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The handcuffs bit cruelly into Cimarron's wrists as they held her suspended by a chain from the ceiling. Stretching her legs, she could feel the hot, sandy floor brushing against her hoof tips. Her shoulders burned and her chest ached under the strain of holding her full weight. Her legs were held apart by a spreader bar and ankle cuffs that were locked just above her hooves. Her clothes had been taken, leaving her completely bare to the fur. The air in the room felt hot and stagnant. Sweat rolled down her body, stiffening her fur and plastering her reddish-gold mane to the top of her head and along the back of her neck. She didn't know how long she'd been here; hours, maybe even days. There was no light; no means of measuring the passage of time save for the seemingly regular visits of her ‘keeper.'

She had been fed and watered at least three times so far, or was it four? It was getting hard to tell. Each time her keeper had carefully slipped a tube passed her gag, pushing it almost gently down her throat before pumping some kind of thick paste into her stomach. This was followed by a brief flow of water that quenched her thirst. The tube was carefully withdrawn and she was left alone in the dark

Cimarron tried thinking back to how she'd gotten here. Her last memories had been of a bar near the campus. It was Friday night and she'd been celebrating the end of mid-term exams with a couple of her friends. Then nothing. She never drank to excess and had never been drunk, let alone so plastered she couldn't remember things. Someone must have spiked her drink. It was the only possible explanation.

A slight breeze ruffled her fur as someone opened a door. A pair of heavy boots scrunched along the dry, sandy floor. There was still no light. Whoever it was must have been wearing a pair of night-vision goggles. He came up behind Cimarron. She heard the sound of shoveling and felt shifting of the sand beneath her hooves. Her keeper was cleaning up where she had been forced to void herself on the floor. She knew her keeper was a human male because of his scent. He pulled out a damp rag and quickly cleaned between her legs, much the same way one would clean up after a foal that needed changing. She could smell the faint trace of rubbing alcohol on the rag. It stung her nether regions slightly.

Her face flushed with humiliation. She tried yelling at him, hoping she could force him to respond, but the ball gag in her mouth and strap around her muzzle effectively muffled her efforts. She wanted to scream out... to tell him how much her arms and chest hurt... to ask him why she was there and vent her anger. Her efforts however were ignored. The human quickly finished his task, picked up his tools and left, closing the door...

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