Bexey stumbled through the door, a whirlwind of purple fabric and giggles, utterly wasted after a night of excess. She collapsed onto the living room sofa, incoherent and messy, completely oblivious to the simmering rage of her flatmate, Annabelle. For Annabelle, this was the final straw. The noise, the disrespect, the sloppiness—it ended tonight. While Bexey lay there, half-conscious and muttering to herself, Annabelle decided to teach her a lesson she would remember even through a hangover.
Taking advantage of Bexey's intoxicated vulnerability, Annabelle moved with swift purpose. She pounced on her roommate, wrenching Bexey's arms behind her back. Bexey, too drunk to offer any meaningful resistance, could only moan in confusion as Annabelle secured her wrists tightly with a set of harsh, handcuffs. The sharp click of the metal was the first sound of Bexey's freedom ending.
But Annabelle wasn't finished. She moved to Bexey's feet, grabbing her ankles and snapping a pair of heavy steel handcuffs around them, locking her high heels together. With a final heave, she linked the ankle cuffs to the wrist restraints, bowing Bexey backward into a painful, helpless hogtie on the cushions. Bexey's drunken haze began to clear, replaced by a rising panic as she realized she was trapped. She squirmed uselessly on the sofa, a trussed-up display of regret, while Annabelle stood over her, calm and satisfied. The party was definitely over.
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