Veronique Vega stirs from a fitful sleep, her dreams haunted by the ghostly touch of her creepy assailant. As she opens her eyes, she's greeted by the harsh reality of her situation - she's bound, vulnerable, at the mercy of her unseen tormentor. The room is a symphony of shadows, the only light a sickly glow from an unseen source. Vega's breath hitches as she feels a rough, calloused hand trace the curve of her spine, the touch sending shivers of revulsion and exhilaration coursing through her veins. She's a pawn in this twisted game, her body the prize, as she's fucked hard and rough, her cries of protest swallowed by the oppressive darkness.