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Ryan swore. “Just what I need,” he thought, “a few hours to get to work and the damn dryer's broke. Now all my shirts are wet, and I don't have enough time to air dry them.” Ryan was new to the neighborhood, and had only just gotten his new job as a contractor's assistant. His apartment was new as well, a nice, decent little place on the edge of the city proper, it enjoyed both the convenience of being in the city, but some of the quiet of the suburbs as well. He found the rooms spacious, nicely laid out, and all around a decent place to live. With the only exception of the damn dryer was broken almost twice a week. Sighing, he picked up the phone and called his boss, the only person he really knew in this side of town. “Mind if I use your dryer, boss? Machine over here is broken again...”
“Uh, Yeah, come on down. I'll be running errands, but the side door's unlocked. Don't park in the driveway.”
“Thanks, boss.”
Fifteen minutes later Ryan gently let himself into his boss's spacious home in the 'burbs, and lugged his basket of wet laundry down to the basement. He loaded the machine, got it started, and was walking back upstairs to crash on the couch while he waited when he felt a warm breath of air on his bare back, and before he could react a hand had clamped down over his mouth. Eyes open wide, he found himself unable to struggle against the larger man as the was shoved over to the small table used for folding laundry in the corner. Within minutes his hands were pinned behind him and he felt the chill, metallic touch of handcuffs clamp down over his wrists. A hand brushed once through his long, luxurious hair and then he heard a rough male voice say “Sit on the table.”

Panting, he did as he was told, and in doing so tried to sneak a glance at his assailant. He got a strip of duct tape acrossed the mouth for a reward, and moments later he was flipped again, face down on the rough wood of the table, his legs seized, and a thick layer of tape wrapped around his ankles. A firm hand on his back pushed him down into the table. “You've been a good little assistant, Ryan, but now your going to be a good little bitch for me. When I get back from work, that is.” The voice chuckled. “The good news is you have the day off. Oh, and when you struggle, mind the drop, thats a bare concrete floor down there.” The pressure from the hand suddenly released, and Ryan found himself trying to pant for the breath he hadn't realized he'd been denied. By the time he'd managed to regain his breath and his senses, he heard the lock click on the stairwell and then the the garage door open upstairs.

He paused, took a deep breath, and tried with all his might to get his hands down to the tape around his ankles. Realizing the futility of the angle, he wiggled until he was at the edge of the table, and strained his arms down behind his back, and managed to pull his legs up and through his arms so that his hands were now to his front. Panting, he tried the tape again, but with his hands cuffed as they were, he just couldn't get enough leverage to pull the tape off of his jeans and, finally, he pulled his legs back up to the table and lay down, wondering what the afternoon, and his bosses return, might bring.