Siberian Prison Sex Slave

I was dragged down multiple hallways, and through at least four cell doors before I was finally given a place to sit down. It was a table, like something from a doctors office, with a vinyl surface and metal stirrups. Only this one had straps that they used to tie down my arms and legs. And it had a place for my head to rest as it hung off the back end.

I was still so out of it that nothing felt real. I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t a dream. At least I didn’t think it was. But I was pretty sure it wasn’t, because my mind was slowly becoming sharper, and as each minute passed I put more and more together.

As I lay there, listening to dozens of footsteps shuffle their way toward the table, I wondered how many times I’d been in this exact same place, and in this exact same position. If I was this far along, that meant I had to have been in this place for at least eight months. Maybe more. And if I didn’t remember being on this table, or being fucked by any of these men, that meant I was always drugged … always out cold … when this was done to me.