The pet had lost track of time. Of time, of space, of herself. There was darkness and there were walls, and there was pain.
But it all vanished behind the thirst.
238's mouth was dry, her tongue like a heavy, dried out sponge. Her throat was rough and hurting. Even her eyelids felt like sandpaper, whenever she moved her eyes. A persistent ache spiked in her temples.
She'd been given water at the facility, water and some pills, and then someone had lifted her into a box. The same box, she thought, that she was in now. The box had been handled and carried and driven somewhere, and she'd been dozy and happy and expectant. She was ready. She'd been sent to her owner, to the man who'd ordered her and wanted her and loved her. The men whose voice on tape, in the facility, had soothed her and taught her and made her good.
She'd been so ready to be good.
She thought she'd heard his voice again, earlier, outside. The box hadn't been moved in… she couldn't tell. Long.
She tasted blood, seeping from rough split lips, metal and salt.
A sharp clink echoed through the box, when something was placed on top of it. There was her owner's voice again, talking, laughing. She felt a sob stuck in her throat, but her tears had long dried out. He was there. She loved him. She wanted him. She needed him.
Weakly, she lifted her hands against the padded inside of the lid. "P… please," she whimpered. It didn't sound like a voice, only a hoarse scratch. He couldn't hear her.
The box rocked, when something - someone? - pushed against it. Pain exploded in the pet's head. A whine escaped her throat.
It didn't stop. The box shook and rocked, and she heard muffled noises, slapping and groaning, her owner's voice, closer than it had ever been, but then again it grew more and more distant as she drifted into a deeper, crueler darkness.
It ended, eventually. She couldn't tell when, or how long it had been, she just knew her body ached more, and different, yearning for water and her owner and something else.
She wanted to lift her arms again, but she couldn't, her body to feeble to answer to her will. She moved her lips, tried to say a name, his name. Nothing came out.
She-
Bright white light exploded over her. She couldn't make out anything but a dark shape against white light.
"Look at that," a voice hummed, his voice, the voice she loved more than she'd ever loved anything in the world. "Remember me, Angel?"
"Sss… Ssir." She sobbed in relief.
Strong arms reached into the box, grabbed her shoulders to pull her up. She couldn't make out much, just understood that the arms weren't his, they were someone else's, carefully lifting her, presenting her to the man she loved.
"Water," the other person said. "She's dehydrated."
The pet tried to nod, but even that didn't work out.
"Not just yet," her owner said softly. "I like her like this."
She felt another hand on her, lifting her chin, tilting her face up.
"Isn't that a fun twist of fate?" he mused. "I own you, now. My new little fucktoy. My property. Mine."
She tried to search for his gaze, to take him in, his face, his smile, his eyes. His. Yes. She was his.
She tried to return his smile, shaking, aching, desperate. "Yours," she whispered. "I… I'm… yours, Sir."
She felt his hands on her body, roaming over her breasts, her sides, slip between her legs.
"You are," he said. "Oh, yes, you are. Come on. Open up for me."
"Sir," the other person urged. "She's going to faint."
"Good," her owner said.
Good, the pet thought. Good. She was good. Everything was good. She smiled, as he spread her legs, when he pushed into her, when he took up pace, when the world around her went dark again.
