Brendon sits back relaxedly on his black leather couch, wearing only a pair of white Calvin Klein underwear. His contemporary-styled living room is quiet but for the low mumble of the television as his slaves work busily at grooming the strapping young man's entire body. A mob of slaves file the man's toenails, another group clipping his fingernails. There are slaves reaching deep into his belly button with wet cloth, and one particularly unfortunate slave kneels on the inside of Brendon's shoulder, licking at the bitter sweat that has built up in Brendon's armpit all day. The slave chokes on the horrible taste, thick, dark hairs tangling around his neck, but continues to lick the moist patch beneath his master's arm if he values his life. You and the dark-haired boy who Brendon called 'emo' are perched on the giant's chest, each holding giant razor heads with both hands. You push the razor along the cream-covered skin of the giant's neck and are satisfied each time you bring it away to find a load of cream mixed with stubble, which you dump into a bowl on Brendon's lap, leaving another strip of clean-shaven skin. You move up to the man's chin, running the razor into the curve that leads to his full, reddish pink bottom lip. Warm, deep-scented breath cascades onto you from Brendon's flaring nostrils as he breathes from his nose, his dark eyes fixed on the television. Transfixed on the task at hand, in your own quiet world, you move the razor up to his top lip and stretch your arms to push it upward. The giant flinches and gasps, tearing you out of your daydreams, and you stumble back. A bright red droplet appears on the borderline of his top lip, quickly falling into his opened mouth. His tongue dabs at the wound, his eyes set on your terrified, frozen figure accusingly. Then his left hand flies up to grip you, abandoning its group of grooming slaves and trapping the skinny slave's head in the sweaty fold of his armpit, where the slave dangles helplessly. "Looks like SOMEONE prefers punishment to privilege!!"
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