Upside Down and Flogged: Andi

Marty gets to work. He fastens rope around Andi’s wrists, loops it higher, and hoists her off the floor until she hangs upside-down, body arched in a clean, trembling line. She is naked, arms bound behind her, feet pointed toward the ceiling, hair tumbling free. The position spreads her open; every breath lifts her chest, every shift swings her slightly. A black ball gag fills her mouth. It stretches her lips, clamps her jaw, muffles every sound to wet, broken grunts. She spins slowly. Marty stands behind her with a flogger, its leather tongues brushing her inner thighs, the undersides of her breasts, the taut stretch of her belly. Each pass is light at first. Then the swing comes back—harder. The impact cracks. Red blooms across her skin in tight, bright lines. Andi jerks in the ropes. The ball gag forces another choked noise from her throat. Marty circles her, striking from every angle: the tender underside of her ass, the soft crease where thigh meets hip, the swell of her exposed sex. She twists, tries to close her legs, but the suspension keeps her spread. Every flogger kiss lands true. The ropes creak. Her skin glistens. She breathes through her nose in short, ragged bursts, saliva slipping down her chin in a slow, steady drip.