<em>When he tied her like this and left her mouth open it was usually for her to service him through that orifice.  He saw her open her mouth, then swallow, in anticipation.  It was a pleasure to have inculcated, in so sort a time, a habit in her.<br/><br/>But now having made the habit he would break the habit.  He was wearing a different mask this evening because he had a different purpose.  He'd checked in the mirror: the gold glinted beautifully.<br/><br/>'I'm someone they believe to be dead.  This will be proof of something different.  It will take some time.  Best begin to caress yourself, my dear.'<br/><br/>His attempts to indoctrinate her to enjoy pleasure with the suffering he inflicted had not been successful, but he wasn't giving up.  Her chained hands went obediently to her crotch.<br/><br/>It was only now perhaps that she would see the tattoo gun, as he switched it on, and took it from the dresser.  He switched it from 'shade' to 'line'.  Red, he wanted.  He'd been practising the shapes with ink on paper, he placed the sheet of paper on one side.  He began oat her right cheek, describing the triangle of the Greek letter Δ in the air before beginning.  She didn't scream; it would hardly hurt, at first.  But there was a wailing from within her, as he drew his three bold lines.</em>