You open your eyes and immediately realize something is wrong. The dim light coming from the window is not the gray of dawn, but the red of dusk. As your eyes clear you realize you are in an unfamiliar apartment; the sparse bedroom furnishings spark no recognition. You realize that you’re wearing a dark green satin nightgown, the lace at the hem tickling your thighs just above the nude-colored thigh-high stockings covering your legs, accentuating their shapely form. You definitely weren’t wearing this when you went to bed the night before. But this is the least of your problems, as those same legs are tied tightly together by leather straps at your ankles, calves, and thighs. Additional straps are holding your wrists around your waists, and pinning your arms to your sides at your forearms and just above your elbows. You try to speak, to voice a protest, but your string of curses are stymied by a thick leather strap gag tightly secured in your mouth.
You hear a rustling of paper to your right, and look over to see me sitting in an armchair across the room setting a book down on a nearby table. I’m fairly nondescript, average height and build with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face. I’m wearing a dark red button-down dress shirt, gray slacks, and black leather dress shoes.