The truth is, I love my job. I love watching all the little changes in a girls face, as she breaks just a little bit each day. Most people can’t tell the difference between one naked, tortured girl and another. But me, I’m in the business. I can see all the subtleties that everyone else misses.
Take this nice piece of ass, for example. She used to be some kind of hot-shot banker, her ex-husband had her picked up, he wants us to break her mind and make her give up access to her bank’s security before he sells her into slavery, blah, blah, blah – the usual stuff.
Most guys would look at this bitch, and they’d star at her boobs and her cunt. Maybe a more observant guy might notice the buck of water and the clamps and wonder what exactly I’m gonna to do her. But a guy like me, a guy who kidnaps and tortures women for a living, I can look at her face and know exactly how long she’s been here and how long it will be until she breaks.
Look at her eyes. Look at the way her lips draw up into a little bit of a snarl. She’s scared out of her mind, but she’s still got a little fight left in her. She’s early in her training; I’d say this is about day 4. It’s a magical time when a girl starts to realize that her old life is over.
Over the next 5 or 6 days her face is going to go through such delightful changes. The defiance is going to melt out of her and be replaced by panic and fear. After another week her expression will change again, to hopelessness, and after that, finally acceptance. Then, I like to put them through a few more weeks of torture, just to make sure they’re fully broken.

Fear is an important part of breaking a girl. You have to get her to think about you all the time, even when you’re not there. The anticipation is what really makes her mind crumble. Or hell, maybe I just like watching them shiver and cry.
I creaked the door slowly open. Instantly, she tried to twist her head around. She couldn’t see me of course. All she could see was my shadow, falling over her.
I just stood there for several moments. I enjoyed the way my dark shadow fell across her white skin. As if my shadow alone was claiming ownership over her body. I enjoyed the way she writhed back and forth in terror at the mere sight of my shadow. I guess I’ve always been a poet at heart.