"Not like this. I've had shirts torn off... never cut." It's not something he'd generally be all that receptive to, but his survival instincts are taking the back seat to other, more pleasurable ones.

There's another very faint flinch, even so, when the knife moves over his skin again. A faint flash in the back of his mind reminds him of other blades on his skin... cutting, ripping, tearing, blood and screams... but it's gone as quickly as it was there, suppressed by the pleasure pulses the chip's delivering. There's no evidence on his unblemished skin now, but he remembers every wound like phantom pains when there's metal on his body.