(Cybill Does Berlin: Part 2.1)

Even after being shattered by my canes, my slave has still not proven himself to be up to my impossibly high standards. I shackle him to his jail cell and begin on his back with a bullwhip and my trusty dovetail, explaining how his continued service depends entirely on how far he can push himself for me, and not just through physical pain. He'll have to not only endure each lash of my whip against his welted flesh, he'll also have to take it with the enthusiasm befitting an honor as high as suffering for me and offering his flesh as tribute.
The crac...

(Cybill Does Berlin: Part 2.1)

Even after being shattered by my canes, my slave has still not proven himself to be up to my impossibly high standards. I shackle him to his jail cell and begin on his back with a bullwhip and my trusty dovetail, explaining how his continued service depends entirely on how far he can push himself for me, and not just through physical pain. He'll have to not only endure each lash of my whip against his welted flesh, he'll also have to take it with the enthusiasm befitting an honor as high as suffering for me and offering his flesh as tribute.
The crack of my leather single tails leave him terrified and shaking; I only laugh at his fear and finish him with more excruciating whipping. No matter how he performs for me, he'll be thrown back into his jail cell like the livestock he is until I feel like using or him again.

xoxo, Cybill Troy