"Kitten, I have a task for you this week," he told me over the phone.
"Yes?," I asked. I could hear the nervousness in my voice. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.
"I want you to find something for me to cut you with. Do you think you can do that?"
"Yes, I can do that." Why the hell was I so eager? Why did my pulse quicken at the thought of finding the blade that he would cut me with, presenting it to him on my knees, seeing him take it from me, hold it above me...
"Good girl," he cooed. "Let me know if you have any trouble finding it. But if you don't tell me, I'll expect you to have it by the weekend. Don't disappoint me."
"I won't, Sir."
"I think I might have to tie your hands when I cut you. What do you think about that?"
"Um...," I stammered nervously. I knew that if he wanted to tie my hands, I wouldn't have much say in the matter. And maybe that would help because I wouldn't be able to interfere with what he was doing in a moment of panic.
"I'm not going to blindfold you, though, because I want you to see the blood."
I sputtered, not sure what to say. Blood. How much blood would there be?
"Trust me, Kitten," he whispered. "Trust."