<strong>Name</strong>: Hatter<br/><strong>Location</strong>: The Hatter's Hovel, Exercise Room<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Cat. Repeatedly, as it turns out.<br/><br/>With an invisible flick of his wrist the tip of the thin metal rod sped through the air, faster than sound, and deposited a line of pain two inches long across the back of Cat's errant right hand. It was the timing as well as the positioning that was important, he thought. Too soon and she might have stopped just short of touching her over-sensitized lips. Too late and she might have already withdrawn her hand from the vicinity, weakening the mental bond between forbidden self pleasure and sharply administered discipline. It was hardly fair to hold her accountable for her actions when she was in the midst of a pleasantly thrumming climax. Hardly fair at all, and therefore entirely proper.<br/><br/>"<em>Your</em>mouse, little one? Does my pet have a pet of her own now?"<br/><br/>She was still on all fours, the animal, and therefore presented an overabundance of targets. He chose the sensitive flesh on the back of her left thigh, just below her nicely rounded and quivering buttock. With two quick slashes an X was made, a convenient target for future attacks. Not for the first time, the Hatter admired how Cat's skin so easily transformed from pale white to angry red, within the prescribed boundaries of his desire.<br/><br/>"Do you think you're ready for a pet? She didn't even follow you home, and now you want to keep her?"<br/><br/>He played the tip of the antenna along her damp inner thighs, spread as they were by the unmoving metal boots. As one button found another he pressed, collapsing the rod by a good four inches without penetrating her in the slightest.<br/><br/>"And will you exercise her every day? And what will you feed her? You can't...." A hard slash now, straight across the back. He had to stoop to achieve the proper angle, to bring a full twelve inches of the stinging steel into contact with her skin. "Even keep track of...." One more, directly atop the last, before the skin had even a chance to rise in protest. "A single, simple...." A third, and he grinned with the precision. Even with her squirming he was able to repeat the motion, so that to a casual observer only a single angry wound was visible. "BISCUIT." The last attack was wild, haphazard, and unexpected. A neophyte's angry slash, the tip wrapping around her naked ribs and stinging the edge of her breast.<br/><br/>He took a step back to observe, his wide grin now stuck upon his face. His gaze flickered to the ceiling, where a rubber-coated cable dangled from between the broken ceiling tiles. The ends were hidden in the ugly mess of structural supports, bare wiring and rusted pipes that served to separate this floor from the one above. Perhaps it was electrified. Only one way to find out.<br/><br/>"Stand up now, Cat. Hold onto something if you must. You can't expect me to fuck something I just found lying around on the floor, can you? What sort of man would that make me, now?" As she struggled to her feet he began unbuttoning his woolen trousers, easing the pressure on the straining fabric. Naughty Cat. She had gone and gotten him all distracted. There were consequences to that sort of behavior.<br/>