In the House of Sinn, chattels aren’t just used; they are perfected. Mistress Zeida and Lady Zara know exactly how to enhance their toy, lying bound and exposed before Them. Their chosen method? The artistry of hot wax.

Candles flicker ominously in Their hands, the melted wax glowing like liquid fire. Slowly, deliberately, They begin dripping the molten heat onto his trembling skin. Each drop leaves a vibrant mark, a symphony of pain and beauty painted across his body. his muffled whimpers only serve to amuse Them, as They see his discomfort not as a concern but as proof of Their...

In the House of Sinn, chattels aren’t just used; they are perfected. Mistress Zeida and Lady Zara know exactly how to enhance their toy, lying bound and exposed before Them. Their chosen method? The artistry of hot wax.

Candles flicker ominously in Their hands, the melted wax glowing like liquid fire. Slowly, deliberately, They begin dripping the molten heat onto his trembling skin. Each drop leaves a vibrant mark, a symphony of pain and beauty painted across his body. his muffled whimpers only serve to amuse Them, as They see his discomfort not as a concern but as proof of Their mastery.

With every drop, Mistress Zeida and Lady Zara turn him into a masterpiece, his pain a canvas for Their pleasure. In the House of Sinn, even suffering becomes an art form, and the chattel learns that beauty always comes at a cost.