FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Pack

One of the greatest anomalies of the galaxy would be the syncreticism between Lupiads and Sirians.

Ignoring their physical and biological similarities, to the point where they’re able to interbreed (Indeed, their old monarchy was based on co-rule between two married sovereigns, one of each species.), their cultures and governments pre-discovery have been very similar as well.

Both organized their primitive governments in rigid hierarchies that were enforced by force, through impromptu brawls, hazing, and even, yes the rumors spread by erotic media have some merit in reality, through dominating sodomy. As they civilized, this hierarchy evolved to be more social, removing much of the savage displays of domination, but the underlying fact was that every citizen had a rank from bottom to top.

Recognizing hierarchy by merit might be why they’ve integrated so well into the Empire and also why if we show weakness, they might be our biggest nightmare.

- “Lupiad-Sirian Anthropological Relations” Page 154.

I hadn’t been in a town as big as Rust since I left Earth. Well, perhaps I had, but of course, thanks to the memory alterations I didn’t have a whole lot of memory from my military career. Still, it was puny compared even to mid-size cities back home, but it still had the energy that a city had and many of the negatives.

Even without the smell of rusted iron floating in the air, the place had an unpleasant odor, one that I could barely stand as a human and I couldn’t imagine how the aliens coped. Perhaps it was the promise of solid walls and defenses around that surrounded us that gave them comfort; no matter where you were in the city, you could see the peak of the walls poking above the shacks.

Most of the buildings were wood, much like the rest of Planet, though Rust had people forgo using tin siding for their roofs, instead laboriously nailing in wooden shingles on sloped roofs. While they were effective on the rest of Planet, in Rust, whatever tin alloy they were made of must have contained some iron and would inevitably rust.

Some of the buildings had bullet-holes in them, a consequence of the Regulian’s crackdown. Aliens were pounding hammers at the sides of their homes, boarding up the damages.

I didn’t have time to take too much of it in. I needed a mechanic. I found the dealer’s place shortly after turning right on the dirt road. It stood out, looking professionally built by a real carpenter and not a desperate prisoner. White painted shingle siding lined the outside of the square, two-story building. A window stared out from the second floor, just below the peaked roof reaching upward, likely where the dealer lived. Attached to the side of the building was a square garage with an unpainted wooden door that looked like it could be pulled up to allow vehicle access.

The door was open and I stepped in to find a human, scrawny with straight brown hair rush past wielding a wrench. To my immediate right was a desk with various airtight boxes with pieces of paper taped to them, listing such things as dried food, ammunition, and others. Straight across was a wooden staircase leading to an open door.

“Dalg, love! I just had the strangest dream. We were on Earth and you were having sex with a man who looked like me but older and uglier!”

Muffled muttering rumbled upstairs.

“I don’t know why either! I think I was tied up in the closet watching.”

Once again, his partner rumbled in reply off in the distance. It sounded like a Sirian or a Lupiad growling.

“Alright, alright! I’ll go scrounge up some customers!”

Chuckling, I spoke up, “You’ve got one right here.”

The human turned to face me. His face was thin with freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

“Great! My name is Nathaniel, I’m the mechanic!” he beamed before cupping his hand around his mouth and calling up the staircase. “Dalg! Dalg! Get your butt down here, we have a customer!”

Calm, controlled footsteps thumped upstairs before a booted paw stepped on the staircase. A Sirian, looking much like an Alsatian dog with a brownish tan coat and a black muzzle, came down. He was wearing a black businessman’s coat, which looked very similar to a human suit, but the back was longer than most, covering the top of most of his bushy tail.

“So it would seem,” he said confidently. A cigar hung from his long jowls, he looked older than most Sirians on Planet. He stopped in front of me, holding out his black padded paw.

I reached out and grabbed his rough paw, shaking it. To my surprise, he also leaned forward, poking the tip of his black nose into the side of my cheek. I felt his take a sniff, which I returned, before he released me and pulled back.

“Your people’s greeting and mine,” he said, swishing his tail as he stepped behind the desk and sat down on a stool. “Now, what can I do for you? Ammo?”

“No, my Hauler was damaged in the attack and I need repairs. It won’t start and the tires are fucked.”

Nathaniel eagerly leaped forward, grasping his rusted wrench with both hands, “What make and model!?”

“It’s a Regulian Desert Hauler.”

“Serial number?”

“Uh, shit, I don’t know,” I rubbed the side of my head. “Look, it’s not actually mine, I’m leasing it from Sirth, down in Haven, so if I don’t get it fixed...”

“You’ll be sucking bifurcated cock for the rest of your life,” Nathaniel said with a wicked smirk.

“Language, love!” Dalg growled lightly but his loose jowls failed to conceal his smirk. “We’re professionals!”

Nathaniel winked at the Sirian and stepped towards the garage, “I’ll get the tow truck. You can handle the business side of things.”

Dalg took a puff on his cigar, pulling it away from his lips and letting two streams of smoke escape his round nostrils. They were good cigars, not like the cheap ones we used as currency, the smell was pleasant and almost perfume-like but still made of nothing but pure tobacco.

“You suit each other,” I said.

His brown eyes rolled, “Yes, I suppose we do. After all, we woke up on Planet together.”

“Really?”

“Indeed,” he sighed. “In some ways, our relationship is my life. I have no memories before that point, save that we’ve known each other for a long time.”

Yaleen’s words rang out in my head. Of the things that could happen to someone who was faced with a reminder of his past. If Yaleen told the truth and I had no reason to doubt it after seeing her give someone a brain aneurysm just by telling him the truth about his past, then these memories were faked. But I had never in my entire time on Planet, heard of people with memories that involved someone they woke up next to. Perhaps Dalg was a criminal who made a plea bargain that involved bringing his lover with him. I couldn’t help but think of him and Nathaniel as Bonnie and Clyde style bank robbers.

I didn’t bring this up. I didn’t want to ruin a loving relationship or worse, harm either of them.

“While we’re waiting for him,” I changed the subject, removing that wonderful rifle with the explosive rounds from my shoulder and placing it on the desk. “Have you ever seen this model of rifle before?”

Dalg retrieved a tiny pair of reading glasses from under the desk and placed them on the bridge of his broad muzzle. His eyes widened with shock.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded calmly, but with some fear lurking under his voice.

“I took it from a Regulian...”

“Are you insane!?” he snarled, peeling back his lips to reveal his long ivory fangs. “You’ll kill us all!”

I placed my hand on the grip of my pistol, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. Dalg reached under the desk with a spare hand as well, likely doing the same thing.

“A Regulian prisoner!” I shot back, “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“A prisoner!? Are you sure?”

“Yes! Probably a fucking serial killer at best!”

Growling, Dalg took off his spectacles and tapped them on the desk. He ran a claw across the black polymer rifle, “This is a Regulian experimental rifle. There’s no official serial designation for it and only marines should have it, and even then, not just any marine would be carrying this around.”

A chill ran down my spine. If that was true, then…

“Does this have any tracking device on it?” I asked quietly.

Dalg held up both his paws, palms spread, “I’m not going to open it up and find out. I know most of their rifles have mobile connections that check-in every time they fire, for location and ammunition tracking. If I were you, I’d get rid of it. Preferably far away from Rust.”

The implication made me sick. I did the math immediately and realized that the jet-copters first arrived after I fired. Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for the marines to fire at whatever they felt like, but if they arrived because my gun alerted them, I don’t think I could live it down.

No. I shook my head. It wasn’t my fault. I may have led them here, but I wasn’t the dumbass bandit who shot at the Regulians. He did it! They only fired after that! It wasn’t my fault!

The fucking bandit!

Dalg’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, “You should be worried, human.”

I chuckled, trying to do whatever it took to get my scent under control, not that I could smell it to begin with, “I guess there’s no sense in asking how much it’s worth?”

The Sirian’s eyes narrowed and he grumbled.

“Sorry, bad joke.”

Nathaniel returned with the Hauler in tow and gave me the first bit of good news today: the damage was fixable. The bullets had damaged a part of the engine beyond repair but Dalg had a replacement in stock and Nathaniel could install it tonight. The frame damage would take longer and I wasn’t sure if my Lacertan chaperone would allow us extra time to wait around for it, so I just negotiated payment for the engine and the tires.

While Nathaniel got to work on the engine, I purchased a few things from Dalg: tinned food, purified water, and ammunition. I bought as much 9mm, 12 gauge, and 7.62×54mmR rounds that I could fit into the back of the truck.

Human made ammunition was becoming more and more common on Planet, I wasn’t sure how this came to be and none of the dealers ever shared the reason why with me, if they even knew themselves. In the end, the dealers had to work through the Regulians in order to get anything here and I also wasn’t sure what was the nature of their arrangement, but I didn’t question it because I needed their things.

It wasn’t worth thinking about. What was worth thinking about was where I was going to sleep tonight and where I could get a stiff drink. Dalg gave me directions for a nearby bar that had some rooms above and I set out.

The streets were almost pitch black thanks to the walls surrounding the city. I flicked on the flashlight resting in my chest pocket, revealing a few feet of dirt road beneath me. It was a little concerning, being in a strange town full of aliens descended from apex predators that could see in the dark better than humans, so I was looking forward to getting to the bar and not leaving it all night.

Thankfully, the bar came into view before I got shanked in the street. A dismal brown shanty with two empty holes in the wall revealing a packed room illuminated by electric lanterns hanging from the ceiling. It was a little concerning to see that there was no bouncer and a few of the silhouettes inside had rifles slung over their shoulders as they downed back their drinks. There was a still a strict code of not drawing your guns at the bar on Planet so I was not too concerned and it was still safer than wandering the streets at night alone.

I stepped past a scrawny, brown Sirian digging a hole in the dirt while muttering something about, “His last pack of smokes being around here somewhere,” and went up the squeaky deck stairs and pushed open the door, blasted by shrill howls and the familiar scent of numerous furred aliens in close vicinity which combined with the constant rust smell to create something strange. Tending the bar was a black-furred Sirian with broad flopping ears and a wide cleft under his nose that showed his center teeth even when he closed his jaw fully. Sitting at the bar was a collection of Sirians of various shapes and sizes, including a little one about four and a half feet tall with a short rat face; as well as a few Lupiads. It was clearly a bar for Sirians and Lupiads but they were generally sociable enough with other species, though I would have to grovel or buy them a round to get the time of day from them, and our biology was compatible so the alcohol would be drinkable compared to Sirth’s bar which served drinks that would turn your stomach into jelly.

Sirian beer was some of the worst in the galaxy but it would have to do.

Two Vulpeculans wearing nothing but black underwear were walking around, looking for prospective clients. I stared at them, not because I was interested in hiring them, that was generally a mistake when on Lupiad-Sirian territory as they, especially the Lupiads, tended to be possessive of what they saw as theirs; but because I wanted to check their eyes, one had bright yellow and the other had amber.

“Didn’t know you served food here,” a brown Lupiad said to the bartender after glancing at me after I sat down next to him. It was in Regulian and he clearly wanted me to hear it. “Let alone fresh game!”

The bar-flies all laughed slightly. This was normal behavior for the average Lupiad and was polite for them. They proclaimed themselves to be superior to me and made it clear that they could eat me if they wanted to but won’t. I just had to smile and go along with my rank in their hierarchy and there wouldn’t be any problem.

“Beer please,” I dropped a couple of cigarettes, landing on the bar which was caked with a thin layer of rusted dust and flakes. The black Sirian carefully picked them up and held them to his large nose, sniffing at them before putting them away and pouring frothy beer into a wooden mug.

“Where from?” the Sirian asked in a rough, raw voice.

“Came in from Haven.”

“Let me guess!” an oily voice interrupted. It was from that small Sirian at the bar, the one that looked like one of those creepy purse dogs. “Here for the Catacombs?”

“Yeah,” I said. The mug of beer was placed on the bar with a thud. I lifted it to my lips, pulling it away after feeling rough marks around the rim. Chew marks. Rolling my eyes, I took a small swig of stale, rancid beer. “Also looking for a Vulpeculan with green eyes.”

“Ah, the contract on that Princess!” the rat dog opened his maw, tongue lolling out as he thrust his hips. “I’d like to find her and give her a good thrusting before I get the reward...”

“No, looking for a male one. Anyone seen one?”

Uncertain grumbles rumbled around the bar.

The bartender spat in a glass, rubbing in the inside of it with a rag, “A pack of Lupiads in the corner mentioned one earlier,” he pointed towards the back of the bar with his nose. “Just over there.”

I turned in my seat to take a look. There was three of them sitting at a round table, rotating between drinking, laughing, and howling into the air. Two were dark gray with a white underside, and the other was pure white. They were both dressed in gray military uniforms with chest rigs holding pistols and magazines. One of the gray ones slammed his nose against the butt of a Vulpeculan prostitute, taking a heavy sniff that elicited an uncomfortable laugh from the Vulpeculan.

I swung back and took a gulp of beer. It was beginning to taste metallic, much like the air. “How about rooms, you got any?”

“They took the last ones. You want to spend the night with them, you ask them.”

Grunting, I stepped up and left the bar, taking my beer with me. I swaggered over to them and caught their attention long before I reached them, their yellow eyes locking onto me. There was no growling and bared teeth though, so I was doing fine.

“Just survived that shitshow by the gates, mind if I join you?”

They looked at each other, grumbling something in Lupus followed by laughter.

“Sit, join us!” the white one said in Regulian, quickly grabbing an empty chair and placing it at the table.

“Name’s Pawel Lis.”

“Dragh,” the white one said, belching.

“Farghal,” the gray one to the right of me said. He was pretty plain a far as Lupiads went with nothing sticking out to my human eyes.

“Hralf,” the other gray one announced. A pink x-shaped scar revealed itself underneath the fur below his right eyelid. Some kind of a gang mark?

“So, human, care to join our game?” Dragh asked, peering at me over the mug pressed against his muzzle.

“What game?”

Hralf growled something in Lupiad.

Dragh replied back with something before switching back to Regulian. “I don’t know how to translate the name. But we take turns saying something we’ve never done and if anyone at the table has done it, they chug.”

“We have this game back on Earth. I might need a place to crash when we’re done.”

Hralf motioned towards the back of the bar. “We have two rooms, you can stay with us.”

“Great! Whose turn is it?”

Farghal pointed his thumb to his chest before jumping back into the game. “I’ve never shaved my head.”

Three muzzles pointed at me, all opening slightly in wicked smiles. Typical Lupiad hazing, I’d go along with it for now and chugged down my beer, doing my damnedest to make sure the foul brew avoided my tongue. I slammed the mug on the table and lifted my hand to order another. Something tickled my tongue and I spat out a fleck of rust.

Hralf barked out laughter. “Your turn, human.”

I rubbed my chin. It was a no-brainer. “I’ve never met a Vulpeculan male with green eyes.”

The pack growled in unison, ears folding back as they lifted their mugs to their lips.

“I hope that little shit dies in the Catacombs!” Hralf snapped.

“Not before I rip his throat out first,” Dragh growled before calling for a round of beers for all of us. “Let’s drink to Parg and his memory once more! He was a good soldier and died too soon!”

They began chugging and I followed suit. My eyes watered as I tasted ammonia. Somehow they had managed to order a beer that tasted even worse than the normal Sirian beer I was familiar with. Still, it would have been disrespectful not to have accepted it.

Another round was immediately placed in front of us and Hralf continued the game.

“I’ve never had sex with a Vulpeculan.”

“Bullshit!” I countered. “Who the fuck hasn’t?”

Hralf’s nose twitched, catching the scent of one of the Vulpeculans, “No bullshit. Now drink.”

At least I wasn’t alone. The entire table drank except for Hralf.

It was now Dragh’s turn. He thought for nearly a minute, tilting his head to the side while scratching his chin.

“I’ve never fucked a human.”

Farghal drank. I wrapped my hand around the mug but didn’t lift.

Had I ever had sex with a human? I remembered dating men back on Earth but I couldn’t remember actually being intimate with them beyond a kiss. It was probably due to the mind-wipe though and chances are that I had. So I made an assumption and downed my beer.

Farghal spoke, “I’ve never been to Earth.”

It would seem that Farghal was not going to let up on the Lupiad hazing. Funny because he was the only one of them who had slept with a human or perhaps that was his way of flirting, or at the very least a strategy to get me drunk and pliable.

The joke was on him. For our size, humans have a very high alcohol tolerance, only beaten by Equuleians and Ursines. Mixed with the fact that Sirian beer was pretty weak compared to human brews, the Lupiads would be drunk way before I would be.

Besides, I could fire back with my own discriminatory answers.

“I’ve never been to Lupi.”

Hours later, the world was beginning to spin a little bit. However, I was still way better off than my wolvish companions: Farghal’s head was lying on the table, tongue rolled out into a puddle of beer; Dragh’s ears were perked and a happy smile was wrapped around his muzzle, and Hralf’s eyes were out of focus and was desperately trying to think of a question.

“I’ve never...stuck my cock in a glory hole.”

“Yeah you have!” Dragh slammed his fist on the table. “We caught you with your knot stuck in one back in Oceanside!”

“Oh, right! Right, right...” he mumbled off. His gaze suddenly became piercing as he stared at me. “I’m sorry Pav...Paveh...Paaaaa...”

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“I’m sorry!” he suddenly leaped on top of the table, sending his wooden mug rolling onto the floor. His muzzle darted towards my face and his tongue sloppily lapped at my lips. His breath smelled of fermented grain and raw meat, and now my face did too, along with being soaking wet. “Did that make things better?”

He peered up at me with innocent looking golden eyes. I scratched him behind his pointed ear, causing him to wag his tail happily.

“Packmates, I think it’s time for us to head to bed,” Dragh mumbled, knocking over his chair as he stood up. “Pawel, help us with Farghal.”

Dragh got on one side of the unconscious Lupiad and I got on the other, wrapping his arms around our shoulders. Hralf led the way down the hallway behind the bar, tail bouncing as he pranced away.

By the time we reached the room my back was killing me, I smelled awful, and Farghal was making horrible noises that made it sound like he was going to puke any second. Still, I would have a room to sleep in, vomit or not, and that was better than no place at all.

At least, that was what I thought.

It can be extremely difficult for humans to recognize individual aliens. With humans, we’re used to looking at them and seeing smaller details about them, like their noses, ears, eyes, mouth, and others. Other aliens have similar difficulties, but because they have strong noses they can still identify and recognize scents from individual aliens. Humans however, rely entirely on sight for identification and as a result, we’re often at a loss.

However, there exists a kind of sixth sense for when you meet an alien that you’ve had a memorable or intense experience with before. A kind of wire in the back of your brain that shocks you awake and lets you know who it is you’re staring at.

I knew right away when I entered the room and saw a white, shirtless Lupiad that he was the Chief, even before he wrinkled his muzzle in a snarl.

The other Lupiads must have been members of his pack but I hadn’t recognized them. They must have known me though and they had a reason for bringing me here.

Hralf shut the door behind us, blocking it with his gray body. Farghal awoke with a start, suddenly sobering up and breaking away from my shoulder. While I was trying to focus on Farghal, I felt a weight lift from the other side of my shoulder and I looked just in time to see a white paw grab the experimental rifle and take it away.

“What the fuck are you…?”

I reached towards Dragh, aiming to grab the gun back, but Farghal slapped away my hands. Turning towards the scarred Lupiad, I swung my fist at his muzzle, but he ducked away and returned a blow at my solar plexus that I didn’t have the luxury of avoiding. The air shot out of my chest and I crumbled to my knees, trying to catch my breath.

“Chief,” Dragh lowered his head in a bow, presenting the rifle to his pack leader.

The Chief calmly took the rifle from Dragh, running his fingers and nose along it in examination. Satisfied, he grinned toothily and muttered an order in Lupus.

Whatever the order was, his packmates stepped towards me while laughing lowly. I caught Farghal’s tongue lolling out lustily.

I would not be taken so easily.

I swept my leg in an arc, catching Dragh in the leg-joint and knocking him forward. I launched myself forward just in time to avoid him falling on top of me, and then leaped back, dodging a blow from the butt of the Chief’s rifle. I nearly tripped over Dragh’s body but steadied myself, despite the world drunkenly rolling, and gave him a quick kick across the side of his muzzle, causing him to yelp like a hurt dog.

The remaining Lupiads began to circle me like a wolf pack surrounding their prey. They’d growl and gnash their teeth together, occasionally faking a lunge towards me that I’d prepare to counter. They were probing my weaknesses. They knew they could swarm me and win, but they wanted to do it cleanly and without any of them getting hurt. A human wasn’t a match physically for multiple Lupiads, soldier or not, but even a weaker human could do some serious damage with a lucky strike to their nose and healing a broken nose was not fun with Planet’s non-existent medical plan.

My head spun but I shook the feeling away. I should not have had so much to drink. Hralf and Farghal were stumbling a little when they were circling me, but they clearly hadn’t had as much as they originally let on, still, they were drunk as a skunk compared to the Chief. I had to choose between taking down the sober alpha or the tipsy packmates first.

My pistol was loaded and holstered, but it would take too long to remove, chamber the bullet, and fire. They’d be on top of me in a second and I’d be at their mercy. This left the knife sheathed in my boot. I’d have to kneel down for a second to grab it, putting myself in the Lupiad submission position, which is probably what they wanted, but I needed to level the playing field.

As fast as a cat, I deftly swept my hand down, snatching the dagger and flipping it in the air, grabbing it backhanded and lunging towards the Chief, tip aimed at his bare chest.

I couldn’t carve that cur’s heart out, let alone cut his hide. A paw wrapped around my wrist, claws digging into my skin, and a heavy weight shoved me away, slamming my head against the wall. When I recovered, all I saw was white teeth surrounded by brown fur and black whiskers. The maw opened in a loud, domineering series of barks, spittle flying against my face. He wanted me to submit. To beg the wolf’s mercy.

I wouldn’t.

Snapping my head forward, I felt my forehead connect with his nose, forcing a yelp out of him. His bottom fangs scraped against my cheek as he flew backwards, crashing into a wooden bedframe, droplets of blood flying from his black nose.

The Chief and the remaining brown Lupiad, Hralf judging by the scar under his eye, slowly closed in on me, backing me into the corner of the room. The Chief was confidently thumping the rifle against his palm like a club, Hralf on the other hand, looked nervous, his tail between his leg and his ears folded back. But what stood out the most to me was Hralf’s eyes were darting down and back to me, over and over.

Hralf knelt over, pulling something steel from his pocket. I didn’t get a chance to see what weapon he pulled out as I charged him, brandishing my blade. Something hard thumped against my shoulder, a burst of pain, and I stumbled forward, falling over Hralf but managing to give him a good slice across the hip in return.

Rolling the ground, I righted myself to my feet. A bundle of fur and muscle pinned me against the wall from behind before I could turn around.

“Get the fuck off me!”

Strong fangs wrapped around my neck and the Lupiad growled with dominance, forcing me to go limp. I fought off the sensation and tried to stuggle, thrashing violently as he wrestled me to the wall. He made his intentions clear when I felt his thighs hump against my thigh.

I didn’t submit. But it didn’t matter, eventually he got me in a position that I couldn’t break from and my knife was forced from my grip, clattering to the floor.

“Chief, would you like to do the honors?” Hralf muttered, deferring to his leader.

The Chief grumbled something in Lupus. For a split second, I felt the weight lift off my back, but it was soon replaced by the Chief’s powerful, muscular body taking position. He barely needed to wrestle me down with his strength, he was clearly the leader for a reason,

“You haughty little bitch,” he growled. I felt his chilly nose run down the back of my neck and his hot breath blast against it as he sniffed. “You’re going to be fun on this trip. Time to show you your place.”

My pants were ripped away and before I knew it, I felt a hard, tapered cock press against my ass. I bit my lip as it entered, cringing from the pain but not daring let him know how much it hurt.

This happened on Planet. It was a prison. These things happened and it wasn’t the first time it happened to me. The first time was the worst: a Vulpeculan who robbed me at gunpoint and decided to take more. I remember everything: the metal of his gun against the back of my head, the pain as he forced himself in, and the shame as he finished. Then there was relief as he left and I lived.

The second time was easier. You learn to separate yourself from your body, ignore all feelings and tune it out. It was a Lupiad and he was a bandit, but other than that, I don’t remember anything. I made myself feel nothing, remember nothing, and that helped. It helped me.

Much the same happened here. As soon as I could resist no longer, I went limp, denying any sensations and not reacting. Beyond the initial pain, I only remember feeling the Chief’s warm semen shoot into me and his knot deflating, followed by him sharply yanking it out.

“Alright,” the Chief grumbled. “Your turn.”

I would phase out this one as well. I believe it was Hralf, but I did not turn around.

I don’t remember which one was next.

Or the next.

But it ended with me face down on the hard floor with my arms hogtied to my legs. My mouth was gagged and my eyes blindfolded. It made me feel like I wasn’t there.

I slept.