Dozed off

Patricia Dream blinked her green eyes open. Red curls spilled across the concrete floor. Last thing she remembered was the bar—then nothing. Now cold air crawled over her bare skin and ropes cut into her wrists and ankles. The first sting landed hard across her left nipple, then the other. Patricia sucked air through her teeth. Katy stood over her, crop still humming in her fist. She gave Patricia’s heavy tits two more stinging strikes, watching the soft flesh bounce and redden. "Pay attention," she murmured. Each slap carried its own little flourish, some tipping downward, some flicking up from underneath. Patches of heat bloomed across the pale skin, nipples drawing tight and dark. Patricia whimpered, thighs pressing together on instinct, wetness already glistening between her smooth folds. Katy trailed the leather tongue down the valley between her breasts, over the soft slope of her belly, then brought it up fast against her spread pussy lips. The wet slap echoed. Patricia jerked, thighs trembling. The crop was relentless—one stroke, two, three—snapping precisely against her swelling clit until the sensation flipped from pain into a burning ache that pooled low and heavy between her legs. Katy slipped two gloved fingers into the slick heat, curled, pressed. Patricia moaned. The same hand that had punished her breasts now coaxed them, thumb brushing the sore nipples while the fingers stroked inside her. The woman’s mouth found Patricia’s ear. "Feel that?" Katy whispered. "You’ll learn how thin the line really is." She pressed harder, scissoring, stretching. Patricia’s hips rolled without her permission, chasing the pressure even as new welts rose on her chest. Katy smiled, gave the aching nipples one last deliberate pinch, and the basement air filled with Patricia’s ragged, helpless cries.