The news of your fate as a helpless little toy in the hands of a wealthy buyer is still fresh in your stunned mind as you're placed back into your gift box by the giant's hands and sealed in. After that, the only information you're favoured with is a collection of muffled conversations heard through the secure surface of your tailor-made prison.
From inside the dark, airless confines of the gift box you've been trapped in, you hear your celebrity owner complaining over the phone that you're not what he wanted. He asked specifically for a 'trained' toy, and you're just some clueless kid off the street. You learn that there are plenty of CBT clients who would play top dollar from a freshly plucked toy who they can break-in and train on their own. Many buyers of unfortunate young men such as yourself take great pleasure in doing this, and the only factor dictating who ends up with you wind up squirming in is the amount of money they're willing to pay for you.
When a courier comes by to pick you up, you jam your ear against the lid of the box, straining to hear some tiny bit of information on where you're going now that you've been refunded by the company and destined to be the property of a man you've never met before.
Will your new buyer be your age, younger or older? Someone respectable, or not so much? God knows money doesn't buy manners or hygiene, even if it buys scared young boy toys. You prey that you'll end up being the property of someone who at least treats you with some compassion.
As it turns out, the next time your lid is opened and you're peered at by a giant set of eyes, you discover you've landed...
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