Make it painless.

You turn your head from both Devi and the whore on the bed to inhale... and exhale, in long, slow breaths. Chantel, as she called herself, is a criminal... but you shouldn't lose your cool, or risk injury of what will soon be a loyal servant and fucktoy. In a rare instance of maturity over your temper tantrums, you decide to let this play out painlessly for Chantel... and accept her loss of free will as punishment enough. Looking back to Devi, never letting your smile falter, you ask, "Do you think she's pretty, Devi?"

Your intent is not lost on her, and her hand almost drifts into her crotch involuntarily. Stopping herself, Devi looks over to the wriggling victim, as if noticing her for the first time. She lets her fingertips wander the left leg there, her swarthy-brown digits traveling up the tanned, hairless pastures she finds. Devi licks her lips as her eyes do most of the molesting. After half a minute of this consideration... "Maybe," she tries to say in a half-interested manner, suddenly looking away.

"That's... a maybe?"

"Well..." She clears her throat. "Perhaps."

You suppress the urge to grin. "Perhaps a maybe, or did maybe become perhaps?"

"Maybe."

You roll your eyes and step off of the bed. Chantel, a bit relieved, does find new reason to panic more after you open a drawer in your cheap vanity: plucked out from there is a massive pair of scissors, gleaming in the cheap light of your bedroom. "Let's work on the maybe." Your hostage bucks and yanks on her bindings, trying to pull her hand impossibly through the constricting loop of the cuff you yourself tightened. For a moment, you're not even sure why she's so terrified of what you're planning... and then it dawns on you that you can't use the scissors by holding them in your closed fist, primed to stab someone. She continues to violently jump on the bed with naught but the **** of her shoulders and arching back. She shakes her head frantically, a full 180-degree turn as she hits the bed with each side of her face in sequence.

This goes on until, frustrated with her, you shove the scissor's point against her throat. Her entire form freezes, and she quietly stares up at you in this serene, terrible moment. Your words hiss out, loud enough for both to hear. "I'm trying to be nice. If you keep moving, I can't be nice." She doesn't react at first, but slowly eases her body back down onto the mattress, fighting against her own, panicking breaths. "Good." You slide your fingers into the proper position on the scissors, and quietly snip away at the thinnest part of her top: a narrow strip of plastic between her breasts. As you work, you notice your wad of money from earlier tucked against her breast... and a generous donation of whatever else she 'earned' tonight pressed against the other. Of course, this money was yours, now.

The quiet sound of your cutting and the roar of the air conditioning are the only sounds that dare to be heard. With a quick tug, the ruined top comes away, revealing her small, perky breasts and dark brown nipples, hardening under the bite of the apartment's cold, or perhaps your prolonged proximity. You travel down her length on the bed to do the same with her skirt, only to discover that they're kept on with a thin inner-belt of Velcro. Chuckling, you peel the skirt off, revealing thick white panties, the sort no prostitute would wear unless they had no intention of ever showing them. Sneering, you scoop the band of her last bit of dignity between your blades, pull up, up, and up until they're stretched into view for poor Chantel... and snip it dramatically. Bereft of her last bit of cloth, she now lays bare, her pubic mound crowned with long, yet sparse pubic hair, and her meaty pussy shoving out from her labia in between splayed, bony hips.

You turn to Devi with a smile... and raise your eyebrows when you catch her hand clutching at her crotch through her suit pants. "Maybe?"

Wordlessly, she begins to strip as an answer. Before long, Devi is ready to "ready" Chantel for you; her more familiar, more welcome nude form reminds you of how eager you are to blow your first load.