I can’t help but wrap my hands around the parts of your face that are left unwrapped. Your nose and mouth are so…so…vulnerable. I could take away your breathing with just my hands alone. My hands over your mouth and nose. All your breathing holes, gone. And what can you do about it? Nothing. You’re entirely wrapped up in plastic wrap, mummified to the table like a weak, hapless little bitch. It’s all too fun to control the very thing you need to live, to survive. It’s so exciting knowing that I can control your very basic human functions with just my fingers. You feel so helpless underneath me. I like taking away your breath just enough so that you freak out, so that you’re genuinely scared for your life. You’re shaking, yelling, slapping the table and trying to tell me no, but you know I won’t do that, right? I like watching you in fear. I like seeing you get all worked up about a pair of hands over your mouth. And I like knowing that you can’t do anything about it. As much as I take away your air, you can’t run. Now the question is, can you stay hard?
