Willy BL

"Why are you laughing?" Willie said indignantly.

“I’m not laughing,” Willie’s friend tried to say seriously.

“You offered me this crap yourself,” Willie snapped, snatching the bag from him.

That evening, Willie had handcuffs in his hands. The idea, which had seemed amusing during the day, now seemed increasingly dubious. Sitting on his bed in his boxers, he fastened one cuff to the headboard and immediately heard a dry metallic click. Willie froze. Something about the sound immediately displeased him. He pulled his hand back. Nothing. He tried again, harder. The cuff didn't budge. A chill ran down his spine. Willie jerked his hand sharply, then again, ignoring the pain in his wrist, but the metal held tight. Too tight. His heart began to beat faster. No. No, no, no. Anything but that. Thoughts flashed through his head, one after another, about how idiotic he looked. How could he have even thought of such a thing? Why had he listened to his friend? Willie frantically glanced around the room, as if a solution might suddenly appear on its own, but he saw only one thing: he was chained to his own bed and there was nothing he could do about it. And the worst part was, his boyfriend was supposed to be home soon. The thought made his insides clench. He lunged forward again, desperately, until it hurt, until tears welled up in his eyes, but to no avail. And just then, footsteps were heard from behind the front door. Willie froze. The blood seemed to drain from his face. No. Not now. He heard the sound of a key in the lock. So familiar and yet so terrible at that moment. Click. Another. They were opening the door. Willie closed his eyes and cringed, feeling a suffocating wave of shame and hopelessness wash over him. He wouldn't have time to free himself. Not anymore.