Andy San Dimas Live, Part 2

Andy San Dimas takes the stage again. AnnaBelle Lee and Claire Adams move in close, rope and cuffs already waiting. One woman pins Andy’s arms, the other loops the rope tight. Her wrists burn red. The cane comes down hard across her ass—short, sharp cracks that echo off the walls. She jerks. They press her forward until her cheek hits the floor. Claire’s fist knots in Andy’s hair while AnnaBelle works the flogger between her thighs. Every strike lands where it hurts most. Andy’s breathing turns ragged, voice stripped raw. They swap tools without a word. A leather strap bites the backs of her legs. Sweat beads on her spine. She stays down, hips high, taking every blow they give her. The two tops never rush. They circle, measure, land the next hit exactly where it will mark. Andy’s moans break into short curses. Her body keeps offering itself up. The caning stops only when her skin is striped dark and her legs shake. Then the rope tightens again, pulling her upright so they can start fresh on the front.