You are pressed against a metal pole, its cold hardness running along your spine and between the cheeks of your bare ass. Your arms are stretched above your head, cuffed together to a bent pole, and you are on full display to anyone watching via the blinking video camera in front of you.
Behind you is another naked woman, you can smell the strawberry of her hair shampoo, feel her curves squashing against yours around the pole. You don't know where you are, except that it's an empty warehouse, or why, although you can hazard a guess.
With a creak the warehouse's office door opens, a man in a balaclava and carrying a laptop striding out. He shows it to the group playing cards on a crate, all of them glancing at you for a second, before placing the machine down and taking hold of a pistol.
You gulp, remembering the news stories you've been seeing of women found dead in warehouses, and cringe as the man approaches. He passes though, you hear his footsteps continue, and there's a crunch of gravel as he sharply turns.
The pistol shot is deafeningly loud in your ear and your body jerks. Except no, it wasn't your body that jerked, you just felt the momentum of the woman behind you. Moving professionally the men quickly shut down the video camera you can see and bag it, gather up their belongings. Your last sight is of one of them moving closer to you, a bondage hood and collar in hand…
"Maybe next time Princess."
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