In Douchebagmacgee's latest, two gym-toned twinks, sans names, engage in a slow-motion ballet of pain and pleasure. They take turns, one pinning the other's arms back, the other's legs spread wide. The camera lingers on every inch of their sweaty, writhing bodies. The tormentor's fist connects with the victim's balls, again and again, each strike captured in excruciating detail. The recipient's face contorts in agony, but his moans betray a perverse enjoyment. The tables turn, and the cycle of slow-motion suffering begins anew.