He thrashed, screamed and squirmed as much as a one handed paraplegic can. She walked over to the pan of brownies. They smelled delicious and warm. Her nose sampled the chocolate, then her tongue absorbed the rich taste.
“Mmmmm,” she exhaled, “Delicious. Would you like a brownie? I guess not. Probably be pretty painful to force some solids down that shredded digestive tract.”
“Fuck you!” he yelled, “I own you! You’re my toy!”
“You’re missing out,” she smiled with brown chocolate teeth, “they’re really quite good.”

He lurched forward, dead weight at the legs, trying to snatch her with his good hand. She stepped back, avoiding his reach. Bloody footprints marked her path back into the living room where she retrieved his cane.

“So, these notches,” she said, walking back into the kitchen, “are they new girls?”
“Don’t touch it!” he yelled. She tucked her pistol into her waist, and gripped the cane with two hands. “You’re not worthy!”
She swung for the fences, shattering his gnashing teeth and notched cane.