Robotic Rita 1844-332-2639 Ext 413
You wake up with a splitting headache. When you try to rub at your forehead, you realize your arms are tied down by your sides. Trying to blink away the pain instead, as the room around you comes into focus, you don’t recognize it at all. Your tongue feels like a folded-up rag of cotton in your mouth, and you have no idea where you are or how you got there.
“Good Morning, Princess.” My voice draws your attention, but the pet name is strange. No one has ever called you “Princess” before. Youre a man; that doesn’t make sense.