Playdate Torment

She's gimp-suited. Caged. Stretched out and raw. Faerie kneels at the mercy of two women who want one thing tonight—her breaking point. Allie circles the cage, crop in hand, each step deliberate. The hood seals Faerie's face, leaving only muffled sounds and the twitch of skin when she breathes too fast. Allie leans in, cane raised, tracing the first stripe across Faerie's bare thigh with deliberate slowness. The blow lands. Faerie flinches, a sharp cry caught behind the hood. Another strike, harder. The next, harder still. Allie keeps count, voice low and taunting, asking how many more it will take before the tears start to soak the inside of the mask. She presses the tip of the cane between Faerie's thighs, teasing the cage bars that keep her locked and denied. Every lash draws a new gasp, a new desperate whimper. Allie watches for the quiver in her shoulders, listens for the voice that finally cracks and begs for release. The question lingers in the air between each hit—will the tears come first, or the pleas to cum?