You don’t know why you’ve turned into a ragdoll, lying face-down on one of the beds. But you can’t say you mind too much.

You had a customer, the first of the day, coming in to look at some mattresses. You’d started to give him a tour and a sales spiel - you had turned away and were approaching one of your best sellers, and were mid-sentence when you heard him say something you didn’t quite catch, maybe in a different language. And suddenly you found yourself flopping forwards and sprawling bonelessly onto the bed, your legs hanging over the side. And that’s where you are now, faceplanting, limp and loose, unable to speak or think, or to move except to breathe and blink. Even your eyes can’t move.

It feels... nice. You can’t remember the last time you felt so chilled. All the tension, all the anxiety, has left your body along with the power of movement. It feels less like you can’t move, and more like you don’t want to move. Nothing can disturb you, nothing can compel you to move from this position, even the fact that your face is in the mattress and you can feel your hot breath at close range, and a growing patch of drool against your cheek. That’s fine. No worries at all.

You can feel your pants being pulled down, and that’s OK too. You can’t think why you should care that the customer, the guy who’d spoken those incomprehensible words, is yanking your smart black trousers and your comfy underwear down to your ankles. You notice it happening, but it doesn’t bother you at all. You’re too busy staring and drooling into one of your most popular mattresses.

You feel a thick shaft slide between your buttocks, beginning to thrust back and forth. It’s strange - you’ve tried anal before, but didn’t like it much. You’d been too tense and tight, and it was uncomfortable for you and for your partner. Now, though, it doesn’t feel bad at all. He feels just as big as your partner, if not bigger, so it must have something to do with this state you’re in. Your asshole accepts him in easily, presenting no resistance, and because of that you fit him like a glove. Clearly he expected that, because he doesn’t go easy on you, pounding into you without hesitation. You just relax and enjoy it, unable to move, unable to think, unable to worry, unable to do or be anything but his prone, pliable fleshlight. You think maybe you came, but you can’t really tell.

Other customers could come in at any moment and find you like this, but that doesn’t occur to you, and if it did it wouldn’t trouble you. At any rate, he finishes quite quickly, spurting inside you and pulling out, perhaps unwilling to be caught in the act. You hear him doing up his zipper and buckling his belt, and then you hear the sound of wheels rolling a short distance, a soft thump as something heavy lands on the floor, and another zip being undone, this one noticeably longer. You dimly recall that he brought in a large wheeled suitcase with him, as if he was going from the store straight to the airport. It slightly confused you at the time, but you have no feelings about it now.

Tugging your trousers and underwear off your ankles, he reaches under your torso and wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You dangle from his arm, head lolling from side to side, helpless. He raises you over the unzipped suitcase and lowers you inside, fitting you in as easily as if he were folding a towel, putting you in a foetal position with your knees under your chin. Then he closes the lid and zips it up.

The small, dark interior of the case is warm and comforting, which is odd because you usually can’t cope with confined spaces. You feel the baggage being lifted and then pulled along, bringing you from lying horizontally to diagonally.

You’re not wondering where he’s taking you. It never crosses your mind that you’ll be missed, that you’ll have vanished at the start of a long shift and that your colleagues will worry about what happened to you - let alone your family and friends. You’re not bothered that you’re still naked from the waist down, sitting in a little puddle of his cum that’s trickling out of your crack. You can no more think about these things than you can move, or make a sound. Right now, you feel more like a discarded sock than a person. An item of clothing, tucked away in the mysterious man’s luggage, being transported elsewhere. You don’t know where, and you can’t care.

All you can do is relax and enjoy the journey.