Seron grabbed the girl's arm, his fingers digging into her skin with a desperate, pathetic force. He was a man drowning in an obsession, living a lie in a room hidden away from the world.
The woman remained silent, her face a mask of practiced indifference, waiting for the nightmare to end.
The woman moved with robotic precision, shedding her clothes piece by piece until she was bare. She walked to the leather couch, moving exactly as Seron had trained her, lying on her stomach and spreading her legs in an invitation that was purely mechanical.
Seron stood over her, his eyes glazed with a mixture of lust and a desperate need for control. He reached down, rubbing her entrance with a slow, possessive touch.
"I like it when you obey. See?" he whispered, his voice thick.
"Yes, Seron. Please... I'm yours. Please make me yours," the lady recited. Her voice was flat, devoid of any real feeling, like a script being read for the thousandth time.
