My pitiful subject lies at my feet on the cold dungeon floor. Curled into a fetal position, he desperately grasps at one of my booted ankles as if to beg for my mercy. I reply with the crack of my whip on his backside. I then begin striking relentlessly to let my presumptuous minion know that I am the one who is in charge here, not he. As I tear at his flesh, he adoringly kisses the supple black leather of my boot.

Soon the pale white skin on his back is laced with broad red whip marks from head to toe. Whipping with precision, I fill in the spaces until his entire back is a bright... Show more