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I sit under the tripod, my wrists bound behind me awaiting the next set of ropes. Mr Andrews has me stand, and binds my elbows together with a length of unforgiving jute. He then maneuvers me down on the bench by my neck and nipple. A red ballgag is retrieved and crammed into my moaning mouth. My movement limited and my mouth muffled, Mr Andrews takes a moment to grab and grope me.

A cuff is tied around my right ankle, and secured to the leg of the bench. My left ankle is bound in a similar fashion, forcing me to spread my legs wide. Before attaching my strappado rope, Mr Andrews latches onto my right nipple, pinching harshly. My arms are pulled up, bending me forward. Mr Andrews leaves me to explore my bonds, and I lean and shift far to the sides, swaying.

Soon, Mr Andrews returns carrying a 30 pound kettlebell. I watch him exceptionally curious as he sets it down with a thud in front of me. I grin through my gag and rock until he returns with scissors and twine.

“I'm going to do hurty stuff to you now.” Mr Andrews informs me as he unbuttons my sheer, blouse.

“O. K.” I coo back.

“I'm glad you agree. Since you can't really stop me.” he sing songs back.

My nipples accessible, he begins tying the twine to one of them. I remain as still as possible while both enduring my bondage and giving Mr Andrews access. A few attempts are made to entwine my nipple, and I cry and whimper through the pulling, squeezing, and stretching. My left nipple being uncooperative, Mr Andrews abandons the task. He returns to torment me briefly, before leaving me to my predicament.

I rock and shift and squeak as I process the constant sensations of my situtation.