In a motel room

You’re in a cheap motel room, the blinds are all closed, as is your mouth, tape covering it. The TV’s on loud, showing the kind of domination movie you’d bought earlier in the evening, but so much worse, and in between the screams, you can make out the sound of the shower in the bathroom. Some clothes are laid out on the bed: a pair of red leather jeans, a white tank top, and a black thong.

You lie there helpless, tied to the ground with your legs spread apart, and finally, a naked figure emerges from the bathroom, drying her brown hair with a towel, showing off her fit young body. “Feast your eyes, while you can, pain-puppet,” she says, looking down at you. “I’m Faith and you’ve got no hope and I’ve got no charity. Clear?”