A sharp tug on her ponytail, pushed her forward a few paces, each step caused the expected jerking pain through her chains. A green circle was beamed into her eyes, the universal sign for moving, the direction was dictated at first by the golden hand in her bum, emphasised with a series of hair pulls until she adjusted to only the commands flashed into her eyes and the blunt articulation of the metal finger buried in her back door. Despite her shortened limbs she quickly adapted, a succession of stop, starts and directional turns were completed without any tugging feedback through her hair braid.