Hazel eyes blinked open, but soon realised open or closed didn't make it any less dark. In his mind he registered the blindfold over his eyes, and the tight cloth wrapped around his mouth, preventing him from voicing anything and leaving a slight pain on the corners of his mouth. He could feel the rope around his bound wrists tearing into his skin with leach tug he attempted, trying desperately to free himself, but even if he has he regular strength instead of these sluggish movements he doubted he would be able to break free, the ropes were simply too strong. He could feel pain in his spine from where he had been sitting on the uncomfortable steel chair for however long he had been there. All sense of time was lost to him at this moment; he couldn't even tell if it was night anymore.
The last thing he could remember was walking back to the hotel after Smackdown, it was a warm night and he felt like he needed the fresh air. He thought he could sense someone trailing behind him, but he put it down to him being paranoid. Then he felt it. It was a rather small pinch to the back of his neck; he barely even noticed it, until the world began to grow grey, and each step forward making the dark pavement appear longer than it did before. He felt his knees slowly cave in, and that's when he began to fall, only to be caught in a large pair of arms, but before he could turn to see who these arms belonged to, his grey world went black.
The next thing he knew he was tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged, with no idea where he was or why he was there. His heart began to race when the door opened. He heard footsteps, soft and paced, creeping towards him, he could hear them getting louder as they drew closer, and he was glad his sense of hearing hadn't been impaired, and he braced himself for whatever was coming next as the footsteps stopped. However he wasn't expecting gentle fingers to run their way through his hair. The fingers continued to gently card through his hair, when the touch dramatically changed and his hair was gripped hard, feeling like it was about to tear out from his skull. Another hand shot out to grab his face in a bruising grip, but his grunts of pain were masked by the gag still lodged in his mouth. He could feel warm breath against his face, he was waiting for his captive to say something, do something. But he couldn't have prepared himself for what was about to follow.
A rough pair of lips pressed themselves against his hard, forcing the gag to cut deeper into the corners of his mouth. He could feel blood tickling down from these cuts, and repressed a shudder as his tormenter moaned against his skin as he slowly licked the blood from his chin upwards, returning to the forced kiss. He tried to struggle, but his limbs wouldn't co-operate, and with the drugs still in his system it was a war trying just to keep his head up, but that was no longer a problem with the hand still gripping at his hair. Until that hand began to move. It slid downward slowly, moving down to his neck, caressing his chest through his shirt for a moment, and eventually worked its way down and under his shirt, when it returned to its previous task of molesting his chest. The fingers gently brushed against his smooth pecs, before seeking out his right nipple, squeezing and rubbing it until his body responded and he moaned into his gag. In his mind he knew he didn't want this, it was a natural response, but he still felt ashamed.
The lips caressing his finally left him mouth, only to move down and attack his neck, biting and sucking until he knew there was a mark there. But at the same time the hand removed itself from his chest and made its way to his crotch, rubbing it through the denim of his jeans before unzipping them so it could move inside, and molest his member through the fabric of his boxers. He could feel himself reacting, and tried with all his might to stop his body responding, but he just couldn't. He could feel himself growing harder with every caress, every touch, even rub. Then it stopped. The hand left his body, and the lips left his neck. He could hear the footsteps moving back to where they appeared, and he heard a door close, a lock click into place. And once again he was left alone, but this time he wasn't curious, he was ashamed and afraid. And as he sat there and let his silent tears pour from his eyes and soak his blindfold, he could help but hope in his mind that it someone, anyone, would find him, and save him from what he was afraid would happen if his captor returned. Because he knew if his captor took things further, if his captor broke him in a way he never thought possible for someone of his gender or with his job, he wouldn't be able to live with himself, to face anyone or even his reflection in the mirror. He knew exactly what he would have to do if that happened. And for the first time since he left home, he prayed. He prayed to God he wouldn't have to die at his own hand if his captor left him worthless. Heath prayed he wouldn't be left dead and breathing.