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The respirator was sealed tight around her face, sleek black plastic sealing her voice away. The same one she wore on missions, keeping herself silent, hidden in the shadows, free from the stench of the gutters where she ran, doing the dirty work of whoever was paying.
Except now there was only one person to serve.
The blindfold tied secure around her eyes was new, cold silk soft across her face, blinding her, secure in her world of darkness. Only moments (an eternity) ago Master was tying it at the back of her head, secure with a kiss, gentler than she deserved.
How long had it been? The only senses she had were her touch and her hearing. Master had told her to stay still, and she did, trembling naked in the cold air, kneeling on the floor of Master's room. There was nothing to feel, except a growing dread in the pit of her stomach.
Hearing wasn't helping either. Master was no stranger to keeping herself silent, and the same plush carpet that cushioned her knees and fists also softened Master's footfalls, if there were even any to hear. She could be anywhere.
Maybe Master had left. Walked right out the door, leaving her to kneel, waiting for a reward (or punishment) that would never come. Maybe she was alone, again.
(No surprise there. You always were a bitch, it's no wonder she decided to fuck off.)
"Very good, rat. I'm glad you were able to follow basic instructions."
Master's voice, mocking, saccharine sweet, floods her ears. And a hand, now, taking the back of her neck and clenching, holding it secure, nails just grazing her skin in the way that left her always, always wanting more.
"Now. What shall I have my rat do today?"
Master's hands wound their way up into her hair, pulling their grip tighter and tighter, pressure slowly building in her skull.
"Ah, I know. I think I'd like a pedicure. Surely you can handle that, right?"
Any reply is lost in the mask, any nod impossible with the way Master grips her head.
"Maybe if you're good, I'll even let you hump my boot. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
A change, now, in the grip holding her secure, and she can hear movement, feel Master stepping around to her front. Then something cold and solid and clawed is pressed roughly between her legs. Before she can stop herself, she thrusts against it, and hears Master laugh in response.
"Figures. You pervert."
The boot is withdrawn, leaving emptiness and need in its wake, and she hears a chair creak under Master's weight. A rag hits her in the chest, and she scrabbles for it, clutching it close.
Something solid presses against her shoulder, and she reaches for it, feeling the metal plates, the thick leather underneath, the articulated spikes that poke from the end like claws. And under it all, Master, her foot graciously extended.
"Now, don't fuck this up, rat."