First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: A Bit of a Transitional Chapter, where Amrit and Mieve start to work .
Fae Apoc, approx. now.
Content Warnings: This setting, although not this ficlet, contains rape, mind control, and dubious consent situations.
This particular story contains kidnapping and slavery, bondage, violence, and will eventually contain Stockholm Syndrome.
She was plowing. Amrit had looked up from his log-splitting – looking, of course, to see if he had an opening for escape – to see his captor pushing a plow through the field. When she’d given him his choice of tasks, he hadn’t really expected her to take the other option.
She didn’t look strong enough to push that thing through the dirt like that. Maybe she was using her telekinesis, or whatever it was? Whatever it was, she was plowing up furrows nearly as quickly as Amrit was splitting wood.
She’d set him a goal. It wasn’t going to be an easy goal, and he didn’t think she’d meant it to be. But the more he split, the more Amrit realized it was a do-able goal; and he thought she’d done that on purpose, too.
What sort of woman was she? Amrit watched her as he split, as he stacked wood, as he set another log on the block and swung the ax, as he worried his mouth around the gag. He couldn’t be her first slave. But the room he was sleeping in had no signs of recent inhabitence.
He split wood, he stacked wood, he split some more wood, he chewed on the gag and tasted blood. At the rate he was going, the pile she’d set him in front of would take him a week, maybe more. The last settlement he’d lived in had heated with wood; this much could heat a place the size of her cabin for the whole winter.
Of course, he wouldn’t be here by then. He’d be long gone, somewhere far away from gags and chains and slave-owners.
The sun was high in the sky when she came over to him, and Amrit was dripping sweat despite the cool air. So, he noted, was she. She offered him a canteen, seeming unworried about the ax in his hands. Well, of course. She could take it from him.
Amrit set it down before she decided to, and gestured to the gag.
“Kneel.”
There was no point in arguing that; she was nearly as tall as he was, but it would still be easier for her to work the lock from above. Amrit knelt, a Working forming in his mind.
She hesitated with her hand on the lock. “Remember. No Workings, or I take your air.”
He could Work faster than she could steal his air. He grunted assent, and waited for the moment of freedom.
He didn’t even get out Meentik; he got as far as Mee when an invisible hand lifted him in the air, choking him. He saw spots in front of his eyes; his sinuses felt as if they were going to explode.
And then she set him down and handed him the canteen. “Drink fast.” If Amrit didn’t know better, he’d think she was angry with him. “I suppose we’ll skip lunch.”
“Fuck you, lady.” At least no Workings started with fuh. Amrit chugged down the water and waited for the gag.
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