Confess your fault

Still kneeled before Frank, you look at his masked face with fear.

Surely, he can kill you for what you’ve done.

And if you die, you will die on your knees, with your hands cuffed, with your mouth full of some stranger’s precum and the vibroegg still buzzing inside you.

You will die as a dirty ****.

And that doesn’t sound too bad.

So you do what good slaves do.

You tell the truth. You confess your fault.

“Yes, master Robber,” - you say with a sad, but proud voice - “It was a plan. Not mine, sooth to say. I’m just a **** and too dumb for thinking plans. It was that... fucker… who told me to distract you. And I usually do what I’m told…”

“Oh you do?!” - yells Frank - “Okay, then I tell you to suck my gun!”

For a moment you hope he means his marvelous cock, but your dreams are destroyed with a golden gun shoved into your face.