Covering your face is such fruitful territory.
Hiding your precious, virtuous eyes in a final measure to preserve your dignity while I can't stop myself from using you. Hushing you and apologizing over and over as I finally give in, a thin veneer and pretense that it isn't really you allowing me to lose control.
Putting a sack over your head, cinched securely around your neck, to completely dehumanize my new fuck doll. Your muffled pleas devolve into incoherent sobs, the rough burlap stinging your eyes and cheeks, as the endless daily pain becomes your new life.
Securely locking your drone helmet into place, taking in satisfaction from your single jolt and gasp as it hits. Your nervous tension melts into a motionless, taut, perfectly instantly trained posture, everything that you are overcome with single-minded need to serve.
A ceremonial mask over the top half of your face, hiding no identity, but signaling to all present that you've become embodied devotion to some higher being. You will be devoured by our lust in the name of ritual, made divine through de-identification. Whether or not you live will be the will of something greater.
