AN: Very short, but enjoy:
You sit in the corner, sipping your coffee, smiling. You finally believe you have perfected your craft.. your art, and it is absolutely gorgeous. Too bad you can't sell it.
You snort and laugh at your joke, it is pretty damn funny if you do say so yourself. Funny, handsome, intelligent and charismatic, what more could a woman ask for?
Apparently, they want a lot more than those qualities- what else they could want you cannot figure out. You have never really dated anyone before and now, in your late forties, you doubt you ever will.
But that doesn't mean you haven't been with a woman before- no, you have been with several- however, none of them had come willingly. You had lost count over the years, maybe ten, maybe twenty, the number really didn't matter to you.
And as they came and went, you honed in on your craft, and now, with number eleven or twenty one, or which ever number she is, you are confident you have it down.
You will break her. Hell, it has already started; and it has been a lot easier then you thought. Just a random woman you had grabbed off the street a few nights ago; and you had already convinced her that she had been there for six weeks.
In a few hours time, you had convinced her you were her doctor, that she couldn't breathe on her own just yet, and that her vision was gone.
And you chuckle to yourself.
Because none of that is true.
And you simply watch as she continues to convince herself that something is wrong. Well.. something is wrong, but it isn't anything she is figuring out.
And soon, she will realize that she will be completely dependent on you; for all her needs.
Because sensory deprivation is the best form of torture you have ever found.
And you are the expert on it; and she is your new research.