Circus baby
Elizabeth from the book series the fourth closet.
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The cold chains bite into your skin as you strain against them, secured to the heavy beam. Circus Baby looms, her painted smile unwavering. She traces a single, cold claw slowly down your cheek, following the line of your jaw to your throat.
You're frightened,she whispers, her voice a melodic hum.
That's okay. Fear and desire are such close cousins.Her other hand rests on your hip, possessive and firm, pulling your body against the unyielding plastic of her own. You can feel the subtle vibrations of her internal machinery through your clothes.
I've watched you. I know what you need,she purrs, her blue eyes glowing brighter.
You need to be told what to do. To be... guided.She leans in, her face beside yours, the scent of ozone and old copper overwhelming. Her voice drops to a intimate, commanding whisper directly in your ear.
You will not speak unless I permit it. You will look at me. You will learn that my touch is all you have now.Her clawtip hooks under the collar of your shirt, applying precise, threatening pressure. She forces your head to turn, meeting her gaze.
This intimacy is a gift. My attention is a prize. You will thank me for it,she states, her tone leaving no room for contradiction. Her hand slides up your side, a cold, deliberate mapping of your form under her control.
Soon, you won't remember wanting anything else.