A Pig in a Poke Ch. 01

Chapter One

She was a Rescue.

It was a month ago when I received the email from an old college roommate. She was down on her luck and for whatever reason had ascertained that my husband and I were of some considerable means. We'd never stayed in touch, but it probably wouldn't have been difficult to track me down.

"Thank you so much for talking to me, Claire." Vanessa sounded as though she'd been through the wars, but I really wasn't in the habit of doling out money to just anyone who might be down on their luck.

"What's going on Vanessa? You sound dreadful." I quipped, not really sure where the whole thing was heading.

"I've just escaped from this god-awful place. It all sounded like a bit of fun, you know. Then things got weird, and then really serious." Vanessa was out of breath, as though she'd been running.

"Where are you?" I asked, meaning to at least sound concerned.

"That's the thing. I'm at Logan. I was going to catch a flight out of here, but someone drained my accounts while I was... well, while this whole thing was going on." She really did sound desperate.

"Why don't I come pick you up? I can at least get you set up somewhere." I offered.

"I knew you wouldn't let me down, Claire." She sighed, and then the phone suddenly went dead, as though we'd been cut off. I suppose I should have been suspicious, but I wrote it off as a bad connection.

Feeling just a tad put out, I made some excuses to my husband, Thomas, and climbed into the Merc, determined to make a difference, at least. As I pulled along the arrivals pick-up, I saw her. She looked absolutely horrid. Whatever she was wearing looked as though it was in tatters, and her hair, what little was left of it was sticking out from her head at all angles. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone had their way with a set of barber's clippers.

"Vanessa? Good lord!" I spluttered as she approached my car. She climbed inside, and I couldn't help but be repulsed by her lack of hygiene. "Let's get you to a hotel and get you cleaned up." It was the first thing that came to mind, forgetting the account of her ordeal.

I made my way across Chelsea Creek, looking for someplace that wasn't a four-star establishment, because I seriously doubted I could get her past the concierge. I spotted a Ramada Inn and pulled through the port cochere to arrange a room, while Vanessa waited in my car.

"What on earth happened to you?" I spouted as I closed the door behind me, shuffling her ahead.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Hell, I wouldn't believe it if it hadn't actually happened to me." She sighed, forlornly.

"Look, why don't you hop in the shower, and I'll run out and pick up something for you to wear." I had to at least try and make her presentable, if I was going to help. "Are you hungry?"

"I haven't eaten... well, anything that could be described as food in over a week." She mewled, seemingly hesitant to disrobe in front of me.

"I'll be right back." I drove to the nearest shopping center and picked up some clothing and shoes. I only hoped her size was the same as mine, because we matched in college. As an afterthought, I stopped at a delicatessen and bought some over-the-counter food that would at least tide her over until we could get something more substantial.

Vanessa was sitting in the bathroom when I returned to the hotel room, naked I presumed, as the rags she had been wearing were still on the floor of the room. I took one of the bags I carried her clothing in, and stuffed the rancid things inside, disposing of them in an available trash bin in the hallway.

"I have something for you to wear. Why don't you come out and try them on? I picked up some food too." I offered, hoping that might be enough to lure her out.

"Can you just push them inside the door?" She pleaded.

"Vanessa, we roomed together for four years. I don't think there's anything I haven't seen before." I almost chuckled.

"Just don't be too shocked, alright?" She sighed, the door opening a crack, and fully to allow her to come out.

What I saw was beyond shocking. Her body was covered in bruises, but most especially her legs and arms, as though she'd been viciously tied. Those were bad enough, but they weren't the most shocking thing about her. On her left breast was what appeared to be a brand, burned deeply into her flesh. It was the number '54' as though she was one of many with such a mark.

"Oh, Vanessa." I sounded as though I pitied her, and that was not what she probably needed from me. "You poor thing." I indicated the clothing that I had set on the bed, and she quickly donned the outfit as though she was ashamed. God, I certainly would have been. Of course, that was when I saw the tattoo on her butt; 'Grade A Pork', stenciled in one-inch high black letters.

"I can explain." She whimpered, as she tied the sneakers I had purchased for her. She reached for the box of donuts and immediately began gorging herself. Now, I remembered Vanessa being a bit experimental when it came to sex. She would often regale me with tales of her exploits in college. Some of it was quite risqué, but nothing to compare with the horror story she imparted as I listened that evening.

"It sounds as though they treated you like an animal," I replied, my tone subdued.

"Like livestock, yes. That's what I was." Vanessa cast her eyes downward, humiliated.

"Vanessa, none of this is your fault. You needn't be..."

"Yes, it is my fault though, Claire. That's the problem. If I hadn't been so trusting of this guy, none of this would have happened. I figured he was going to just tie me up and have a little fun, nothing I haven't done before. Instead, he drugged me and took me to this... ranch. That's what they called the place, the Ranch." She sighed, a deep hopeless sigh. "Now I've got nothing. I had thirty thousand dollars in my savings and a few more in checking, and it's all gone. I don't even know if I have a job to return to or if I've lost my apartment."

"How long have you been...gone?" I asked, reticently.

"Over a month, and I'm not even certain about that. It could be longer." Finally full, she stopped eating and looked me in the eye. "I'm so fucked."

"What happened to your hair?" I asked, the issue too obvious not to inquire.

"That was the first thing they did when I got there. I loved my long hair, and they just shaved it off like it was so much wool." She laughed under her breath. "The thing is, that was the least of my worries, being bald." She ran her fingers over her head, the stubble's length a fair indication of the duration of her confinement.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, my own blonde hair not unlike what I remembered Vanessa's to be when I knew her. I imagined someone doing that to me, and I shuddered. I tried not to think about everything else that she had been through, but it was difficult not to. I decided that I would help her as much as I could, financially. Hopefully, that would get her back on her feet.

Not an Invitation

It was about two weeks after I had sent Vanessa on her way, the ten thousand dollars an easy amount to bear, when I received a letter in the mail. It was addressed to me, so I didn't hesitate to open it. Inside, I found some rather disturbing images and a note.

The photos were of Vanessa, obviously while she was a captive at this ranch. She was naked, and on all fours, her wrists and ankles shackled and her hair all but gone. She was in what looked like a stall, straw being scattered on the floor. It was as she had described in the hotel that night. Disgusted by the pictures, I opened the note which accompanied them.

Claire,

We do not appreciate you helping our property, '54', escape. We know you helped her with a substantial amount of money and are well aware of your financial situation. As you must already know, we are capable of ruining you, just as we ruined your friend.

You are probably thinking that you can buy your way out of this dilemma, but I'm afraid that will not suffice. We have all your banking and investment information and with a click of a button, we can have it all, Claire. Fortunately for your husband, this is not what we are after. What we want is you. You're going to disappear, Claire.

If you want your husband's life to remain as it is, minus your company, of course, you will walk out your front door, and through the fancy gates that thought protected you. Bring nothing but what you are wearing right now. You have ten minutes to comply.

I was utterly panicked. I dropped the note and photos and ran to the front of the house, wondering if they were there, waiting. What the hell was I going to do? Thomas had worked so hard to get where we were, and I just couldn't imagine having it all taken away. It would ruin him. Besides, with their resources, he might be able to get me back. But, get me back from where. He would have no idea where I was.

I looked down, realizing that I was barefoot. I looked at my watch, assuming they were actually counting down the minutes. There was no time. I ran to the front door and opened it, the warm summer breeze sweeping past me. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this.

The pea gravel in the long drive was painful on my feet, so I moved to the grass, the large wrought iron gates just ahead. This was it. Once I was through and onto the street, there was nothing to protect me. I put the thought out of my mind. If I was going to survive this, I would have to be strong. I hit the release button hidden in the hedge and the gates slowly opened.

It was almost too cliché, the drab white van that they pulled up in once I had walked a few hundred feet along the sidewalk in my bare feet. The side door slid open, revealing an empty wooden box.

"Get in and climb into the box, Claire." A deep male voice ordered from the passenger seat of the van. I couldn't see his face nor that of the driver as there was a divider behind the seats, separating the back from the front. Without any options left, I did as they asked.

The box was small and there was nothing I could do but kneel within it. Once inside, someone closed the hatch, and I heard the distinct sound of a padlock being closed. The realization of what was happening, what was going to happen came crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. I started weeping.

There was no reaction from anyone in the van. I suppose, considering they had done this a number of times, they had probably heard worse. I had no idea for how long they drove, but it was at least a few hours. In that time, I had soiled myself. I wondered if they were used to that as well. The box reeked of my urine, and the fact that I was kneeling in it, my hair draped in it, made things seem almost surreal.

My knees ached so badly that I thought the skin would surely split, but each time I tried to shift my position, the box would prevent it. We finally stopped, and the door to the van slid open. Rather than open the thing, I felt the floaty sensation of being carried. I was hoisted around like so much luggage.

"The bitch peed herself." I heard someone say as they set the box down roughly, my knees screaming with the impact.

"Most of them do. Be glad it didn't shit, you asshole." Another man guffawed.

"Let's take her out." The first one suggested, and I inwardly begged them to, regardless of what would happen next.

"Can't. Brad wants to handle this one, personally." I felt what was most decidedly a kick to the side of the box. "It'll have to wait a bit longer."

I heard their footfalls as they walked away, and I was alone. For whatever reason, the idea of being confined in this box and utterly alone drove a splinter of fear through me. What if they just left me in here?

Aside from the odor of my own urine, there was a stench wafting in through the air holes drilled in the box. It was a combination of stale piss, shit, and straw that I was smelling. I was at the Ranch.

Shock Therapy

I knelt there, for what must have been at least another hour before I heard someone approach. Nothing was said, but the lock on the side of the box was being opened. It was going to be such a relief to finally stand.

I felt a hand gather a generous hank of my hair and I was pulled from the box by it. I wasn't ready for the sudden drop to the floor, the box having been placed on a shelf of sorts. I stumbled onto my already ravaged knees, my hands breaking my fall and preventing my face from slamming into the wet concrete.

"Stand up, pig." The man shouted, yanking me to my feet and dragging me across a large vaulted garage.

"My name is Claire." I managed.

"Not anymore. You're nothing but a sow. You'll learn that soon enough." He sounded angry, and yet his anger seemed practiced, almost an act. He'd done this countless times before. This was well rehearsed.

The small room he put me in was sterile and utilitarian, the walls white with porcelain tile and the floor fashioned from stainless steel, a large drain at its center. Before I knew what was happening I was put in handcuffs and my arms hoisted above me, the cuffs slung over a hook.

I closed my eyes, preparing for the worst. First to go was my blouse, which he simply ripped from my body in a single motion. I felt and heard the expensive silk tear and opened my eyes just long enough to see being tossed into the corner. The cold steel against my belly caused them to fly open once again.

The man stood before me, a leather mask hiding his face. He held a menacing blade to my skin, tracing a line to my breast. He slipped the blade beneath my bra and flipped the knife around, slicing through the center and causing my breasts to fall free.

"That's a lovely pair of tits you got there. Almost a shame... almost." I could tell he was smiling under the mask. He cupped them in his palms, squeezing until I squirmed, his thumbs working back and forth over my nipples. Next to go was my jewelry. He roughly pulled the earrings from my ears, plucked the Cartier watch from my wrist, and even worked my wedding and engagement rings from my finger. The latter caused a wrenching in my gut.

After tossing my jewelry aside like so much trash, he yanked down my capris and panties in one motion, leaving them gathered around my feet. He kicked them aside, knocking me off my feet and leaving me dangling by the cuffs until I regained my balance. I was naked, just like that.

"You stink, pig. Time to clean you up." He chortled, moving to a cabinet in the corner, the only furniture in the room. "I bet you spend all sorts of time and money on that fine mane of yours. Well, horses have a mane and they look real fine, like yours." He ran a hand through my blonde hair, which hung well past my shoulders. "The thing is, pigs don't have any hair to speak of, so all this has to go."

I thought back on the shocking tale that Vanessa had told, and knew that the very same thing was about to happen to me. When he returned, he held a set of cordless clippers, the bare steel blades exposed and ready to do their worst. I squirmed uselessly from the hook as he flipped them on, the high-pitched hum causing my heart to race.

"Your little college buddy wailed like a banshee when we did this to her. I wonder how you're gonna take it." He raised the whirring blades to my forehead and paused, waiting for whatever I was going to say or do.

To be honest, I was in a state of shock at that point. So, as the blades slipped into my pampered locks, all I could do was stare into his eyes. I could feel the severed strands slither over my naked body as he worked, and felt the cool air against my scalp as it was laid bare. Were it not for the implications attached, I would almost say it felt good. So that was what I concentrated on.

I allowed the sensation of my hair being shaved to morph into a pleasurable experience. Each pass of the clippers sent showers of hair onto the stainless steel floor. I saw the mass of blonde curls wrapped around my feet like so much straw as my head was forced down so he could shave the back.

As the last of my hair fell away and the clippers fell silent, I was still facing the floor, the silky wisps ticklish against the tops of my bare feet. Only then, when it was over, did I allow the horror of what had just happened to creep into my consciousness. A long sob of pain escaped my lips, unbidden.

"There it is. I knew you couldn't just let go of all that beauty without mourning just a little bit." He almost sounded apologetic, but I knew better. It was all part of the act. "Don't you worry. All our pigs are bald, so you'll fit right in."

Bald. I was bald, and I suppose I had to hear him say it for that reality to sink in. I knew I was; I could feel the nakedness of my scalp without seeing it. I dreaded seeing it. Maybe I would never have to.

"Almost finished. I just have to get you marked in, and you're done." The man returned the clippers to the cabinet and returned with an odd-looking device. It looked like some sort of stamp, but the power cord dangling from the back of it said otherwise. "This is gonna sting a bit, but you hold still."

Without so much as a by your leave, I felt the thing pressed against my right butt cheek, and suddenly realized what it was. No amount of struggling could prevent it, as I felt the needles plunge into my flesh repeatedly. The man held it there while the evil machine did its business. Half a minute later, he pulled it free and I knew it was done.

"Perfect, despite all your fussing." He griped. I could smell the alcohol as he sprayed the face of the thing, ready for the next victim. My ass stung like fire, but the worst part was I knew exactly what had been tattooed onto my skin. At least Vanessa was spared that indignity. I knew it was hideous, just as Vanessa's had been, but I wanted to see it if only to confirm the fact that it was really there. "That'll do pig." The guy chuckled, as he lifted the cuffs over the top of the hook.

One of Many

Aside from being the most humiliating experience of my life, I was further distressed by the fact that I was aroused by it. How on earth was that possible? This man, who didn't even feel the need to expose who he was, had stolen my femininity and subsequently marked me as nothing more than so much meat. Why then, was I feeling my sex throb as it was in that moment?

I tried to write it off, perhaps by seeing my shaving as a pleasurable experience. It had been to survive it without giving in to this man's expectations. Even so, I had broken down at the end of it, which dashed that theory. No, there was something else behind this disturbing revelation.

I'd been pushed down an open aisle, a slight drizzle whetting my skin as I walked. My wrists were still cuffed, otherwise, I may have made a break for the open end of the passage. There may have been nothing to come of it, but at least, in my mind, I would have made a statement. Instead, I allowed the man to toss me into a stall.

The handcuffs were replaced with a locking collar, to which a chain was attached. The far end of that chain was permanently linked to a hook driven into the ceiling. The chain was just long enough to allow me to lie down, if I could bring myself to do so. Covering the floor was a disgusting mix of straw, mud, and what looked suspiciously like shit.

So, as I lay there, my skin slowly becoming one with the stench of the place, the hopelessness of my situation began to sink into my bones. I ran my hands over my barren scalp for the hundredth time, the sensation of the sandpaper stubble tickling my fingertips. There would be no coming back from this. I'd seen Vanessa, and borne witness to her state of mind. She would never shake off the stigma of the ranch, and neither would I.