This is an amputee story, but a tonal departure from my normal work.

The normal themes of body modification exist, but with an angle of uselessness.

I'm really proud of it and I wrote it on my seven hour train ride today.

---

I’m awake. 

I think I am, anyway.  It’s dark; I can’t tell if it’s dawn or dusk.  I try to move my head to look at my surroundings, but the vertigo is so acute that I almost vomit. My throat is parched.  My eyes don’t seem to want to open all the way, and each blink is like a lazy Sunday activity.  I hear some indistinct sounds in the room.

“Water,” I say.  No sound comes out.  I’d forgotten about that.  A figure walks into my boozy field of vision.  I mouth the word Water again.

It’s a female voice; friendly but unintelligible.  I’d forgotten about that, too.  The voice continues on and eventually a straw is placed at my lips.  I suck as hard as possible and rejoice in the simple salvation of cool liquid in the back of my mouth.  I hold the first gulp there, as if to soak the soil around a freshly potted plant.

Sated, I release the straw.  She speaks again in her gibberish, but I have no way to communicate.  A male voice joins her.  Whether they are having a conversation with or about me is beyond my understanding, so I simply stare at the ceiling.

---

I wake up again, my eyes feeling much more responsive this time.  The room is day lit now.  I try to move my head again and relax as the vertigo seems to have abated quite a bit.  To the right, a door.

To my left, your smiling face.

“Good morning, my Little Fantasy,” you say in your thick accent. I smile at your exquisite pet name for me and try to speak your name, but again, my lips simply mime the words My Dream. “Glad you are awake now. My doctors say you should be able to go to your new home soon."

Another failed attempt at speech, and simply I decide to break out a genuine, toothy smile, showing you my happiness and relief. There was a real possibility I might not wake up from this, but seeing you here, now, I know that we made it. I need you to know that.

Your hand reaches out to caress my face. I close my eyes and nuzzle it. “The doctors have left us for a moment. Would you like to see?"

I force myself to open my eyes all the way and nod. You lean in from your chair with a knowing smile; your beautiful gray eyes never leave mine as you push the bed controls, raising me to an angled position.

Our gazes still examining each other’s expressions, yours shows a look of satisfaction and contentment, mine is meant to convey my yearning for your happiness. You stand and pull back my covers a few inches. Your eyes finally turn away to my body. Your smile widens and you look back to me.

I want to ask if I look good, but you must have read my face; you simply nod. I look down to see my post-surgery bra. My tits are definitely bigger. A lot bigger.

More important than the image of my augmented bust is the frame. Aside each breast is about five inches of limb. My breathing becomes noticeably hoarse as adrenaline flows into my system.

This is real.

I try to move my right stump; it twitches and I can’t help but rub it against the new mass of boob. I hope you like the length.

You notice me wincing and you place a tender hand on my head. “Are you in pain?”

I close my eyes and shake my head. Turning to you, your face reads of concern so I give you a faint smile and a wink. I want this. I want you. I want you to drag me to your home and toss me on your bed, I want—

“Ready for more?” I nod as though it was Christmas and there presents yet to be unwrapped. You pull the sheets away from my body. My breasts make things difficult to see; you wedge another pillow behind my head to help me look.

Over the rim of my bra are two thick stumps. I begin to sweat. Vertigo takes me again. Is it the medication or realization? A tidal pool of confusing thoughts spin through my mind.

I suddenly think of my parents; their little girl was this woman all along. I look up to your nervous face; you let me become her. Did you set me free or enable my depravity?

Both... Both are true. My body cries out and writhes but no voice emerges. I want an orgasm to punctuate this moment. “Wow,” you state for both of us. I mouth the words Thank You.

---

A couple of days go by. You are in and out of my room periodically, in a suit, track suit, jeans and a t-shirt. You look good, regardless, and you're so sweet and caring. You arrive on time for each of our meals, and our nurses always seem to be happy to see you here with me, supporting me. Your absences are painful but necessary; I know you have business to take care of, and some of that involves me. Your plan to get my records updated means we won't have lurkers into my past. All I can see is my future, staring into your wonderful gray eyes for the rest of my life.

Eventually, a couple of nurses help doll me up. They remove my hospital gown and disposable panties, and replace them with a black thong. It feels like lace, so I bite my lip as I feel the intricate fabric slide into my crack. They slide a navy blue dress over my head; the silky hem of the short sleeves deliciously tease along the ends of my stumps. I’m sat up in front of a mirror for the first time as they do my hair and makeup.

I’m not paying attention to them. My eyes are feasting on what I’ve become. The dress hugs my slender form, fanning out at the bottom and bunching on the chair. Below that, only chair. My breasts distend the bust of the dress, pulling tightly at the fabric. Without the medical grade bra, I can see that my nipples have been somehow augmented as well.

To each side of my surprisingly large boobs are the remnants of my arms. The bandages are off and I’ve gotten some movement back into them. They are long enough for me to raise them and press my boobs together and I smile as extra cleavage begins to pull together above the neckline. Looking down I smirk as I realize what you planned. My arms aren’t long enough to play with my own nipples anymore. It seems like you wanted to keep that on your honeydo list.

A nurse taps my forehead, signaling to straighten my head. They’re doing a good job; there’s a slight curl, giving my hair a little bounce. My makeup is flattering, and all I see is my future husband's prize. My eyes begin to water at the need to see you and be in your arms. A nurse taps my forehead again and points to the corner her own eye and dabs mine. I need to keep my makeup pristine for our second-first meeting.

They wheel me out of my room for the first time since arriving in your home country. The nurses are speaking the whole time. I don’t understand and don’t care. I know you are at the end of the hall, in the elevator, in the lobby.

You’re not in any of those places. My heart rate increases and my throat tightens. I look around in a panic. The nurses leave me here. It feels like hours and I try to hold back my tears.

An elderly man approaches me, crouching in front of my chair. He seems kind and his voice is gentle; as ever, I don’t speak the language. I don’t know if I should even simply nod or shake my head. I don't know what I'm agreeing or disagreeing to.

His tone flattens, and then, as my neutral reaction continues, he becomes cross. He’s yelling at me and kicks my chair. I feel myself teeter for a moment and I raise my arms--my stumps--in a feeble attempt at doing ANYthing to keep me from falling.

Two male hospital staffers rush over and pull the man away. A third asks me a question. I can only shrug in general confusion.

Looking around, I finally notice every eye is now trained on me; children point, people stare in silence, someone coughs. Is this pity? Fear? Do they realize that under this tiny frame and flimsy fabric is a black heart of shameful carnality? That my permanent disfigurement is MY choice? Do they know how wretchedly hot my body feels? The shame is beyond erotic right now.

Eventually, people begin to mill about once more, leaving my body at the crest of a wave that will never break. I want to moan or plead for release, but stripping myself of speech? No one will know how I sound in the throes of near orgasm. Another disgusting tool of willful submission.

---

I realize now it’s dark; I’ve been sleeping. Someone placed a blanket on me. There’s voices somewhere in the lobby, but I recognize yours, even in your native tongue.

“My Little Fantasy,” I hear from behind as I slump in relief. Your face rushes into view and it feels sunny again, regardless of what time it must actually be. “It turns out that expediting forged citizenship paperwork is NOT very...” You pull off my blanket. “You are stunning.”

I want to to hug you; I want to scold, kiss, and fuck you right here. I want to cry, but I don’t want to ruin this moment for you. Your first time seeing your trophy, ready to take home.

You touch my face. I nuzzle your hand again, and reach up to rub your hand with my stump. Your other hand caresses my stump in a continuum of love. I want to cry again, but then I look into your eyes and see you. I mouth the words My Dream, and you say, "My Fantasy. Let's start this new life."

You pick me up easily, another joyful realization, and carry my reduced body across the lobby. I uselessly try to wrap my arms and legs around you but my breasts make that impossible. My leg stumps, however make contact with your crotch.

Maybe there ARE changes I can make to my surroundings. I slowly begin to flex the few inches of my legs against you, undulating my hips as discretely as possible, but I can feel you become hard, even while walking through the lobby and parking lot of what seems like a busy hospital.

The night air envelops us as you rush to your car and plop me into a bucket seat. I can feel the cool leather against my stumps. You buckle me in, to my disappointment. I want you.

Short of jumping through the window you race to get into the drivers seat. I smack my lips audibly to get your attention. I wiggle a couple of times and form a circle with my lips. Your mouth opens in wonder as I point my gaze to the obvious bulge in your crotch and smack again. I fucking want you in me, and I don’t care how or what orifice you use.

“Just this once. You have certainly earned it,” you say, as you slide the zipper of your slacks and pull your cock free. We'd agreed that you would use me, and so in this moment, I want to be the tool right for the job.

This position is somewhat difficult to hold, but I’m determined to feel your cum in my digestive tract before you leave this fucking parking lot.

“You know. If you’re getting dinner, maybe I can get a show.” I try to agree with you or even hum around your cock. There’s current of cold air against my posterior as my short dress is flipped up, and slowly peeled away from around my torso. You continue to expose more and more of my body--my mangled, cocksucking body--until you yank my arm nubs out of the sleeves and disconnect my mouth from your cock long enough to slip the dress over my head.

I return to slurping up and down your shaft, switching to moments of teasing your tip with my teeth and tongue. My naked breasts are wedged between your leg and the center console; it's cold underneath and warm up top of them.

Out of nowhere, I feel you yank my thong up along my back. I gasp at the friction you cause against my pussy and up through my crack. You pull back the other way, extricating the ruined fabric wedged against me, then quickly down and under my leg stumps.

I lose my footing--I need a new word--I slip and almost fall back into the passenger seat. I watch as you pick up my thong and dress, roll down your window and throw them out.

I’m now helplessly naked in the parking lot of the hospital where I had willingly given up my limbs, my voice and my way home, and all I want is your cum inside me. I look up until you notice and mouth the word Please.

I fling myself back on you, uncaring now of the environment around me, using the last of my stamina in pure suction. I suck your cock as if my lungs only have an inhale setting.

I can feel you beginning to twitch against my uvula and that’s when two fingers thrust themselves into my pussy.

Your hot semen erupts from you, cascading deep into my throat and my body shudders. My back spasms, but I hold my mouth over the base of your dick until you are empty and clean.

Gratefully, you continue to thrust your fingers in and out until you’re satisfied. I climax a few times in succession, and fall back into my seat, a sweaty mess of hair, boobs and stumps. You gently pull me upright again, buckle me in and drive.

---

The trip is a blur, aside from some sharper turns where I, no longer able to anchor my body on a handle or an arm rest, flop left and right a couple of times.

We pull up to a metal gate. You press a control in the sun shade above you and the gate opens. Cypress trees line the road to your circular driveway. Once stopped, you smile and say, “This is my home, welcome to your new life, my Little Fantasy.”

It’s gorgeous and obviously meant for a rich and powerful person. You reach in front of me, to the glove compartment and produce a spray bottle and a small rag, then unbuckled my seat belt.

“Clean up after yourself a bit, if you could; it's a new Maserati. Someone will be round to fetch you.” You lean over and kiss me. "Show me that you have concern for some of my possessions. Seems trite, but there's a lot of things like this in your future." I nod at you, and you toss the cleaner and rag on the floorboard. "Oh, sorry, I'm late for some important calls. One of them is about you." You caress me once more, exit the car, shut the door, and walk up the steps to your Mediterranean-styled home.

Looking down at myself, there’s obviously personal fluids on me and your passenger set. I get it now, if I'm supposed to be a productive partner, I need to learn how to fend for myself. I use my arm stumps to stabilize myself as my tiny legs hobble my torso around until my breasts are against the back of the seat.

I inch backwards until there is no more seat under my legs and slip onto the floorboard. My breasts slam into the edge of the cushion first, painfully bouncing the back of my head against the glove compartment. I also get a first hand look at how much I was leaking on your seat.

You told me to clean this and I will, I promise. However, someone is going to fetch me? I don’t know what to expect, but there is some level of apprehension, since I’m only YOUR play thing. I don't want other people seeing my nakedness tonight.

Looking around, I see that the bottle is round, which means I can sort of roll it around with my stumps. I flagellate my lower stumps—there’s not much of a point in calling them legs—until realizing I have no way to get the bottle from my lower to my upper stumps.. or enlarged tits, whichever seems to come first at this point, I guess. He's been busy all day securing my existence like this, so I can give him a little time and take a little responsibility.

Let myself fall down on my tits and wince. I'm next to the bottle now, and grab at it with my teeth. With some creative angles I manage to waddle my five inch arms against the ninety degree angle of the seat and the center console AND keep the spray bottle in my mouth.

My lower stumps finally have enough vertical ballast over them to hold my weight and I realize that the rag is still on the floorboard.

I sigh, turn my head and use my right tit and stump together to wedge the bottle between the cushion and the console. I flop back to the floor, angling over the rag. Now horizontal, I clench it with my teeth, and use the door and seat to wobble back up to a vertical position again. Minutes go by each time, but I’m getting better at it as I go. You’d be proud of me My Dream; I’m NOT giving up.

Using my teeth, I flip the rag over the stick shifter, then pull the spray bottle back out with my teeth.

Using an accordion system... my left stump pushes my left tit, which mashes my right tit against the bottle’s spray mechanism. My right stump squeezes the trigger and I silently cheer as cleaner shoots across the surface of the passenger seat. I do this multiple times with success!

I drop the bottle and bounce to reach the rag with my teeth. Then I realize the furthest I can reach is by one of my nipples. I click my- tongue and teeth in thought and notice the door pocket!

Raising my left leg stump onto the lip of it, I manage to get my tits AND my upper stumps over the edge of the cushion. Almost as a victory lap, I wipe the surface off by pressing the rag around with a combination of my face, tits and ass.

I sit atop the rag, breathing heavily, as though I’d made it through two interval training classes in a row. My Dream would be proud of me; maybe you can concentrate on business and not worry about me. Then I can fuck your brains out. I look up your mansion and my heart bursts at your absence.

The car door opens in that moment, and I almost fall over in surprise. A uniformed man is holding open the door of your car in silence. Obviously it's because of my nude body. I instinctively try to cover my body, my lower stumps are long enough to obscure my pussy, but with the arms I asked for and the tits you got added, I can’t cover my own weirdly huge nipples.

He asks a question, I think. I wave with an abbreviated arm and try to say your name. I can only mouth the words. He looks to the front door of your home, then back at me, shrugs his shoulders and mutters something under his breath.

That’s when I notice the harness. He reaches out to try to wrap part of it around my torso, and I squirm nervously. He pokes me in the forehead and I stop. He simply shakes his head and tries again.

I realize that there was going to be no way of avoiding this, even with a struggle; there would simply be no point in resistance. If something were off, I'd never be able to get away. The fact that he wasn't flipping out on me is a good sign. The harness wraps around my ribs, under my breasts, over my shoulders and traces along my hips, securing my lower body as well.

The man effortlessly yanks me into the air with one hand and walks me to a luggage cart. It’s the sort with brass bars, a tall central one for hanging gowns and suits, which is where I was now suspended.

I roll my hips to try and twist so I’m facing this stranger, and mouth the word What with wide eyes. He says something and points behind me. I’m getting a little frustrated with this language bullshit. I just want to see YOU again.

I know you’re probably wiped out; you’ve spent all day—all week... No, weeks on end, arranging for the realization of my most extreme, shadowy perversions. Today you even risked legal peril to change my citizenship, and my name under the table. All of this... for me! All of this so that we could stare into each other’s deep eyes without the constant fear of someone finding out the truth.

Bolstering myself up, I feel the cart lurch forward, and I swing in all directions. Cleaning staff and other attendants stop what they’re doing and stare at me. The man pushing me calls out to each of them brusquely and they hurriedly return to their tasks.

When the harness allows me to face him, I smile at the man with joy and upturned eyes, and mouth the words Thank You to him. He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t get it. His boss is so deeply in love that you doesn’t care what your paramour looks like. She looks like ME.

I’m wheeled into an open courtyard of some kind. It’s dark, so there isn’t much to see aside from some vaguely Mediterranean trees or something. I should have read up about this fucking place. You’ll teach me though, and I’ll be really attentive when you do! Maybe I’ll have diagrams and a pointy stick, then I can demonstrate that I’m picking up words. I’m getting excited about this place now.

I dangle for a while in darkness.

---

After what could be mere minutes. maybe an hour--I honestly can't tell anymore--the lights blare on, and I discover that I’m near a pool other athletic facilities. It’s beautiful, but then again, I regarded them too soon as you step out through what seems to be a bedroom door that opens up to this plaza. You’re in your slacks, and your shirt is off. The stark lighting makes your powerful upper body appear in chiaroscuro.

I feel silly, like a damaged toy, dangling on my cart. I try to will the harness to move me closer to you. Yet, you smile and stretch your arms out to me and fill me with meaning again.

I call your name in my mind, and bend the entire intent of my being into my face. I want you to see how deeply I love you, the profound emptiness of our short time apart, and the lengths I would go to have you in my life.

“Yes, yes... Me too, my beautiful, Little Fantasy. All of this is for YOU. Would you care for a dip? It’s heated, you know.”

I nod so enthusiastically, that I am now bobbing up and down, my carabiner clanks against the bass bar with an embarrassing racket.

“Haha! Calm yourself.” I stop, but keep my happy face on. “Here we go then.” You unlatch me and carry me to the pool. I’m slightly disappointed, hoping that you would heft me in your powerful arms.

I’m dipped into the water, just low enough that my head and shoulders are above. Flapping my stumps as best I can, flounder a few feet forward.

“That’s very charming.” You tell me with an appreciative smile, then you yank me out of the water and plop me onto a couch. It’s wicker with plump cushions. I try to straighten myself into an alluring position for you; this is our first night of our new life together. I want you to cum as much as possible, I want to squeeze every drop from—

The TV turns on. It sounds like the news, maybe? Hard to say, even the currency is unrecognizable. I’m such a fucking idiot, I could have put a LITTLE effort into learning... about... the...

That’s My Face, I try to say. I turn to you and scream wordlessly, That’s My Face!!!

“Hm?” You study the TV for a moment, “Oh yes of course. You’ve been gone for over a month now. Little do they know, right?” You let out a chuckle as you undo your slacks and pull them down. There's a series of women's faces on TV after mine, but shit... Your distended underwear shows how ready you have been for me. God it looks so fucking good. I fall back against a cushion and push my new boobs together, hoping you think I look sexy.

You’re still smiling playfully as you approach me in the nude. Your cock is inches from my face, yet you stop for a moment, teasing me with its proximity. I flail my stumps ridiculously until you relent and lean in to start undoing my harness. I take this moment to impale my skull on you. As my straps are slowly removed, my vehement struggle to make you climax intensifies. I got you now; I’ll—

I’m suddenly lifted up to your eye level. “I want your other hole this time.” You pick me up and simply stick your dick right into my pussy. The shock of it going that deep, that quickly, is astonishing and I can’t breathe for a moment. It's like being punched in the stomach by lust.

I’m simply being held horizontally in the air, being fucked. You pound into me mercilessly until you cum. I am filled. You leak out of me, and all I can do is gasp with limp eyes.

There's an electronic BOOP sound; you say something in your native language, and a crackly female voice replies.

I’m losing my mind as your hard dick is still inside me, where it belongs. You pull out of me, triggering a disappointing frown. You notice this and say, “Sorry my Little Fantasy, I need you to clean me off. I have one more client to see tonight, then my responsibilities for the day are through, and you can return to your duties.”

I nod, mouth the words Of Course My Dream, and force myself to smile for you. Still horizontal, you pivot my body so I can use my mouth and tongue to clear your wonderful cock of the mess I made.

“Good, good.” You say, as begin to clothe yourself. “Someone will be here to clean you as well. God gives the milk, but not the pail, you know?” I look at you with a smirk. You always have the funniest sayings, My Dream. “It’s good to take care of a woman, or anything else!”

---

I’m left alone and naked once more, this time in a sort of backyard gazebo. There’s a gas heater keeping the chill of the evening at bay.

The program on TV appears to be a variety show of some kind but I can’t tell who the hosts or the guests are. It’s so chaotic to watch, but I’m probably missing something. I’ll ask you someday... I’ll TRY to ask you to help me learn your country’s jokes!

Your juices continue to ooze out of me and into my butt crack. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but it’s yours, so I don’t mind it all too much.

A mature woman in a staff uniform suddenly appears in the corner of my eye and yells something. She gets closer and points at my pussy, where you continue to leak from me. She waved her hands, gesturing at the rest of me.

I simply shrug. I have nothing useful to say. She slings me over her shoulder and carries me into your bedroom, then your bathroom. It’s luxurious! I’m placed in a tub, on top of what feels like an inflatable pool toy. Looking down, I realize she'd been collecting semen with a dust pan to keep it from spilling on your floors. She will have to adapt with me in the house, I think with a smile. The water is turned on and the warmth feels glorious against my skin. Once the water buoys my flotation device, the woman turns on the spa jets.

She angles on near my pussy and my back immediately arches. I finally compose myself to look her in the eyes while I climax. She mutters something and raises my hips, suddenly my filling my rectum with warm water. Had I not been on a liquid diet in the hospital, I probably would have made a total mess of myself.

---

Just as in the hospital, two more women have arrived do my hair and face. A third shows up, presumably with clothes, but simply has some ribbons. Studying them in the mirror, I can see it’s a single strip of translucent cloth; a beautiful shade of pastel green.

The center point being located, the three women lace it through my hair, the ribbon continues around my neck, then crisscross under my full breasts, pushing them together. It wraps around my shoulders, then makes a v-shape as it plunges into my crack, and out front, framing my pussy without covering it. They pull every inch of it taut, and tie it off in an intricate bow near my navel.

All in all, it’s a work of art and I’m so gratified that you’d have people with this sort of skill adorn me this way. It’s tricky to move though, because each turn, gesture or twist pulls at my hair. It’s actually pretty painful beyond a couple of inches.

They leave, but I know that when you come back to your room I can try to let you know. In the meantime I fight to keep my balance on your dresser. Falling might actually rip some hair out.

Another man enters the room with a large case with wheels on the bottom, he walks it off to the corner of the room in my peripheral vision. It opens like a crab claw, but I can’t quite make out more than that.

I’m picked up by my armpits all of a sudden, my natural physical reaction yanks painfully at my scalp, doubled as the act wincing causes even more pain.

This delicate rondo is interrupted as I’m suddenly lying on my back in some sort of felt material. It seems sort of molded to my body shape; my stumps can’t seem to move. My head is outside the end of the half of the case I’m in, and I try to keep my neck straight to stave off the the pain of the ribbon. I watch as the stranger wordlessly pokes a pinky between my skin and the felt. I strain to keep my head horizontal.

These customs are so fucking weird. When I see you again, I'll let you know that I'd love to learn them, I just wish I could tell you that. I concentrate on finding a facial expression that might convey something this complex. Oh, this guy is done, I think. Maybe I can just lay on a bed and wait for My Dream now.

Standing up, he nods and snaps a strap over my neck, then more snaps. Suddenly, I'm shifted to a vertical position until the portion of the case I'm strapped in is latched in place; the binds restrain me in the molding. Looking at the exterior around my neck, it's similar to what you might see wheeled onstage at a concert. Imagine, instead of a rack of guitars onstage, it's me.

I’m being wheeled out now, on display in this bizarre contraption. My Dream's house certainly is grand though. Even though it’s been strange here, I can adapt to some of his weird shit to live in an opulent place like this.

I’m in some sort of dining hall now, still being wheeled around by the odd man. There’s a round of applause, not large, but enough for me to realize I’m not alone. When the clapping stops, I am spun around to see a group of ten men with large smiles on their faces.

And YOU, oh thank god it’s you! Yours is the biggest smile of them all. You say something to the men and they all nod at you. They have so much respect for you. I'm starting to wonder if this is your nation's customary way for a man to introduce his wife to his loved ones.

Finally you step away from the table with a champagne flute; your confident smile helps me forget that I am basically nude in front of these men. You hold the glass to my lips and I take a sip. After hospital food, this is the first real flavor I have tasted besides your cum.

“My Little Fantasy, I have told my friends here so much about you, but there is nothing like seeing your face light up when I walk in the room.”

As always, your accent is intoxicating. As mere reflection the way that you have provided for me, sheltered me... my eyes develop tears as I smile. I tilt my head a bit and flash my teeth to show everyone how deep my passion is.

“I have also told them what a sensual person you are. Maybe I was trying to make them a bit jealous, eh?” I shake my head and display my best laughing face, then wink at you.

“Let’s show them a bit.” You reach down and insert a small object inside my folds. I feel you trace a wire through the area of the case near my neck, then hear you snap it to the exterior, near my head.

You tap a button and my brain explodes. It’s so fucking strong that pleasure isn’t the right word. It’s like hot sauce so spicy that flavor is no longer a common-sense term. There has to be a scientific meter.

I can only imagine the looks on your friends’ faces though, to see your sexy, devoted lover scream in mindless ecstasy. It’s got to be driving them crazy. It’s gotta be— off?

Why are you stopping? I mouth the word Why to add more value to my confusion. You wink and step away, setting your champagne on the table.

One of your friends waves a hand, so does another. Then another... one points at the other, a stupid looking man, and angrily tosses his napkin at the table. You shake hands with your stupid looking friend.

You bow curtly to me and the front of my case closes around me. Only my head remains outside the box I’m in. The man you shook hands with walks up to me. He’s tall, he looks like an idiot as he puffs on a cigar. I hate him, so I turn to you and painfully remember the ribbons my hair.

The last image of you burns into my brain; there is money in your hand and a smile on your face. I’m being wheeled out the door in a trail of cigar smoke. I try to thump against my case, or scream, so I click my tongue a couple of times.

This big dumb face man turns back to me and with a smile, and opens a folder. There’s a page with my photo paper-clipped to it, containing what seems to be details in a different language. There’s some kind of drivers license thingy with the same photo. There’s all sorts of papers in there.

He keeps talking but I still don’t get any of his bullshit. He holds up the same file sheet with my photo and points to it. He takes some paper currency and shoves it under the paperclip, covering my face, closes the folder and points to himself.

I try to shake my head in denial but my scalp screams in pain as another felt box, the size of my head is latched over me. All is dark, save for the air slits. My only sensations are mental reverberations of hope; your hand on my cheek, your gray eyes as you call me Little Fantasy, finally your cock filling me with love. They all wreath themselves into a mental image of love. There's absolutely a misunderstanding.

I hear one last click outside of my casing, and the vibrator is turned on.