The file came from an unknown number with a text that simply said “listen”. Of course, Kathy ignored it. And the file that came the next day. And the next.

And then on day 15, no chime from her phone. Kathy checked and checked, but no message appeared. For a moment she considered responding to the last message, asking who this was, asking why they had stopped. She quickly rejected the idea, she would not be encouraging this stranger to send more.

Day 16. No message.

Day 17. Silence. The previous messages still there on the phone. Her curiosity growing. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to play just one? The antivirus app said the files were harmless after all.

Popping in her ear buds, Kathy played the audio file. It wasn’t some sort of advert, as she had assumed. It wasn’t words at all, just muffled sounds. Kathy listened for several seconds before the unmistakable sound of a woman’s moan brought everything into sharp focus and her heart sped up. She was listening to someone masturbating…

Consciousness returned reluctantly with the jolting movement of a gurney. Eyelids sticky with sleep pulled themselves open to see an anonymous ceiling passing by. The smell of antiseptic stung your nose. You tried to move, but every part of your body seemed pinned in place. Panic set in, heart pounding, brain screaming for freedom as your muscles tensed and pulled to no effect.

Cold air caressed your body, tightening your nipples. You were naked you realized with a jolt. You opened your mouth to speak, but the gag prevented it. Helpless, immobile, even speech stolen from you. Fear made your palms slick with sweat as you squeezed your hands into fists. Where? Who? Why? You had no answers to the questions echoing in your head.

The gurney hit the swinging doors, knocking them open and shaking your body. They were moving fast, taking you… where? Your pulse thudded in your ears as you fought for release, but could not gain an inch.

They had you in a room now. Plain beige walls, anonymous, sterile. There was a nurse. She wasn’t hiding her face but you didn’t recognize her. Young and pretty in the way magazines say women should be. The snap of latex gloves echoed in the room before she checked your pulse with clinical precision, dictating into something. All you could do was watch.

“Patient is blonde, caucasian, female. Breast enhancement procedure was successful.” The nurse’s hands groped and squeezed your breasts with rough efficiency, as though testing for firmness, sending unexpected sensations through your stomach. You struggled to look down, gasping into the gag as you saw your now swollen and unfamiliar mounds. What have they done?…