Sara Faye

She’s a blonde built for surrender. Sara Faye walks in soft and hungry, the kind of girl who listens when she’s told to listen. They string her up, wrists high, ankles spread, rope biting just enough to remind her she’s not going anywhere. The first flogger lands and her back arches like she’s been waiting for it all day. She takes the next one harder, then harder still, breath hitching, thighs trembling. They switch to the cane and she stays quiet except for the sharp little sounds she can’t swallow. Sweat starts to shine on her skin, running down the small of her back, catching in the dim light. Every strike leaves its own red line, and every line makes her wetter. When they finally cut her down she’s shaking, grateful, already looking for the next thing they’ll do to her.