That's the first thing that floods in, before I can even open my eyes. Pulse, not mine but the low throb of techno, the sounds of a distant crowd, muffled, only that slow beat and half-heard roar catching my still-fragile awareness and dragging me back to the world. That pulse. Pound, pound, and as I wake further I can hear the footsteps that are a near-perfect match for the beat. Those are close, close enough that I could reach out and...

...and nothing. I try, calling muscles into action and feeling a heaviness that is not the doing of my slow-to-wake flesh but of the ropes I can now feel clinging to me. I am wrapped tight, loop after loop around my arms, my legs, my body, even my head. Another realization - I feel each inch of the rope without the gentling barrier of clothing. Naked, then. Naked, bound, and now I begin to wonder why sight has yet to return. A few blinks, a twist of the head, the feel of fabric against eyelashes and skin. Blindfolded.

Gagged too, I discover as I try to speak. Nothing too invasive, a tongue of what could only be leather caressing my own, filling my mouth and preventing speech.

Pulse. Step. Pulse.

I don't know where I am. I don't know why I am restrained like this. I don't even remember... I remember... I remember a voice. Female, quiet, nearly a whisper. I turned to answer her question, already starting to glance at my watch. Something over my mouth. Dark eyes. Dark hair. Laughter... spiral downward, darkness, then nothing.

Until this.

Pulse.

Step.

...and a finger gliding across my throat, drawing my awareness to that single point of contact. Warm. Gentle. A voice at my ear, breath stirring the tiny hairs that blindfold and rope can't restrain.

"Welcome home."

...home? This isn't home. This isn't anything familiar, this is frightening, this is something that shouldn't have happened, couldn't have happened. It can't be real. The only struggling that seems to have any real effect is the only thing I can manage to do, shaking my head slightly, the blindfold shifting a fraction of an inch and strands of hair tickling my cheek. The response to my effort is enough to leave me motionless again, a hand striking flesh, palm connecting sharply with one exposed nipple.

"No. Remain still."

The same voice, that same faint voice that distracted me as I walked homeward is now louder, almost purring, but recognizable. Why? Why am I here, what's happening? My tongue pushes against the gag, mouth working frantically, but nothing more than mewling, wordless noise emerges. Laughter again, and another slap, my eyes closing beneath the blindfold at the sting.

"No."

Somehow that one word, the assurance with which it reaches my lips, is enough to turn my blood to ice. Hopes that this is a prank, some joke played by friends... thoughts of a quick escape, of the lights coming on and the ropes coming off... in that moment it disappears, leaving me silent and cold, for a heartbeat certain that this strange woman is right, that this IS home...

...or at least, that it will be the only home I ever see again.