Calico now finds herself nude. She is bent at the waist. Her wrists are bound together and then tied to her legs just above the knees. Around her waist is a thick rope that has been tied off to the ceiling. She is wearing nothing but black heels and her long red hair. And that hair, that long hair is tied off to her waist rope. She is to hold her head up. There will be no hiding of your face. When I walk behind her I drop three implements of destruction behind her. I don't know that it freaked her out, but she made sure to watch me closely after that. Her position, while simple, is taxing. She...

Calico now finds herself nude. She is bent at the waist. Her wrists are bound together and then tied to her legs just above the knees. Around her waist is a thick rope that has been tied off to the ceiling. She is wearing nothing but black heels and her long red hair. And that hair, that long hair is tied off to her waist rope. She is to hold her head up. There will be no hiding of your face. When I walk behind her I drop three implements of destruction behind her. I don't know that it freaked her out, but she made sure to watch me closely after that. Her position, while simple, is taxing. She's told to do a 360 for us, so we can see her arse, her body. So it can be inspected before beaten. Her asshole is pulled apart and she is told to wink it at you, The Viewer. A whiffle ball gag is brought out. One that has been filled with a melted, lime green popsicle and then re-frozen. Almost immediately she starts to drool. But drool isn't the right word for it. More like a damn busted. Then, suddenly, without any warning at all she gets a swift, hard smack of the paddle on her ass. And it wasn't like a "warm-up" smack either. She is asked to thank me for it. Which was done between the sounds of her and the sound of her drool hitting the floor below her. Then, again, without warning another swift smack to the ass. She tries to hold it together. Maintain that composure. But you see it crack. Her face, her countenance, it holds a duality for a moment. One part refinement, one part I'm about to lose all inkling of self-fucking-control. You see the cry start up, the fear and concern on her face bubble up to the surface, bubble up in her expression and then disappear. She wants to cry. She's asked what her holes are good for. She's very concerned now. She tries to watch me, what I'm doing back there behind her. Then --SMACK! She is so beautiful when she cries, when she suffers for us. She does exactly as she is told. Then, as snot, tears and slobber run from all the holes in her face, a rubber hose is brought around her neck, tightly. Her face changes color. It looks like it will explode. Three numbered implements are laid behind her and she is told to pick a number. Then the implement is used on her without mercy. Afterward, after the tears and crying and losing of self-control I let her have a cigarette break. One where she gets to smoke two at once through her nostrils. She doesn't like it. Makes her eyes well up and her mouth ajar. She swallows hard and sets in for the long haul. It's a mind thing now...keeping your composure, your breathing in check, your FREAKED OUTNESS. She tells me it's tough. So I grab a thick leather belt and cinch it around her dainty neck and choke her off, while she enjoys her smoke break. Oh dear, now it's time to make her choose a number again, while smoking her cigarettes through her nostrils.