The torture began anew. He let his mind believe it just might happen this time. Anticipating the transaction's close, he knew she would chicken out. Oh, how he hated being right. Everything he believed in his sensible mind that would happen came to pass. Now it was time for his irrational mind to have fun. Not the self-pity, not the self-doubt.
As he traced the traced the skin of her outstretched arm with the flat of the blade, his eyes showed no emotion. This "woman" had become nothing to him. What love or hate had been washed away. She was His property, by her own admission. He was going to do to her whatever imaginative action came to mind. Her arms tied above her head to the exposed rafter in the two-car garage. The cold of fall was in full affect as the wind howled outside. Good, he thought to himself. When she screams, it won't be overheard. Her feet barely touched the floor with her ankles spread apart the way they were.
As she slowly opened her eyes, she felt her jaw was uncomfortably spread open. The air around her cold. The room was illuminated by a red light that seemed as if positioned above the rafter to which the lead that bound her hands was secured. Just then she felt an intense sharp pain in her left breast and attempted to scream. What the hell is going on? Where the hell am I? She looked down to see that attached to her nipple was now a weighted clamp. She wasn't focusing enough on her soundings only on the sensations.
"You are nothing," the captor stated. Meisa barely recognized the voice as it was devoid of any emotion. "Your entire life is forfeit. You only have one purpose in life. If you do not live up to that purpose, you will be cast aside. You made a statement once, and I called you on that bluff. I informed you that if you are going to call yourself 'My Slut' that you must understand the nature of what it means to be," he paused to let the lass' predicament sink in as much as to emphasize the next word. "'Mine'."
