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 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 he tells you that once he leaves the store you can get up, tidy yourself and the bed, and then forget all about this. As far as you were concerned, he was never here, and you won’t notice any evidence that he was.

Then you hear him walk away, leaving you still sprawled on the bed like a discarded sock, mindless and peaceful, slack and satisfied, awash with tranquility and arousal, your sex pulsating, his cum trickling out of your crack.