As soon as she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, Ellie got into position, kneeling in the center of the cell, head bowed, arms folded behind her back, knees spread as wide as she could. It made for an embarrassing pose, seeing as the teen was, apart from a leather collar around her throat, completely naked, but she had no choice. Well, technically she did have a choice, but given the other option was another whipping…she had no choice. 

The cell was a small square, only five feet on each side, preventing her from laying down stretched out fully. Three of the walls were concrete, painted a slate gray. The fourth held a barred door. Save for brief excursions to use the dungeon’s restroom or for exercise to be used by her captors, this had been Ellie’s entire world the last two weeks, ever since the night she’d been coming home from a concert with her friends when the men had forced Polly’s car off the road and the four of them had been grabbed and forced into the van where they’d been stripped, bound and gagged and eventually brought here. 

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs and turned, walking down the row of cells. Ellie wondered if he would stop at one of the other cells. There were more than a dozen on this row. Some were empty, but most held a naked, collared girl.

Polly was still here, Ellie knew. She’d seen the other teen kneeling in the next cell over when she’d been led past. It had been a few days since she’d seen Anne or Bridget. The cell that had been Bridget’s had a new girl, one of a group of six that had been brought down the other day; a scared redheaded girl. A sign, appended to the outside of the cell identified her as “#0187 Sharon Brown, 18, 5’2” 102 lbs 34C-24-34,  Redhead”

The footsteps stopped in front of Ellie’s cell. Out of the corner of her vision, the teen could see the tips of the man’s boots, but she didn’t dare look up. He bent and a hand slid something through the slot at the bottom of the cage door. It came to a stop right in front of Ellie. It was a ballgag, the plug hard black rubber, the straps black leather with silver steel rivets and buckles. It was well worn, with the faint impression of teeth on the smooth surface. As she waited, Ellie idly wondered how many other girls had worn it besides her. 

“Gag yourself.” The man ordered. “Tight.” 

Suppressing a weary sigh, Ellie reached down and grabbed the gag. She held it with a strap in either hand, bringing the ball up to her lips. As always, it was a struggle to get her mouth to fit around the large plug. Eventually, it popped in, drawing a muffled grunt from the girl as she found her jaws wedged uncomfortably wide. Bringing the straps together behind her head, she fed the tongue through the buckle, pulling it as hard as she could, suppressing a whimper as this forced the gag deeper between her jaws, increasing the discomfort. 

“Tight.” The man chided. “Or you’ll wear the punishment gag instead.”  

Whimpering, Ellie yanked the strap as hard as she could. The prong slipped into the very last hole in the strap, securing it as tight as it could be.

As she fought back tears, the man slid another object into the cell. It was a pair of steel handcuffs. Again, Ellie waited until the man ordered her to pick them up and cuff her hands behind her back. “Tight.” The man ordered. “As tight as you can.” 

After two weeks here, Ellie had gotten the motions down. She held one of the cuffs open and slipped it around her left wrist, pressing on the metal ring as it ratcheted close one click at a time. She kept at it until the hard, cold steel dug into the soft skin of her wrists, causing her to wince. She put both arms behind her back and, working by feel, found the other cuff hanging from the short chain and maneuvered it around her right wrist, swinging it closed. Again, she pressed down, click by click until it was as tight as she could stand, and then a little tighter still. 

“On your feet, slave.” As Ellie rose awkwardly to her feet, the man unlocked and opened the cell door. Ellie waited as he took a short leather leash and clipped it to the front of her collar. Without a word, he turned and started back towards the stairs. Ellie followed, keeping her head bowed. As she turned, however, she glanced back a moment. Her eyes caught the small sign beside her cell. They went wide. 

The sign, as before, read in stark white letters on a black background: “#0176 Ellie Wilkins, Age 19, 5’8” 132lb 34C-23-33, Blonde.” But below that, a new word had been appended, in bold, red letters: SOLD.

Ellie moaned in fright, but the leash at her neck snapped tight, forcing her to stumble after her captor. “Come slave, time for you to meet your new owner…”