ALONE, STARTLED AND HOGTIED

Ashley Ocean lies hogtied in the basement, wrists and ankles lashed tight behind her back. The ball gag stretches her mouth open, soaked with spit that drips onto the concrete. Every lash from the whip bites across her bare skin and she jerks in the ropes, breath sharp and ragged. That thin edge—pain cutting straight into heat—pulls a low moan from her throat, the kind of sound that says she’ll be back for another round the second the marks fade.