Even without opening his eyes, Ezequiel knew his surroundings had changed. He grunted into the soft mattress beneath him when he felt the pull from the shackles restricting his arms behind his back. He tried moving his legs, but they were shackled as well. At least he wore something covering his balls, wrapped around his hips. Perhaps a modified jock or some form of humiliation attire. In moments like this, he hated his desires. Ezequiel had entered the club’s auction and now he waited to meet his new Master.
“I see you are awake, slave.”
Fuck, Imanol— his best friend.