I run the cold metal up and down your chest, not letting it cut you. I look into your eyes and wink at you; I run the scissors down your chest, hard,...causing it to bleed. Not too deep, but enough to make me want to hurt you more and more. I lean forward and lick the blood off of your chest, eager to taste more and more of you. I take the scissors to your throat and run it across tenderly, you gasp and, taking the scissors away I slap you, hard. You will be quiet sweetie; I don’t want to. Oh, shit. How do I feel? How do I fucking feel? ”I’ve never been more mortified in my life. I don’t believe I’m doing this.” ”Yet you are,” she said. ”You’re kneeling there. Nobody is forcing you. You could get up and get as far away from here as you want. But you’re staying put. Why do you suppose that is? Most people would feel degraded. Do you feel degraded?” Yes, I thought to myself, how else could I feel. I simply nodded. But I was surprisingly calm in some weird way. Why isn’t there a. More

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