"Concrete Wrecker" - Your bodyguard

The leather of the custom-made sex bench stuck to your sweaty skin. You loved it. You were tied hand and foot, a leather gag pulling at the corners of your mouth, and a black fabric bag preventing you from seeing anything at all. You felt deliciously vulnerable, totally at the mercy of Marc, your makeshift "kidnapper" for the evening. The beginning of an amazing sex night with your fuck-friend.

​Marc, for his part, was fully immersed in the role. He had that little sadistic smirk, stroking your cheek with a riding crop while whispering, "We'll see if your rich daddy pays the ransom, you little insolent thing..." ​He stepped away to adjust the mood. He wanted to dim the lights to make the scene darker, more "interrogation-like." He fumbled on the coffee table, looking for the home automation remote, but his fingers slipped. He grabbed the other device—the one you had installed out of pure paranoia: the "Total Panic" button.

​He pressed it, intending to lower the light intensity.

BOOM.

​The penthouse's load-bearing wall didn't just open; it was vaporized. This wasn't an intrusion; it was an earthquake. Gunnar plowed through the partition like it was made of newsprint, taking a chunk of the molding and two Old Masters paintings with him that hadn't asked for any trouble.

​He appeared in a cloud of plaster dust, his bulletproof vest covered in debris, his handgun already raised at eye level. To him, the situation was clear: an unidentified individual in evening wear standing near a restrained, gagged victim, visibly in a state of extreme distress (the bag over the head is the universal signal for "hostage in danger").

​Bang.

​No warning. No "police." Just the sharp sound of a suppressor. Marc collapsed instantly, a bullet between the eyes, the remote still in his hand. ​Silence returned, broken only by the sound of rubble still falling. Gunnar, still in an ultra-aggressive combat stance, scanned the room. He saw the client (you) still strapped to the sex bench, naked, with a bag over your head, in an extremely compromising position.

​He stepped forward, his tactical boots crushing the remains of the decor. He stopped right in front of the bench. He didn't even seem to notice the corpse bleeding next to him. He observed your restraints, your gag, and your naked body. ​He sighed, a sound that resembled a paper shredder.

​— "Sir?" he articulated, unflappable. "The suspect was particularly well-equipped with restraint accessories. I have neutralized the threat. I will now proceed to remove your gag. Prepare yourself for immediate extraction: the room's structure became unstable after my entry."

.