Amidst the Windy City's concrete jungle, a masochist seeks solace in the arms of a sadistic Dom. The club's red velvet curtains part to reveal a St. Andrew's Cross, where the submissive, blindfolded and bound, awaits their fate. The Dom, clad in a form-fitting latex catsuit, takes up a riding crop, the leather tip caressing the sub's skin, leaving trails of goosebumps. The room's only sound is the sub's ragged breaths, echoing the distant honks of Chicago's traffic, as the Dom begins to paint patterns of pleasure-pain across their willing canvas.