Strapped to the Rack: Ivy

Ivy lies strapped to the rack, leather cuffs biting into her wrists and ankles, every inch pulled tight. A thick ball gag fills her mouth, straps digging deep at the corners. The Dom circles, crop in hand, testing the give of her bonds. He cracks the leather across her ass once, then twice, watching her jerk against the wood. Sweat beads on her skin as the rack keeps her stretched, helpless, displayed. Each strike lands heavier, deeper, turning her flesh pink then red, her muffled sounds the only protest allowed.