
In a dimly lit room, I've been remodeled into a perfect piece of furniture to satisfy my master's desires. Every time the ropes tighten, I feel myself turning from a person into a mere ornament in the corner. I'm not even allowed to sit properly while waiting. I'm disciplined with ropes between my legs and forced to serve in the most shameful positions. Yet, I find myself feeling an ecstatic rush from my own inability to become the perfect, mindless object he demands.









