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asked as he stumbled back, forcing his back against the dark wall.
    I said nothing. I watched as the fear in his body movements conflicted with the curiosity and intrigue in his eyes.
    The whip drug against the thin, black carpet behind me. I stopped about two feet away from him. We stood facing each other in silence as his bottom lip quivered.
    "He might not be tough to break after all," I thought to myself.
    With a flick of my wrist, the leather tip of the whip was flying from the floor and crashing into the cloth of his slacks and against his thigh.
    He dropped to his knees at the sharp sting. "What the fuck?!" He yelled.
    I flicked my wrist again. The leather tore through the still, cool air and sliced through the thin cloth of his neatly, pressed shirt, and bit into his left arm.
    "Fuck!" He yelped as he rushed his right hand over to console the red cut on his arm. "Sweetheart-"
    "Eleven," I corrected him as I whipped my wrist back again.
    "No, please," he pleaded.
    I struck him once more. This time the leather sliced across his chest, popping off a button on his otherwise perfect shirt.
    He went from arrogant asshole to pleading slave in less than five lashes. I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed. I expected Mr. I Own The Air You Breathe to resist for longer than two minutes. Then again, guys like him tend to think I will soften up and try to test me when they feel I have crossed whatever boundaries they have created for themselves. Boundaries that I don’t give a fuck about.
    I grinned as he fumbled through the buttons on his shirt and tugged at his tie, rushing to get undressed. His shaky fingers trying to remember how to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants.
    He sat on his knees in gray Calvin Klein boxer briefs and navy and gray argyle socks. Small red cuts lined his chest, arm and thigh where he learned I’m not someone who asks twice.
    I glanced over at the wall of restrictive tools; steel cuffs, rope and leashes. I grabbed a pair of cuffs and fastened his wrists together behind his back. I then picked up the black silk blindfold and cover his eyes. I laced his neck with a satin choke leash.
    I discarded the whip and replaced the it with a sixteen inch wooden paddle. I led him by the leash to the center of the room. I stood in front of him, facing the one way glass where I knew both Haylee and the guard were to ensure no danger befell me. I knew Haylee was there moreso for the show. I don’t mind him watching though. I love an audience.
    “Open your mouth and hold out your tongue,” I commanded. He did as I said. I took Wonder Woman in my first and rubbed the soft tip around his widely parted lips.
    “Now suck it.”
    His mouth blindly felt around for the head. He gulped it into his mouth like a professional.
    “Aren’t you just a good little slave,” I said in a patronizing tone purely for the sake of mocking him.
    The bullet responded to the friction of his mouth sliding back and forth over the shaft. I inhaled deeply at the light vibrations pulsing inside of me.
    My extension began to grow with every stroke of his wet tongue.
    The front of his boxer briefs began to tent.
    I pushed his suctioning mouth from my distended appendage.
    “Who the fuck told you to get hard?” I snapped.
    “I-I-I ca-can’t control it,” he stammered with fear and uncertainty coating each word.
    I walked around his pale body and grabbed the leash. I lead him by his unsteady knees over to the Boogey Man where I strapped his legs and ankles in. I took a fistful of his hair and shoved his head down into the guillotine-esque contraption. I uncured his wrists and brought them into their respective holes and secured him into the chopping block.
    “Ca-can I ask you a que-question,” he stuttered.
    “Hell no,” I answered.
    His once small tent had grown exponentially in the couple of minutes it had taken me to get him locked in. I giggled to myself at the 180 he had done from the time he walked into the Black Room