This is the first chapter of my WIP: “Strangeland – A Spanking Romance.” The story is set in another time and place – out of this world, and into the realm of spankings, love and redemption. I’m not done yet, but the story is coming along. Let me know what you think of this excerpt.
I awoke today with a strange taste in my mouth. Metallic, like I’d eaten a handful of pennies the night before, instead of polishing off half a bottle of gin with my girlfriends. The latter had become my typical Friday night: Find a bar with cheap liquor and desperate men; get drunk and loud on the drinks they bought for me; then head home by myself to sleep off my stupor, leaving those desperate guys in the bar jerking off to their dreams of me.
This Friday was a little different. Usually, I went by myself into the night. But this time, three of my co-workers at the fast food restaurant decided to follow me into my night of debauchery. We left straight away after work and headed to the local watering hole. It was a wild night for all of us, filled with screaming, laughing, jokes and gossip. Gullible guys – thinking that they were going to get into our collective pants – bought rounds of drinks and sent them to our table. The guys snapped their fingers and winked to make sure that we knew it was them that had sent the drinks. As the night wore on, my girlfriends got louder and wilder, but my head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. The last thing I remember about that night was mumbling to the girl next to me that the martinis seemed much stronger than usual.
That was my last clear thought, and it was about alcohol. I realized the irony of that as I shook myself awake several hours (or was it days?) later and tried to look around. I figured it had to be morning. Or afternoon. It was hard to tell, given my current situation. My eyes were sticky and crusty, as though they had been glued together. My hands were clammy and cool. I rubbed my fists in my eyes and pried the lids open to look around.
Damn. I should have waited longer. The three flat, gray cement walls that surrounded me were evidence that I hadn’t made it home after drinking myself into oblivion. And wherever I was, it didn’t look friendly. The walls were featureless and smooth, as though they had been poured in as one giant three-way slab. At my feet, the floor, like the walls, was smooth and gray – featureless concrete, but not cold.
The fourth wall wasn’t a wall at all, and that’s what told me I was in deep trouble. Heavy wire mesh covered the opening, and the mesh was a diagonal pattern of wire that had the dull shine of stainless steel. Each strand of the mesh was as thick as my little finger. The openings in the wire were diamond-shaped about inches wide and tall. It was more like chain-link fence than anything else, but stronger – thicker. The mesh was set into the walls on two sides, and there was a mesh-wire door set into the middle of the barrier. A heavy chain with U-lock held the door closed. I’m no expert in locks, but this lock was design that I was unfamiliar with. It was large and bulky and had the same dull sheen of the wire mesh.
Beyond the mesh was another wall with a traditional door set in the middle of it. To the left of that – along the adjacent wall – was a window that apparently looked out on the world beyond. But it was beyond my reach – the window was outside my cage. Though there was sunlight streaming through it, I had no idea what was out there. For all I knew, I could have been on the moon.
Shit. This did not look good.
Over the years, I’d gotten myself into a lot of scrapes. Drinking, drugs, petty theft. I’d been in and out of jail enough times to recognize this place for what it was. I was detained. Someone had yanked my ass out of freedom and everyday life, and tossed me into this cell. I had no idea why, thought I had my guesses. I’d blacked out in the past when I drank too much. I must have blacked out again. Done something stupid, like fighting with a cop, or pissing in an alley. Public drunkenness was more than enough to get me carted away, but that type of action, I reasoned, would have landed me in the drunk tank along with a dozen other intoxicated skanks.
Yet I was in a cell by myself. That wasn’t normal, unless I’d done something beyond my usual drunken antics. Shit. This was really not looking good.
But it didn’t feel like jail. For one thing, the cot I sat on was clean and comfortable. A cotton blanket was tucked in around the edges of the mattress, and the sheets smelled fresh. Any time I’d been locked up in the past found me swimming in my own sweat the next morning, curled up on a bunk that was little more than a metal frame with a thin, stinking sheet covering my legs.
And the walls in this place were definitely not what I’d expect from a detention center. They were gray jail walls. It was clear enough that they were thick deterrents to escape, but the walls were free of graffiti and the pockmarks made by earlier prisoners who might have gotten bored enough to try and dig their way out.
But it was the mesh covering the opening that got my attention. Jails didn’t have mesh; they had bars. Thick iron bars meant to discourage escape attempts and engender a feeling of helplessness. The mesh, no matter how solid it was, suggested impermanence – that I might somehow get out of here with a whole skin. But the mesh also said clearly that this was not a jail. At least not any jail that I was familiar with. More of a homemade type of facility. Perhaps a holding cell.
Shit. A homemade cell? Why in the fuck did I have to think about something like that? I’d heard stories about crazies who kidnapped drunk girls and then kept them in their basements as slaves.
I glanced around the room. It was squeaky-clean – not a speck of dust – with a single steel toilet set against one wall. There was a roll of toilet paper hanging from the wall beside the toilet. The only other things in my cell were me and my bunk. The cell was big enough for me to stand, and I found out later that it was 15 paces long and 10 paces wide.
Shit. Still not good.
I held my head in my hands and put my feet on the cool floor and thought. What had I done to get myself into this place?
That’s all for now, my dears. I have scenes to work out in my head.