I don’t know where I am.
The thought comes before anything else. I’m lying on something hard and hot. My face presses against rough concrete. Sun beats down on the back of my neck, on my legs, on every inch of exposed skin. I try to move and nothing works right. My arms are stuck. My legs are stuck. I jerk, reflexive and panicked, and feel rope biting into my wrists, my ankles. Something holds my legs up and back, and the strain in my hips is immediate and wrong.
I open my eyes. Yellow. Everywhere yellow. It takes me too long to understand that I’m wearing the costume. The Pikachu costume. I put it on for the party. I remember that much. I remember standing in front of the mirror and adjusting the headband ears, making sure the tail hung right. I remember thinking it was funny. Now the latex is plastered to my skin with sweat, and I can’t get out of it, and I can’t move.
What happened?
I try to piece it together. The party. Music. Lights. Someone handed me a drink. I don’t remember who. I don’t remember drinking all of it. I don’t remember leaving. I don’t remember anything after a certain point, just fragments that slip away when I reach for them. My head aches. My throat is dry. I try to swallow and it hurts.
I’m in an intersection. The street stretches out around me, empty. Buildings stand on every side with dark windows and no movement. No cars. No people. The silence is wrong. It’s midday, and cities aren’t silent in the middle of the day. I should hear traffic and voices and something. Instead there’s just wind and the distant hum of electricity through the lines overhead.
I pull against the rope again. Red rope, wound tight around my wrists and then again around my ankles, and then something holds my legs up. I can’t see what. I can’t turn my head far enough. I’m twisted, bent, displayed in a way that makes my stomach turn. My face is against the ground. My ass is in the air. My legs are tied to something above me, and I can’t close them, can’t hide, can’t do anything.
The latex pulls and shifts with every movement. I feel it against my stomach and my chest and between my legs. It’s hot inside the suit, hotter than I can stand. Sweat runs down my sides and pools at the small of my back. The tail drags against the concrete. When I move, the base of it presses into me. I can’t escape that pressure. It’s there every time I shift, every time I struggle.
I try to scream. It comes out cracked and thin. My throat won’t cooperate. I’m too dry. I force another sound out, and another, but they don’t carry. They don’t matter. No one hears. I’m alone in this intersection in a city I don’t recognize, and I don’t know how I got here.
The heels are still on my feet. I chose them too. I thought they completed the look. Now they make my calves cramp and my ankles twist at an angle that adds to the strain. I can’t kick them off. I can’t move my feet separately. Everything is locked in place.
I don’t understand. Why would someone do this? Why leave me here? Is this a prank? Is this something worse? My mind runs through possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. I don’t remember anything. I don’t know who was at that party. I don’t know who could have done this to me or why. I just know that I’m here now, and I can’t move, and no one is coming.
The sun burns. My skin feels tight. Inside the suit, everything is slippery and wrong. I feel every seam, every edge of the costume. The material is thin enough that I can sense pressure and temperature through it. The rope around my ankles holds my legs apart. The position is humiliating. I know what I look like. I know what anyone would see if they walked by. But there’s no one. Just me and the empty street and the wrongness of everything.
I twist my wrists again. The rope doesn’t give. It’s too tight, too well tied. My fingers tingle. My shoulders ache. I breathe hard, and the latex stretches across my chest. My nipples are hard, pressed against the inside of the suit. I can feel them, and I hate it. I hate that my body is reacting to the fear and the strain and the pressure in ways I can’t control.
The tail shifts again. The base of it presses right against my pussy through the latex. I feel it with every tiny movement. The seam of the costume runs there too, and it’s pressed against my clit without any way to shift away from it. I try to arch my back, to change the angle, but that only pulls against the ropes and makes everything tighter.
I don’t want to feel any of this. I just want to go home. I want to wake up and find out this was a dream. I want someone to find me and cut the ropes and help me stand up. But no one comes. The wind moves through the street. A car passes somewhere far away, and I hear it approach and then fade, never close enough to see me, never stopping.
I lie still for a moment. My body shakes. The position is unsustainable, but I can’t escape it. I try to relax into the ropes, to find some position that doesn’t strain, but there isn’t one. Every part of me is pulled and held and displayed. The Pikachu ears wobble on the headband. I feel them move when I shift my head. I feel the tail dragging behind me. I feel the latex everywhere, a second skin that I cannot remove.
My breath comes faster. I force myself to slow down. Panic won’t help. Panic will just make me pass out, and then I’ll be even more helpless. I try to think. Someone must have done this. Someone must be responsible. Are they watching? Did they leave me here to be found, or did they leave me here to die? The thought rises unbidden, and I can’t push it away.
The intersection is empty. The buildings have no signs I can see. I don’t know this street. I don’t know this city. I try to remember the party again, and I see flashes of light and hear echoes of bass, but nothing useful. I don’t remember leaving. I don’t remember who was there. I just remember the costume and the heels and thinking I looked cute.
Now I’m this. Bound and sweating and shaking in the middle of an empty street.
I close my eyes. The sun is too bright. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know how long I can last. All I can do is wait and hurt and hope that someone comes before it’s too late.
