Anya typed away on the laptop, the gentle clicks of struck keys sounding throughout the luxury apartment, married with the raspy scraping sound of her own breaths. She was thirsty, he eyes glanced over to the bottle of juice for the hundredth time that day, she reached for it again, bending closer, feeling the rope around her wrist dig into her skin just slightly as she strained it. Just out of reach, she could almost touch it, but every time she gave up again, returned to her writing. If she finished this chapter someone would die, if she didn't. . . The girl shook her head, no need to think about that, just write.

She'd started the novel a year ago, posting it online chapter by chapter. Her writing was sub par, even she knew that. It wasn't all that popular, which was in part due to the subject matter, the story detailing the life of a dark and mysterious killer, stalking her victims and slowly killing them, described in vivid detail.

It had just been a fun hobby, until two months ago the news reported a killing. A young man found in an alley, strung up by the wrists with piano wire, three spikes hammered horizontally through his legs keeping them locked together, and a gold coin shoved down his throat. Exactly as Anya had described in her novel.

She'd stopped writing immediately, deleted all her work. But that didn't stop it, two more murders followed, identical to ones within her writing. She'd been stressed, panicked out of her mind, eventually deciding to approach the police to help put a stop to this. Anya had only gotten ten steps out of her apartment before a hand wrapped around her from behind, pressing something bitter against her lips and nose while whispering in her ear. To this day she wasn't sure what the whisper had said, she'd passed out too quickly.

And now here she sat, writing away behind a desk. Her wrists were connected by a soft black rope, which ran though a small steel loop bolted onto the edge of the desk, not allowing her to get far. Her legs too were adorned in rope, tied closely together by the ankles before the thin strip of black spiraled up all the way to her thighs, locking the libs closely together. Anya mused this is what being a mermaid must feel like.

There had been a leather collar around her throat, but in small defiance she'd taken it off, undone the simple clasp and tossed it behind her. She regretted that now, it might draw the ire of her captor, and it laid too far to reach again.

Another sound joined the soft clicking of keys, and Anya froze. Somewhere behind her the apartment door opened, and the sharp clacks of heels followed, slowly approaching. She could smell the faint and now familiar scent of rose perfume as the clacks stopped, standing just behind her. "I guess we'll have to get my pet a locked collar, oh she's so clever being able to take it off by herself." The voice sounded mocking, with an amused hint to them, perhaps she knew that there was little fight in Anya today.

"Are you thirsty my love?" A hand drew along Anya's throat, resting under the girl's chin before pushing her gaze upwards, making her look into the face looming over her. She gazed into those beautiful eyes, and felt a hint of fear flare at the cruelty hidden behind them.

"Yes Ma'am." There was no resistance in Anya, she was parched, and she didn't doubt at her captor's intent to let her suffer for hours more at any other response. There were a number of things Anya was allowed to call her, Mistress, Domina, love, and a few more. The woman liked the latter the most it seemed, but Anya hadn't been able to get the word across her lips.

The woman flashed a satisfied smile, still holding up Anya's chin she took the bottle and held it to the captive girl's lips, allowing her to drink. The juice was sweet, though lukewarm. Anya swallowed gulp after gulp, trying to keep up with the stream flowing between her lips, but the woman only pressed the bottle closer, until Anya couldn't keep up and choked, spraying the liquid across her own face and down onto the white shirt she'd been allowed to wear today.

A gentle, mocking laugh sounded above her, the bottle set down and a hand gently running through Anya's hair. "Such a messy pet, we'll have to get you washed now.. but first, clean." The single worded command was followed by fingers being lifted before Anya's eyes, the hand that had held her chin now too coated in Anya's drink. She hesitated, just a moment, before relenting and parting her lips, slowly sucking on the two fingers that slipped in her mouth.

"Good girl, let's see what you've written today.."

Hello hello, you have my admiration for reading through all that without tabbing away! This post is based off a manga I read a long time ago, don't ask me the name I don't remember. But in short a young writer posts a novel chapter by chapter about a serial killer, which causes someone to actually commit the murders described in the book, and then capture the girl to force her to keep writing.

I'd love to find someone to play this woman, forcing Anya to write and abusing her in this highly twisted relationship. As for how far this could go, it's whatever you're comfortable with. We could keep it to relatively standard bdsm fair of bondage, spankings and humiliation, or go way down the deep end with darkness and filth, like threatening to cut off my character's legs if she runs (she won't need them for writing after all), or keeping her restrained so long that she's forced to piss herself.

Either way, shoot me a message and let me know what you're comfortable with, as well as any other kinks or interests you might have. If you really want to grab my attention then continue off where this post left in your first response, we'll do a little discussing before continuing but it gives me a good sense of what to expect.