This one sucks but I love the concept and I'll probably redo it at some point. Also, thank you to the people who vote and comment. It really means a lot and without your comments, I probably wouldn't be writing. (Warning: Slight sexual content, slight gore)
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Joshua Balz was addicted; not to drugs, not sex, violence or alcohol, but to mutilation. It started off small, the occasional piercing or tattoo, but soon grew into something violent. Something that could only be done by her. He became her toy every time he stepped into her paradise. At least once a month he'd come in, begging for her to destroy him. She never said no, and not long after the agreement she'd begin slicing him to no end. It was euphoric for him, but for her, it was a reason. It was her reason to talk to him. No one knew about her private life, hell most people didn't even know she existed. The only person who knew her name was Balz. She craved his attention almost as much as he craved her blades.
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'F-Fuck, (Y/n)!' He moaned loudly, knees awkwardly pressing together as I dragged my steel scalpel across the outline of his tattoos, stripping them from his torso. I made sure only to touch those ones since it made things easier for him to coverup later. I loved the way he looked when we did this, blood coating his flesh, his tattoos severed from his body and laying on a metal plate so I could admire them later. I never told him that I kept his tattoos, only because I knew that if he found out, he'd stop coming. He'd always get turned on by me dragging my weapon across his skin, and it always tempted me to take things too far. It made me want to trail my scalpel along the underside of his cock, my tongue following closely behind it, tasting the sweat and precome but I loved him too much to let him go. He'd hate me if he knew how much I loved him. He began to struggle against the restraints, his lips parting and my name continuously dripping from his tongue until I fully slit the chunk of skin off him, causing him to convulse and simultaneously pass out on my medical table. It took me a second to realise it, and I quickly cleaned him up and rid him of any evidence of being here. It was a process I was too familiar with, despite the fact that he never remembered any of it. Some part of me wondered if it was just better to let him die, but every time I was his face I remembered why I kept this job, why I loved him and why I hated myself.
