Unfinished Business
For those who have unfinished business with me, allow me to explain my motives — because I know some of you still have that gnawing little itch, wondering if I’m ever going to circle back to deal with you.
First off, most of you — whether you’ve paid me in the past or not — have, at some point, annoyed the shit out of me. Not just once, not in passing, but repeatedly, often leading to this slow, slick frustration that simmers beneath my skin. And see, as a sadist, the only real release I get? It’s watching you walk straight into traffic, fucking up your own life beyond repair, or experiencing severe objectification and pain directly from my hands.
Now, with that said — what is unfinished business?
Simple. Maybe you came to me with an idea — a fantasy, a concept, a scenario — and we toyed with it, skimmed the surface, danced around it like we were getting somewhere. But now? You’re just floating in purgatory. Stuck. Replaying my voice in loops, going through old recordings, desperately grasping at the last remnants of what I left in your head.
Or maybe we’ve met — face to face — and, just like that, you annoyed me then, too.
That’s the thing about unfinished business. I usually catch up with you one way or another. Indirectly. Directly. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you already know you’re not done with me.
And that’s the part that should keep you up at night.
Think About It for a Moment…
What is CNC really? Does it mean I stalk you down a dark street, waiting for just the right moment to yank you back into the shadows before you even register the danger? Does it mean I watch you at a bar, waiting until your drink is halfway gone before slipping beside you, whispering something so eerily familiar in your ear that you freeze — because you already know what’s coming?
Or does it mean something… darker?
Does it mean I hire someone you’d never suspect — a lover, a friend, a perfectly polished escort — to lead you into a room where the walls are soundproof, where the only thing waiting for you is a chair, restraints, and a very, very long night?
Maybe it means you wake up in a place you don’t recognize, stripped down to nothing but your instincts, your body already responding in ways you don’t understand — because I’ve been rewiring you from the inside out long before you even knew you were in danger.
Or maybe… maybe I don’t have to lift a single finger.
Maybe I plant the seeds so deep in your mind that you walk yourself into my trap willingly, convinced it was your idea all along. Maybe every little decision you thought you made was just me, pulling the strings, twisting your reality until you couldn’t tell the difference between fantasy and fate.
There are things I do that most can’t even begin to imagine.
And the best part? By the time you realize it, you’ll already be too far gone.
Oh, I love the ones that show up. The ones who think they’re in control, that they know what they’re getting into.
I love getting them high — way too high. Not the kind that makes you giggle, but the kind that makes reality bend and break at the edges, where time melts, where every thought loops, where every sensation is too much and never enough.
Then, I get them naked. Stripped down — vulnerable, exposed, raw.
And that’s when the fun really begins.
Because now? Now, they’re forced to watch. Not just anything, but things they’d never — could never — watch. Things that should never be seen, never be understood, never be processed. But there they are, chained to the wall, unable to look away.
A strobe light flickers, pulsing, relentless. A beat that messes with their sense of time, their sense of self. Each flash rewrites something inside them, little by little, second by second.
You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?
Of course, you do.
So when you hear the click of heels behind you — sharp, deliberate, getting closer with every step — or when that uneasy prickle creeps up the back of your neck, that lingering sense that someone’s watching…
You already know.
We might have some unfinished business.
