“I deeply apologise,” he sobbed. His arms waved through the air like sails of a windmill. His head was trapped between Her legs and She could clearly see the despair in his eyes. She loved to see him like this, so helpless, so scared. He whimpered: “please don’t choke me to death.” She laughed. “Famous last words, uh?” His eyes nearly popped out of his head as panic drenched his voice: “I will do whatever You want.” She smirked and said: “I know you will, buttercup, but for how long, that’s the question.” He didn’t think (he seldom did, as a matter of fact): “a week!” She frowned and anger slipped into Her eyes. “One stupid week? Are you serious?” He panicked: “a month!” She shook Her head and tapped Her finger on his forehead with each and every word: “do you know what I think, pumpkin? I think you should sleep on it for a while.” She took a squeeze at him and his cries for mercy slipped away into darkness.