Perfume.

She stirred slightly, frowning as she drew in a long languid breath, the familiar scent playing through her nose. It wasn’t floral, she thought absently, she’d never liked floral perfumes, but this was fruity, strong and earthy, apples and currants... and familiar. She frowned. She wore antiperspirant, and her friends wore Lynx or Impulse, or whatever took their fancy, cheap artificial smells that choked the room... this was classy, strong and sensuous, but she’d definitely smelt it before, and recently.

She stirred... then gave a startled gasp as she came up short, instinctively pulling harder, and feeling something give a warning bite around her wrist. That pain seemed to flare up all the others, and she was suddenly very aware of... everything. Her eyes snapped open, not that that helped. Her vision was dark, and she felt a thrill of fear run through her, had she gone blind? That was resolved by the breath she forced herself to blow out, trying to steady herself, and felt fabric move against her nose and cheeks. She was hooded.

She contorted this way and that with her head, but couldn’t shuck the hood, and then, belatedly, realised why. There was a band of pressure around her neck, not uncomfortable, but firm, a thick band around her slim neck... a collar, and it was holding the bag firmly in place. She could feel the slight edge of the buckle against her throat, and went into overdrive, thrashing around desperately, only to feel more bands of pressure, clamped around her defenceless, naked flesh. She tensed suddenly, breath faltering.

She was naked?!

She was lying on a soft surface, probably a bed, as she could feel smooth cotton sheets underneath her, lying in a star position. There were bands around her ankles, strapped tightly to the bottom posts of the bed to give her absolutely no leeway, more straps up her legs, above and below her knees, at the top of her thighs, between her legs...

She wriggled in indignation at that, and felt leather chafe, very slightly, against her crotch. The strap between her legs was attached to a belt around her slender waist, and she could feel that it was almost tailored to her, fitting the curves of her body so that she would be able to move around it, but the most determined person wouldn’t be able to get past. It slid up, then forked into two straps that, she realised, became the straps around the tops of her thighs, cupping her butt. Another strap, as carefully moulded to her shape as the previous, was tightly cinched under her breasts, the top with 2 U shapes in to cuddle against her, pushing her like an underwired bra. A thick strap ran from it, between her breasts to attach to the collar, and she could feel another run from the back of her collar, down between her shoulderblades to attach to the back.

Her arms reached up beyond her head to attach to the top of the bed, leather gloves wrapped around her hands, forcing them into helpless fists, held in place by more straps around her wrists, another pair above and below her elbows and another strap around her upper arms. She really was done up like a Christmas turkey... she thought grimly.

And then she heard the sound of a door open nearby. She started to thrash around helplessly, feeling the straps bite into her... then heard a soft low laugh.

“Lydia, oh Lydia, have you met Lydia, Lydia the ta-tooed lady?” A female voice crooned softly.

Lydia froze.

“How the hell do you know my name?!” was what she was going to demand, but it came out as a short growl.

How the hell had she not noticed that before? She thought grimly. There was a ball of something, wrapped up tight, pressed behind her teeth, a hard ball of material, uncomfortably dry in her mouth. She tried to shove it out, but met resistance, unable to open her mouth. As moulded to her as the straps, a leather panel nestled against her face, covering her from chin to nose, and buckled tightly in place.

A finger trailed from beneath the breast-strap, down, over her stomach, swirling around her navel, then back up, tracing the line of her tattoo up from her hip to below her breast. It was a beautiful piece, red roses on a thorned vine swirling up from her left hip, up across her flat stomach, curving to avoid her belly-button, then gracefully tapering out on her ribs under her right breast. The flowers were so carefully shaded that they seemed almost to be growing on her skin, the brilliant green leaves uncurling, the thorns prepared to bite...

“It’s funny,” the voice continued. “So many years and you’re exactly the same harlot that you were. My brother asked me once if I thought that you were beautiful. I told him yes, of course... but your face totally ruins it. It’s so much better out of view.”

Lydia snarled under the gag, contorting, then gasped in pain as she felt the woman’s hand contract around her breast, long nails gouging into her sensitive skin.

“I know you’re probably thinking sweetheart,” the woman continued. “‘What the hell did I do to deserve this? Why me?’ You self-pitying bitch.”

Lydia froze as she felt the girl clamber onto her, straddling her above the belt around her waist, the rough sensation of jeans rasping on her naked sides.

“You probably think that the restraints and all are overkill,” the woman continued absently. “But they’re not meant for you. Or rather, they are. You hear people claim to have a photographic memory, and you have to laugh, because no-one truly has an eidetic memory, but if any-one did, I do. I have an eidetic memory about sizes and proportions. I had to see if I could make restraints perfectly for the person after only a few stray glances. You were perfect as I haven’t seen you for over 15 years and as you see, they really do fit you perfectly. You’re just my trial run. And revenge. No-one said that the two couldn’t be done together.”

Lydia screamed and tensed as she felt a knife rest against the skin of her stomach.

“A long time ago, you went out with my brother. You were 21, he was 15. You screwed him over. You made him love you, then you broke his heart over MSN by telling him it was over, and going back to your abusive ex,” the voice continued softly. “And I watched my brother sob his heart out on the sofa over you. My big brother, and you broke him.” she leant over, and Lydia felt long hair kiss her neck and shoulder as the voice whispered, just the other side of the cloth. “Now I’m going to break you.”

The blade bit into her skin and Lydia keened through the gag, terrified. It was so sharp that she barely felt the actual cut, only the throbbing from where the blade had been. It clearly wasn’t deep, but it seemed to follow the contour of her tattoo...

“I always thought that it was a shame some-one like you should have as beautiful a tattoo as this,” the woman continued, tracing the razor-sharp knife across her skin. “That it would wither and age... I always find that sad about tattoos. But then... leather is just skin treated right. And I’m going to treat this right.”

Lydia felt a nauseating sensation as the girl’s fingers peeled up part of her skin... and screamed, flailing around on the bed as she finally understood.

“And then I’m going to call whichever idiot currently calls himself your boyfriend. And what happens then... well, that depends on how good your choice was this time,” The woman added absently. “I won’t kill you. I won’t. But if you tell any-one I was here, come after me, my brother, I’ll come back in the middle of the night,” the woman promised. “And I’ll take the rest of your tattoos with me.”

And there was a horrible, almost ripping noise, as the girl started to pull the tattoo away... and Lydia blacked out.