By Robmacz
Chris did as he was told and he felt the cuffs snap round his wrists as he had so often before. But this time it was different. This time it was real. This time there was no safe word that would grant him instant release. He was now a prisoner, there was no escape. He wasn’t a gentleman who was paying for his pleasures, among people he knew, people who were ready to play his game. He was a convict, and nothing but a convict. The young officer’s eyes were brown, with curious little gold flecks, and the look in his eyes said ‘There’s nothing special about you, boy.’
The officer led Chris through the door and into a waiting room, though this was no airport departure lounge or even a hospital waiting room. The benches were steel and they were bolted to the floor. The officer patted Chris down, checking his pockets, but there was only his wallet and phone, which the officer left.
‘Sit’ the officer said, pointing to a bench and producing a pair of legcuffs. He secured one round Chris’s leg and another to the steel bench. He left without another word and Chris sat in the room alone.
