In the heart of Felix Bondasses' dungeon, Connor is the centerpiece, his muscular body stretched out and secured to a sturdy St. Andrew's cross. A leather gag fills his mouth, the taste of it mingling with the salty tang of his own nervous sweat. The room is a symphony of sensations - the creak of leather, the rustle of his own breathing through the gag, the distant hum of a vibrator left on a nearby table. His heart pounds in his chest as he awaits the first touch, the first strike, the first command that will set his body alight with sensation and his mind free from all thought.