In the dungeon, Gigi Graias is secured to a St. Andrew's cross, her petite frame trembling with anticipation. Dr. Lomp stands before her, a candle in hand, its flame casting flickering shadows on their entwined bodies. He begins, the first drip of hot wax landing on her milky skin, a red mark blooming where it touches. Gigi sucks in a breath, her body tensing, but she holds still, a slave to her master's whim. The candle drip, drip, drips, a symphony of pain and pleasure, her skin glistening, her breath coming in pants. Her body is a canvas, his art, their dance, a symphony of taboo lust.