Rachel Cipriani was having an ordinary morning, until she received a mysterious phone call. Compelled to obey the caller, she’s taken and sold at a modern day slave auction.
[Warning: this 6200 word short story contains vivid depictions of brainwashing and triggered sexual behavior from an unwitting victim’s perspective.]
I blinked slowly, feeling dazed. The room around me was nothing but pink: the walls, the ceiling. I realized I was laying back in some kind of chair. I imagined it was pink too.
Everything glowed with a soft, pleasant light. I laid there placidly for a while, content to drift drowsily in the light. My body felt warm and heavy, perfectly relaxed.
After a time, a voice asked, “Can you hear me?” The speaker was male, and it didn’t feel like he was interrupting my relaxation. Instead, his words deepened it: my body tingled and hummed when he spoke. He was close by, somewhere above me. It felt like his voice was being piped directly into my brain.
I replied softly, “Yess.” My voice sounded slow and sluggish. I was slurring a little bit.
“Can you tell me your name?” He didn’t sound sleepy at all.
I thought about it for a long moment, my head feeling full of pink cotton candy: sweet, fluffy and perfectly opaque. Finally, I admitted, “No.”
“What about where you are?” he asked, “Can you tell me that?”
It didn’t take as long to realize I couldn’t. I tried to shake my head, but something soft was pressed against both my ears, restraining me. I frowned slightly and said, “No.”
I wondered, idly, what was happening to me. Maybe something was wrong.
“That’s pretty funny,” he asked, “Isn’t it?” His tone was conversational, but it wasn’t really a question.
It was a statement.
Now that he mentioned it though, it did seem pretty silly that I’d forgotten my own name. I giggled and agreed, “Yeah.”
“And it’s not bothering you at all,” he continued, “Is it?”
That was certainly true. I wanted to tell him that I’d never been less bothered in my life, but all that came out of my sleepy mouth was, “Nope,” followed by another giggle.
“Do you know my name?” he still didn’t sound curious.
“Sir,” I smiled broadly. At least one of his questions was easy.
He continued, “What would you do for me?”
“Anything,” I said sincerely. My heart beat a little bit at the realization. I hoped he’d want me to do something for him soon.
About Jessie Hackborn
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Published February 16, 2013
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.