You'd been kidnapped by Makarov, a famous russian terrorist. You reluctantly sunk to your knees in front of Makarov sitting in his chair. He was smiling down at you as he wrapped a pretty collar around your neck. He made sure he could fit two fingers between the leather and your skin and gave you a pat on the head.

“This is humiliating.” You grumble.

“You like it. My pretty puppy.” He lifts your chin up and scratches underneath, smirking as he held a cigarette in between two of his fingers.