“What are you, Diane?” I ask. I feel myself slipping deep into our dynamic. She’s already there, big eyes glassy. “I don’t know, sir,” she gasps. “You’re a toy,” I say flatly. “For me to play with.” Her lips tremble. “Say it,” I order, tapping my finger on the edge of the glass. “Repeat what I said. All of it.” I rise, towering over her, and tilt her chin up. Her eyes are wet, her mouth swollen from being bitten. “I’m a toy for you to play with,” she whispers, face flushing.
