Crybaby

Nina's back. First time on the floor in months and she already wants to break. Madeline makes her wait—naked, knees apart, shoulders back. One look and the blonde starts shaking. Madeline doesn’t talk much. She just picks up the single tail and lets the leather crack across Nina’s ass. The first stripe is always the worst; the second tells her she’s not in charge tonight. Nina breathes through it, teeth grinding, but the third hit knocks a sob loose. She cries hard, shoulders jerking, tears cutting lines down her face, yet she stays upright. Madeline moves behind her, testing how deep those welts will go before Nina folds. Each stripe from the cane lands lower, meaner, right across the crease where thigh meets ass. Nina takes it until her legs give. Madeline catches her, fists her hair, drags her upright again. No mercy, only steady correction. When the leather finally drops, Nina’s shaking too hard to stand on her own. Madeline leaves her there—tied, streaked, dripping—to think about who owns the next breath she takes.