Treating your body like a canvas, painting it with every filthy, depraved thought I’ve ever had, marking you like property before using you like the braindead little whore you were always meant to be.

Yes.

Repeatedly.

Shock collars.

Inviting her over for a 'couple of beers' quickly devolved into a night of easily forgotten abuse, getting her wasted, offering one drink after another, knowing she didn’t have the confidence to decline.

Pain is satisfaction.

Mindlessly rutting against my boot like a desperate mutt, in heat, feral and aching for release.