#auctioned

[europesroyalsjewels]

Square Aquamarine Brooch ♕ Sold at auction in 2006 

[squidinkarchives]

Handmade Bread Doily, Framed

Source: Amelia, Ohio Style Up the World

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

gracious host

Synopsis: Davis Davies makes the rounds at his party.

Content Warnings: superhero whumpee, female whumpee, whumper POV, auctioned off, whumpee as a party favor, nsfwhump, beaten, drugged, burned, stabbed, whump with worldbuilding

Author's Notes: Oh Lou, you're too fun to ignore for long~

Also. Um. I think this is my 100th whump fic this year/overall.

Read on AO3

It was an unspoken rule amongst the villainous social circles of Newton City not to abduct heroes - at least not long-term. If you needed to sedate them or tie them up to get them out of the way for a day or so, that was generally considered an acceptable practice, but nearly everyone understood: keeping a hero captive was always more trouble than it was worth.

When you captured a hero, especially one beloved by the public, you ran the risk of getting a hellfire of heroics rained down on not only yourself, but every other villain in a 50-mile radius. Whether they were the classically righteous type or the clock-in/clock-out type, there was one thing all heroes agreed on, and it was that this type of offense couldn't go unchecked. Because, if one hero could be vulnerable to this, they all could be, and so, villains generally agreed - it was simply not done.

Except, of course, in special cases.

In cases when not only the villains, but certain contingents of heroes themselves agreed such actions would be only fair.

Because villains had people they wouldn't stand to be interfered with either, and Robert Redgrave was one of them.

Naturally then, it was of interest to a great number of people when word got around concerning a very special event for a very special young hero. After all, it wasn't every day some spunky, heroic ingenue got put on the chopping block for the villains' entertainment, and even though it was understood the girl would quickly be out of the price range for most of the common criminals, well - who could resist the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see a superhero put up for sale?

The cherry on top of it all was the man who won the auction. There were no hard feelings when Davis Davies swooped in to scoop up the weeping Nebulous for a cool $5.4 million. Had it been another wealthy patron of the Newton villains, they might have immediately whisked the girl away to their private island, turning her into a private entertainer for their fellow billionaires, or perhaps the subject of their own most dangerous game.

But Davis had always kept it local. The man had been a villain in the Newton scene himself in his youth, and though that career had been short-lived before he turned his talents to more entrepreneurial pursuits, he proclaimed it was always Newton that would have his heart. He kept his businesses Newton-based. He cultivated talent and offered mentorship to the young villains of Newton. And, when there was something for Newton villains to celebrate, you could reliably find a cocktail party at one of his hideouts.

Davis was, above all, a generous man - and on this night, that generosity was even extended in regards to his prize of the century.

The moment he had placed the winning bid on Miss Nebulous, people had started congratulating him, as well as questioning what he had planned for the young woman. Quick dip in an acid bath? Bisected by a giant laser? Or perhaps turn her into a monstrosity with some lab experiments. Everyone knew Redgrave was a long-time, personal friend of his after all, so it must be personal, whatever it was.

Davis, affable as ever, had brushed off most of these ideas. He was well into his 50's now, and giant lasers were a young man's game. However, just because he personally wasn't tempted by such violent delights didn't mean everyone should be deprived of them - and that was the point where he announced an open house for all the villains present, and the gracious opportunity for everyone who wished it to have their own petty vengeance on Nebulous.

Two hours later, the occupants of the auction house, as well as an additional bevy of guests, found their way to one of Davis’s underground dens - located under a busy city block and available through a number of separate street-level entrances to those who knew their way in. Davis was always ready to entertain, but while the party, held in his 70’s-chic bunker, was already flowing with food and drinks, it was clear from the start what the main attraction was.

Nebulous, apparently all of 21, with her long black hair, her brown doe eyes, and her gently curving body, had been given a fresh dosage of that funny little cocktail to keep her weak and mumbling before being shackled against a wall at the back of the room. While Davis had lingered by her for a while, as a good host should to ensure there was no confusion or apprehension about her purpose there, his presence had apparently been unnecessary. Guests had found their way to the cowering superhero quickly, and just as quickly put her to use.

Vince Kent had been the first to approach her. The man was an uncouth, low-level crime boss from the east side, and far beneath Redgrave’s notice, but Davis decided not to hold that against him this night. After all, every party needed an icebreaker, and Kent was certainly that - brazenly spitting on Nebulous’s face and slapping her back and forth with a heavily ringed hand.

Davis lingered only long enough to watch Kent force the girl onto her knees, before turning his back to start making his rounds through the rest of his guests. The sound of that man’s fly coming down and the incoherent sobs of the superhero were enough to let him know his guests had things well in hand.

Of course, as Davis meandered to and fro, meeting with the guests who were patient enough to check in with their host before helping themselves to the party favors, he was never completely unaware of what was happening at the back. He had a minor power of his own - enhanced senses. It’d never been enough to earn him much notoriety outside the moniker of “Lookout,” but it allowed him to keep an ear out, in case anything was amiss.

Mostly, it was what he’d been expecting. The smack of skin against skin as they turned Nebulous into a punching bag. Gagging and whimpering as her mouth was occupied with something it was still good for. Cries and butchered words as hands explored her more intimately.

Davis really only had to glance over once in the first hour, when Nebulous’s shrieks reached a fever pitch, her heart pounding so loudly he could hear it from across the room. He was unfazed when he saw one the guests - a tall, broad meta-human with reptilian features - had moved from taking the girl on her knees to taking her from behind.

It only briefly crossed his mind as he turned back to his companions that this might actually be the girl’s first time. Davis smirked briefly at the thought. Maybe he should have set a cover charge for this party after all.

The party carried on late into the night. Nebulous grew quieter and less distracting, the more she was used. As people finished satisfying themselves and their curiosity about her, they started either enjoying the drinks and the company Davis provided, or filtering out - no doubt to share the news of their “conquest.”

Davis thought this release in the pressure of the room might give him the opportunity to relax slightly in his hosting duties - to kick back with some of his oldest friends and reminisce about times gone past. However, sometime past midnight, the alcohol and the revelry of the night started to inspire a certain type of guest.

Nebulous's cries, which had slowly been reduced to exhausted whimpers across the hours, abruptly rose in pitch and intensity, causing Davis to look across the room with his keen sight. There, he saw her attention monopolized by three flashy young villains wearing matching, high-collared white coats - one tall, one short, and with a fanged snout.

Davis could see the handprint-shaped burn on Nebula's right breast just as easily he could smell the smoke coming off the tall one's hand. As he watched, the fanged one suddenly grew out the nails on her own hands into dangerously sharp points and jabbed it into Nebula's side, filling the air with the sounds of her screams and the smell of her blood.

Apparently, the rabble had gotten bored with assaulting her already and had moved on to superpowered torture.

Briefly, Davis considered letting them play their little games a while longer. He was fairly certain that if he didn't intercede, the girl would still be alive, come morning.

But, the longer his gaze lingered on her, the more details he took in. Bruises on her thighs and face. Sticky cum on her chest and spilling down her legs. Tally marks and insults written in thick, black letters all over her body, including the letters WH and RE on either side of her mouth. Her wrists were rubbed red from the shackles pulling her up and down. Her entire body was shaking from hours of endless abuse and chemical restraints.

If he let her be, she would probably still be alive in the morning, but...

How terrified she must be, Davis couldn't help but think. How hurt. How lost.

Maybe it was just him getting soft in his old age, but in the end, he decided to show her some mercy. At the very least, it gave him a kick to remember that too was part of his control.

*****

Everything in Lou hurt. Her jaw. Her legs. Her wrists. Her heart. Her faith.

Everything, all of it, surely...damaged beyond repair.

Even drugged and exhausted, she understood...she understood what terrible things these people had decided to do with her.

Even when they tried to escalate, started burning her and cutting her, the screams she let out were only a sign of the only thing she had left to give.

She couldn't plead for mercy. She'd run out of tears to spill. And no one had come to save her.

At least, no one who should have saved her.

Lou was barely aware as the Whitejackets fled and as another figure took their place before her. Her thoughts were so clouded by pain and drugs and soul-crushing sorrow, she didn't even recognize him as the man who had claimed her in the auction to begin with. All she knew was that one moment, her shackles were the only things keeping her upright, and the next, they were gone, leaving her crumpled on the floor.

Her arms throbbed along with her heartbeat as blood rushed back into them, and a hand stroked along her ribs gently.

"They did have their fun with you, didn't they?" a soft voice crooned above her. "I suppose we'll consider your obligations for tonight fulfilled."

Instinctively, Lou's body flinched as she heard the snap of fingers, especially when, a moment later, big, rough hands were picking her up, as if she was weightless once again. But they weren't there to harm her any further - at least not that night. They were simply carrying her away from this horrible party, and whether it was the drugs or her own naive beliefs at work, there was some part of Lou that thought - that hoped, after this, all would be well once again.

Previous • Next

Taglist: @labtrauma @acelightningwhumper @stars-hide-our-fires

[chaplinfortheages]

An archive of Charlie Chaplin photographs from the collection of Loyal Underwood put up for auction on Bonhams.com (x)

Loyal Underwood was one of Charlie’s stock players, appearing in 11 Chaplin from 1916-1923 and a final appearance and last screen credit "Limelight" 1952.

Top photo: Shows Charlie Chaplin during production of "Sunnyside", Charlie with Eric Campbell, Albert Austin and Loyal Underwood while he shot some footage for a never released film "Golf Links, 1917. Charlie used this idea in his later film "The Idle Class".

Second photo: Charlie posing with the wood nymphs from "Sunnyside" 1919

Third photo: Charles "Chuck" Reisner, Charlie and Loyal Underwood with Charlie during production of "The Kid" 1921.

Fourth photo: More photos from his collection, two of them autographed from Paulette Goddard and Edna Purviance.

[grayghostofthenorth]

“Hounds” (1892) Description:  Large oil on canvas, apparently unsigned but with inscription lower right and date 1892. Dimensions: (Frame) H 35.25" x W 45.25" (Painting) H 34" x W 43" Condition: Some tears, surface scrapes, scattered paint loss, surface dirt.

[welld0nebaku]

Fuck it George fic out @ 3 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

[whumping-newbie]

can i request collared and chained for the bthb card?

@badthingshappenbingo

Thanks for the request!!! Sorry it took so long!! This one is dedicated to @scath001 and @straight-to-the-pain because of their extremely awesome prompt post about Whumper Gatherings (it’s such a long post now but is absolutely the reason I was inspired to write this one). I also got a little bit too into it, so it’s a lot longer than I planned it to be. I do have a continuation for this in mind because it’s such a fun idea with lots to explore!

Enjoy!

Warnings: slavery, electrocution, dehumanisation.

“Sold!”

The voice that accompanied the sound of the gavel hammering down bellowed through the room. I couldn’t see what was going on out there, I could hear the murmurs of the crowd in there - I could hear their disappointed sounds echoing through, and I heard movement.

The sound of chains moving - and a small, muffled cry, and then witnessed a guard roughly dragging Lot 5 back through the corridor here. They were making pitiful noises, stifled by the muzzle locking their jaw shut. Their eyes were red with tears. It was clear they did not want to be going, but they had no choice but to follow the handler as they were tugged and yanked away, to the red door behind us, to the door that truly sealed our fates.

The auctioneers had done their absolute best, they assured us, to make us as pretty and presentable as possible. I mean, they have given us such beautiful clothes that showed us off, they had styled our hair, and who can forget the hard work they put into making our skin so clean and soft?

The most terrifying experience was having to watch these other people be sold ahead of me. But not only that, the many different reactions to such a situation were enough to fill me with dread when coupled with the fact that everyone faced the same fate, no matter what they did to show that last little spark of rebellion continued to burn, only to be snuffed out as carelessly as the people who ran this whole thing.

Lot number 1 had been so stoic. They kept their head and eyes down, they weren’t even muzzled. They didn’t resist when the guard dragged them forwards, just followed them with a sickeningly calm acceptance. It was like they had done this before. There was no fight. They were covered in scars - burns and gashes and slits decorated their bare arms, back and chest like they had been a woodcutter’s new project, detailed with an almost artistic intricacy with tools that were just not meant to be used on skin.

Lot number 2 was dazed. They kept lolling from one side to the other, like they were somewhere else entirely. I remember what Lot 2 was like in that prep room. We were all restrained in some way, but Lot 2 did not stop kicking and shouting. A false bravado, threatening to kill everyone there when he gets loose, and he will not let them anywhere near him. Eventually the beauticians and guards got sick of all of the attitude, and drugged them with something that made them just so placid - so docile. They weren’t fighting anymore, but when the guards suggested that they relax, suggested that they go with them quietly, they didn’t talk back with a snarky remark, they just did it, swaying as they did, barely staying on their feet.

Lot number 3 trembled with fear the whole time. They were so small, so young, they audibly cried out when the guard came for them, the sounds muffled by the red silk wrapped around their face. They tried to squirm out of the guard’s grip, refusing to move, the cries tugging at me to run over and try to help them. I knew that would do no good, none at all. I was just as trapped as the others here.

Lot number 4 seemed to be somewhere else entirely. They weren’t drugged, I think at least, but they seemed so dead. They weren’t like Lot 1, they didn’t have dirty, tattered clothes and battered skin. They were dressed up, like me, and they were muzzled too - I think they have been recently taken too, that’s the only explaination I can think of for why they are dressed like me. They just let themselves go, let themselves be taken. They were silent, in their footsteps and their will, they just went.

Lot number 5 was trying to be strong. They stood tall, they kept their feet firmly in place, they stayed silent. The only sign I got that they were still here with me was the protest they uttered beneath their muzzle as they were dragged away. It left me next in line, and the anicipation was brewing hotter and hotter.

I hated the feel of the garish sequins on the shirt I was wearing. They rubbed against my bound wrists every time I fidgeted, and I could barely do anything to prevent that. The heavy metal cuffs had this awful feeling, like it was sucking the life out of me. It made me feel weak. It made me feel helpless.

The moment that Lot 5 was hauled past me, away from me, was the moment that the other guard pulled me forward my the arm. I didn’t want to go with them. I tried to keep my feet still, but they were so much stronger than me that I lost my footing as I tried to ground my heels to the polished wooden floor. I slipped, landing on my back, crushing my cuffed hands beneath my own weight. My head thumped loudly against the floor, and I closed my eyes as I groaned out the pain. The colours bouncing in my vision behind my closed eyelids was disorienting, and I wasn’t even snapped out of it when I was grabbed by my hair.

“Get the fuck up!” the guard hissed, hoisting me to my feet. I stumbled as they hauled me beyond that curtain. I screwed my eyes shut as the lights shone directly into my eyes, blinding me. I barely had a moment to think before the guard let me go, leaving me blinded and vulnerable.

I couldn’t see. I daren’t open my eyes, the light was still piercing through my eyelids no matter how hard I scrunched them, all I could do was stand blindly, listening to the voices around me and in front of me murmer. Talking about me. What did they see in me? What are they looking for? A cold ball formed in the pit of my stomach as I imagined the things that people who bought other people would do to me.

All I could think of in that moment was Lot 1.

The one who was so blindly obedient, so fiercely stoic to their treatment, that they were trusted not to wear a muzzle. That one who seemed so far gone within themselves that they remained a simple shell - a vessel for these people to mutilate and abuse. They didn’t make a sound as they did what was instructed of them, they just kept their head down and obeyed without another thought.

The gavel banging hard behind me sent a shock coursing through me, right to the core. The room silenced, and the auctioneer behind me spoke through me, straight to the audience, “Lot 6, ladies and gentlemen,” I could hear them direct their voice towards me as I tried to control the rate my breaths were passing through the muzzle, “spin around, slowly. Now,” the muzzle contricted the air, made it difficult to breathe through, forcing me to breath through my nose.

I did as I was instructed, one hesitant step at a time. The voices returned as I did. As I spun around on the spot, I felt the gazes of the audience radiate me. They were judging me, watching me, assessing me. Or was it just the heat of the lights? I could feel them move with around me, moving from the front of me around to the back. I dared to open my eyes as I returned to my forward facing position, and my eyes adjusted to the blinding light. I could barely make out the people there, the lights were there. The only thing separating me from them was the wooden barrier that trapped me here.

The auction hall was much smaller than I had imagined it would be, yet it somehow seemed not big enough to keep the anxiety at bay, everyone seemed too close for comfort despite the space between me and everyone else. Me, and the people who had put me here against my will.

The room was dark with mahogany barriers, with the floor at my feet a sandy colour. The auctioneer behind me, high on his pedestal, was watching me just as much as the others were.

“Kneel.”

The words were so stern that I daren’t do anything but whatever he says. I slowly, carefully, dropped to my knees, keeping my gaze down on the ground, out of sight.

I closed my eyes again as he called for bidders. The numbers kept coming and coming, and the longer it went on, the more the burning dread simmered within me. I did my best to keep my face down, to keep still, to try and block out the sounds as the numbers got bigger and bigger.

I did my best to not let them see that lone tear stream down my cheek.

The sharp call of “sold!” jolted me back to reality with a sickening bump, like I had just fallen from a high platform to the concrete floor and landed on my back. I felt like the wind had been knocked clean out of my lungs. My eyes snapped open, and then I was yanked up to my feet. I felt my knees tremble beneath me, and I fought to stay standing as I was dragged back the way I came, passing the three others behind me, those who are next.

—

The next room was simply a holding room. It didn’t make it any easier to come to terms with what had happened to me. All I could do was stand here in this spot until the person who bought me came to collect their new property. The seconds ticked into minutes, and the minutes ticked into what felt like hours. The dread, the hopelessness, the despair that racked my mind was weighing me down far more than these cuffs ever could.

The voices that appeared outside the door summoned me back, and I stilled my breath as I waited. The person who strolled in with a sickeningly vile smirk plastered over their face was quite pleased with themselves, clearly. They loomed over me, and I have never felt so small in my life, burning my face with their gaze and I could do nothing but look them in the eye as I did so.

“Yes, you’ll be perfect,” they reached out to touch me, to touch my hair, but I leaned backwards, as far away from them as I could get. I felt the hand grab the hair they planned to touch with such force that I shut my eyes and bit through the pain, “a bit of training is required, I see, but no matter. You’ll make a fine gift.”

They snapped their fingers and I watched over their shoulder as someone approached them from behind, clutching what looked like red tape, handing it to the person who released their grip from my hair long enough to unravel some from the loop, brandishing it in front of my eyes.

“Now then, let’s get you wrapped up nicely, shall we?”

—

I was encased in darkness, literally.

I was blind in this box. My new owner had ordered me to get inside the box once they had wrapped me in red ribbon, a continuous stream. I looked like some deformed christmas tree, with a pitiful attempt at decorating the sadness of a dead thing, with a ribbon tied tightly around my face over the top of my muzzle. If I could barely move before, now it was worse, because they had tied my ankles together so tightly that I was barely able to follow the order to get into the box.

I saw the box before I got in. It was barely tall enough for me to kneel in, my head and neck would be forced to stay down when I get in. It wasn’t wide either, it was a small white thing, with a lid that opened like a trinket box, wrapped in more ribbon.

He was not joking, I really was a present for someone.

I gasped as I felt the box be hauled away somewhere, on wheels. I felt that much, I wasn’t being carried, I was on a trolley or something. I could hear distant, echoey voices as I was pushed through… wherever this was. A huge mansion, would be my guess. There was music and what sounded like one hell of a party going on somewhere. The clicky footsteps of my owner was just ahead of me, and I knew we were following them. I shifted beneath my sickening bonds, but somehow it felt worse after shaking a little bit, they dug into my skin and were more merciless than the cuffs binding my hands behind my back.

I heard a door click open somewhere, and we jolted to a stop, before turning around and entering backwards. I heard the sounds of someone straining to lift the box from the trolley or whatever, before dropping me down to the floor with very little care. The strain on my body with how I was knelt down in such a constricting environment was taking its toll, and I wished I could just sit up properly, I had never wished for anything more in my life, because the throbbing in my neck and shoulders was becoming almost unbarable.

Someone hit the box, shuddering the cardboard case that was my temporary prison, and hissed at me to be quiet, or there will be trouble.

I daren’t do more than breathe anymore.

The sound of the door opening and lots of voices was overwhelming, and I clenched my fists as I tried to work out just what was going on. Why are there so many people in here now? I couldn’t risk making another sound and incurring the wrath of my owner, so I tried to stay quiet.

“Happy birthday, old friend,” that jovial laugh came from the one I recognised, the one who bought me. I tried to work out what they were doing, it sounded like they had reached in for a hug with someone, “consider this a token of my esteemed respect for you. I am sure you will make good use of it, old friend.”

There was a small set of enthusiastic applause here, and a response of “thank you! Thank you! You really shouldn’t have!” permeated my ears as I shuddered, thinking of what this person is expecting.

Under normal circumstances, if I were to open a large box and find a person tied up inside, my first instinct would be to free them and then call the police, to try and find out who they are and how they ended up tied up in a box and given as a gift.

But these were no normal circumstances, and the sheer fact that this entire situation existed on such a scale? It made me sick to my stomach, and I had to swallow beneath my gag.

Light flooded the box as the lid was yanked off. I heard a hearty laugh, and yet I did not look up.

“Oh, you know me so well! Did you know I was going to buy another one soon?”

“Well, you always did have a knack for dog training. I just thought you could do with some fresh blood, something else to work on.”

I felt some big, strong arms lift me up out of the box, and I tried to muffle out a surprised noise at this. I tried to stay still, but even this was rewarded by getting dropped unceremoniously to the floor.

“Oh, it’s so adorable!”

“Look at its gorgeous hair, you’ve outdone yourself Hemlock!”

“I love all the ribbon, I admire that touch.”

The cooing voices that echoed from those in the room with me were more frightening than anything else so far.

It. Look at it.

That’s all I was to them. An “it”, not a human person.

Not anymore, anyway.

The people in here were dressed for an event. Fancy, tailor made suits and dinner jackets and a few ladies in evening dresses, they were watching me - they all had champagne flutes filled with fizz, and were laughing at me, at my misfortune.

The one who had picked me up was now crouched in front of me, and I watched as they pulled a small knife from their jacket pocket and unleashed the blade in front of my eyes. I was breathless as I watched it gleam in the light, and I whined as they flashed it under my nose.

“So I guess I should start opening my present…” they ran the blade down the side of my face, gentle but the threat was still more present than ever, “… by cutting it open, right?”

The guests laughed, they agreed, they raised their glasses and cheered.

The knife nicked at my skin as they tore away at the ribbon binding me. I hissed in pain as they made each incision, acting like it was a simple error, and not an intentional act. I knew better, I could tell they were revelling in this. I had to force myself not to make more sounds of pain than I already was, biting down on my own teeth to try and do so.

They nicked away at every piece of ribbon on my body, the red strings that littered the floor around me were mocking me. I was free, and released, but I wasn’t at the same time. I was momentarily grateful to them for that little, tiny, miniscule amount of movement allowed because they had released me from the painfully tight ribbons, allowing me to relax slightly out of my position.

Momentarily grateful to them.

The knife was set aside, the tip painted with my blood, and the hand reached out to touch my hair. I tried to turn away from them, but this was a decision I instantly regretted. That hand, that had been previously gentle and tender, yanked at my roots so hard that I could not help but cry out in pain. They leaned in closer and I could just stare into their eyes. They had suddenly gone so cold, so unfeeling.

“How dare you pull away from me?” they spat, and the sheer malice that dripped from their voice as they spoke sent shivers right through me to the core, “I am your master, and you will show me the respect I deserve!”

I trembled beneath their firey glare, casting my eyes downwards again, hoping they would let go and stop being so rough!

I didn’t stop them as they released my hair and started stroking it, running through my locks. I couldn’t help but quiver at their touch, because it felt so, so wrong, but I had to fight to keep still lest I have to suffer more brutal consequence to such a minor reaction.

Someone else stepped closer, and I didn’t dare look to see who it was, but they handed something to the one knelt in front of me. I knew that, because they stopped stroking me.

“I thought I’d leave the honours to you,” the voice said. The one from the auction, “it is yours now, after all.”

A small, deep chuckle sounded in response to those words, and I dread to imagine what they were talking about. I didn’t have to wonder for long, though. The hand returned, but it didn’t reach for my hair or face this time, it traced its touch along my neck. I felt my breathing shudder as I imagined that hand closing around my throat, forcing my breathing to cease, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart begin to race at the possibility -!

The hand let go for a split second, but before I could properly register what was going on, they had wrapped something around my throat. Panic set in as hands fumbled at the back of my neck, and I realised that they had fitted a collar on me. They also attatched a length of a thin chain to me too. A dog lead, no less.

If I had my hands free, I would have reached up to touch it. The collar was tight, probably more than was necessary, but I knew that was the point. That wasn’t what concerned me, though. There was something in it that was sharply digging into my skin, and I couldn’t quite work out what it was. Was it the buckle keeping it tightly shut at the back of my neck? I couldn’t tell, but it was really, really heavy too.

“There now. Look up, show everyone how gorgeous you look with this on.”

That voice was so falsely calming that it was making me nauseous. I looked up at the people watching this with fascination etched all over their faces. They had little smiles, and I heard them saying things like “aw, look at the little puppy,” which made my cheeks burn red, but I couldn’t look away or anything.

“Shall we play a little game, pet?” the voice to my left asked. I hated how they asked a question, and yet kept the ability to speak from me. I didn’t make a sound, because somewhere in me knew that even if I could answer their question, saying yes would just have them do what they want to do, but saying no would probably result in them still doing whatever they wanted to do to me, but much worse.

I was watching them as they pulled a long, black length of fabric from their pocket. They held it up in front of me for a few seconds, watching me eye it nervously. I knew what it was, and I was proven correct when they covered my eyes with it, trapping me in darkness. They wrapped it around my entire head once, twice, thrice before tying it at the back.

I could see nothing. I could only hear the voices of the guests in the room, that and my own tremulous breaths that were edged with panic.

“Oh, look, it’s trembling,” one of the women pointed out.

“I know, I’m trying to get it used to hearing my voice,” my owner said, I heard them stand up and take a few steps back. I fidgited on the spot, wondering where they had gone now, “come here, pet. Come over here.”

I tried to find where that voice was, and I hesitated before forcing my legs to obey the command issued to me. I heard the small clunk of the chain dragging along the smooth wooden floor. My hands were still tied behind my back, so I was struggling to stay balanced as I crept forwards on my knees. The voices in the room were quiet, and I hoped I was going in the right direction. I was trying to filter through the voices, hoping to hear the one who commanded me, but I didn’t hear them.

A small beep rang in my ear and I felt my body convulse in pain. I was so taken by surprise that I hit the floor and screamed into the muzzle. I jerked and thrashed as the shock coursed through me in a single continuous wave. It kept going, and going, and all I could do was scream because I couldn’t stop it -!

It stopped, after what felt like an eternity. I remained where I lay face down on the floor, breathing deeply into the muzzle, feeling the tears I fought to hold back flood my eyes and soak the silk blindfold. I heard laughter from those watching me, and I twitched when someone touched my back. I audibly reacted to this, my weak attempt at “don’t” forming on my lips but unable to break through the muzzle.

“You were too slow, pet,” they cooed. They soothing voice was contrasted sharply by them roughly grabbing the chain attached to the collar and yanking me back up to my knees. I couldn’t breathe as they pulled and pulled on the chain, yet the firm hand on my shoulder kept me down, “when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it quicker than that.”

They still had yet to release me, and I tried speaking again, but my cries were weakened by the pressure of the collar being pulled backwards, choking me.

“Do you understand, pet?” they asked, tugging harder still.

I nodded frantically, as much as I could against the trap around my neck. I was shaking, hoping that they would just let go of the chain and let me breathe again, because I couldn’t do it anymore -!

“Good. Let’s try that again, shall we?” they asked, stepping backwards, away from me. I turned my head around, tuning my hearing to find out where they were, “come here, come over here.”

I scrambled around, not caring about taking it slowly and carefully this time, I just didn’t want to get shocked this time, because that was painful, and I don’t want to do that again, not in front of everyone!

I arrived at someone’s feet, collapsing before them, and felt their hand ruffle my hair, making a mess of how well those people had styled it, to make me look my best for my new owner. I didn’t flinch away this time, not when it stopped them shocking me.

“See? There’s a good pet. You’ve learned your lesson quickly, haven’t you?”

I nodded vigorously in response to their praise, and tried to control my short breaths again. They were happy now. I don’t need to be stupid, I can’t be, I don’t want to be shocked again. Once was enough, I just have to keep them happy so that they don’t have to do that again, right?

“Let’s go again. If you stay well behaved, I’ll give you some water. If I have to punish you again, I won’t give you food either,” they stood back up, I heard them moving, “come on, pet. We’re having fun, here, aren’t we?”