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Wellies. High heeled boots. Flat heeled boots. Any boots, to be honest. Gloves. Full-head masks/hoods. Knives. Guns. Leather. Cuffs. Rope. Fishnet tights (not stockings). Dirty vans. Scissors. Rain. Pillar-box red lipstick.

If... if... I ever get a chance, this would be my recipe for a perfect night of debauchery. Taken, torn, and terrified. Yummy. it's absolutely what I am all about.

Oh, and eyes. I'm about the eyes too.

But that's later.

That's after I've been captured, and hooded, and thrown into the back of a van (or dragged out of one... either way!), and had my tights and clothes snipped and ripped off me. It's after I've felt the blade of a knife against my throat, and a cock in my cunt. It's after my hair and make-up's been all messed up (think Amy Winehouse, heh) by the hood. It's after I've tasted my own tears and heard my heart beating like a drum.

Then there's the eyes.

Looking at the horrid mess I'm in. The eyeliner smudged. The lipstick smeared. The cheeks tear-stained, and the hair wild. And the words that accompany it. Say what you see.

I love all that.