Lucy

Lucy’s arms and legs are lashed wide, every tendon drawn tight. The hogtie bends her backward until her spine sings, the ball gag stretching her jaw, spit sliding down her chin. Black leather belts bite her thighs and wrists while the whip cracks against her bare ass, each stroke leaving a red stripe that burns hotter than the last. Her blonde hair hangs in sweat-dark strands across her face, eyes squeezed shut, body arched against the cuffs that hold her open. The rattan cane follows, cutting across her calves, then the crop snaps between her spread legs. Every strike makes her jerk, metal clinking, muscles twitching, until the only sound left is her ragged breathing through the gag and the slow drip of sweat onto the floor.