By Atlanta Stud
The drive back to the dorm wasn’t but fifteen minutes, and we scored a parking spot close to our dorm room’s entrance. I scooted up a bit in my seat so that Dave could access the cuffs to take them off and he just said, “hang on a sec and I’ll get the door for you.” With that he came around and opened the passenger door and said, “You know those cuffs are staying on until we get to the room, don’t even think of asking me to take them off.”
OK, so I had been getting into our rope play and boot and sock control for a couple months now, but wearing cuffs through the dorm hall back to our room was definitely taking it to a whole new level in my book. I was going to be seen by several of the guys on our floor, just no way of getting around that, and how the heck does one explain this?
I actually got pretty lucky that nobody was walking down the hallway, that is, until we were about four doors away from our room and we come across Brody, who lives two doors down from us.
Owen was bored with his office job at a large design firm. He piddled about, unsatisfied that a newly earned college degree from an Ivy league school wasn’t bearing fruit. Perhaps majoring in Art History was a bad idea. As he came to and from the elevators to work every day, he paid little mind to the chaos in the lobby. A large suite on the first floor adjacent to the lobby was under heavy construction. Noise, dust, and a flurry of dirty laborers going in and out of a large plastic tarp draped over the entrance to the area.
I have been serving the Foreign Legion for 7 years, aged 17 to 24. After a couple of years of Service I was a Brigadier Chef, the equivalent of a Corporal. With a couple of mates, Legionnaire or Lance corporal or Corporal, we used to have a night leave at times, and we were enjoying spending our free evening in a Café by the old Roman Theatre. Place was quiet and the owner was rather friendly, as were customers.