“The color of a person’s hair is one of the most noticeable things about them. You’ll be a lot harder to recognize now.” He was rubbing the jelly all around her neck. “Yeah, okay. Just never changed my hair before.” “Why would you?” he shrugged. He pulled a pair of rubber gloves over his hands and positioned himself behind her again. The sun touched her throat as her head leaned back into his hands. When he started smearing the black dye into her hair, a short snicker escaped her throat. “Afraid I’m ruining your head?” he asked. “Not really. I can do pretty well fixing the cut as long as you don’t hack it up too badly. I was just thinking how my fate is literally in your hands.” “Not really,” he noted quietly. She kept going as if she hadn’t heard him. “Then again, I’ve spent half my life letting someone else read the map. I guess that’s how I ended up in Hell. Now I’m here trusting a man I haven’t known twenty-four hours to navigate me through the trickiest part of the. ’ I command her. I do not want to punish her rather would I be tender with her, protect her, but with a slut to be cruel is to be kind… it is, sadly, the only language they understand. She lowers her blue eyes submissively then, without uttering a word, lifts her self up from the sofa. She is silent because she fears the pain and loathes the humiliation but she has no one to blame but herself – she chose to disobey me. She unbuttons slowly her pin striped shirt and I watch as strands of her long auburn hair fall around her face partially obscuring her pretty features. Her shirt unfastened she slips it off and places it neatly upon the back of the arm chair. She is tall for a female, perhaps five feet six, and willowy. She gazes at me forlornly for a second – it will not save her – as she casts off her black bra. She is topless now, as is required for a whipping, and her delicious firm breasts exposed. I stand up, move behind her and grasp the tops of her bare arms: ‘I am going to take.
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