Squirm

Elise lies alone, bound tight. Someone left her in a crotch-rope hogtie, wrists useless, feet pulled back to her neck so every twitch tightens the noose around her throat. She writhes on the rug, eyes bulging, glassy, turning red while she fights for air. Sweat beads on her skin. Then the door opens again. A hand pushes a ball gag between her teeth, buckles it hard, and leaves. Now drool spills over her chin, her neck strains harder, breath comes in short, ragged pulls. She twists, desperate, and still she can’t stop moving.