By Practicerestraint
The screen went blank and 502 stared at it dumbly.
“Over here, 502.”
The slave whipped around and saw a man standing at the entrance to his cell. The tall man was marked as a staff member: he wore a buckled leather cuff around his right wrist and a heavy, stainless steel chronograph on his left wrist. The name tag on his navy polo shirt read “Chris.” Khaki cargo pants tucked into Corcoran boots were held up with a wide black belt that had various items hanging from it. Chris’s muscular build, dark hair and goatee make 502 think of a dominant porn star ready to pounce on a submissive who would become his victim.
Chris pointed to the floor immediately in front of him. Moving quickly, 502 walked over and knelt in front of him.
As the car was driving there was not much I could do, as I was in some kind of hogtie with the leg and handcuffs. The ear plugs kept going on repeat. The muzzle and blindfold made sure I couldn’t see anything or try to make any noises.