It is disappointing to have a slave who does not appreciate what I give him and especially the food I allow him to eat. He deserves punishment by turning on his hands that refused and pushed away the bowl I had prepared for him. He is lying on his stomach with his hands blocked by two handcuffs and his leash. He is obliged to keep them outside the cell he is in and I can step on his fingers and hands at will with my stiletto-heeled boot. I crush them mercilessly, climb on his toes with all my weight, turn my soles as if I were putting out a cigarette. He begs my forgiveness as he moans, I continue to walk on his hands and fingers; I get down on my knees stomping on them and raising my heels to let him feel my full weight. Only when his limbs are red and sore do I decide to stop and abandon him to his fate.
