asleep or awake.

She’d tried to remove it. The first time her arms had been freed, after what felt like days, she waited until she thought she was alone and tried to peel it off. The pain that followed was excruciating, like a cattle prod being pressed into her bare skin again and again. When she finally collapsed, quivering, limp, and compliant on the cold floor, her arms were pinned back behind her, crossed between her shoulder blades. She had been kept like that for a while again, trained by a trial and error system of smaller shocks to pull herself to her feet without the use of her hands, and hitched to some sort of revolving arm, walking or running in a circle for hours. She was punished with harsher shocks every time she tripped and fell, dangling from her collar and trying to regain her footing while being shocked and dragged behind the unforgiving machine. 

When they finally unbound her arms again, her hands were balled into fists and forced into tight mittens that left them completely useless and stealing her ability to make any sense of the world around her tactilely. She had cried when she tried to feel things and only got a vague, muted sensation, but she doubted anyone heard her or cared. 

The plug on the hood was large, filling her mouth and reaching well back into her throat, gagging her and muffling any sort of sound she might make. Even on the occasions it was removed, her mouth was held open by a thick ring forced behind her teeth and built into the hood itself. Removal always meant one of two things. One was that she was being fed and given water, through a tube pushed back into her throat and secured in place with a strap around her head. Sometimes a little of the thick liquid they fed her with made it onto her tongue, but it was nearly flavorless, and usually bypassed it altogether, her captors not even allowing her the privilege of tasting her food. The only thing she had really tasted since she had been taken was cock. Cock, and semen when they chose to finish in her mouth, a meal she got more often than the paste pumped directly down her esophagus.

She was usually kept nude. Occasionally someone would grab her and squeeze her into garments made of the same tight, slick material as the hood and mittens were made of. She’d usually be shackled at the same time, forced to take short steps while her arms were either strapped behind her again, or fixed with a rigid bar to support a tray, as she would smell savory foods and alcohol. Peircings in her nipples would guide her to either turn left or right, walk forward, or stop, and she would feel hands groping at her as she struggled to keep her cargo level, fearing the punishment in store if it fell.

She had figured out that she had three primary captors, bodies and smells that became consistent and familiar, though she knew they shared her with others. 

The first was big, impossibly strong, and hairy, always smelling of sweat and musk. Even if she was unbound and still had her senses, there would have been little she could do to resist him. He was also the most dispassionate, using her if he felt like it then leaving her be, or throwing her over his shoulder easily to take her somewhere else, disorienting her already compromised sense of space. His punishments were rough and direct, a slap or a massive hand constricting her neck, but never excessive.

The second was much crueler. Some sort of cyborg, she feared his cold, metallic touch. More often than not, he wouldn’t even fuck her, but bind her in postions it was impossible to hold. Sometimes it would be a strict strappado, where she would writhe and squirm as electrodes he stuck to her shocked her if she breathed too hard or tried to cry out. Other times she would be forced to squat on her toes, bindings on her legs keeping her from standing up straight, and a strap around her neck making kneeling impossible. Eventually she would feel his hot seed splatter somewhere on her body, or feel him force her head down to lick it up if it fell on the floor. When he did actually fuck her, he wouldn’t finish until the inside of the hood was slick with tears and she was gasping and choking for breath as the ropes or straps or his hands tightened around her throat. She hated him, with a completely impotent and helpless fury.

The third was her favorite. She knew it must be Stockholm syndrome, but he treated her better than the others. He was slim, but muscled, with the hairless physique of a swimmer. She liked to imagine he was handsome. When he would take out her plug, usually after running his hands over her body, skillfully teasing her till she was wet and flustered, she would give him special attention with her tongue, running it up and down his rigid cock, cradling and caressing it. He was always diligent to return the “favor” in kind, toying with her with his mouth and hands till she was shaking with one of the few pleasures she still had. Sometimes his visits would end with him taking her to his bed with him, and instead of finding some cold corner to collapse in, or being dragged to a cramped cage, she would be cradled by a warm body and strong arms. Logically she knew he was only using her as a human hot water bottle, but it was the closest thing to affection she had felt since she had been abducted.

She wished she knew who they were, and where she was. The gravity was consistent enough that she knew she was on a planet, but that was it. Possibly the same one, but if she had been out for long enough, there was no way of knowing. They could have drugged her any number of times through the food and water she was given, and she could have been out for weeks.

Lately, even her dreams had been of darkness and silence, and every time she passed out she mentally pleaded for them to be anything but, even with the horror of awakening to the same situation. Everything was slowly blending together, consciousness and unconsciousness one medley of torture. Part of her wondered if she had died, if she was still Miriam, still a human, or even still an animal, or if all this was a horrible fever dream. Sometimes she would drift off into a blessed dreamless sleep, but in the end, she would always be awoken by another electric shock, or by being roughly dragged out of her cage for another day of blind, silent service.