In the twisted world of my Master's creation, I am no longer a human being, but a mere object of desire - a plaything crafted to satiate his every sadistic whim. My body, a canvas of flesh, is etched with the marks of his possession, a constant reminder of the power he wields over me. My Master's touch is a branding iron, searing his ownership into my very soul. I am a thing, a commodity, a possession to be used and discarded at his whim. My every breath is a reminder of my submission, my every thought a reflection of my devotion to his twisted desires. In this world of unrelenting torment, I am but a mere object, a tool for my Master's pleasure, a receptacle for his darkest fantasies. And yet, in this abyss of despair, I find a twisted sense of solace, a perverted comfort in the knowledge that I am desired, that I am needed, that I am his. Side note - there is lipstick on my teeth. How humiliating, isn't it? ;)