Part IV - The Knife

Part IV - The Knife

Manson lifted me from the floor, cradling me like a baby. He carried me to the bed and laid me back on the smooth black sheets, cool against my back. He crawled over me, arms and legs straddling me like a beast over his prey, and kissed me again. He pushed my head back, so my throat was exposed, and slowly moved down. He nipped at me between kisses, then those nips became bites, as if he was going to eat me alive. My hands were still cuffed, and I desperately wanted to touch him, hold him, scratch him. I wanted to make him bleed again.

But all my hands could reach was the crotch of his jeans. He was hard, pressed against the fabric when my fingers made contact and I began to stroke him, hoping desperately that it would get him to undress faster. He responded to my touch, grinding against me for a few moments as he bit into me, right at the curve between my neck and my shoulder, and I shrieked from the pain.

“Manson, please…” I could hardly manage the words. “Please...I want you to-”

“Shhh, shh, little angel.” He pulled away from me, though it seemed like it was a struggle. His hair had flopped down and he pushed it back into place, breathing deeply. “You’ll get your reward.” His fingers traced up my chest, between my breasts. He hooked one finger under my thin bra strap, snapping it against my skin. “You’ll be rewarded...slowly...and painfully.”

I growled in my enthusiasm, grinding my hips against him. He leapt up from the bed and stalked back into the shadows, so I could barely see him for a moment. When he returned, the knife was in his hand. He flipped it open and closed in flashes of metal, like magic between his quickly moving fingers.

The sounds of the party outside seemed so far away - another world entirely. The darkness that surrounded us could have stretched on forever, the walls of the house non-existent. We were in some other world, a world where pleasure and pain, fear and excitement, were all the same.

I wasn’t just performing for the sake of honoring a dare - even my desperate drive for release paled in comparison to my simple desire to indulge. To experience the unknown, the frightening, the forbidden.

Right now, the unknown was a gleaming blade in Manson’s hand, coming ever closer.

My entire body pulsed with my heart’s pounding, adrenaline flooding my brain. Manson’s hand reached out, stroked through my hair, and gripped it. The tug against my scalp pulled my head back, just enough to expose my throat once again, still stinging from the bites he’d left there.

“I love how excited you look,” he mused. “Your eyes light up. Your whole body is shaking...I can hear the way your breath is shuddering.” He chuckled. “That’s what I like to see.”

He leaned over me. In the flickering candlelight, his face was a mask of moving shadows and odd shapes, a dark Picasso. “When I pulled this knife on those assholes...they looked so goddamn surprised,” he mused, his voice soft. “They went on and on about how I tried to kill them. I never even tried to hurt them, Jess. I don’t like to hurt people...not...not like that.”

He pressed the flat of the blade against my cheek. The metal was shockingly cold and I flinched - but I had nowhere to go. His grip on me kept me still. The blade caressed me, gentle and dangerous. I had begun to regulate my breathing, the better to keep myself entirely still. It was like a meditation, that slow and lingering moment. I was so still that I could feel every sensation in my body: the prickling of goosebumps over my skin, the shaking in my legs that refused to stop, the warmth and tension in my lower abdomen, and the swell of my clit, aching to be touched.

His knee moved between my legs, forcing them apart. The knife was resting right against my jawline, but then he moved it lower, until the flat of the blade pressed against my throat. I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

“No, no, no, Jess,” he spoke gently, barely above a whisper. “Look at me. I need to see your eyes.”

He paused as I opened my eyes again, searching my expression carefully before he smiled. “Good girl. So brave.” His knee pressed up against me, right against my sensitive, swollen clit. I gasped at the contact, a hard shudder going through my body. I moaned, and my hips began to grind again, rubbing myself against him.

“What a filthy angel. Look at you: you need it that badly? Grinding against me like a puppy?” He pressed his knee against me harder, so that the intensity of the pressure against my clit was painful. But I still kept grinding, whining, moaning deep in my throat. The added fear that too much movement could cause the blade to cut into me only made it hotter.

The roughness of his jeans against my sensitive flesh made my eyes well up with tears, but I didn’t stop. Even in the dim light, I could see the dampness my arousal was leaving on his knee, the fabric glistening. He leaned close, and the urge to kiss him again overwhelmed me. But I couldn’t reach his lips, I couldn’t bridge the tiny gap between us with the knife at my throat.

“Do you remember your safeword?” he said. His voice was tight, rough, as if he were struggling to control himself. It had been only minutes - seconds? hours? an eternity? - since he’d last asked me that. But I understood now that my confirmation reassured him.

My response was soft, my voice barely a breath, heavy with lust. “Yes...I remember…”

Suddenly, the knife was no longer pressed to my throat. His hand disentangled itself from my hair and wrapped around my neck, squeezing just enough to stifle my breathing but not cut it off entirely. The sensation of struggling to breath sent chills of pleasure through me, and I pulled against my handcuffs, the metal biting into my skin.

Manson moved his knee away from my cunt, and I cried out in frustration. “N-no! Touch me please...don’t...don’t…” He smiled as I squirmed, my hips bucking, striving for contact of any kind. “Please, Manson, I need it...please…” I gasped as his grip tightened, pressing hard against the sides of my neck until, after a brief rush of lightheadedness, his fingers loosened and I groaned. My skin was tingling, every nerve alight. I wanted to feel his body pressed tightly against me, I wanted him inside me.

He’d really gotten me. I felt small and pathetic, so beyond any pride that I was about to start begging him to fuck me. But words were hard, and stringing them together into coherent sentences was even harder. The result was whimpers and disjointed words, bubbling from my mouth in a useless stream as I tried to convey how desperately I needed his touch.

“Aww, my poor little Jess,” he laughed at me, laughed at my uselessness, my helplessness. “What’s wrong, hmm? What do you want?” I whined even louder, straining against his hand, writhing. If he wouldn’t touch, then I desperately wanted to touch my myself, I slipped my cuffed hands beneath my skirt, whimpering until my fingers slid between the wet folds of my labia. God, yes...pleasure radiated through my body -

“Oh, no, no, we can’t have that.”

Suddenly he was straddling me, the knife set aside so he could pull my hands away from between my legs. I fought him all the while, begging and cursing. It surprised me, at first, when he produced a small key from his pocket and unlocked one of my wrists - but my surprise turned to horror when instead of releasing both my wrists, he used the cuff to secure my arm to the bed frame.

“No, no, no, Manson, please, please, please!”

He secured one wrist, and then the other - producing another pair of handcuffs from his bedside table. My arms were spread wide, touching myself made utterly impossible. I just wanted to touch - him, myself, anything! It was sheer torture that I couldn’t. My lust-filled frustration felt like a vibrating, screaming alarm in my chest. I couldn’t take the teasing, the waiting, the torment, I couldn’t!

“I told you I’d make you cry,” Manson said, sitting back to look at me and shaking his head. “Little angels need to learn not to touch themselves without permission, don’t they?” He forced my legs apart, slapping my thighs sharply so I’d spread them wider as I yelped and shrieked. With my pussy fully exposed, spread and lewd for his eyes to feast upon, he said, “Now I have to punish you. You’ll still get your reward, but first you need a reminder about obedience.” His voice was slow and gentle, as if he were speaking to someone small and insignificant. A sob escaped me, although my tears had yet to fall.

“Please, Manson, please, I’m sorry, please just...just...ahhh…” I thrust my hips up demandingly. My brain was flooded with thoughts of his fingers pressing into me, spreading me...thoughts of his mouth closing over me, suckling me, his tongue exploring inside. I was going to lose my mind. I was going to scream, cry, anything to convince him to give me the pleasure I so desperately craved. But I was bound, and although tugging at my shackles relieved some of my tension, it did absolutely nothing to convince him to give me what I wanted.

“Naughty girl,” he said. “You look so cute when you try to get away. What a little masochist you are.” He looked down at my cunt, dampening the sheets beneath me, a needy, swollen mess. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he reached over to his bedside table and picked up one of the candles.

“See all this lovely, hot wax?” He tipped the candle slightly, so the wax accumulating inside its walls glistened and rolled. “I’m going to spread you apart, hold you open, and let this drip right onto your clit, since you want to touch so badly.” I shuddered, whimpering at the thought, and he smiled sympathetically. “I don’t blame you. I know it’s so hard to be good when you want it so badly. But that’s what punishment is for: so you can learn to be a good girl.”

“Yes, Master,” I sniffled, hands clenched into fists as I prepared for the burning pain.

“That’s good, accepting your punishment so sweetly.” He touched my face gently, and I leaned into his hand. But the gentleness couldn’t last long. His hand left my face, tracing down my chest and stomach. He tugged up the edge of my skirt, tucking it into the waistband so he had better access. He watched my face and his fingers stroked down, ever lower - then between my lips. I gasped sharply. He rubbed over my clit - lightly, barely touching, so light I wanted to scream.

“Please, Master, please…” I groaned, panting. He laughed at my pleas and spread his fingers, pushing apart my labia and exposing me. He hovered the candle closer, watching my expression go from frustration to terror.

“Fuck! Please...please...fuck…” I sucked in my breath, uncertain how much pain I should prepare myself for. How badly would it burn? How long would it last?

“You look so cute when you’re scared,” he murmured. “Try not to scream too loud, angel. Although I don’t think anyone will hear you anyway.”

He tipped the candle, and two tiny droplets of wax fell. They clung to my skin, and for a moment it was like fire: a split-second of burning, terrifying, enough to make me shriek. Then it was gone, and only the swiftly hardening wax droplets remained, black against my skin.

Manson tipped the candle again, and more droplets fell. I groaned from between my clenched teeth. I was so tense with anticipation that when the burn hit my skin, it took all my self-control not to scream. Manson paused his torture for a moment to rub his fingers over my clit. His touch was rougher this time, the wax sliding off my skin as he massaged me in a circular motion. Pleasure radiated through me, so intense that I tried to squeeze my legs together, but he slapped my thighs again, scolding, “Don’t try to get away, Jess. Take your punishment like a good girl.”

I shook as I forced my legs to stay open. Instead of spreading me again, Manson held the candle over my thigh and dripped the hot wax onto my stinging skin. The pain was less frightening, but I still whimpered at every drop, biting my lip. Soon my skin was spotted with wax, drips and splatters covering me.

Manson set aside the candle, looking over his handiwork like an artist surveying his canvas. His fingers traced along my inner thighs, making my breath catch. “Remember that from now on: no touching without my permission.”

“I’ll remember, Master,” I said, then held my breath as he spread me again. With two fingers holding me open, he used his middle finger to rub me, focusing his attention on my clit. “How does that feel, angel? Do you want it faster? Harder?”

“Yes, please!” I gasped. He increased his speed, and my pleasure became a knot within me, growing tighter and tighter, spreading. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, letting myself sink into the ecstasy, letting it consume me. I would cum if he kept it up for only a minute more...just moments more…

I squirmed up against his hand, whining desperately. I was so close...so close…

“Not yet.” He pulled his hand away, and I shrieked in fury.

“Fuck! No, Manson, please!” I strained against the cuffs, the growl that came out of my chest absolutely beastly. But Manson just laughed in disbelief.

“What a spoiled little thing. You shouldn’t curse at me, Jess.” He reached forward, roughly grabbing my chin. “You shouldn’t have done that. It was very bad. Do you know what happens to bad girls?”

My temper was still high. I wanted to snap at his hand, but thought better of it. “Stop teasing me!” I growled, ignoring his question. “Please! I just to cum, dammit, please!”

“You seem to be under the impression that you deserve it: that it’s not something I’ll deny you in a moment if you don’t keep up your good behavior.” He grinned. “Bad girls get spanked, Jess.”

The blood drained out of my face. He’d spanked me already, and the sting had been intense enough that I didn’t particularly want to experience it again. Perhaps some small, masochistic part of me did - but it was a part I was trying very hard to ignore.

“I’m sorry,” I said tensely. Then, a little more repentantly, “I’m sorry, Master. I’m...I’m not good at waiting.”

“I can tell,” he said. “And you’re not sorry, not yet. But you will be.”

I had never imagined that I could be kept on the edge for so long. Could I even remember what it was like not to be horny?

Manson repositioned himself, pressing one knee upon my thigh to hold it spread, and used his left hand to press down on my other leg. My pussy was held open too, except now I had no option to even attempt to close my legs. My breathing quickened, shuddering through my chest, as I suddenly realized that he hadn’t meant he was going to spank my ass.

He was going to spank my pussy.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide. “I...I don’t think I can take it…”

“If it’s a limit for you, I won’t do it,” he said firmly. The fog of my pleasured headspace cleared for a moment, allowing me to see the clarity of reality: I wasn’t truly at his mercy. I could stop him. A single word would put an end to it.

I thought for a moment. As scared as I was...I wanted to try it. I wanted to experience this, at least once. I wanted to see how far I could push this affinity for pain. Just knowing what he intended to do was bringing a new rush of excitement over me. I took a deep breath and said, “Do it. I remember my safeword. I’ll say it if I need to.”

“You’re sure?” His fingers beneath my chin locked my gaze to his. I nodded.

“I’m sure.”

The moment his hand made contact, stinging pain exploded through me. It carried deep inside me, throbbing. I tried to squeeze my legs shut, but of course, it was useless. My shrieking ended with a desperate gasp for breath, “Shit...aahh...Master, please…”

Another spank, and then another. The pain left me giddy, high off the sensation. My body was tingling, electrified, my muscles tensing and shaking in anticipation of the next slap. My clit was aching. As much as it hurt, I couldn’t deny the pleasure of it.

Manson was merciless, leaving just a moment between every slap of his hand so that I could catch my breath - the better to scream again with the next strike. I could only imagine if the party-goers downstairs knew what was going on. If only they knew that the girl wearing angel wings was making an absolute slut of herself upstairs, moaning and begging to be hurt more, more, more.

“Please, Master!” I ground the words out, hiccupping on the tears that were now flowing freely. I wasn’t sure when I’d started crying. They weren’t just tears of pain: they were freeing, refreshing. It felt good to cry. It felt good to endure the pain, knowing it was of my own will, knowing I was allowed to cry and beg and struggle, knowing I was allowed to experience it exactly as I needed to.

But I was out of breath. The pain was intense. Instead of spanking me again, Manson reached out, his hand still hot from striking me, and brushed his fingers over my cheek, wiping the tears away.

“Are you still okay, Jess?” he said.

I took a moment to sob before I composed myself. “I’m good...I’m...fuck...I need...I want…”

“You’ve been punished enough.” His face was so close and gently, so gently, his lips brushed against mine. “Do you deserve to cum now? Hm? Do you think you deserve it?”

If he’d asked me earlier, I would have screamed that yes! Of course I deserved it! I deserved it, I wanted it, I needed it! But now…

“Only if you think I deserve it,” I whispered. “I’m...I’m your slave, right? So I do what you say, so…” I met his eyes with my tearful ones, giggling a little at the sheer, overwhelming sensations of it all. ”Only if you want me to cum.”

His eyes widened, shock evident on his face. I waited, trembling, hoping desperately for his mercy. I didn”t have to wait long.

”What a good girl. What a very good girl.”

He moved back slightly, gripping my legs as he lowered himself between them. He kissed along my wax-splattered thighs, lingering in the places where he felt my breath shake. As he hovered there, lips just inches away from my pussy, he looked up at me and grinned. “Say please.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. “Please, Master, please will you-”

He started slowly, but it still cut off my words as efficiently as a slap.

It was just his breath, first: an exhale across my wet, sensitive skin. Then his tongue, the very tip, slid over my clit. I groaned, and he licked me again. He flicked his tongue back and forth slowly over that swollen nub. Every flick made my body jerk, the pleasure so sharp and sudden it was almost painful. I panted, whimpering as I watched him. He glanced up at me again, then his mouth closed over me entirely. The heat encompassed me, his tongue licking and lapping at my arousal, probing into my hole, teasing around the entrance, caressing every bit of me as I wiggled helplessly.

He kept watching me as he pleasured me, and he grinned as my face contorted with pleasure. I squeezed my legs around his head, shuddering as his tongue swirled over my clit. He would suck and lick, again and again, building me up until I was hovering right at the edge of the orgasm that had been taunting me for hours now.

“That’s going to make me cum, Master,” I said shakily. “P-please...please...let me cum…”

I was afraid he would stop, terrified he would deny me again - instead he slid two fingers inside me, stroking my inner walls, thrusting into me as he suckled at my clit. It didn’t just push me over the edge - it drop-kicked me over, mercilessly, sending me screaming into orgasm. My entire body shook, my cuffs rattling against the bed frame. Every thrust of his fingers inside drew my orgasm out, until I could hardly breath, until my eyes rolled back.

He raised his head, chuckling, chin wet, eyes bright. I lay limp against the pillows, panting, trying to return myself to reality

“I...oh my god…” I had to gulp at the air, as if I had been drowning. “Manson...that was…”

“Oh, you’re not done yet, angel.”

He picked up the knife again - I watched it catch the candlelight and flash. He brought it close, down between my spread legs. Its wicked sharp tip came nearer, nearer...and I held my breath as he traced it lightly down my shaved mound, the metal cold and unforgiving.

I sucked in my breath as the knife tapped my clit. The shock nearly made me jump. I began to whimper, watching fearfully as he teased at my sensitive flesh with the flat of the blade, throbbing in the wake of my orgasm. It felt good...so good… even though it was just the barest stimulation. The smooth cold texture of the metal had me twitching, my nerves on fire after being brought to such a peak.

”Manson, please…” My voice was a whine, heavy with lust. He put on a mocking expression of sympathy.

”Aww, is that not enough for the little angel? Need a bit more, hm? Perhaps something to fill you up? You really seemed to like my fingers inside you.”

He flipped the knife in his hand, so he was holding it with the blade facing toward himself and the handle extended. Carefully, with the sharpness of the knife tucked within the curved grip of his hand, he began to probe my entrance with the handle. It was hard, but warm from his hand. The edges were rounded, smooth as it rubbed over my wet, swollen flesh.

”You”re going to get off on this knife, Jess,” he said. ”And I”m going to hold you open, nice and still, so you don”t get hurt.”

I was moaning even before he entered me. He pressed the handle inside, the foreign object stretching my walls and causing me to throb around it. I leaned my head back, eyes squeezed shut, my juices dripping with renewed enthusiasm. Even the smallest of movements felt good, the endorphin rush of my orgasm heavy in my blood. Manson moved slowly as he fucked the handle in and out of me, every thrust making my muscles clench with pleasure.

”Look at me, Jess. Right now. Don”t you dare look away. I want to see all your pretty tears as you cum all over this knife for me, understand?”

Looking him in the eyes meant feeling all the humiliation of my predicament come crashing down on me again. The movement of his knife had me gasping, shuddering, whining louder and louder until Manson suddenly pressed his hand over my mouth.

”Scream all you want,” he growled. ”You don”t really have much choice.”

My muscles clenched, gripping onto the handle. My vision blurred and my eyes rolled back as I screamed with abandon, his hand stifling my noise as I came again. The first orgasm had been bliss, but this - god, I felt crushed under the sheer force of it. As the ecstasy rolled over me in seemingly endless waves, Manson continued to thrust inside me, laughing at every heightened shriek, at every frantic, overwhelmed twitch of my body - at the brief but violent gush of arousal that came before I could stop it.

”Even squirting for me? What a good girl, so good, isn”t that so much better?”

I lay limp and wasted as he carefully withdrew the knife and uncovered my mouth. My body shuddered and twitched with the aftershocks of pleasure, my eyes unfocused. I watched quietly as he uncuffed me, easing down my arms and rubbing my shoulders so the stiffness in my aching muscles was pushed away under his hands.

”Are you okay? Hm? Talk to me.”

”I”m great...just great…” I smiled wearily. I wondered where proud, back-talking, sassy Jessica has gone, because what was left of me wasn”t her at all. All that was left was my aching, pleasured body, absolutely enamored with the man before me. That fucking freak… that loser… that absolute weirdo...had given me the best orgasms of my life.

And he wasn’t even done.

He was unbuckling his belt, whipping it out of his jeans, tossing it aside. Unbuckling the straps on his harness, sliding it off, then pulling his shirt over his head. His chest was smooth, slim, muscled. I reached for him, my arms still trembling, and scratched my nails down his chest. He smiled as I left long red lines in his skin, and smiled wider when I reached his jeans and popped the button eagerly, then slid down the zipper. His hard cock was straining against his briefs, and I stroked my hands along his length without pulling down the fabric. He felt so thick - the thought of him forcing that monster inside me made me whimper. He leaned down, kissing me deeply as I continued to stroke him.

“I want to fuck you, Jess,” his voice was a snarl, his eyes blazing as he looked down at me.

“Please do it,” I couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “Please.”

He tugged off his pants, kicking them from the bed. His briefs went next, revealing the cock I’d been so desperately waiting for. He flipped me over onto my stomach and dragged his nails down my spine until he gripped my hips, pulling me up onto my knees. He pressed my face against the mattress, ensuring that I knew to stay in position. He squeezed my ass, reigniting the sting of my earlier spanking, and spread my cheeks.

“You look so good,” he murmured. The head of his cock pressed against me, not hard enough to enter, just to tease. I tried to push back on him, but he gripped me harder and kept me in place, giving me a swat for good measure. He entered me slowly, just the tip at first, enough to have me gasping before he pulled out.

“Two orgasms just not enough for you?” he taunted. “You think you need more?”

I looked back at him, gazing up from the mattress - smiling, shaking, ready. “I want as much as you can give me, Master.”

He entered me fully, deep and hard, stretching me so tightly I cried out. I gripped the blankets as he fucked into me, long deep strokes that made my legs shake. He changed his pace in time with my sounds, perfecting his technique around my reactions, around my pleasure. He spanked me again, bringing a growl out of me, and he laughed, ”Such a vicious angel.”

He reached between my legs and began to rub my clit. The stimulation nearly made me lose my position. I buried my face in the blankets, muffling my noise as I throbbed around his cock and another orgasm shattered through me. I was dizzied, overwhelmed, gasping as he pulled out of me.

”Do you like that?” he growled, flipping me onto my back. His hand squeezed around my throat, pressing me back into the mattress as he entered me again. ”I love when you whimper like that. So sensitive.” His thumb pressed on my overstimulated clit, eliciting a loud, frantic moan as he thrust into me. ”Is it too much, little angel? Hmm? That”s just too bad isn”t it? I love seeing you cum. In fact, I think I”d like to see you squirt again.”

”C-can”t…” I gasped. ”Please...I can”t...cum again…”

”Oh of course you can.” With one more deep thrust, he pulled out of me again. But he replaced his cock with two fingers, fucking me into me as he rubbed my clit. He curled his fingers up, hitting some part of me that immediately made me lose control. I bucked my hips, uselessly trying to squirm away, sobbing from how good it felt. ”That”s right, angel. No getting away. You”re going to cum and you”re going to scream as you do.”

He was right. I couldn”t help it. My hands scrambled for a grip, my nails clawing at the blanket as my body tensed, muscles shuddering, the gush of arousal flooding out of me as his fingers brought me to my peak. Tears slipped down my cheeks - tears of pleasure, of so many intense, rushing emotions that I couldn”t stop myself.

Manson licked his fingers clean of me, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. Then he brought his face close to mine, kissing my tears until I giggled in between my desperate breaths.

”I want to cum inside you…” he murmured. I nodded.

”Please...please do it…”

He pressed inside, my body welcoming him, heat radiating through me at the contact. He pressed his face to my neck, kissing me, his sweat on my skin, his muscles bulging as he rocked against me, faster, then faster still. His hands tangled in my hair, gripping me possessively, and he growled, grinding out the words, ”Fuck, Jess…”

His cock swelled as he spilled inside me. I clung to him, smiling as he panted through his orgasm, trembled, and finally lay there: still inside me, hot and heavy against my body.

We lay across from each other on the bed, arms tangled together, facing each other. He”d turned on the lights, helped me clean up, and pulled the wet comforter off his bed so we could lay on the cool sheets.

I lay for a while with my eyes closed, basking in the afterglow. I was still in disbelief, amazed and exhausted. I kept replaying the events of the last few hours over and over again, wondering at them. I”d come to this party to get wasted, maybe make-out with some hot stranger. Instead I felt as if my world had been turned on its head. I”d realized things about myself I”d never known.

I opened my eyes, and found Manson looking back. He looked sleepy, soft as he lay there naked. He gave me that crooked smile I”d seen so many times that night.

”Wanna go back downstairs?” he said. His fingers lightly brushed my cheek.

”Do you?”

He shrugged. ”I like it here. Like this. With you.”

I smiled. ”Me too.”

”Was that...was that good for you?”

My smile widened. ”Very good.”

He leaned closer. His kiss was tender, the crown jewel on his sadism. How could a man be so carefully cruel, and so brutally gentle? ”Then we can do it again?”

”Absolutely.”