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key in my box, inside a sealed envelope."
        The feeling of her heart tripping over itself almost made her wilt. As it was, she practically stumbled out the door and was ever so glad she finally closed it behind her. Catching her breath took all of the next hour.

S CENE E IGHT

    Bastard!

    He replaced the cage with a mattress, although the wire cubicle remained ominously in one corner of the room for her to look at with some dread. Its presence was an obvious threat, where she'd be forced to retreat should she ever disobey a command.
        The mattress had been her reward for good behavior, although the heavy shackles remained on her wrists and ankles as permanent features. Strange as it was to desire something so vile, she loved the way the shackles felt against her skin and how just lifting her limbs would turn her body raving mad with sexual desire. She would touch the metal and taste its cool hardness on her tongue, then breathe in the steely aroma, lettings its austere power take hold of her body with its enlivening force.
        There was no disguising that she desired her master now – as much as she hated his smug attitude and condescending talk. He was her whole world, the morning, midday, evening and night, the sun, the stars, and every phase of the white moon she could see from the one window in her garret retreat in the middle of the woods.
        "Where are we?" she asked, on the first day she was allowed to stand at the window and look out. She could see nothing but a dense grove of trees beyond the dusty glass.
        "You're in the middle of a great big woods."
        "I didn't mean that. I mean where… like what state, or country…?"
        "You're in the US of A. How's that?"
        She turned to him, shackles clanging. "North? South?"
        "Sorry, doll, you don't get to know that or anything else. Let it be a mystery to tease that troubled brain."
        He called her 'doll' again. She hated the word and the implication, even though that was exactly what she'd become. A doll. His toy. A manufactured sexual beauty to satisfy his hungry appetites. When she thought of how well he satisfied her sexually, she was almost content with her captivity; but when she thought about his desire to keep her trapped inside this miserable prison, a flicker of temper flared deep in her gut. When he called her 'doll' for the hundredth time, that flicker became a flame and it took all her strength to hold back the testy retort that burned on her lips.
        Yet, over the last few days, that flame had diminished in size. Sex had become almost normal – being staked to the mattress as she was, she was easy to fuck now, and she had the pleasure of his company more often. After a hard, rousing session with his talented erection, the festering misery beneath her surface calm was quieted for another few hours. But now today, her master seemed anxious, more restless than usual and suddenly, something was rising up in her as well. He kept baiting her with his silly questions. Maybe he was waiting for her to explode, so he could explode on her.
        "You like those shackles, don't you, babe?"
        "Yeah, sure I like them." While he sat on his crate drinking Coke in refreshing gulps, she sat cross-legged on the mattress with a parched throat. Even he could feel her brooding.
        "So, what's the matter, doll, huh?"
        He did it again, called her doll. And the mocking look on his face, the attitude, the male bravado – like he was so damned proud of himself for having made her his captive prize.
        Everything exploded. Rash. Sudden. Without warning. She picked on the most offensive line, coming off the mat lunging toward him, shackles clanging.
        "Don't call me doll! Don't. Don't. Don't ever again!" She came after him with her fists flying, and got as far as the chains would allow, striking out, the toe of one foot catching him on the shin, which was enough to make him pull