Gabryyl's Goat


Didn’t they know she was short? Handcuffing her to the closet bar might have seemed like a good idea, but it was starting to get uncomfortable.

They hadn’t even asked what her safe word was.

The worst thing was that she could hear the goat on the other side of the closet door, doing who-knows-what to the hotel room.

It was all the goat’s fault.

It was always the goat’s fault.

Well, maybe not always. But he was at least moderately culpable, even if he wasn’t directly responsible for her current predicament.

All she’d done was tweet “I’m getting so old teenage boys are starting to actually look like teenage boys to me. And not like, you know, dinner.” and the next thing she knew she was grabbed by rough hands, gagged, blindfolded, and carried away.

She was an eager participant until she heard the door close behind her, abandoning her in the closet all alone with a laptop and someone’s forgotten dry-cleaning.

She noticed the red glowing numbers at the bottom of the screen.


It was counting down to something in just under an hour.

Her WIP was on the screen, exactly where she’d left off. More large, red, glowing numbers displayed her word count. Another blinking red message proclaimed “Word count for #1k1hr: 0

After a few very suitable expletives, she assessed her situation. It wasn’t her first time in handcuffs. Only one wrist was cuffed, and the other could reach the keyboard easily.

There was a crash and a brief spout of perturbed bleating from the hotel room.

She tried loading an internet window, but whoever had imprisoned her had disabled her connection to the outside world.

No twitter.

A new screen replaced her WIP.

#1k1hr or…

The image on the screen displayed her punishment.

She laughed. As if.

And if you succeed…

The image on the screen displayed her reward.

She started furiously typing one handed. The word count went up as the time counted down.

Pronouns were almost the death of her, but even one handed the word count reached a thousand while the timer still had fourteen minutes left.

The goat was mysteriously silent.

The crack of the whip was not.


My thanks to Tiffany Reisz for unintentionally prompting this story with the tweet “@andrewtshaffer Mine are boring too. Like that time I was handcuffed to the bar in a hotel closet and… @scarlettparrish”  Oh, and a few minutes later she really did tweet the thing about teenage boys, and then she is the one who prompted #1k1hr tonight.

So, thank you Tiffany. You truly are an inspiration.


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