Ira rasped his nails against the cool metal of the table. Isaiah knelt at his side, shaking. A golden cuff sat tight just below his knee and above his calf; a thin, snake like golden train ran from the cuff to the leg of his solid wooden chair.
Isaiah was a gift from his mother, a slave to sate his taste in private. The only problem was Isaiah didn’t want to sate his taste. The man was terrified of him, of everything really. This wouldn’t do.
Ira had to think of something to win his new slave over.