I have everything I want in life.

Even if my grandfather hadn't left me 3.6 million dollars, I still made investments with my own money that netted me an additional 1.7 million.

I have a master's degree from a prestigious school. So what if they accepted me because my family is famous. My 4.0 sure as shit wasn't purchased.

Yes, I was blessed with genetics, blonde hair and blue eyes and a thick ass. My breasts were perky, cleavage wonderful, even without a bra my DD cup needed little support. My waist was tiny, even before I became a gym rat, working out 6 days a week.

My house? Bought when I was 22 because I worked 40 hours a week the day I turned 14. I saved and saved. I even learned how to do electrical work, drywalling, basic carpentry, because that's a great way to save money. Oh and how could I forget, the whole basement was soundproofed.

I have a boyfriend, he's loving and sweet and great in bed. I care too much about his love and his smile and his mother to get from him what I crave day to day.

Because, let's face it, you can't torture someone you actually care about.

You can't bind their balls individually and so tight you swear this time they will burst.

You can't place 40 clothespins on each tit and slap them off with a riding crop and a few hours later simply eat dinner with that same person.

And you definitely can't inflate a buttplug to it's max capacity after administering an enema, forcing stomach pains and tears all night to anybody you share a bed with.

There's no possible way I could ever kidnap someone and hold them against their will, as sexy and perverted and psychotic as that sounds.

But, I could keep the details of our arrangement vague, and draw up in the contract that I abide by no safeword, you're never free to leave on your own volition, and I bare no legal responsibility should something going awry.

So, won't you be my torture toy?