I can see that she's about to tap out, so I put the scalpel away and let my features soften, shedding the mantle of cruelty we had both been enjoying.

"Ok that's enough for tonight. You did great."

Leaning in, I kiss the purple mouse's cheek, tenderly lapping up one of her salty tears as it threatens to fall onto a thin red scratch. My first task is to ungag her, letting her whine, moan, sob quietly into the air while I work on the straps binding her to the stainless steel table.

As each limb is freed, it begins shivering, not only from the chill of metal but also from the end of her adrenaline high. Her body is vulnerable and drained of energy so I carefully scoop her up and princess carry her over to the couch, with her petite frame barely making a dent into the cushions. She looks particularly frail right now, eyes half-closed as she watches me with those tired but fulfilled eyes.

"Such a good girl" I croon, massaging the soreness from her limbs. "Did you have your fill of fun?" Very quietly, she squeaks, a happy and high-pitched noise that I must pay close attention to hear. Her voice is sore, I'll take care of that later.

Out of our medical kit comes a a burn cream, squeezed out onto my fingers as I reach towards her groin. Once she gives me a small nod of assent, I begin to tenderly rub it into the burnt pelt there. She had wanted a womb mark so badly, and I always had wanted to brand her, so now all we need to do now is see how well it heals up. A fabric pad is secured in place with a few wraps of gauze around her waist. We'll have to avoid that area for a while, but I am curious if the smell of cooked mouse will linger on her.

Next are the skin-deep cuts I had made on her sternum and shoulders, while I "coerced" her to ask for the brand. That had been particularly fun, threatening to dissect her then and there if she wouldn't agree, marking out the lines where I would cleave through flesh and bone each time she "refused." Each laceration got a daub of antiseptic then a number of closure strips, pulling the wound shut and letting it heal more quickly. She was already starting to fall asleep, eyes blinking slowly while I did a final check. Nothing else needed real attention. A few light bruises that would heal on their own, a few scuffs from the leather bindings that were already fading back to normal, and that sore throat.

Once more carrying the mouse, I took her upstairs to the bed, propping her up with some pillows and tuning the tv to nature footage for quiet background noise. I could feel her hand grab at my wrist when I went to turn away but after a quick reassurance that I would be back, she let go.

Milk, heat, cocoa. Her small mug. Don't fill it to the top, her hands are shaky and she probably won't finish it anyways. Back upstairs, I scoot under the covers beside her and wrap an arm around, handing her the mug and helping support it as she drinks, arms trembling less now.

Her head nods, tapping my shoulder before she startles back awake. She's too proud to be put to bed, so I let her drift to sleep, taking the half-full mug from her hands and switching off the tv once I feel her breathing slow. Eventually I'll lie her down, but for right now I think I'll enjoy the dark room, listening to the mouse's light snoring and replaying the memories of our fun over and over in my mind.