For @dahob’s commissioned request.

This is erotica with very little veneer of plot.

“I’m going to have to ship you.”

The man was frowning at Alisa. Alisa had learned, quickly, not to like it when the man frowned at her. It was never good, and sometimes it was rapidly very, very bad.

“I’m sorry?” she tried, but the gag in her mouth made it “Ah ahrree.”

“You certainly will be. Did you have to bite her?”

Did she have to bite her? She thought about that one, and then decided that the man was already angry at her, and nodded. Yes, she had needed to bite that obnoxious little shit. Yes, she had needed to hear her squeal. She thought she was so much better than the rest of them – and why? Because her collar weighed less? Because her chains were thinner?

“I know she’s a prat.” The man might as well have been talking to himself. He wasn’t looking at Alisa anymore, at least. He was looking at his shelf of packing material. She swallowed, and looked away. Shit. He really meant to do it. “I know she’s a miserable little bitch. But look at her, Number Seven. She’s perfect. She’s beautiful.”

What was she, then? Because he liked hearing her talk, mangled and miserable, through the gag, she tried again. “Uh Uh-ow ee?”

“What about you, indeed? You seem to dive into this lifestyle like you were born to it. You’re a gorgeous sub. You’re responsive. Even when you try to run away, you do it with style. And I’m sure your new owner will enjoy you. You’ll be able to be the jewel of his collection, which should suit you better than being one of the chorus line.” He was walking back over to her, his bootsteps echoing on the concrete. She wasn’t going to look. She wasn’t going to look. “But you are not nearly as perfect as she is, I’m afraid. Your height, for one.” He squeezed her breast until she whimpered. “These giant things. That’s not what men here are looking for.”

“Uh ee ih?”

“Yes. He’s a bit of a pervert, you see.”

“Oh, uu.”

“You’re going to have to learn to watch your mouth. The gag is coming off. Don’t try to speak.”

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to look. She wasn’t going to look. The gag came out, leaving her working her jaw and swallowing drool. She hated that. She hated many things about the gag, actually, but that was the worst.

“Breathing tube. Tilt your head back, and relax.” He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, until her head was tilted as far back as it would go. “Mouth open.”

There was no point in disobeying, and no point in trying to plead. She opened her mouth while he worked something hard and unyielding down her throat.

“That’s a girl. Posture collar, to hold you where you need to go.” The thing was more than just a collar; he’d put her in it before. He buckled it around her neck, forcing her head to stay in that position, around her breasts, around her waist. She couldn’t move her spine at all when he was done buckling.

“That’s my good girl. Hood.” She didn’t have her eyes open anyway, but the hood always freaked her out. She made a worried noise in the back of her throat, around the tube that was keeping her airway open.

“You’re doing very good. Your new owner will be very happy.” The hood zipped up, leaving her in the dark. “All right. I’m strapping your arms to the bracing, and then into the box you go.”

She made low keening noises, unable to stop herself. Not the box. Not the box. But he was pinning her arms to her sides, wrapping more strapping around her, and then there was the bubble wrap.

By the time he was done wrapping her, she couldn’t have moved even without the restraints, and she couldn’t hear a thing. He patted the sole of her foot, and then there was nothing at all.

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