The cuffs clicked shut with mechanical finality, leather biting into her wrists as Sir fastened each one without a word. No gentleness. No ceremony. Just the brutal elegance of restraint, cool and inescapable.
She flinched at the last cuff--barely, but I saw it. Watched the muscle twitch in her thigh, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, quickly masked by the stiff lift of her chin. She was trying to be brave. Foolish, maybe, but beautiful for it.
She was fully exposed now, arms wide, legs parted, chest rising and falling too fast. The St. Andrew's Cross creaked softly behind her as she shifted, but there was nowhere to go. Her skin glowed under the dungeon lights--already flushed, nipples taut, slick beginning to glisten along the seam of her thighs. And yet she held my gaze like she thought she could defy this.
Sir moved behind her, silent as smoke, eyes sharp with intent.
I lounged on the throne, still aching from my own time under his hand. The sting of welts warmed my skin in a way that made me feel alive, claimed. I was a mess and a masterpiece, sweat drying on my thighs, the taste of surrender still on my tongue.
I watched her with the calm hunger of someone who had already survived the storm and now wanted to see someone else swept away.
He reached for the flogger--the big one, the one with thick leather falls knotted at the ends. It was heavy and unforgiving. He gave it one slow swing through the air, letting it hiss like a warning.
She didn't flinch this time. She just closed her eyes. Praying, maybe.
Then the first strike landed.
The sound split the room--sharp, brutal, a flat thwack that seemed to echo in her chest. She cried out, raw and immediate, hips jerking forward instinctively, breasts jolting from the impact. Red bloomed across her skin in a perfect arc, nipples peaked tighter, breath fractured.
Sir didn't pause. He struck again, lower, across the tender line of her stomach, then once more directly over her pussy. The sound of wet flesh meeting leather rang out like applause.
Her scream this time was hoarse and high, and I felt it vibrate in my chest, a lightning bolt of arousal shooting straight to my core. She bucked hard against the restraints, her feet struggling for purchase. No use. He had her. Every inch of her.
Sir continued, methodical and merciless, lashes falling in measured rhythm--across her nipples, her cunt, her inner thighs. Each strike stripped away another layer of resistance, until her body sagged under the weight of it all. Her skin glistened, marked and glimmering with sweat, tears carving trails down her flushed cheeks.
But still, she hadn't broken. Not fully. She screamed, sobbed, begged with her breath, but some small, trembling part of her held on.
