Page 165 of Volik

Releasing my gravito, I use my strength to lift him until we are eye to eye.

My hand, and Earth’s gravity, cut off his airway.

I let him struggle.

I let him see how easy it is for me to hold him like this.

I let him feel how pathetic he is.

He might hide it in public, but here, in his home, in front of his mirror, I know exactly what type of man he is.

Weak of mind.

Useless muscles.

Shriveled dick.

When the color of his face starts to turn, I squeeze a little bit tighter. Then I drop him.

His feet hit the ground, and he starts to collapse, but I grip his arm, keeping him up. Then I turn him so his back is to me.

He’s coughing and gagging, trying to breathe but still trying to escape.

I capture both his forearms in one hand, holding his arms together behind his back as I walk him toward the mirror.

I let my knees bump the backs of his legs with each step. Reminding him I am behind him.

That he’s naked. And I am at his back.

That anything could happen.

He is crying in earnest now.

Big fat tears that smell pathetic, like the rest of him.

I stop us in front of the mirror. Where he was when I came in. Where he was ogling himself. Praising himself.

“Look.”

He shakes his head, eyes shut.

I squeeze his forearms until I feel the bones start to bow. “I said look.”

His eyes blink open, and I watch his gaze drop to his dick.

He is not looking at me, so I let myself grimace.

I do not want to see his nasty excuse for a cock. And I certainly am not touching his ass. But… I want him to worry that I will.

I want that worry to be the last thing he feels.

“Would you like to compliment yourself, one last time, before the next part?”

He presses his knees together as he shakes his head, sobbing.

Under the weight bench is a jug of something blue. And a bottle of vodka.

While he continues to embarrass himself, I hold out my free hand and pull the vodka bottle up into my palm.