Strapped to a St. Andrew's Cross, the submissive groans as the Lady teases him, her lingerie brushing against his skin like butterfly wings of fire. She runs a finger along his length, not touching, yet he aches for her. "Please," he begs, but she silences him with a gloved hand. Her heels click closer, and she presses her body against his, her latex cool against his feverish skin. She whispers in his ear, "You will earn my touch, my pleasure." She steps back, her heels echoing as she retrieves her whip, ready to torment him further.