I could hear Zoey stomping around the living room, flipping furniture looking for me. She was small, probably around 5'6 if I had to guess, but when she was angry, she became a cyclone of destructive force that I had had the misfortune of being caught in way more than my fair share.





"I'm gonna rip your fucking arms off, you little freak!" I heard her call, as she let the couch slam back to the floor.


"Or maybe I'll put you in the torture rack for a few hours, huh?" She offered. . . . It made me cringe to think about.


[The torture rack]: a custom submission move that Zoey would use on me to really get her point across. It consisted of her either standing behind me, or sitting me on her shins. First, she would trap my tiny ankles between her big and second toes, clamping me in place. From there, she would bend at the waist, and grab my arms or hands in hers. Finally. . . She would stretch me out. With her toes anchoring me down, Zoey would push my spine and joints to the limit.


She had it down to a science. Zoey could pull my arms until dislocation, set them, and repeat the process as many times as she liked. Upon thinking about it, I really fucked up with this whole plan.


"Oh oh! How about the kiss of death until you completely pass out!" She suggested, as she had moved to the kitchen and was slamming cupboards.


Just the thought of the kiss of death made me want to vomit.


[The kiss of death]: the sister of the torture rack. While Zoey had me trapped she woul-



"FOUND YOU!" Zoey exclaimed, looking up at me from the other side of her bed. Her devilish grin was more than unsettling.

Fuck! I had been fixating on her words, and I hadn't noticed her come back in. Now I was fucked, so I did the only thing I could. . . . I dropped from the frame and waited to see what she was going to do.

As expected, she immediately reached for me, but her arm was no where near long enough to grab me. Frustrated, she got up and moved around to the other side, but unlucky for her, so did I, and I remained out of reach.

"Oh, you want to play fucking games? That's fine, I'll play!" She fumed as she glared at me through loose strands of straightened auburn hair. She stood and stepped to the end of the bed. I didn't have to see her, to know she was sliding her mattress off of her box spring.

Honestly I was surprisingly that someone as petite and weak as her was able to do it, but the mattress flopped to the floor anyway.


A second later, the box spring began to lift and I was face to face with a very angry Zoey. She held the box up with one hand, and grabbed me by my head with the other. I was dragged roughly out of my hiding spot and she tossed me to the floor.


Getting bounced off of the floor dazed me a bit, and I decided to stay down while Zoey put her bed back together. When she finished, she turned to face me.


I knew there was no talking my way out of it, so I put my arms down to push myself up, but as soon as I tried, I was hit by a freight train and smashed into the carpet. Then, she set in on me.

"What the fuck [stomp] do you think [stomp] you're doing![stomp and grind]

"Do you have any idea what would happen if I wouldn't have woken up in time?![stomp] unplugging my phone?![toe scrunching my head] and not to mention that fucking bullshit with my work shoes! [Cigarette twist on my head] they make US pay for those, idiot![stomp and twist] that's fucking $50 out of pocke-

At that point, I passed out. Thank God! I didn't feel like listening to her bitch anyway. I wasn't too worried about what she would do to my body. She has wrecked me to within an inch of my life before, but whatever chemical reactions happened in my body that day, mean I'll always heal in very little time relative to the damage.

And just like that. . . . I woke up.


Immediately I felt the extent of the damage she had put on me. My head was throbbing. My neck had a bad kink in it. My arms were jello. . . The list goes on, but it is what it is.

I peeled myself from floor and struggled to stand on my wobbly legs. I could hear Zoey walking out in the living room, and talking to herself. Cautiously I peeked around the corner.



She was still in her work uniform and was standing by the door. I was more than a little confused as she reached down, and put on her left shoe [not her work shoes] then her right. . . . . She froze with her foot in the shoe.


"What. The. Fuck!" She said, very loudly.

I watched her slowly pull her foot back out of the shoe, to see that it was covered in mush, although it didn't look exactly the same as what I left in her work shoes. My heart jumped as her head turned in my direction.


"YOU LITTLE. . . SHIT!" She spat at me, accusation in her tone.

My mind was reeling, reality blurring with dream as this whole scenario played out the same, only different.

"You're dead!" Zoey threatened, throwing her shoe to the floor. The next thing I knew, she was stomping in my direction, fists balled, but not quiet straight at me. . . . And that is when I noticed it.

The go-pro resting on a book in the middle of the floor just ahead of me. Zoey stomped loudly toward it, before bringing her foot back and punting it across the floor. It rolled about 20 times, before smacking the wall, and stopping facing downward.

Zoey pulled the camera's remote out of her pocket and hit the stop record button.

"Perfect!" She said, getting out of character.

Then she noticed me.

"Oh cool, your just in time!" She exclaimed cheerfully, clapping her hands.

I said nothing.

"So. . . .I decided that our little incident this morning would make a pretty good full length movie. . . Maybe 30 minutes this time! I already shot some POV while you were knocked out. . . Now what I need is to get some scenes with you in it." She explained, picking up the go pro.

"First, we can just pick up where I left off. In the movie, instead of me wasting time looking for you, you are out in the open watching me, ok? So I just kicked you across the room and you're laying by the wall. " she directed me.

"I think I want it to be my point of view for this. I'll do like a 3 step walk up, and you'll come into view, then I'll stomp you out and then add some exposition. " she stated like I would have no problem with any of that.

I had gone 36 days without saying a word to her, and this wasn't going to be the start, so I just turned and tried to run. I literally had no where to go, trapped in her apartment, but it made me feel good to try.

"Fat chance, pipsqueak!" She taunted from behind me, and my torso was immediately wrapped in her boney fingers. My stomach lurched as she lifted me off my feet like I was a little Ken doll, and brought me to her face.

"Alright. . . . Since in the movie, I would have just kicked you, we need to have you look dazed, and kind of fucked up." Zoey said, as she set down the go pro, and grabbed her high quality camera instead.

Before I could even fathom what she meant by that, a fist 10 times bigger than my head, collided with my face.

I was barely able to stay conscious as my ears began to ring and my vision blurred in and out. I was sure that my nose was about to start bleeding too. My head slumped limply against the finger that encircled my ribcage.

"That's perfect!" She said, praising me for my amazing "acting". "Now, just stay put and I'll do the rest. I think in this scene you need to defeated for the time being. "

I hate when she gets like this. . . I hate her literally all the time, but even more when she gets like this. It's a zone she gets into when she starts filming anything. Her mind becomes hyper focus, and she doesn't think about her actions, problem solving in the most direct and with the least finesse possible.

The perfect example: punching me in the fucking face with a fist big enough to level me.

Anyway. . . Zoey layed me down on the floor right around where the go pro had landed. She messed with her camera for a moment, setting it up before she took 3 steps back from me.

"Ok, here we go in. . . .3 . "

She only mouthed 2 and 1 before the red light on her camera turned on, signaling it was recording.

"Did you really think you could get away with that shit, you little fuck?!" Zoey spat at me, stomping the 3 steps to my feet. "You're done!" She finished, lifting her foot above me.

Again.

Again Zoey stomped me senseless, this time under the guise of filming art.

I tried to act and move my body to defend myself, but the constant onslaught of stomps made it impossible. I could only lay there, unprotected as Zoey stomped me flat. Just as I was about to pass out again, Zoey played off of it.

"Oh no you don't! It's not night night time just yet!" She taunted, setting her foot back down.

She used the view finder of the camera to get the perfect shot of her reaching down, and clutching my chest and lifting me off screen. After that, she hit the button and set the camera and my body aside.

"Nice! That is going to be such a cool shot!" She said passionately. "I can't wait to see this whole thing put together!"

Zoey walked back to her couch and tossed me aside.

"I'm gonna go change, just lay there and shake that off. I'll need you in a little while!" She informed me, before strutting to her bedroom.

"Shake it off" . . . . Yeah right. Does anyone just shake it off after being hit by a car. . . . 29 times?

I lay right where I had fallen, not moving at all. I heard her walking around behind me, but I didn't care enough to even lift my head. A few minutes later, she began to run lines into the camera, seeing what sounded best.

"Big news, you LITTLE PRICK! I called in sick today just so I can wear you out for that little stunt you pulled!" She said, trying emphasis on different words

"Huh. . . . Maybe like. . . "Can you guess who called in a favor and got the day off? . . . That's right! I just told the boss I had a little SITUATION. . . I needed to squash!"

"Yeah, one of those will work well enough." She said to herself.

"I'm going to go set up in the studio, I'll call when I'm ready for you. " she told me, before walking down the hall.

That was another thing that really pissed me off. . . . Her constant flip flop of emotion and overall perception of me. One minute, she treats me like complete garbage, kicking me around, talking down to me. . . . Then the next, she'll act like we are co-stars filming a movie that isn't ultimately about my subjugation, asking my opinion on lighting, tone and things of that nature.

I don't think it is something she does on purpose though. When she gets back from a bad day at work, or some guy stands her up on a date, all she sees is the naked little asshole who usually has something smug or smart ass to say [when I WAS talking to her anyway]. But when she gets behind or in front of the camera. . . . That all changes. . . Sort of.

I mean, she'll still stomp the shit out of me, bend me, fold me, and a whole lot of other action words that will lead to my body being toast by age 25, but after she does anything to me, she'll genuinely ask my opinion and critique, while actually taking what I say to heart. . . . It was strange, and I really don't want to think about it.

A few minutes later she called for me.

By this time, she was used to me not talking to her, but I always came when she called. This time, I stayed down, too beat to stand. Five minutes passed, and I still just layed there. She must have been focused on something else, because she didn't immediately realize I wasn't there. Another 2 minutes later, I heard footsteps.

"Did you hear me?" She asked calmly.

I said nothing.

I could feel her hot breath on my neck as she stared at me on the couch.

"Hey!" She said, a little louder. She put a finger on my shoulder and rolled me on my back.

She could tell I was down for the count, but she didn't care. When she got motivated, she would put hours upon hours into something to see it through.

My spider senses told me a fight was brewing.

"You need to stand up, so we can get this done." She commanded, her voice picking up an edge now.

I remained down.

I could hear her beginning to get upset, and I knew what was coming. . . The girlfriend speech I called it.


"You. . . You're such a lazy piece of trash you know that!" She started.

And so it begins.

"Like. . . You get to live with a hot chick,"
[That is debatable]

"You don't pay any rent,"
[Because I'm a prisoner]

"You don't have to buy food or anything"
[Because you force feed me]

"You get pussy whenever you want it,"
[You forcibly rape me]

"And all I ask for is some help from time to time. . . But that's too much to ask isn't it?" She concluded. "Because you're not a real man!"

And there it was. . . The icing on the cake. . . Delicious.

"Your bullshit is going to make this next scene so much more enjoyable for me!" She informed me, before grabbing me by the ankle and carrying me upside down into the studio.

She was already pissed, so she didn't waste any time explaining anything to me. Zoey had her desk pulled out the long way, with her camera on one end and only a number 2 pencil on the other. She walked to the side with the pencil and grabbed my dangling arms with her free hand. She released my ankle, and I was flipped right side up.

Next, she brought my back to her bare chest [panties only was her around the house uniform 99% of the time] and pulled out the waist band on her panties. Confusion began to arise as I was too big to really fit in there that way, but all was made slightly more clear when she lowered me in from the shins down and let it snap back into place.

It was meant to restrain me. Between her humiliating grip on my arms and my legs trapped, I effectively couldn't move. I tried to squirm but it wasn't happening. That is when I noticed that the camera was already rolling. We were in the scene!

By now, a million questions were going through my head. Her next move only made more as she walked to the very edge of the desk, which came to just above her waist. About level with my exposed crotch, come to think of it. . . .

Why was she. . Why was she resting my dick on the edge of the. . .

What. . . Why is she tapping the eraser of the pencil like that. .

Then it dawned on me all at once.