You've been my slave for some time now. You've always been a good boy for me, obedient and docile, serving me in every way I demand. Just look at you now: down on your knees, masturbating humbly at my feet. I've trained you well, but this is the end of the line. It's time for you to be replaced. Look at the glistening blade of this sharp knɨfe, still dirty from its last use. I'm going to give you a choice, slave: enjoy one last orgasm on your knees and then die for me, or walk away right now, blue balled and purposeless. Still masturbating? I can see that you're unable to pull yourself away from me; the pull of my sensual curves, covered in shiny fabric, is too much for you to resist. There's still time to save yourself, but, if you don't, your end will be brutał. I'll slowly cut your veins open and watch the bløød drain from your body. Next, I'll nick an artery or two, watching the stream of bløød turn into enormous gushes before delivering those final, fatal slices of my blade. I like to play with my prey, and that's just what you are today.