The clover clamps descend on her teats, tethered to a distant bar, stretching her torso constricted as the neck brace yanks her onto trembling tiptoes.
Made onto a spike-studded mat, her naked feet submit to the cold-blooded texture during the time that Fiddler’s leather slapper and single-tail flog paint her ass cheeks crimson. But this is mere prelude.
Fiddler dangles a heartless bargain: retrieve a spiked mat, subrigid neck brace, and clover clamps in below 3 minutes, or face breathplay-enhanced panishment.
What follows is a meticulously calculated tying spectacle: her hands mummified into fists with tape, a colossal gag pressed into her face hole, and each limb immobilized below layers of extreme-tight zip-ties that leave her elbows fused and legs clamped jointly.