To set your expectations correctly, dear readers, I don’t have a story to tell here. But maybe we can come up with one together. 😊

I’ve been busy with tax season and “stuff” and Im way the heck behind on story telling. That sucks. And I’ve also recently been so flattered to wind up in some awesome art by some crazy awesome artists. And that’s fabulous!!

Whenever that happens I generally like to use the art and incorporate it into an original story. I just can’t right now.

But by an amazing coincidence, I was placed in nearly identical outfits in images made by @Capoeira33 @Zjacket and @Dvi38

So all I’m doing in THIS chapter is connecting these three super fun images into the start of a story. Y’All can just check out the art and go visit these three artists and you win. Yeah you!

OR….you can suggest a continuation to the story. If we get some good ideas (and some more great art!) we can keep the story going.

Or, if not, no biggie. I got to share some fun pics!

Here comes the story…

——————

The hot chick at the bondage mixer was genetically engineered to get into my pants. Jesus Christ she was my type! And she made it clear what she was after from across the bar when she produced a pair of handcuffs and sent them over to me with a drink.

Shots my bitches!!

We flirted. We connected. I got my hands locked behind my back.

“Let’s get out of here slut,”

“Fuck yeah Miss…”

I followed her outside and began feeing the effects of the sedative she sent over in the bourbon instantly.

Of course, being an expert on bourbon I could see the discoloration and smell the impurity before it hit my lips. But I couldn’t resist. It was REALLY good bourbon.

And also, I want to see what the sexy Domme bitch wanted.

—————

Waking up tightly bound next to a Tina-sized shipping crate didn’t concern me. Nor did my fuzzy memories from the night before. I distinctly remembered there being a hot chick and now there isn’t one.

So that’s a downgrade.

It looks like someone went to a lot of trouble to get me wherever it is they want me. Slutty bait bitches aren’t cheap. Neither are custom made slave transportation crates.

I was worried. Bit not about that.

“Shit. Did I park in a loading zone? I’m totally getting towed…”

——————

The thugs were rough. They weren’t even trying to disguise what was going on. Somebody wants my memories erased.

Fuck.

They’d be doing me a Goddamned favor if they did. Obviously I’m not letting that happen. But I’ll play along for a bit.

I wanna see who’s calling the shots and who’s ass I need to kick…

(TO BE CONTINUED IF Y’ALL WANT…..)