Lost in the City

19Feb13

naked in the cityIt was hard to say where it had begun. For hours she had been hurled headlong between sleep and waking; a kind of dream state haunted by long tunnels and people in white coats leering at her through small openings in her cell door.

“You are going to get such a spanking,” he said in a dark voice.

The cell door, she remembered, ignoring the seemingly random threat.

The memory of the cell was a cold hard fact and it shook her to full consciousness.

She was naked with her hand secured behind her back standing in a lift.

She blinked under the cold white light and looked about her for some clue as to where she was.

The elevator was small with clean white walls and had a coarse black industrial carpet on the floor. She could not remember entering the lift and asides from the certainty she was fleeing the cell somewhere below, she had no clear where she was going.

“Who am I?” she asked aloud, trying her voice out for size.

Young then, she thought and then shook her shoulder length hair and saw she was a strawberry blonde.

“A natural,” she said critically after glancing down.

The same glance had also revealed she was in good shape.

Her wrists were pinned behind her with some kind of temporary restraint, but too tightly to the small of her back for her to slide them in front of her.

What the hell is going on? Who is after me? She wished she was more afraid; or less. She was altogether too calm for comfort. Maybe my life is always like this, she mused. Not liking the thought.

Then before she was aware that the lift had even stopped, the door silently slid open and she caught a breath.

Beyond the doors was another non-descript white-tiled tunnel.

She bent forward and peered nervously up and down the passage fearing to step out. There was nothing and no one to be seen. Then she remembered the lift and that someone might recall it and return her to…?

She ran.

The floor was cold and hard on her feet, but it was made of imperfect roughly painted concrete and therefore reassuringly real.

It was hard to run with her hands behind her back and the clapping-slap of her bare feet on the floor as she ran sounded too loud. Any moment she feared that someone would emerge ahead or behind her to return her to below. But there was no one to be seen.

The tunnel ran in a curve so she could see nothing ahead and all she could hear were distant random dull thuds and impersonal metallic clanking of some machine.

“Help,” she called, but some instinct told her that was a mistake and she stopped to listen.

The distant sound had a rhythmic rattle to it and seemed to be getting closer. A train, she thought, and started to run.

At the final curve in the tunnel there were some broad stairs going down. It was hard to descend with her hands still secured and she had to slow for each step. There was no doubt though, the steps led to some sort of metro tunnel and train was coming to a stop in the platform below.

She remembered that she was naked and shot a glance back over her shoulder. This time not for pursuers, but any sign of hastening passengers. For some reason the embarrassing exposure was a bigger concern for her at that moment.

Looking down she waited for the doors to open on the train and for hundreds of passengers to spill onto the platform and see her naked before them. But nothing happened. After only a minute or two the train pulled away without disgorging a single person.

“Wait,” she yelled, suddenly realise that she had squandered a chance of escape.

Of course it was hopeless and in a moment the train was nothing more than a fading rumble retreating back into the tunnel mouth.

“Oh,” she stamped her foot in frustration, “You fool…”

A name almost came to her and she pounced on it, but it slipped away like a wet fish in the fingers of her mind. Who am I? She berated herself impatiently.

Looking around she could see none of the usual clutter or proclamations that adorned the walls of the average transport network. Maybe this train only served the… people down below; she thought bitterly, another name or phrase eluding her.

“What will come first I wonder,” she said quietly eyeing the steps back towards the lift, “Him or the next train?”

“You are going to get such a spanking,” he had said.

But who was he? She only knew now that he was coming.

Somewhere far off she fancied she heard footsteps; a distant unhurried tapping with an edge of confidence or certainty. The hairs on her neck stood up and she shivered.

It is just because I am naked she reminded herself. But she wasn’t convinced.

Then again she heard the far rumble of a train with a clatter-clatter-clunk of approaching wheels on track. There was an accompanying hum and for a moment as it got louder she thought this one would hurry through without stopping, but as its snub flat nose broached the mouth of the far tunnel it began to slow.

She fell back and cringed in what she could find of the shadows. Certain this time that this train would be full of passengers all ready to stare and accuse her. She watched like a spectator following a tennis match at the slowing blur for signs of any occupants but when it finally stopped there were none in the adjacent carriage.

All down the platform was a row of silent blank windows and not one door opened. She felt more unnerved than relieved. Then she saw the button next to the firmly closed door.

“Shit,” she gasped; conscious now that the train would leave.

She trotted forward and tried to depress the button with her hands still tethered at her back but the panel was too high so she whirled around and bent forward to press it with her nose.

For a moment the door remained firmly closed, but just as she feared another departure, they finally slid open.

The carriage was that of a normal passenger train, except there were no passengers. Perhaps it’s late, or early she mused, desperate for something normal. Then the doors slid shut and the jerk of the sudden acceleration almost threw her to the floor.

“Okay, now where are you going?” she sighed.

She scurried down the carriage and tried to follow a rather Spartan route diagram, but it was all meaningless, with stops marked for anonymous depots with numbers and only a few names that she did not recognise, or at least could not remember recognising.

What the hell am I going to do? She thought in panic. If I only knew who I was or what I was running from.

“You are going to get such a spanking,” his voice returned in her head.

This time she remembered it with less menace. It had a tone of… she strained to think; disappointment maybe.

The train stopped and she ducked down, sure now that someone would get on. Sure enough somewhere a door opened, but it was further down the train. She pressed her head against the window and tried to see. There were some posters on the wall and next to them were the words: “Transit Station Six.”

She immediately shot a look at the route diagram. Transit Station Six was one stop down from Transit Station Five; big help. Transit to where? She ran her eyes down the line of labelled dots to the ends.

The transit line ran from somewhere called Nova Albinus to First Landing. She shook her head. They were familiar, yet… she just couldn’t recall. Something she had read maybe.

The other stops on the line were, as she had already ascertained, mostly numbered depots and transit stations, whatever they were.

The train stopped again and a door at the end opened. She dropped to her knees and waited. After a moment the train pulled away again and she risked a glance down the carriage. There was one person, a woman, dressed in grey overalls and with her head buried in a book, just like any other commuter. Damn.

Maybe I could…? She thought about overpowering the woman and taking her clothes. She glanced up at the diagram. No doubt about it, they were headed for Nova Albinus and she was certain that that was the wrong way.

“Excuse me,” she called out.

She peeked over the row of seats at a now startled woman.

“I’m here,” she hissed, as if there were someone else to hear.

“Oh… eh… I thought I was alone…” the woman said with a start. “What are you doing there?”

The commuter woman was frowning and made to rise.

“Can you help me? I am…” the cowering nudist said hesitantly. “My hands are bound.”

The woman was standing now and had moved halfway down the carriage. From the way she eyed the security lever by her head it was obvious she was scared.

“Your hands,” she said nervously, “You’re naked… who?”

“My name is… Lydia,” Lydia said, knowing it was true.

“Melange,” the woman said, relaxing a little, “Have you come from the space port?”

“The space port?” Lydia was taken aback.

“First Landing,” Melange offered carefully, “You must have if you don’t… I don’t know.”

Lydia had no idea how much to confide in this woman. After all she was some kind of fugitive. She studied her hard to appraise her.

She was young, maybe 25. She had short boyish dark blonde hair and a small frame. The grey overalls she wore were a snug fit at the bust and hips, but nevertheless she had had to roll the arms and legs up at the wrists and ankles.

“Can you cut me free?” Lydia asked.

“Why were you restrained in the first place?” Melange asked taking another step forward.

“I-I don’t remember,” Lydia admitted and the phrase, “You are going to get such a spanking,” popped into her head causing her to blush.

“You have come from the space port,” Melange said firmly, “Must have. You’re naked and, well when I first awoke from stasis I couldn’t remember a thing. It’s a side effect.”

“Stasis, what, where am I?” Lydia suppressed the urge to panic.

“Stay calm, some people… well get distressed when they wake-up and have to be restrained. You must have left the transit station before you were assigned.”

“What’s going on?” Lydia wanted to cry. This was all too crazy.

Then some of the fog in her head cleared and she remembered Martin saying, “Lydia, we have had enough of your spoilt and frankly criminal behaviour.”

“Martin?” She said absently.

Martin was her… he was in charge of her back home? Lydia tried to remember more.

“The authorities want to deport you, but the home world won’t have you,” Martin had said.

She remembered the bald angry man. It wasn’t him then, she thought, the spanking threat reasserting itself again.

“Are you oaky?” Melange asked. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything for you to wear. Oh…”

Melange rooted around in her pocket and pulled out a small object which flicked open to reveal a small blade. There was an embarrassed silence as Melange moved behind Lydia and sliced the plastic restraints holding her.

“Thanks,” Lydia whispered as she blushed.

“Do you remember anything now?” Melange asked, backing away again.

Lydia nodded.

“They offered me the choice, onward migration to… what’s this planet called?”

“New Horizon,” Melange said in a neutral voice, like one who wasn’t sure if she was the victim of a wind-up yet.

“If you say so,” Lydia nodded, “I could come here or go to a penal colony.”

“Heavens, what did you do?” Melange’s eyes widened.

“Not much I suppose,” Lydia admitted sheepishly, “I mean… well exactly that, Peri-Peri was a bit small to support my playgirl lifestyle. And I kind of… well I don’t remember yet, but I was… bad.”

“I flunked school,” Melange said ruefully, “I had to come here too, but it’s not so bad. But…?”

“But what?” something danced on the edge of Lydia’s mind and she sensed a revelation coming as if from a long way off.

“Single people aren’t permitted, not incomers I mean. If you were a deportee then… you must have come with a husband or at least had one waiting.”

Lydia swallowed hard and a square-jawed firm-eyed face came into her mind’s focus.

“You are going to get such a spanking,” he said.

“Xander,” Lydia whispered.

She remembered waking up in the medical bay and freaking out.

“How dare you take me against my will, who do you think you are?” she had screamed, “Have you any idea who you are dealing with?”

“But you signed the papers Ma’am,” a rather harassed nurse had said.

She had, she remembered now, but not then. She had tried to punch the man and he had called security.

“Are you sure you are okay?” Melange asked.

“Yes,” Lydia heaved a sigh. She felt a fool. “It’s going to be okay. I remember most of it now. They gave me a sedative but I got confused and ran away. They… oh shit, where can I change trains and get a line back.”

Melange eyed Lydia’s nudity. “The line will be overrun with commuters in a few minutes,” she said horrified.

As if to make the point the door behind them opened and a large cross-looking man in black strode into the carriage.

“Oh lord, its security,” Melange winced. “We are both in Shit Street now; I should have pulled the lever.”

“Xander,” Lydia exclaimed.

“You are going to get such a spanking,” Xander growled and sternly folded his arms.

The end.



3 Responses to “Lost in the City”

  1. 1 anon

    What a tease 😛

  2. 2 paul1510

    Damian,
    this made me homesick, for Piccadilly Circus, or possibly Oxford Street. 😉
    Paul.

  3. The start of something new? Just the beginning, I hope.


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