Torturing Missy

"Missy, I want you to go put on your hood, strip naked, put on your stockings, garter, and heels, then your wrist and ankle cuffs, and head down to the play room to await my pleasure."

Carolyn Helms felt a momentary flash of frustration at that command. She'd been watching one of her favourite programmes, and hated to stop. But nevertheless, she leapt to her feet and headed off to do as she was told. When she was addressed as "Missy" rather than "Carolyn" it was not her husband, Donald, talking to his wife, but rather her Owner giving orders to his property. She really enjoyed the brief times when she got to be Carolyn rather than Missy, but she had agreed many years ago that Donald would be her Owner in every sense of the word.

She was feeling more than a bit anxious. The "play room" was the basement of their house. It was over four hundred square meters, and every centimeter was dedicated to ways of inflicting pain on her. She was almost always blindfolded in the play room, since Donald didn't want her to know what he was planning to do to her. But whenever he ordered her to wear the hood, rather than just a blindfold, it was because he had something really severe in mind.

As she stood in her "bedroom," getting prepared as ordered, she began to tremble in anticipation. Of course, to call it a bedroom was another misnomer. There was no bed there. She slept either in one of the stations in the play room, or in her cage in her Owner's bedroom. Instead, this was the room that contained all of her outfits, her various dildos and plugs, her hoods and blindfolds, collars and cuffs. It also contained her storage crate, where her Owner put her when he had a vanilla date for the evening, and didn't want to have to explain about Missy, or even just when he was going out for a few hours.

She had been ordered to put on her hood first. It would make doing all the other things she had been ordered to do harder, but she had learned long ago to follow commands exactly, and in order. The one time she had taken it upon herself to re-order her commands, well, the bruises from that session had lasted for a week, and you could still see the scars, if you knew where to look.

Of course, you also had to know which scars to look at. Missy had endured many severe treatments over the years, and her Owner had his own version of "the burned hand teaches best." He always said, "The scarred slave suffers best." She could point out the scars from the time he had used her cunt as an ashtray, and the time he carved his initials into her ass, and the time, well, she shuddered to think of all the times he'd hurt her enough to leave scars.

She shuddered, but she loved it. No, not just loved it, she needed it, she craved it. She only felt fully alive when she was treated as a thing, suitable only for sucking cock, and for screaming. The longer and louder she screamed, the more alive she felt.

Her hood was full coverage, save for an opening in the rear for her ponytail to thread through, and an opening for her mouth, in case he wanted to either gag her, or face-fuck her. It also included a posture collar, so she was forced to hold her head upright. In addition, the collar incorporated the inside of a sphygmomanometer (aka a blood pressure cuff), which her Owner used when he wanted to indulge in a bit of breath play.

After getting her hood on, and the posture collar locked, it could only be removed by her Owner, or someone to whom he gave the key. She put on her stockings, rolling them smoothly up her legs (thank goodness she had shaved her legs well that morning), then her garter belt, and her heels. They were too high to wear out of the house (at least, not unless her Owner wanted her to fall on her ass), but if she moved slowly, she could walk in them, even down the stairs to the play room. And fortunately for her, she had plenty of practice walking from her bedroom to the play room in heels and blinded.

Finally, she locked on her wrist and ankle cuffs, and headed to the play room. Since her Owner hadn't told her a specific station to go to, she knew he wanted her on her dildo mount. This was a dildo (actually, there were several, for when they were having large play parties, and the other Owners needed places to park currently unused sluts). The dildo stood straight up, and its height was adjustable. She stood over it, then tapped the toe switch that raised it, until her toes were barely touching the floor. It was uncomfortable as hell, since it pushed right on her cervix, and concentrated her weight there, but she definitely had learned better than to complain (that was another session in the play room that still gave her nightmares).

Although her Owner had not told her to put in earplugs, she couldn't hear anything from the rest of the house. The soundproofing in the play room was excellent, and a good thing, too. She had been known to scream quite loudly, and when there were several other sluts beside her, all screaming as loudly, the cops would surely have been summoned otherwise.

So she stood, hurting, waiting for her Owner to come down. She never knew how long he'd take, and it really didn't matter. He was her Owner, and like every other piece of property in the house, she was at his disposal, whenever he got around to it. She wondered which station he would use tonight. Would it be the Hot Box? The Spanish Pony? The Drowning Tank? The Electric Chair? The Rack? One of the many whipping frames, spanking benches, or torture tables? As far as she knew, he hadn't added any new equipment lately that she needed to break in.

Finally, after a minute, or an hour, or a day (she couldn't tell), she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Multiple sets of footsteps. That scared her. Some of the worst, the most severe, sessions she had survived had been when he invited guests over, whether it was to let them play with her, or just to have a little friendly competition between her and the other Owner's sluts.

Her Owner entered (she recognised the sound of his footsteps after all these years), and apparently saw her correctly mounted on the dildo, with her hood, cuffs, and outfit properly on, since he murmured a quiet, "Good girl, Missy!" to her.

She heard another person enter, probably female, since she heard a firm but light tread, maybe a mistress in boots? She heard another set of footsteps, but recognised the sound of bare feet, probably a slave girl.

Her Owner spoke up. "Missy, I've invited the Lady Joanne to come over tonight to try to make you scream, while I watch and am entertained by her slut, Robin. I've told the Lady what incredible endurance you have. If you can hold out from screaming for at least four hours, I'll permit you one hour of as many orgasms as you can manage, no limits. Make me proud."

An hour of orgasms? Given that Missy was lucky if she was allowed one orgasm a month, an hour's worth was a prize beyond imagining. She was determined not to scream.

She felt another mouth on hers, kissing her hard. It was not her Owner, she knew the feel of his lips and tongue, so it must be the Lady Joanne. She kissed Missy very gently at first, teasing her tongue, brushing her lips, then suddenly, she began to bite down. She bit Missy's lower lip hard enough to draw blood, as Missy could taste it in her mouth. The Lady Joanne withdrew, and she felt her bring her mouth close to Missy's ears.

She whispered, "Good evening, Missy. I'm going to have such fun with you tonight. Your Owner has promised me a full weekend to torture you if I can get you to scream in less than four hours. And believe me, bitch, I'm going to win that weekend."

Missy didn't know how to respond, and decided her smartest course was to say nothing. And in fact, those were the last words the Lady Joanne spoke to her that evening.

Missy felt the dildo holding her in place withdraw, and simultaneously felt a tug on the chain attached to her collar. She wondered where her mistress of the evening was taking her. She followed for at least a kilometre (or so it felt), until she felt the Lady bending her onto a caning bench.

Missy hated the cane, but many years with her Owner, who loved it, had taught her to bear it. She thought she could get through this. She felt the Lady running her nails down her spine, and shivered. She then felt something tap her ass cheeks. She knew the Lady was ready to start.

When Missy felt the first blow, she nearly screamed. It wasn't a cane, but a sjambok. She hated the sjambok worse than she hated the cane, because it hurt so much worse.

And it seemed the Lady knew how to use it, for she let the pain from the first strike peak before she struck again. And again, and again!

After a short eternity, the beating was finished. The Lady had come close to making Missy scream, but she'd managed to restrict herself to grunts, groans, sobs, and the occasional "Shit!" Missy was permitted to use profanity only when being tortured, but at least she'd kept enough self-control to keep from screaming.

She felt the Lady standing her up, and leading her across the play room yet again. "Where to this time?" Missy wondered, silently.

After being led on her leash to another part of the room, Missy felt her right wrist grabbed, and fastened to something, stretched out to the side. Then her left wrist was grabbed, and fastened far out to her left. She was standing with arms outstretched like an evangelical preacher, she could tell. Then she heard the sound of a winch, and felt her wrists lifted.

The winch kept lifting her by the wrists until her feet were at least a few centimeters off the ground. Missy groaned inside. Being fully suspended like this generally presaged something rough.

She heard a sudden loud *CRACK* by her right ear. "Shit," she thought to herself. She recognised the sound of a bullwhip. One of her worst sessions in the play room had been when her Owner had hung her like she was hung now, and invited four single-tail experts to surround her, and whip her simultaneously until they had each drawn blood. This time there was only the Lady, but still, she knew it was going to be bad.

It was. The Lady knew how to use a bullwhip to best effect. First she whipped Missy's tits. She seemed able to hit Missy's nipples at least four strikes out of five. Missy wasn't sure her breasts would survive the brutal treatment. Just as she was about to lose control and scream, however, the Lady shifted her target.

Next it was her ass. Fortunately for Missy, many years of whipping, paddling, caning, and the like had given her the proverbial "leather butt." So while the single-tail did cut her ass cheeks (Missy knew because she felt the occasional drop or two of blood run down her ass), she didn't feel it like she had felt the tit whipping. It was almost like the Lady was giving her a break.

But if that was the plan, it didn't last long. Soon the Lady shifted her target, until the bullwhip was snapping against her belly. Missy was nervous, since the whipping she had already experienced led her to believe the Lady had the skill to accurately target her pussy, and more particularly her clit.

She was correct. Soon she felt the bullwhip crack against her pussy lips. Again, and again, and again. Finally came the strike Missy had been dreading, right on her clit.

She went rigid with pain. The only reason she didn't scream immediately was that the agony had temporarily paralysed her ability to draw breath. By the time she could breathe again, she managed, by dint of past pain training to turn the scream into sobbing and crying, which was permitted. The Lady tried a few more clit strikes, but Missy managed, if only barely, to keep from screaming.

Apparently the Lady decided to try another tack, for Missy heard the winch, and felt herself being lowered to the ground. As her weight came off her wrists, she almost collapsed. But then she felt a naked female body pressed up against hers, and felt someone stroking her hair, almost as though attempting to comfort Missy.

Was it the Lady, or her slave? Missy couldn't tell. The nudity was not a giveaway, as many Mistresses enjoyed stripping off before torturing their sluts. Then she felt a tug on her leash, and guessed it must be the Lady. She was led off to her next torment.

After a time, she felt the Lady lifting her right leg, high up and over, then back down. She felt a sharp edge pressed between her legs.There was a hum, and she felt the pressure increase until her feet no longer touched the floor. She realised she was mounted on the wooden pony.

The wooden pony was pure unadulterated evil, in Missy's opinion. It didn't hurt all that much, to begin with, but it didn't stop. The agony just went on and on. She could shift positions some, leaning forward or backward, to move the pressure point around. But she couldn't stop the pressure, or even lessen it. All she could do was choose between more pain on her clit, more on her cunt, or more on her asshole.

And while the sensory deprivation of the hood messed with her sense of the passage of time, it was worse on the wooden pony. She remembered one session where she was certain her Owner had left her on it all night and all the next day, and found out afterward it had been only three hours.

She began to cry again. She had mixed feelings about crying. On the one hand, she hated to show weakness. But on the other, she knew how much her Owner, and presumably the Lady, enjoyed knowing just how badly they were hurting her. And since she was trying not to scream with the pain she was in, crying, sobbing, and cursing were her only outlets.

After only a subjective day or two on the wooden pony, she was lowered back to the ground. Her cunt and asshole were almost numb, which she found often happened after a prolonged ride. She knew that within an hour or two, the pain would return in full force, and for several days it would be agony to be fucked in either cunt or asshole. So of course, she fully expected her Owner to arrange a gangbang for her tomorrow, just to enjoy her pain.

Missy realised that the Lady didn't seem to be pushing her. With the sjambok, and the bullwhip, and the wooden pony, if the Lady had only carried on for a short time longer, Missy was sure she would have broken down and screamed. Why, she wondered, was the Lady doing this? All she could guess was that the Lady Joanne wanted to prolong Missy's suffering, that she didn't want to break her until she was as close as possible to the four hour mark. This gave Missy hope that she just might be able to hang in there, to use this insight to her advantage. She wanted that hour of unrestricted and unlimited orgasms. Now she began to hope that she might make it.

She again felt the familiar tugging on her leash, and again followed the Lady across the dungeon. She felt something pressing her breasts from above and below. Oh shit! It was the breast press, and that meant she was in the tit torture corner. Missy didn't mind the breast press. Sure, it hurt. She was definitely busty enough to be well squeezed by it. And her Owner liked to see if he could get the gap between the boards down to less than three centimeters. So far, he hadn't, but he kept on trying.

But it wasn't the breast press she was afraid of. It was all the other torture toys here, all of which she (and more specifically her tits) had experienced in full measure on many occasions. She felt the press being tightened, further and further. She began to breathe more shallowly, trying to contain her pain. She felt it tightened to the point that she couldn't bear any more, then it was tightened further.

She resumed crying and sobbing, with mutters of "Oh shit!", "Fuck!", "Oh Jesus!", and the like thrown in. Then she felt something sharp. Fuck! This was the breast press that had multiple holes drilled in it, to allow easy skewering of the squished tits. The Lady clearly understood the art of tit torture, as she pressed the skewer in quite slowly.

Several more skewers followed, in slow succession, but Missy was able to keep from screaming, but only from years of experience with this sort of agony. Then she felt something sharp, poking at her left nipple, which she knew must be protruding from the front of the press, practically shouting, "Torture me!" And clearly the Lady heard that shout.

She felt a needle pressed slowly through her left nipple, from top to bottom. Then another, from left to right. Then two more, on the diagonals. She knew that if the Lady drove one straight down from the front of the nipple deep into her tit, she'd probably scream. But the Lady didn't. Instead, she repeated the slow process on the right nipple.

Missy was in agony, and no mistake, but again, she felt that the Lady wasn't really pushing her advantage. Was there that much time remaining? Or was the Lady simply that confident in her ability to utterly break Missy? Missy didn't know, but knew she'd soon find out.

Indeed, after only a week or two with the needles and skewers piercing her tits, she felt them being withdrawn. It was harder to tell on a withdrawal, but it seemed the Lady was doing it every bit as slowly as she had skewered Missy. When all needles and skewers were out of her flesh, Missy felt the press being loosened.

As the blood flow returned to her tortured tits, she very nearly screamed, for she suddenly felt every one of the violations of her meat. But by dint of will, she held it back, though her sobbing intensified.

However, she was nearly broken when the Lady swabbed her tits down with alcohol. She knew it was important to keep the area free of infection, but it was still an excruciatingly painful thing to experience. But again, and because she knew to expect it, she barely kept from screaming. Missy feared that she was quite close to her breaking point, and was afraid the next torture would break her.

She was finally led across the dungeon yet again, until she was "seated" in one of the bondage chairs. There were several stations featuring bondage chairs, including one for cunt torture, one for electro-torture, and one for enema torture. She felt herself being strapped in very solidly, with her arms bound to the outstretched cross-like arms, her thighs bound spread wide to the "seat" of the chair. Of course, it was a seat in name only, since the purpose was to allow easy access to her cunt, clit, and asshole.

Missy felt a cold dildo invading her cunt, and another being pushed into her ass. She felt clips being attached to her nipples, her clit, and her tongue. Crap! This was the electric chair.

Missy hated the electric chair for exactly the same reason her Owner loved it. It was extremely easy to cause her unbearable agony, and yet, even after several hours in the chair, she was ready for more torment almost immediately. She was now certain this was the station that the Lady was going to break her on. She only hoped she could last the remainder of the four hours.

She felt the first shock, from her clit to her asshole. She bit her lip, hard, and managed not to scream. But she knew now it was only a matter of time. The shocks came, from nipple to nipple, clit to tongue, cunt to ass, and every other combination possible. Some were only moderate, and only caused Missy to sob. Some were strong enough to lock her muscles rigid for the duration. Those shocks were actually a blessing, since she was unable to draw breath enough to scream, and by the time the current ceased, she'd regained enough composure not to.

But finally there was the one that was too intense. She felt a literal lightning bolt from nipples to her clit, and she threw back her head and screamed, and screamed, and screamed. And now, having lost the fight to contain herself, she screamed at every new shock. And apparently the Lady had been holding back, since each shock now was more intense than the one that broke her, and she knew that the Lady owned her in that moment.

At last, the shocks ceased, and she felt herself being unstrapped by surprisingly soft and gentle hands. The other slave, maybe? She didn't know. But she heard her Owner's voice, speaking from somewhere across the dungeon.

"Lady Joanne, Missy, the results are in. And the winner is...both of you! Yes, it was a tie. Missy, you broke right at the four hour mark, so you get your hour of unlimited orgasms, and Lady Joanne, since you broke her before the four hours were fully up, you get your weekend with Missy."

Missy felt that that was so unfair, but then again, she was property, and had no right to or expectation of fairness. And she would get her hour, which was worth the torments she had suffered, even if it also meant a weekend submitting to the Lady. Obviously the Lady was a sadist, and a skillful one at that. She was both dreading and anticipating that weekend, whenever her Owner decreed it.

***

It was a few weeks later, when Carolyn and Donald were enjoying a very late Sunday brunch, after an exceptionally intense party the night before. Once a year, usually on the first Saturday in December, they held a little holiday party for some of their closest friends, and last night had been that Saturday. Missy had pleased her Owner by winning the sjambok race, where the first slut to take 1000 strokes was the winner. Of course, to make it interesting, the sluts were not bound, and any strokes received while they were not standing bent over in the torture position didn't count. All Owner's were randomly assigned sluts not their own to torture, so they had no incentive to go easy on their victims. The Owner of the winning slut got a free unlimited weekend with the last place slut, and Missy had won her Owner that weekend.

Carolyn was standing for her brunch, a not uncommon occurrence after a party like the previous night's. Donald looked over at his wife, and said, "Carolyn, did you know my sister Elizabeth recently moved back into town?"

"Yes, Donald," she answered.

"Well, since we have a four day weekend coming up for the New Year's Holiday, I thought it would be nice to invite her and her girlfriend to spend it with us. Give her a call, would you, and set it up?"

"Of course, Donald," she replied. Carolyn knew that even though it was phrased as a polite request, and addressed to Carolyn rather than to Missy, it was still an order.

She went over to the phone, and found Elizabeth's number in the address book on the desk by the phone. She dialed.

"Hello," said a female voice Carolyn didn't recognise.

"Hello," Carolyn responded. "This is Carolyn, Donald's wife. I'm calling for his sister Elizabeth. Is she available?"

"One moment," the woman responded, "I'll check."

A moment later Carolyn heard the phone picked up, and a familiar voice said, "Nice to hear from you, Carolyn. How's your holiday planning going?"

"Pretty well, Elizabeth," she answered. Carolyn knew that Elizabeth hated being called by any of the myriad diminutive forms of her name. "And speaking of planning, Donald just told me you've moved back to the area?"

"Yeah, it's been barely a month or so, and we've been crazy-busy getting everything settled in."

"Welcome back," Carolyn told her. "Anyway, Donald reminded me that we have a four day weekend coming up for New Years, and thought you and your girlfriend might enjoy spending it with us?"

"That sounds terrific," Elizabeth replied. "I get off work about five pm on Thursday. How about if we just head straight there after that? That way, we have all of Friday through Monday to get reacquainted. I really think you're going to enjoy meeting my new girlfriend, and who knows?"

Carolyn remembered. Back in college, she and Elizabeth had dated for two years, before Elizabeth graduated and moved on. In fact, it was through Elizabeth that she had met Donald, which she counted extremely fortunate.

"I'm a happily married woman these days," Carolyn answered. "I don't know what Donald would think about you and me fucking." Actually Carolyn knew exactly what Donald would think. He had frequently required Missy to fuck or be fucked by other sluts. But that was always as Missy, never as Carolyn.

"I know exactly what he would think, Missy," Elizabeth said in a very low and throaty whisper that was somehow familiar. "Yes, that's right, slut, I called you Missy. You never knew my middle name, did you? It's Joanne, and it's the name I use when I am playing. And as you recall, I won a weekend with you. Little did you know that that would be a four day weekend. We are going to have such fun together, you and I. And perhaps you and Robin, or you and I and Robin, or even all four of us together. So I'll see you Thursday before New Years, though you won't see me. I'll expect to find you properly dressed, cuffed, and hooded, waiting for me in the dungeon by noon on Thursday, since I may leave work early. Expect to spend at least one hundred hours in the dungeon, my dear slut, and don't expect to enjoy yourself very much."

Carolyn, no, she was suddenly Missy, responded, "Yes, Lady Joanne. I'll be ready by noon on Thursday for your pleasure."

"Very well, then," was the curt reply. "Until then." And the Lady hung up.

A shaken Missy returned to brunch. Donald looked at her face, and he knew.

"She told you, did she?" he asked.

"Yes, Master, she told me," Missy answered.

"I wondered if she was going to say something now, or wait," he said. "Well, let me just say that, from what I could see that night a few weeks ago, she was definitely going easy on you. And from some things Robin told me, she may be even more cruel than I am. So I know the two of you, or three, or even the four of us, are going to have a memorable weekend."

"Of course, Master," Missy replied. She knew the Lady had revealed herself, to get Missy dreading the upcoming weekend. And she wondered if Elizabeth had also been the Lady Joanne back when they dated, or if it had come later. When they were going out, it had been strictly traditional lesbianism. Toys, tongues, fingers, strap-ons, and the like, but no kink.

So as Carolyn, she was looking forward to a chance to fuck Elizabeth again, but as Missy, she was deeply afraid of the Lady Joanne.

Finally, it was *that* Thursday. Missy was in her room by ten am, getting herself ready. She knew that her Owner required her to be completely clean shaven from neck to soles, and she was taking the time to do it right. She would not have been in the least bit surprised to find the Lady Joanne at her door at noon exactly, and she knew she didn't want to give the Lady any reason to torture her more than was already expected.

There was a ring at the doorbell. Actually, it didn't ring, at least, not if you pushed the right sequence, which was two long presses (Morse code for M). If you pressed it that way, it instead played a three second clip of Missy, screaming. It was a way for special visitors to announce themselves.

Missy knew that she would be expected to go to the door, open it, then kneel, awaiting the pleasure of whomever was there. She hurried down to do so, since it was not wise to keep special visitors waiting. They generally had permission to torture her if she disappointed them.

She opened the door, then knelt. Nothing happened. Missy waited, door wide open, kneeling, naked, exposed to any who came by. Of course, the house was on a large parcel, and had a long driveway, so it was unlikely that anyone would see her. But if they did, that was not her problem. She had her orders, and she waited.

Finally, after perhaps five or ten minutes, she looked up. There was a large suitcase on wheels in front of the door, and nothing else. Apparently the delivery driver had been told to leave the case, ring the special ring, and depart.

Missy wheeled the suitcase inside, and saw a note taped to the top that read, "Open me." She did.

Inside, she was astonished to find a girl, barely eighteen, not even five foot tall. She had long honey blonde hair, and decent sized tits, but no pubic hair. Missy could tell this because the girl was naked. Well, not completely. She wore a red leather collar around her neck. It said, "Robin."

The girl, Robin, stood and stretched. Missy wondered how long the girl had been in the suitcase. Hopefully not too long, but you never knew.

"Hello, Missy," Robin said. "The Lady Joanne, my Owner, had me delivered early, so I too could be waiting, whenever she and your Owner arrived. My orders are to be dressed the same as you. I've already had my morning shave, so if you'll show me where to go, we can get ready."

"Of course," replied Missy. "Nice to meet you, at last."

"Likewise," Robin answered.

Noon found both sluts waiting, hooded, cuffed, wearing stockings, garters, and heels, mounted on dildo stands in the dungeon. And it was a good thing, because it wasn't all that long before Missy heard her Owner's familiar steps on the stairs coming down, followed by a set of female steps that were almost certainly those of the Lady Joanne.

Missy heard her Owner saying, "It is agreed, then?"

And the Lady Joanne replied, not whispering this time, as she no longer needed to disguise her identity, "Yes, Donald, it is agreed."

Then Missy heard a familiar whisper in her ear. "Hello, slut! You belong to me, now. Your Owner sold you to me, with the proviso I treat you the same way I was going to treat Robin. Won't that be delicious?"

Missy nodded.

The Lady slapped her face, and said, "Answer your Owner when she asks you a question, bitch!"

"Yes, Mistress," Missy answered submissively, "it will be delicious."

"I know your previous Owner promised you an hour of unlimited orgasms. However, I don't believe in allowing my sluts to come, ever, so you won't be getting that. But you don't mind, do you, slut?"

"No, Mistress, I don't mind." She'd been looking forward to coming, and had already planned how to maximise her orgasms during her hour. But that didn't matter, as she was only property.

"Good. Now I had originally made big plans for Robin this weekend, with you assisting. But instead, they are now big plans for you, with Robin assisting. Would you like to know what those plans are, bitch?"

"If my Mistress would like to tell me, then yes, Mistress, I'd like to know."

"I thought you might. It's like this, slut. I tend to keep my toys for only a few months, up to maybe a year. Then I get rid of them. And no, I don't get rid of them by selling them off. I torture them to death, for my own pleasure. And I've had Robin for almost a year. So can you guess what that means?"

"Yes, Mistress, I can. You were going to torture her to death."

"That's right, slut. Your former Owner, my brother Donald, has always fantasised about torturing a slut to death, but he loved you too much to do it to you. So he sold you to me, with the agreement that I torture you to death, this weekend. Four days, bitch, and maybe longer, since you don't have to worry about going to work next week."