Special Garden
I love the rush that comes from seeing the cold steel slice through the taunt skin, smooth¬ as it glides down the chest, between her breasts. Her scream would be ear piercing if it were not for the gag. I love that too, the scream, but even more I love to see the fear, the anticipation of what I will do next. The way her body quivers from the touch of the razor sharp steel against her erect nipple.
No she’s not excited, not into pain, the room is cold. I always keep it cold, and dark. The only light is the one above her, lighting her milky flesh, perfectly ripened within my living garden of beauty. The more pale the skin the better to see the crimson fluid of life seep from her, for me, all for me, she bleeds for me. Now it is time for the harvest, and my blood is boiling.