Tied to the chair, Constance's eyes widen as Aiden Valentine approaches, a wicked smile on his face and a bundle of feathers in his hand. "You can't resist a good tickle, can you, spy?" he teases, running the feathers along her inner thighs, making her squirm and giggle. Her bound body arches, trying to escape the torment, but Aiden is relentless. He traces her curves, finding every ticklish spot, his skilled hands turning her laughter into moans of pleasure-pain. With each tickle, Constance's resolve weakens, her secrets bubbling to the surface, as Aiden's interrogation becomes a dance of dominance and submission.