Abduction Weekend Story Sneak Preview: Margo Digs a Hole

(Abduction Weekend was waaaay too busy to capture in a single blog post.  It’ll have to be a series.  There’s only so much I can present without getting pornographic, but since I keep my blog Rated R, I’ll do my best.  The weird stuff is the most fun, anyway.  You can get sex anywhere, right?

Anyway, this was one of the weekend highlights (in retrospect).  The first morning I was there, they had me dig a hole that I became convinced I was going to be buried alive in as some sort of ‘test.’  I was paranoid because they messed with my mind a lot.  Well, they didn’t put me in a crate in the hole…but they did make me fill it back in.  It took the entire morning.  Quite an attitude adjustment.  Dudebro rode me like a donkey the entire time.)      

Shackle left a sore.  I put neosporin and a band-aid on it.

       I walked with them to the edge of the lawn, where the grass gave way to what looked like a sizable vegetable and flower garden.  Heinrich had me walk ahead of them, which struck me as odd until I realized that it would afford them greater surveillance over me.  

      The dew was off the grass, but it was still chilly outside.  My skin was broken out in gooseflesh.  Otherwise, it was a beautiful late morning, sunny and clear.  

      “Halt.  Stand there,” Heinrich said when I reached the edge of the grass.  

        There was a tree about ten feet to my left.  I don’t know what kind; the leaves weren’t out yet.  Besides the tree was a wooden  crate-like structure with a hinged lid and a black plastic tube that looked like a large vacuum-cleaner attachment.  

        I stared at that wooden crate, contemplating it with foreboding.  

       That crate gave me the creeps.

       “Eyes front!”  screamed the loathed Dudebro.  I could hear the smile in his voice.  A second later, something whacked against the back of my head and fell to the ground by my feet.  I sneaked a glance down, while keeping my head straight.

        Gardening gloves. 

        To my left, Heinrich was looping the end of the chain around the trunk of the tree.  He locked it shut with a padlock, checked it, and then walked back over to me.

       “Be sure to wear those gloves,” he gestured at where they lay on the ground.  I bent and picked them up.  “I don’t want to look at your blistered, scraped-up hands working around my supper later.  Have me loose my appetite.”

       Dudebro came up from behind me.  He was carrying a round point gardening shovel with a long wooden handle, which he trust into my hands.  “Have fun with it!”

       “What?” I said.  Confused.

        Heinrich fished his stopwatch out of his pocket.  “Make for us a hole.”

       “A hole?  Where?”

       “Here.  In the dirt right in front of us.”

       “How big?”

        “We’ll tell you when it’s the right size.”

        My heart sank.

        I walked a few feet forward into the dirt, dragging my chain behind me.  The shovel was sort of heavy.  I put the metal blade against the earth, sank it in with help of my tennis shoe, pulled up the dirt, and threw it away to my left.  

         The first of many, many such movements.

          I looked up at the men for confirmation that I was doing it right.  I felt idiotic.  

         Dudebro had that big happy gloating smile on his face.  Heinrich looked mostly neutral, but when he saw me staring at him, I could see the muscles around his mouth tighten and knew that he was trying not to laugh. 

      He help up his stopwatch.  “You know, I started this when I told you to make the hole.”  

       Dudebro laughed and nodded.

      I looked down at the earth and commenced shoveling.

      They backed away a few paces–probably so that I wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation–and watched me work.

       I really had no idea what I was doing.  I couldn’t remember the last time I used a shovel for anything.  I told myself not to overthink it, it was just shoveling–the term “ditch-digger” was used as a metaphor for bottom of the employment hierarchy because, supposedly, anyone could do it.  

      It quickly became obvious that I was an inferior ditch-digger, however.  I was too weak to displace a lot of soil, and my movements were not economical, though I did improve a little as I got the hang of it.  The good news was that the earth was pretty soft and there weren’t many stones in it–it looked like this entire plot was used for gardening and had already been turned over many times.  The bad news was that the soil had a lot of moisture in it.  It was heavy. 

       I peeked up at the men to see what they were doing.

      They were watching me and smiling. 

      “You’re going to be out here a long time,” said Dudebro.   Argh, I hated him! 

      I kept digging.  After a little while, they drifted back into the house.  

    The morning wasn’t so cool anymore.  I wasn’t chilly at all.  The breeze felt nice.  I was glad that it was too early in the Spring for the bugs to be out.  A month from now, the bugs would be eating me alive.  

      Mr. White came out to look at me while he drank his morning coffee.  He nodded his head at me but didn’t say anything, so I didn’t speak to him.  After a few minutes, he went back inside. 

      The hole was getting bigger.  How big was this hole supposed to be, again?  And what was I digging it for?

      I popped my head up and eyed the wooden crate by the tree again.  That fucking wooden crate!  What was it for?  It gave me the creeps!

     I stood up and leaned on my shovel, taking a good, long look at that crate.  I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and then saw someone approaching me out of my peripheral vision.  Uh-oh!  Back to work!

     “Getting hot?  Need a break?” 

      It was Dudebro.  Of course, it had to be Dudebro.  That asshole had been riding me like a donkey all morning.

       “No, I’m all right,” I said, not looking up.  Shoveling away.  “I was just wondering–“

      I was suddenly blasted on the back with a high-pressure stream of water.  I screamed as if it was acid.  It shocked me.  I hadn’t seen it coming.

      The water turned off and I looked behind me.  Dudebro was dragging a long green garden hose.  It had one of those pressurized pistol-grip nozzles attached to the end–the kind you use for gardening or washing the car:

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      “You’re all right?  Are you sure?  You don’t sound all right to me,” laughed Dudebro.  He turned the water on me again.  I squealed like a piglet, dropped the shovel, and tried to turn to the side so that the jet of water didn’t get on my chest.  The stream was intense enough to hurt.  

      Dudebro turned the water off.  He was cracking up.

      And he wasn’t the only one.

      The other three had come out onto the porch to watch, and they were cracking up, too.  Even Heinrich, and he is not exactly prone to laff attackz. 

       “You sure scream a lot,” said Dudebro.

        So fucking frustrating and embarrassing!  I felt just like a little kid being picked on by a bunch of jerky boys.  I hated them!  

        Heinrich saw me watching and tapped his wrist.  Reminding me of the time.  

        “That hole’s not going to dig itself,” said Dudebro.

         I pretended that I hadn’t heard him, gathered up the remains of my dignity (WHAT dignity, ha! ha!), and went back to work.  Dudebro retreated back to the house.  

          I had no idea how long I’d been digging–my sense of time was getting distorted.  Probably not too long.  I was getting tired, though, and I noted that my efficiency was decreasing.  The guys went back into the house.  It was me and the hole.  

          I got the theme to Rawhide stuck in my head.  It started to drive me absolutely fucking batshit.

 (Boy, Clint Eastwood was handsome when he was young!)


        I thought briefly of my mother.  My mother gardens a lot.  She would probably be good at this.  She probably knew how to use a shovel right.  

        When was the last time I dug a hole?   I tried to tune down the Rawhide theme in my head and concentrate.  

         When I helped dig a grave for Pepper, the family dog.

         I froze.  My eyes got big.  

         I popped my head up and looked at that crate by the tree. 

         And I was hit, all of a sudden, with a jet of water from the garden hose! 

         I didn’t drop my shovel this time, and after an initial yelp, I didn’t scream, either.  I just froze up and tried to be stoical about it.  

       “You looked like you were getting hot out here, Margo,” said Dudebro.  

       Oh, Dudebro, your zingers have no zing, I thought, but of course I didn’t say that.  Stupid Dudebro!  Even his wit was lame!

        Dudebro didn’t go back into the house right away this time.  He stood there with his big happy smile, as if he was a kid at the fair, and watched me dig.  It was embarrassing.  When I turned my body to the side, he’d try to get the water on my tits, which kind of hurt.  He was doing it on purpose!  Cause he knew that I didn’t like it!

         I wished he would just go in the house and let me work in peace.  The water was making the ground muddy and now I was getting dirt on my shins and on my shackle.  I hate to be dirty. 

        Heinrich and Mr. White wandered down, presumably to check on the progress of the hole.  

         “This is taking longer than I anticipated,” Heinrich said.

          “I keep getting interrupted,” I said, scowling at Dudebro.

          Mr. White winced and shook his head. 

         “I hope you are not making excuses,” said Heinrich.  

          “Of course not.  Sorry, sir,” I said.  Diggin diggin diggin! 

          “That sounded like an excuse,” said Heinrich.

          I kept my eyes down and waited for him to land on me.  I could feel him scrutinizing me.  After about a minute, I felt that he’d decided to let it go.  Whew!  Dodged that bullet!

           Dudebro turned the hose on me again.  Just for a second.

          When he stopped, I glared at him, then looked at Heinrich, and then back at Dudebro.

           Dudebro saw what I was doing, laughed at me, and then turned the hose on again

          I stared at Heinrich.  I was furious.  Are you going to keep letting him do this?  

           Heinrich’s face got tense.  

           I suddenly realized I was in big trouble.  

           “Well?  What do you keep looking at me for?  Hm?  What do you think?  You waiting for big Daddy Heinrich to come downstairs and stop the mean boy?  Is that what you think I am going to do?”

          He moved toward me and, instinctively, I started to back away.  I moved the shovel in front of me to shield myself.  I wasn’t even aware that I was doing it.  

           Dudebro started laughing again.  Over Heinrich’s shoulder, I saw Mr. White shaking his head sadly.  

        “Do you really think I would help you instead of one of my friends?  Do you think that is what I am here to do?”

        He kept advancing.  I kept backing up.  Oh boy.

       I suddenly ran out of chain and was pulled up short.  I stumbled backward and fell flat on my back.  I’m lucky the shovel didn’t hit me in my face.  

       Heinrich stopped a few feet from me.  He didn’t even acknowledge that I’d fallen.  Even Dudebro had done that.  When I pitched backwards, I heard Dudebro yell, “Woah!”

      “He can do whatever he wants to you!”  Heinrich roared down at me.  Then–get this–he pulled his foot back and kicked a wave of dirt over my body.  

       “Now you will have to clean the dirt off my shoes later.  And probably launder the trousers as well.”

        Then he turned on his heel and walked back.

        Because I was soaking wet from the hose, the dirt stuck all over me.  

         I stood up and looked down at myself.

         I was filthy!  It was disgusting!

         I picked up my shovel and hobbled back to my hole.  The chain clinked.  I was reminded of all those movie scenes with chain gangs in them.  Shit.  At least it wasn’t Cool Hand Luke. 

(Git boss’s dirt boy!)

        Of course, Dudebro declined to hose me down after that.

2 thoughts on “Abduction Weekend Story Sneak Preview: Margo Digs a Hole”

  1. Wait, you skipped stuff. Mostly, what were you wearing during the hole dig, and where was the chain attached? Neck? Ankle? Waist? Was it padlocked to you? Set the scene, draw us a picture.

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