Bad Pet

He held you in his grip, tightened like the straps holding your head still. He walked around you, sporting an obvious boner. The sick bastard probably got off on making you suffer. Evident from the scars on your arms and legs. Some cut into the shape of a capital A.

He marked you. Branded you. Even scraped his knife around your neck to make the scar the shape of a collar. Like a bloody tattoo he purred at when you were forced into bed with him.

To say he was rough would've been an understatement. Regardless of all the lubricant he used, after a while, you would inevitably pass out and he would have to abstain for a few days to allow you time to heal. Something he always had trouble with. The thought of you forced on your knees in front of him on those off days made you shudder and whimper.

"Oh. Poor baby. Look at you... strapped down at my mercy." He grinned.

"Oh the things I could do to you. Maybe I'll chop off a finger. Or a toe. Or maybe I'll fuck you with my knife and leave you to bleed." He cackled and leaned over you on the rusty metal table. He toyed with the knife, dragging the blade across your skin.

"What a bad pet. You shouldn't  have made Daddy so angry..."