Strappado or Neck Rope: Slave Mila has to Choose Her Own Agony

My arms hang in that strappado, every muscle screaming. Legs locked frog-tie tight, crotch rope cutting between soaked lips, pulling deeper each time I shift. Black hair sticks to my face. I try to breathe. The rope won’t give. When I twist too hard, the knot between my thighs grinds in and I hiss through my teeth. Then the bastard drops the noose around my neck and yanks it low, anchoring it to the frog-tie. My head’s forced down now, chin nearly on my knees. The second the rope takes weight, my arms jerk higher, shoulders burning. I arch up to save my neck and the strappado bites deeper. I slump to save my arms and the neck rope chokes. Back and forth. One choice worse than the other, natural tits mashed to my thighs, cunt clenching around the rope like it wants more. Sweat slides down my belly. I can’t decide which pain to feed, so I hang there, shaking, waiting for him to decide for me.