This chapter a repost of a long form speculative fiction piece I'm working through, updated a bit so I can continue to post as I write more. This world involves heavy noncon, sexual slavery, references to real world events, etc. This is ongoing story will involve a lot of mental bdsm, physical submission and torture, and training. I'm not sure at this point how dark it will get honestly, but the early chapters here focus more on world building and establishing the dynamic of the central characters. Your feedback is always appreciated, if you're inclined.

I was rushing to make it back to my apartment before the end of Open-Hours, which was a bit challenging this time since the ban on unsanctioned public running went into effect this week. The sun was setting quickly along the horizon in front me. A very real fear that I might not make it by sundown started taking hold. 

Fuck, Sarah. This is too close, even for you. 

My apartment was three blocks away and my calves were cramping from my hurried and overly controlled walk. I debated the consequences of making a run for it versus getting caught outside After-Hours. I could claim ignorance of the new ban, maybe. Sure, they’d netted people for far less, but it was looking like my only option as I clocked two Civitechs approaching in my peripheral view. I took off in a sprint as I heard them load their rubber bullets. 

You’ve done it now. There’s no getting out of this if you don’t make it. 

I was dodging the passersby and could only barely make out their commands close behind me. They never shouted; they didn’t have to. It was on us if we didn’t hear them. But their boots pounding on the wet pavement filled in the gaps. 

Just one more block. They’ve got all their gear on and I’m a long distance runner, for christ's sake. 

Or, at least I was. In the before-times, ever since the Mandate was enacted. 

I rounded the corner and was relieved to see a clear path ahead to my doorway. Just behind it was the lock that kept them all out. All of them. I was to be locked away from everyone behind that door at sundown everyday without fail. It’d been sold to us as a way to keep us safe but, as the new laws tended to do, it was actually the nail in the coffin for any sense of real safety. Since lock laws, After-Hours were now a free-for-all, even for the Civitechs. According to some people, especially for the Civitechs. 

I could hear their heavy equipment jangling around just far enough behind me that I knew this last sprint would get me through the door with enough time to bolt it shut if I ran at full pace. I ran with every muscle I knew to use and without hesitation. I was going to make it after all. 

At my door, I took in deep breaths to steady my hands. I needed to unlock this bolt efficiently, and lord help me if I fucking dropped my key. With each second I could see out the corner of my eye how the figure approaching quickly was getting larger and clearer.

I inserted the key into the lock and threw open my door, crashing through the threshold and into the stairs on the other side. I kicked the heavy steel shut behind me, thwarting his outstretched hand and bashing his knuckles backward. I could hear him swearing a blue streak on the other side as I bolted the lock definitively. 

I held myself up against that door and gripped that lock through my furious panting and desperate attempts to catch my breath. The pounding on the other side subsided quickly, thankfully, as one shouted after the other to call him away to a new priority. 

I slid down to the floor and layed myself at the foot of the small stairway to my lofted bedroom. I’d been trying so hard to lay low and keep quiet, to go unnoticed as much as possible. But even though I’d made it back tonight, there would be consequences for the running, there’s no doubt about that. I understood that this may very well be what nets me. They may even charge me for harming a Civitech if they decide to be real assholes about it. 

The question was whether it would warrant a Reallocation.

Reallocation was seemingly inevitable these days. They no longer even needed to make the laws that clear. Women running in public had been deemed “pornagraphic and not safe for us,” lest some “illegal get violent.” Last week it was wearing “masculine clothing” that “confused children.” Every week a new law, and every week more of us were sent away. I didn’t even really know how many of us were left who held the legal right to live autonomously anymore. I fully expected they’d just cut all the pretense at some point and send us all off to University without even giving us a reason. And then there’d be no more Autonomous Women left at all. 

I’m ashamed to admit that a part of me was hoping for it, in all honesty. Holding this small and increasingly meaningless freedom over me was driving me insane. The new rules every week, the changes that made no sense, the increasingly scarce comforts, were all just… exhausting. If they would just take my reasons to stay in line away completely, I’d at least get to scream.

I slowly propped myself up from the steps and righted myself on the old banister, smoothing out my sweater in an effort to normalize such a close call. I paused for a moment and pushed the memories of what it felt like to cry out with a full bodied wail from my thoughts. It was time to go to the kitchen. I will make myself a cup of tea and plan out my defense for the unsanctioned running in the morning. What I needed now was rest. I needed to keep myself healthy and well rested. This was the first rule of 531.

Was there even 531 anymore? It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to anyone who would know… 

I turned the pokey corner and flipped the lightswitch, which didn’t illuminate the dark room as it should have. I flipped the switch on and off a few more times in frustration. Please not tonight. Don’t cut the power tonight. I just need a little light, for fuck’s sake. Just for ten minutes?! 

I stood in the darkness and silently lamented the small comfort I knew I wasn’t going to get afterall. I wasn’t great at this, all this survival shit. I liked my comforts. I liked my things. I missed being frivolous. I missed being wasteful. I missed doing things just because it felt good. I missed fucking Doordash and Sephora, baths in the evenings and calling in sick just to start Fridays early. I missed my fucking freedom. 

I groped along the walls back to the banister, resigned to climb the short stairs and turn in early and just count my lucky fucking stars that I wasn’t netted tonight. That old life was over and I knew that I’d eventually learn to enjoy the small wins in this new one. 

My hands reached across the peeling wallpaper to feel for the splintered wood, but something unexpected interrupted my fingers. Confused, I felt my way up the rough fabric in an attempt to find my way back to the walls. Is this a coat I left out maybe?

As the fabric started to give way, I realized that my fingers were now groping the warmth of… skin and then clearly the bone structure of a thick and unmoving jawline. 

I jolted backwards into the kitchen, into the arms of another large, uniformed man. 

“Sarah Lepley, you’re under arrest,” a voice said calmly and robotically into my ear as I heard even more armor jangling from the darkness. 

And then a hood was over my head while my wrists were quickly bound. I didn’t even have the chance to fight back. 

But I did scream. Oh did I scream.

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV