By Taurus

Part 2 – “The Move”

James did not leave his house for three days. All he would do was eat simple microwavable meals he had delivered to his house a while back and simply roleplay as a slave.

He would turn up his speakers to play some music, while knelt in a corner of the carpet, gagged, plugged and with his hands behind his back.

He would imagine himself at a party. A chic cocktail party where everyone was rich enough to buy the high fashion clothes they were wearing on a whim.

Maybe rich enough to buy him too, which might fit the colour palette of some elegant flooring scheme of walnut and a tan wool carpet.

Of course, he would have to stay off of the carpet. Realizing this, he moved off onto the hard floor.

Bad slave, he reprimanded himself.

He closed his eyes.

What would this party look like?

Smell like?

Feel like?

The lights were dimmed and there was mood lighting.

Blue … no, too cool. Red mood lighting, it had to be.

A scent of alcohol in the air. Fancy wines and whiskeys older than many companies, not cheap beer from a can.

As people passed by him, fragrances of colognes and perfumes mingled. A bit of fabric might brush by his skin – always wool or silk or some other expensive material.

Clinks of champagne flutes and wine glasses rang out gently in the muttering of conversations between the people who held those glasses which held liquor costing hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, certainly.

That sum, just in the glasses. A few bottles of the vintage would surely bankrupt any normal person.

What were they? Hooligans?

James would wonder who they were, what they did, what they were talking about, but he would correct himself and make his mind blank again.

No, he was a slave.

He does not have the need or the right to know all this.

He does not matter.

He never mattered.

All he is is a decoration. A human-shaped decoration, but a decoration nonetheless.

Consider him a sculpture, except the fact that if he were old clay or marble, he might be worth even more money.

Now, ever heard “third time’s a charm”?

The third night of his play was rather more than a charm. A star moment, if you will. That might have been a terribly forced rhyme with “charm” and an even worse way to be clever about a transition, but try as one might to refute the fact that it was a star moment in James’ life.

As he knelt, sinking into his submissive headspace, serpents stirred in the grass.

Two jeeps and an 18-wheeler pulled up at his door.

Six men alighted. Only the drivers remained in their vehicles.

Suddenly, James felt an arm around his neck. Another hand squeezed his nostrils as if the choke hold and the gag did not already obstruct his breathing enough. His legs were trapped in the kneeling position he was in, unable to fight against the immense force that pushed down against them.

As James moved his hands to his front from behind and tried to fight back, they were held firmly against his chest, as if in a straitjacket.

Soon, he fell unconscious.

Nooses of rope were revealed from belt pouches and were tightened around his limbs extremely efficiently.

James lived in a nice house. A rather modern one, but he still prefers to use mechanical locks. This would be why his captors got in easily – they just had to pick. They worked quietly enough to let the music drown out their noises as well, which is not saying much, considering James had expensive hi-fi speakers, as befits his home.

His house was fairly remote as well. After all, there is no other kind of location that can get you a view as beautiful as the one he had. This worked to his captors’ advantage again – traffic was light at the worst, any better and it would be nonexistent. Absolutely no prying eyes or spying ears would know what went on.

What went on was this: James was carried over one of the captor’s shoulders and loaded into the trailer of the truck, parked just outside his house, ready to receive its cargo.

The trailer had no windows, was soundproofed and had a black leather mattress, laid out roughly in the centre. Four tie points for ropes or chains framed the mattress on each corner. Two sets of straps emerged from under the mattress. They would serve to tie James to the mattress itself and restrict most of his movements. Lights illuminated the monochrome interior for as long as the accessories were kept running. Strangely enough, a small fridge was installed too, and it was situated on the opposite side from the trailer doors.

To ensure James’ safety, a camera (uncommonly set up to record audio as well) made sure the captive would not act up. The lights helped to get a clear shot of him. Sensors typically used to communicate with the air-conditioning to regulate temperature and humidity when transporting extremely fragile goods such as fossils, relics and old paintings now served to ensure his comfort, or to preserve what little he would have.

The six men worked simultaneously.

As James was laid out onto the mattress, one man went about tying his arms, another his legs. At the same time, the straps were buckled up by the third man – one under the pecs, the other under the navel. The fourth set about removing his gag while the fifth squirt lube into his ass, seeking to remove the plug in it.

Immediately after, the one who tied the arms and the one who buckled the straps produced fist mitts, which were locked on to James. His anal plug was smoothly removed.

The sixth, the odd one out perhaps, locked James’ front door, having found James’ keys and wallet with his identification in the bedroom. He packed them into a lockbox – pre-loaded with a set of inconspicuous, plain spare clothes, took it into the jeep, and proceeded to close it up with a tamper seal as the convoy went on its way.

If there was ever a doubt as to their legitimacy and militaristic professionalism, here was proof – at least they had the integrity not to pillage.

Here was another bit of proof – their sheer speed.

When James fully recovered from clouded grogginess, the truck was already closed up. Just a moment later, it started moving.

All that in 15 seconds.

He tested his restraints.

No give.

He was on his way to a new life, at least for the year.

Now may I bring your attention back to that frankly eye-roll worthy rhyme of “star moment” with “charm.”

This was definitely a star moment in James’ life. You know it.

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Metal would like to thank Taurus for writing and sharing this story!