Ales woke up, and the first thing he noticed was the intense pain in the back of his head. He opened his eyes to a dark room, and even still his eyes felt like everything was too bright. Concussion, he surmised. Or a serious bump to the head. He blinked his eyes a few times, and muttered a low "Oooow."

Or at least he tried to.

Something was shoved into his mouth, forcing it open. He tried to shut his mouth, and felt steel bite into the corners of his lips, keeping his mouth spread wide. "Huh ha huck?" he burbled as best as he could, and tried to bring his hands to the gag to remove it. He couldn't. His arms slid into some kind of restraining brace, keeping them pinned at his sides inside a tight box. He could feel the edges of the box on both sides. He moved his foot, and his toes could touch the edge there, too.

He began to panic then, his breath hitching and catching as he had images of being buried alive. Most of his body was confined, but his head was sticking out of the ground and could see something large and white above his head, and a TV screen sitting darkly in the corner. There was a smoke detector with a blinking light staring down at him. "Ehho? AY! EHH!" he began to shout and wiggle as best as he could...which wasn't much.

Through the pitch blackness, Santiago could just barely make out the outline of the human-sized box with a head sticking out at the top. He had taken a peak at the contraption while the man inside was out of it, so he knew inside the clear acrylic box laid a bound, naked and handsome (although a bit disheveled after getting roughed up) latino man. His mouth, forced open by metal prongs – a spider gag, they had called – had a yellow hued clear tube coming out of it that then split into two: one end of it was attached to a urinal just above his head, in the restricted staff bathroom; the other ran into the wall and connected to another urinal just on the other side of said wall, in the public, customer bathroom. “Fucking hell, it’s dark in here. Hold on, my guy.”

Santi tapped the wall for a moment, hands looking for the light switch. Once he found it, bright cool light filled the tiny room, allowing the caged man to finally take in his surroundings. “They said not to let you see my face, but I trust you not to do anything stupid after this.” he said nonchalantly, stepping over the box to plug the TV in, then kneeling down beside the man. “So, where do we start?”

“They wanted me to tell you a couple of things,” Santiago said, holding up his left hand with smudged handwriting all over the palm. “Damn, I wiped some of it off. Cheap-ass sharpie. Anyway, here’s the gist of it: you owed money to some people, you know who I’m talking about, then tried fucking with them by not paying off your debt in full. Rookie mistake, morón, did you really think they wouldn’t notice?” he slapped a hand into his own forehead, calling Ale dumb for supposedly thinking that. “Anyway, clearly those guys are not the forgive and forget type of people. So here you are.”

Santiago pushed himself back onto his feet, now standing in front of Ale. “This,” he gestured to the small bathroom “is your new home. Just for a while, that is. The tube connects to… well, you’ll see.” Santi then tapped a remote, making the screen on the wall come to life with a live feed of the public bathroom, currently empty. “The TV is so you have something to watch – don’t want you to get bored, right?”

“You owed…” he squinted at the blurry handwriting on his palm “Puta, 500 bucks? That’s fucked up, my guy. They said you’ll get your freedom when the debt is paid. For context,” Santiago pointed to the TV “Each dude you see means for one dollar. I think it’s messed up, man, but you did try to fuck with them.”

On the screen, the feed showed the door opening then closing, a clearly drunken latino man stepping inside and walking ever so closer towards the hidden camera. From his clothing, Santi could tell he’s a trade worker of some kind, catching a few beers after his shift – the bartender recognized him as one of his regulars. “Look, you have your first customer. 499 to go!” he said with a smile, earnest compassion on his voice. “Before it starts, they told me to give you this.”

The bartender pulled out a flask and dumped half it’s contents into the drain of the urinal. Tequila – as far as he knew. “It’s kinda cheap, I know. Can’t be wasting the good shit on you.” he said apologetically, storing the flask back into its pocket. “And just a heads up: they,” he jerked his head towards the man on the TV screen. “have no idea you’re here, so best to keep it down. The walls are pretty thick, so they wouldn’t hear you anyway. Well, good luck. Anything you need from me before it starts?”

Now positioned right in front of the camera, the rough looking tradesman unbuttoned his work pants, the sound of zipper filling the room before his large, uncut cock covered part of the TV screen, so close you could almost smell the musk of his bush. Then, with a deep breath, the blue collared latino let go, the feed now showing a steamy yellow stream quickly filling the urinal and running down the drain.