Watch its face, watch its body reacting to your presence, your touch, your own body pressing against your kneeling toy. Your arm around its throat, a short blade pressed firmly against its neck you press your knee onto the chain connecting its cuffs tying its hands behind its back and grab its hair, slowly and painfully pulling its head upwards, making its terror-glazed eyes meet yours. Of course a simple command would have done it but that’s not the point, is it? It has to feel every single inch, every single radiance of your aura through pain, not one thought to stray. “Look at me” you say as you take in what you created, a tingle rising from stomach to your breast. Slowly, after watching its face a bit you start tugging that blade, pressing it into its neck just enough to create a small streak of blood. Oh, those beautiful little rapid intakes of breath. “I said look at me”, don’t let it close its eyes, don’t let it stray, “eyes at me, no closing them, I want to watch your every emotion”. It starts to scream. “Do you feel it, toy? Stay.” Dragging a finger along the wound you show its blood before tasting it, making extra sure it’s watching you. Not a tremor, not a shred of doubt in your voice you lower yourself to its ear. Whispering, you continue: “Do you feel the blood slowly leaving your shell, those little droplets making their way along your body? I want it. And you will provide” your knife once again pressed against its neck, its eyes desperately trying to get even wider “one way or another.” “Get up” you say, as you do the same, giving it a tug at its neck to move pull it up quicker. No backing down. No mercy. No remorse. You step around it, one hand slowly stroking around its waist, going upwards until it reaches its neck yet again. Thumb pressed firmly against the wound it is pushed backward. No backing down. No mercy. No remorse. You shackle it against the wall, a prepared space, tiled white with red stains. Its face must be turned towards you, you want to take in every emotion, every little tang of pain you create after all. No backing down. No mercy. No remorse. You get the metal claws. But only for one hand. Sure, they’re more fun for scratching alone. But the knife must stay. If only to remind it just how far you can and will go if it doesn’t please you enough. Forcing it back against its neck you press your claws against its chest, watching its eyes as you do it. Press them in, let the blood drip and form. Before you finally begin for real.