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"Slower, Clyde." A deep voice demanded. The blade's edge stuttered in annoyance, the aggravated emotions of the man who wielded it apparent only to you. The dark ambience within the small space held little room to accurately see the man positioned in front of your figure, other than the outline of his suit and hat, and a piercing blue eye that seemed to penetrate your every whim. The man seated behind him, however, was another story. His figure barely noticeable, his facial features obscured in darkness, yet his hands settled along the cool, wooden desk centered in the room, highlighted only by a lone amber lamp; His fingers, long and slender, twitching slightly as Clyde edged the blade along your skin.
Clyde breathed steadily, his eyebrows furrowed in irritation. He adjusted his grip on the blade, the low amber light glinting off the knife's edge, and placed it along your bare thigh again. You whimpered, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you dared to watch his movements. His free hand rested upon your skin, his hand unusually cool against the heat of your body, causing more discomfort to your disheveled figure. The blade danced along your flesh, Clyde angling the knife right above the meat of your thigh.
"No, the other leg." Clyde's hand twitched again, the knife slightly moving; however, he quickly followed, listening to the man's orders. "Actually, the cheek," The man covered in shadow clicked his tongue, seemingly pleased with his new desire. "Yes, along the cheek." His voice seemed to outright whine, his usual stern tone turning into a breathless whisper. Clyde paused, not wanting to spend the energy to look at the mysterious figure behind him, positioning himself to cut along your cheek. "Slow, methodical," The unknown figure practically panted within his seat, the characteristic sound of a belt coming undone filling the room, "Show me, Clyde."
Your hands gripped the chair, the bindings taut against your wrist, as the blade slowly sliced along the tight skin of your cheek. The cold blade seeped into the corner of your flesh, the sensation, once a soft chill, now a raging fire. The feeling of warm, thick blood dribbling down your skin, now unmistakable. "Yes." The voice practically whined, the sounds of soft slapping beginning to fill the environment. "Perfect, that's it, Clyde." The voice moaned the other man's name, the sound of skin on skin becoming louder. Although he was obscured, his figure still shrouded by shadow, you knew his eyes were entranced on you.
Your eyes flailed wildly, tears spilling onto your reddened cheeks, stinging the open wound that continued to singe your skin. Your head wrenched in a foolish attempt to escape, your hands attempting to burst free from its bindings, slicing your wrists. A large hand snapped toward your face, Clyde’s fingers gripped along your cheekbone, his thumb digging into the open mark, causing you to whimper in pain. "Stop moving," Clyde ordered, his hand clapped around your features, squeezing, tears flooding your vision at the intimate pain that devoured your mind.
Your cries were muffled as his hand continued to deepen, a wild look now dancing along his eyes as they trained on you, his gaze analyzing his handiwork. "Now. Be quiet, and sit still." He released your face, your figure recoiling into the chair as best it could, your muscles shivering from fear, your eyes wide, staring into his, complete understanding. "Good," he replied. Clyde stood tall, setting the knife down and using his free hand to pick up his hat, his other running through his dark hair. A bit of sweat adorned his forehead, the amber lighting glistening along his features, his eyes now diverted to look at the man seated behind him.
"Now, Hendrick, anything else you would like done?" His tone was callous, almost unimpressed, and distraught at Hendrick, who continued to whine and grip the table before him. His two hands, once splayed along the wooden table, were now one. Long, slender fingers grasped the edge of the material, while his other was now unseen. The amber lighting provided some answer, as the length of his other arm pumped up and down, now slow and precise, the moving wrinkles in his suit apparent. "Y-yes, Clyde. I’m not finished." He breathlessly moaned into the void, the fingers gripping the table with more force, his knuckles practically white.
Clyde settled his hat back alongside the top of his head, his eyebrows furrowed in aggravation. "Perhaps, something more suitable for an interrogation?" He retorted, his eyes piercing Hendrick, who had suddenly come to a slow stop. The motion of his arm stalled, a hushed whimper resounding within the room. "This is a science, Clyde." Hendrick's stern tone returned, yet a hint of breathlessness was apparent under his words. "We are here to study. You consider this an interrogation, but I witness an art form." He leaned forward, the lightning revealing parts of his face, his jaw taunt, his lips thin, yet anything above still masked by the blanket of darkness within the room.
Like Clyde, a glimmer of sweat trickled down the sides of his face, parts of his skin flushed as he renewed his pace, wet sounds reverberating along the walls once more. "You’ll stop when I say stop,” He seethed, his panting returning once more, “Our subject here can provide ample demonstration. Now," Hendrick leaned back, his head tilting slightly, his lips smirking as he bit into the tender flesh of his bottom lip, "Keep going. I will have more." Clyde tensed, his shoulders rising, and a silent sigh echoed through his features. He returned his attention to you, grabbing the knife and analyzing its features with his steady hands, "As you wish, Director."