I don’t know how to give up. I refuse to believe I can’t fix things no matter how bad they get. But I’m learning that I can’t fix people. I ca...n’t make someone feel things, or make them want to provide what I need. They either will, or they won’t. People are drawn to me. Men especially. But I’ve only met two people in my life who just did not like me, and that was okay, because I found them despicable anyway. They were not good people. They were not kind people, or even honest people. If a. ' He hissed. No response. He went over to the kitchenetteand putting his glass down on the counter, opened the cutlery draw. Everythingwas in its place and so to hand which was how he liked things to be. Takingout the carving knife he felt the blade. Like a razor he thought. He creptacross the room until he was square behind Clarissa. Holding the knife in twohands he held it aloft before bringing it down on Clarissa. The knife glancedoff her head as his knuckles hit her crown, knocking her. She crawled from her place in the cornerto his chair and looked up at him. “Kneel up, slut,”he said quietly. As she did the chain that wasattached to the ring on the wall moved noisily withher. She was always tethered somehow in the house, eitherwith a long chain or a shorter leash, depending onthe situation. She knelt there, her hands behind herhead as she had been trained, while Sir fondled thelittle cage that encased her sissy clit. It left hersmooth sack free, and his warm hand. Looking down at the floor. I’m getting wet… I can hear him moving, I mustn’t feet, not until I am signaled to do so. He doesn’t speak either, he usually uses body language, or signals to communicate with me. He speaks now and then, particularly if I’m really good – or really bad…I can’t look at him either, not his eyes. I’m not worthy. I will look at him if he asks me to, but not unless that happens. I watch his feet approach me, and stop infront of me briefly, his eyes burning into me. He then.