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Reflection. What is a reflection? What does it mean when you stare into the mirror and you see yourself but without that reflection you'll never be able to visualise who you are. I am who I am as I stand here looking at myself in the long bathroom mirror. From the front, I am a normal girl, the black bags under my eyes as result of lack of sleep yet I am normal. Maybe a little thinner than I was before I was dragged into this new world of mine, a little broken, a little shattered yet I am a face, hands, arms, legs and body with a hint of bruises here and there. But as I turn around I reveal the abuse done to me. The belt marks that have formed into faded scars scattered across my pure skin. The bruises that go deep within my spirit. Am I pure? I don't know. Not anymore. I gave myself up to the man who suffocated my dignity and crushed my soul. I became the crazy in my head for I am now a slave to my aching heart. I take a step back and trace my fingers across my shoulders, I can feel my bones crushing beneath my touch yet here I stand, alive and breathing. I don't feel alive. I don't feel like I'm living. Without masters instructions I am nothing, I have nothing. No purpose, no motive, no air.

For a second just for a second I thought maybe just maybe I could deny him. Deny his rules. Become the girl I was before he trapped me within the palm of his hands. So I stand here, proud and tall as he walks into the room. I know I should be on my knees by the door but my mind tells me to disobey. To rebel against him. To push his limits, for maybe, he will take my life and grant me the peace I've long been yearning for. I await his footsteps, I ache for his punishment. Deep inside, I die for his suffocation. I need him to kill me. To take my life, to end this hell I am drowning in. I turn to face him as he stands between the door frame of the bathroom. For the floor has become my view, I no longer stare at it. Instead, I'm looking deep into his eyes. Those green eyes that take my breath away. He peers at me, a thousand meanings behind his stare yet I can only think of one. He's going to hurt me. I step towards him, my bare feet aching against the cold floor, afraid I might melt before I can get to him. He turns and walks towards the leather chair, taking his usual seat. Patting his lap, waiting for me to bend over on him. I stand still, my heart beating drums in my chest. My eyes trace to his fingers that are now counting down on the armrest of the chair. 1, 2, 3.. and there I am, right in front of him, abandoning my dignity once more as I bend over onto his lap. I dig my nails into the palm of my hands as I feel his hand connect with my bottom. This time, he's harder on the spanks. His rougher as he repeatedly strikes for my ass. I bite the inside of my mouth, tears begging for release as the stinging on my soft skin grow with the intensity of his slaps. I lost count by the time he was done. My head falling down, my hair scattered across my face. I fell apart under his touch. The burning sensation turned in that one of pleasure, soothing ache as he rubbed over the pain he had caused. I whimpered in his lap. Struggling to breathe as I became undone with the touch of his fingers in between my thighs. I knew what was going to happen, I knew he was going to touch me, make me come. I closed my eyes and waited, his finger slid inside me relentlessly. My saliva felt thick in my throat as I swallowed down. He thrusted his finger inside me over and over again. I didn't stop the moan that escaped past my lips, I didn't prevent it from breaking free, I moaned, he fingered, I moaned, he thrusted, I moaned, he twisted, I came. My body writhed against him. I had become the pet he saw in me.

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