One of the men, he’s not sure which, removes Darrek’s shoes and socks. Darrek is a tall guy at six-foot-six, but when they lock his ankles in restraints as well—just the edges of the heels of his feet resting on tiny footrests, almost like stirrups—his toes and the balls of his feet wiggle and dangle in mid-air. It’s not enough contact to do more than keep his legs in place and he’s not sure why it unnerves him, but it does. It makes him feel like a child, unsteady and out of his element. He’d feel much better with his feet firmly planted on the ground, but maybe that’s the whole point.
“Leg spreader?” the deeper, older sounding one asks Gabe. Darrek can tell from the source of the voice that the man is sitting between his legs. Darrek can sometimes hear the squeak of wheels from that general direction, and imagines that he’s sitting on a rolling stool.
“No, not yet. Clothespins first, then the spreader. No neck restraint yet either. I want to see him squirm.”
Darrek moans loudly, pulling at the restraints.
“Relax, slave, we haven’t even started yet,” Gabe laughs.
It’s an unnerving sound.
He hears drawers being opened, the clink of metal, the softer tap of other unknown objects being arranged on a surface nearby, and senses the men moving around him. They’re deciding what to do to him. They’re setting everything out right now, and if he could only see, he’d know what was in store for him. Hell, it’s all nicely laid out only a few feet away. The fact that the other men know exactly what they’re going to do and exactly what they want him to feel, but that he’s not allowed to know, to say yes or no until it happens, excites him. Darrek is aware that there’s always the out of using the safeword, but the position of complete submission he’s been put in makes the blood rush to his cock, and he feels it swell even more, pressing at his jeans.