“Useless slut. Hope you enjoy your time in the Box.”
Tiffany Zhang’s response was an enraged howl, left garbled by the rigid leather muzzle that had been her constant companion throughout her captivity. Trapped in the darkness of the box with only a few airholes drilled into the side offering any light, she felt rather than saw the psycho move away, the cabin’s wooden floor creaking with every step of his heavy booted feet, and the beautiful Chinese athlete began to weep helplessly, her sobs echoing against the sides of her cramped prison. How do I get out of this?
For only a few hours before, she’d been the prey in her captor’s twisted game, gagged and thrown out into the dense woods to try and escape while he hunted her down. In the end, she’d managed to avoid the numerous traps he’d littered throughout the forest, but another prisoner hadn’t been so lucky, and Tiffany’s desperate attempts to free the other woman from her cage had only resulted in them both being recaptured. One uncomfortable ride in the back of his pickup truck later, and they were back at the psycho’s rickety old mansion and at his nonexistent mercy. “Shame you sluts were so useless you couldn’t put up a decent chase,” the psycho had spat, the vicious hound at his side quashing all thoughts of resistance. The other prisoner, the beautiful Arabic woman in her formal office wear, had been dragged kicking and screaming into another room, the terror in her wide brown eyes forever etched in Tiffany’s psyche. As for the Chinese woman, the psycho had another punishment in mind…
On the surface, the Hotbox seemed gentle compared to some of the other instruments of suffering she’d seen scattered around the kidnapper’s filthy lair, but looks could be very deceiving. Cramped inside the tiny space, her lithe five-foot, ten-inch frame balled up and pressed against the wood, Tiffany soon sweltered as the blazing heat of midsummer turned her prison into an oven, sweat running down her face and plastering her running gear to her athletic figure. It was becoming increasingly difficult to even breath, the few token airholes barely letting in any fresh air, a problem compounded by her leather muzzle gag. As a final cruelty, she’d been bound before being placed into the box, rough coils of rope securing her in a ball-tie; wrists lashed behind her back, legs bound at the ankles and thighs, more coils encircling her body and folding her up so that her knees pressed against her breasts. Again, she threw herself at the sides of the box, the clink of the padlock mocking her efforts as useless, and despair began to take hold, exhaustion, fear and frustration working their magic and weakening her resolve. There’s gotta be a way out of this!
“Oh, God, no, what are you doing?! Please don’t! Please! I--”
The Arabic woman’s frantic protests were cut off by a scream of absolute agony, and through the box, Tiffany heard at least half a dozen separate female voices join her, a chorus of helpless pleas that froze the blood in the athlete’s veins. It’s useless. I’m useless, the feeling washed over her, and in the stifling heat of the box, she finally succumbed to hopelessness, taut body wracked with sobs. God, please just get me out of here. I’ll do anything, just let me out!