Applying for a maid position, with the job being to bind and discipline the mistress daily?

What kind of maid recruitment is this? Business expansion for an underground S/M club? "You... you're joking, right?" I asked, my voice strained. Su Wanqing raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm joking?" She walked to a cabinet by the wall, pulled open a drawer, and took out a stack of documents. "The contract is ready. The monthly salary is fifty thousand, with a one-month probation period. After passing probation, your salary will double. We offer five social insurances and one housing fund, year-end double salary, and paid annual leave. Five working days a week, with weekends off." She paused, then added, "If you don't accept, you can leave now. However—" She walked up to me, leaned in slightly, and whispered close to my ear, her voice laced with seduction and danger, "A job with a monthly salary of fifty thousand, are you sure you want to give it up?" My rational mind was screaming alarms. But my account balance wouldn't last until the end of the month. I gritted my teeth. "Then... what exactly is the job description?" Su Wanqing smiled, a satisfied glint in her eyes. She walked to a shelf and casually picked up a bundle of brown rope, substantial and smooth to the touch. "It's very simple." She held the rope out to me. "First, tie me up. Let me see how good your skills are." She held the rope up before my eyes and said slowly, "This is manual hemp rope. It's rough in texture and has great friction. Once tied securely, it's difficult to break free." She paused. "If you can tie me up in a way that satisfies me, the interview is considered passed." I stared at the bundle of rope, my palms sweating. "But... I don't know how to tie knots," I confessed honestly. "It's alright," Su Wanqing said dismissively. "Your intuition will tell you what to do." She turned and walked to the center of the room, stopped, then raised her arms in a "come hither" pose, her back to me. "Start with the wrists." Holding the rope, I hesitated for a few seconds before finally walking over. This was probably the craziest decision I'd ever made in my life. I took a deep breath, picked up the hemp rope, and walked behind her. Her back was to me, her hands hanging loosely at her sides, her posture as relaxed as if she were waiting for me to tie an apron around her. My hands trembled slightly. This was the first time I'd ever handled this kind of rope, let alone used it to tie someone up. "Don't be nervous," she said again, her voice tinged with amusement. "I'm not going to eat you." I swallowed and wrapped the rope around her wrist. Her skin was incredibly fair, appearing even more delicate against the rough texture of the rope. I carefully wound the rope around a few times, tied a knot, and tried to tighten it. "Too loose," she pointed out immediately, a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice. "This will come undone in a couple of tugs." "But I'm afraid of hurting you..." I said. "I'll decide if it hurts," she said, turning her head to glance at me. "Tie it tighter." I had no choice but to tighten it another loop. The hemp rope dug deeply into her wrist, leaving a red mark. She didn't cry out to stop, but instead let out an almost inaudible sigh, as if in satisfaction. "Continue." Her legs were long and straight, peeking out from beneath her nightgown – her thighs full and elastic, her calves smoothly contoured, her ankles slender. Now, she stood on the mat in lace stockings, her toes curling slightly, her toenails painted a deep crimson, glinting in the dim light. Her feet were exquisitely shaped, with high arches, the curve of her instep like a swan's neck, her heels small and rounded. The entire foot was like a meticulously carved work of art. And now, all these beautiful parts were tightly bound by rough hemp rope. The rope crisscrossed her calves, leaving deep impressions at the base of her thighs, and wound several times around her slender ankles, turning her skin a pale white. "...Why are you still standing there?" she finally spoke, her voice a little lower than before, with a deliberate coolness. "This is just the most basic tying. We're still a long way from passing the interview." As she spoke, her gaze fell on the bundle of remaining rope at my feet, as if hinting at something, or perhaps steeling herself. I looked down at the bundle of hemp rope, then back up at her. Though she was already tied and unable to move, she still forced herself to maintain an expression of "What is this?" – this contradictory posture stirred a strange feeling within me. I should be scared. This job was clearly not normal. Anyone normal would turn and run upon discovering that the interview involved tying up and disciplining a mistress. But my feet felt rooted to the spot. "What do you want me to tie next?" I asked. Su Wanqing's eyelashes fluttered slightly, as if surprised that I would actually continue. But she quickly composed herself, a faint smile playing on her lips, like a hunter seeing prey walk into a trap. "Do you know what 'four horses abreast' is?" she asked. I blinked. "Four... horses what?" "Four horses abreast," she repeated, her tone carrying the composure of an instructor. "It's folding a person's limbs, tying the wrists and ankles together, and arching the body into a curve. It requires a certain degree of flexibility, but if tied correctly—" she paused, "—the person being tied will completely lose their balance and won't even be able to roll over." Her voice lowered slightly as she said this, as if describing something unrelated to herself, but her slightly quickened breath betrayed her. I stared at her for two seconds. "So you want me to tie you like that?" "Don't want to?" she raised an eyebrow. "Or can't you?" A provocation. A very clumsy provocation. But it worked on me. "Lie down on that platform," I said, pointing to the restraint platform in the center of the room, covered in dark red velvet. The surface was about a meter wide and two meters long, with metal rings embedded along the edges. "Otherwise, I can't operate." Su Wanqing's lips curved, as if smiling, but there was an indescribable anticipation in that smile. She turned and took small steps towards the restraint platform – her legs were tied together from her ankles to the backs of her knees and then to her groin, forcing her to move in tiny steps. Each step caused the rope around her thighs to shift, and the muscles at the base of her thighs beneath her nightgown twitched slightly. Seen from behind, her arms, tied behind her back, were the most striking part of the scene. Her hands were secured behind her in a standard "reverse觀音" pose – her upper arms pressed tightly against her back, the rope wound several times around her upper arms, digging deep into her arm flesh, locking her arms firmly. Her forearms were bent and folded, tied together with rope, forming an acute angle. Her wrists were bound together, and the rope was reinforced at her elbows. Her entire arms, from shoulders to fingertips, were completely immobilized. Because her arms were pulled back for an extended period, her shoulder blades formed a beautiful hollow on her back, and the rope covered her smooth spine like a spiderweb. This tying was so meticulous that it was difficult for her to even move a finger – her fingers could only tremble helplessly behind her back, their tips turning slightly red from the blood flow. She finally reached the edge of the platform and, with her back to the surface, tentatively sat down. Since her hands were tied behind her back, she couldn't use them for support and had to rely on the strength of her core and legs to control her descent. I stood by and watched, not offering a hand. Her knees bent, and her back slowly leaned towards the platform. When her lower back touched the velvet surface, she let out a low sigh, as if she had finally found a comfortable position. She lay back completely, her slightly curled long hair fanning out on the dark red velvet. The hem of her nightgown slid up a few inches due to her lying down. As the nightgown slipped, the base of her thighs was fully exposed to the light. This was one of the most alluring parts of her body – the skin on the inner thighs was fair and delicate, glowing with an ivory sheen in the light, the skin's texture so fine that pores were almost invisible. And now, the rope was digging into the most intimate part of her inner thighs. This rope extended from the knot in the center of the *kote-baku* (龜甲縛), passed between her legs, forming a thick knot at her perineum, and then wrapped around to connect to the waist rope behind her. Due to her lying position and her legs spread slightly apart, the rope was pulled even tighter. The rough hemp rope pressed directly against her most sensitive area, the edges of the knot digging into her skin, leaving a deep red indentation. The skin on her inner thighs was flushed with a thin layer of pink from the friction of the rope, like petals that had been rubbed. She turned her head, her gaze falling on my face. "Come here." I walked over and stood at the edge of the platform, looking down at her. She lay before me, her hands bound behind her back and pressed beneath her waist, her legs tied together at the knees, unable to separate. Her entire posture was relaxed and vulnerable. Her chest rose and fell, her breathing a little faster than usual, her cheeks tinged with a faint pink. From this angle, I could see every detail of her body – the outline of her breasts was more prominent under the rope, the indentations deepening and lightening with each breath; her abdomen was flat and firm, without a trace of excess fat, her navel small and delicate; her thighs were full and elastic, their muscles smoothly contoured, now slightly tensed from nervousness; her calves were shapely and straight, like meticulously carved jade pillars; her ankles were so slender they seemed graspable with one hand, the veins on her insteps faintly visible beneath her fair skin. "What do I tie next?" I asked. "Lift my ankles up first," her voice was even softer than before. "Lift them... to about the level of my wrists. Then tie my ankles and wrists together with rope. I need you to pull it tight – very tight, so tight that I can't move." Then she opened her eyes, something churning in the depths of her gaze, like long-suppressed emotions finally finding a release. "...Okay," she breathed out, her lips trembling slightly. "Pull the last tightening knots... pull every single one to its limit." I grasped the first tightening knot and slowly applied pressure. The distance between her wrists and ankles began to shorten, her knees forced to press further into her chest, her body bending to an almost unnatural angle. I could hear the faint "click" of her joints, but there was no pain on her face—instead, she closed her eyes, her lips parted slightly, as if savoring something. When the final knot was cinched, her entire body was fixed in a severely contorted posture—legs folded to her chest, ankles and wrists bound tightly together by rope, her body arched into an almost closed curve. The current Su Wanqing had only her hips barely touching the platform, her chest, abdomen, and thighs all suspended in the air. Her body was like a seesaw, maintaining a precarious balance on a single pivot point beneath her crotch. Every slight breath caused this balance to shift, tightening or loosening the ropes across her body. And the most agonizing part was that the knot of the rope beneath her crotch was rubbing back and forth against her most sensitive area due to this swaying. She tried to move. Not an inch. She tried again—this time with more force. I could see the muscles in her back and legs tense with the effort, the ropes digging deeper, leaving more prominent indentations on her skin. But the ropes remained unyielding. Her body swayed slightly as her center of gravity shifted, but it was quickly pulled back into place by the ropes. "Hoo... hoo..." Her breathing grew heavier, her chest heaving. The inner thighs, from her violent struggles, flushed a deeper crimson, the skin where the ropes rubbed feeling slightly hot. She lifted her head, looking down at her own body—her gaze swept over her rope-marked thighs, the curve of her breasts outlined by the kote, her limbs folded to their limit. Her breath hitched for a moment, her throat bobbing. I saw a thin sheen of sweat seep from her inner thighs due to her struggles, glistening under the light. The knot of the rope had already left a deep indentation in her most private area. Even through the fabric of her underwear, it was clear the skin there was pulled white. Her body trembled slightly, whether from arousal or nervousness, or both, I couldn't tell. She finally quieted, lying on the bondage platform, limbs folded, body arched, like a meticulously wrapped gift. "How do you feel now?" I asked in a low voice, still holding the last end of the rope. Her gaze shifted to me, the languid composure gone from her eyes, replaced by something complex and wet. Her eyelashes trembled, her breathing still uneven, yet a curve slowly formed on her lips. "...Very tight," she said, her voice hoarse. "So tight... I can't move. I can't move... not even a finger." Her gaze became hazy. "It's good." She paused, then added, as if afraid I wouldn't understand: "I mean it. It's good." I couldn't quite articulate what I was feeling. I looked at the woman before me—she wore a black silk nightgown, bound by hemp rope into the most humiliating posture, her limbs folded to their limit, her entire being like a specimen pinned to an dissection table. Her breathing was rapid, her cheeks flushed, a fine mist of sweat on her forehead, but there was no fear, no pain in her eyes. "Did the interview pass?" I asked. Su Wanqing let out a soft laugh. It was a faint sound, as if squeezed from the depths of her throat, carrying a pleasure born of long suppression finally released. "...Yes," she said. "You passed. Now—" she tilted her head, her gaze falling on the shelf by the wall, "—the first day of training... officially begins." I followed her gaze. Neatly arranged on the shelf were rabbit vibrators, dildos, wand vibrators, floggers, feather ticklers... all sorts of implements glinting coldly under the light. Her body cycled through repeated states of tension and release. Each pulse from the vibrator caused involuntary twitches in her inner thighs, her pelvic floor muscles contracting and relaxing in an uncontrollable rhythm. The rope was squeezed deeper into her most tender flesh with every contraction. Her toes, initially curled tight, had slowly relaxed, splayed slightly. The dark red polish on her toenails gleamed dully in the light. The veins on the tops of her feet, having relaxed after prolonged tension, smoothed beneath the skin, though her arches remained slightly raised, as if poised to curl again at any moment. "…Mmm," she shifted her bound ankles slightly. The movement was aimless, more of an unconscious adjustment, but her ankles couldn't budge even a centimeter under the rope's restraint. The cord bit into her slender ankles, leaving deep red indentations on her ankle bones. The skin in those areas turned slightly pale from restricted circulation, a stark contrast to her otherwise fair complexion. I stood and walked towards the shelf by the wall. This time, my gaze didn't hesitate as it had before. I picked up a red silicone ball gag – about four centimeters in diameter, smooth and spherical, with black nylon straps attached to either side, secured by metal clasps. Then, I picked up a purple vibrator – about twenty centimeters long, of moderate thickness, covered in soft, medical-grade silicone. The head was slightly enlarged, and the tail had a rotary switch with five intensity settings, from lowest to highest. I brought these two items to the side of the table, placing them within her line of sight. Her gaze fell first on the ball gag. Her lips pressed together, a subtle movement, but her swallowing rate clearly increased – I could see the rise and fall of her Adam's apple. Then her eyes shifted to the vibrator, her pupils constricting sharply, her breath catching for half a beat. "…That," she began, her voice tighter than before, "I only just finished lunch… are we going straight to this?" "There's still plenty of afternoon left," I said, picking up the ball gag and dangling it before her. "Put this in first." She didn't agree immediately. Her eyes darted between the ball gag in my hand and the vibrator, her lips pressed even tighter, as if making some difficult calculation. But finally, she closed her eyes, then opened them, meeting my gaze. "…Alright," she said, her voice husky. "Put it in." I leaned down, bringing the ball gag to her mouth. She opened her mouth. Her lips were slightly dry from lunch and the tension of the ongoing vibrations, the fine lines of her lips faintly visible. There was a shallow bite mark on the inside of her lower lip. Her open mouth revealed neat teeth, her tongue curled nervously behind them, the back of her mouth a moist pink. I pushed the ball gag into her mouth. The sphere forced her upper and lower jaw joints apart, stretching the corners of her mouth into a circular opening. Her teeth bit into the silicone surface of the ball gag, making a soft crunching sound. Her chin was forced forward, elongating the muscles in her neck, making her Adam's apple protrude more noticeably. I brought the strap around the back of her head, adjusted the tightness, and fastened the metal clasp. The moment the ball gag was in place, her eyes widened slightly – a primal panic at the realization that she couldn't speak. A muffled "mmph" escaped her throat, but the sound was blocked by the gag, becoming only a faint vibration. She tried to move her jaw, attempting to adjust the gag's position, but the spherical shape wedged itself between her upper and lower jaws. The elasticity of the silicone held her mouth open in a stable position; she couldn't even close her lips. Saliva began to accumulate uncontrollably. I could see her tongue root struggling to swallow behind the gag, but each swallow only managed to send a small amount of saliva down her throat. More saliva pooled in her mouth, quickly seeping from the corners of her lips. The first silver thread of drool trickled down the edge of her lower lip, gathering at her chin into a glistening bead before dripping onto the crisscross of ropes above her collarbone, flashing in the light. "…Mmmph…" she emitted another muffled groan, her brow furrowed as if adjusting to the discomfort of the gag. The muscles at the base of her thighs tightened involuntarily from this discomfort. The vibrator continued its steady thrumming, and the knot of the rope dug deeper into her most sensitive spot with that tightening. "Uncomfortable?" I asked. She made two "woo woo" sounds, a protest, perhaps, or an urging. Her gaze was fixed on the purple vibrator in my hand, her pupils reflecting the sunbeams of the afternoon. I picked up the vibrator and turned the switch to the lowest setting. I turned the vibrator to the third setting. The vibration was noticeably more intense on the third setting. The hum of the device shifted from a low "buzz" to a high-pitched "whirr," and the entire shaft visibly quivered on the tabletop. I pressed it back against her inner thighs, this time directly onto the knot of the rope – the thick knot situated right between her legs, in her most intimate spot. "Mmm—!" Her reaction was immediate and violent. Her entire body jolted as if electrocuted, her back arching sharply, only her hips still making contact with the table. Her toes splayed wide for a split second before curling back in, the skin between them blanching with the sudden stretch. The muscles in her inner thighs spasmed violently, her entire flushed skin rippling like a wind-swept water surface. Her pelvic floor muscles contracted with an almost convulsive frequency, the rope knot being repeatedly squeezed, embedded, and squeezed again with each contraction. The rough hemp rope grated against her most tender flesh, each friction sending the muffled moans from her throat a pitch higher. Her fingers clenched and unclenched behind her back, a rhythm devoid of control. The muscles in her forearms trembled with exertion, the ropes digging deeper red marks into her flesh. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving deep white impressions, her knuckles protruding almost to the point of breaking the skin. The vibrator continued on the third setting for two minutes. During those two minutes, her body went through a complete cycle of violent struggle, intense spasms, and profound release. As climax washed over her, her entire body arched into a near-perfect curve – her waist suspended, her chest and abdomen completely off the table. Her thighs squeezed inward with fierce intensity, but were held in place by the ropes, unable to meet. The rope was clamped even tighter between her legs, the rough hemp furiously grinding against her most sensitive parts with the vibration. A distorted, warped moan, muffled by the gag, escaped her throat – a sound squeezed from the deepest part of her body, reduced to a blurred, broken syllable by the obstruction. Then her body went limp. She collapsed onto the table like melting wax. Her chest heaved, her breaths rapid and ragged, each inhale carrying a nasal sound that was part whimper, part sigh. The skin of her inner thighs was soaked through – a mixture of sweat, saliva, and her own bodily fluids, glistening with a wet, shimmering sheen in the afternoon sun. The rope knot was deeply embedded in that moist flesh, the skin around it red and swollen from the constriction, the knot itself darkening as it became saturated with liquid. She turned her head, her gaze falling on my face. A mistiness coated her eyes – from sweat or tears, I couldn't tell – catching the light in tiny, shimmering fragments. Her eyelids were red-rimmed, a clear tear track etched down one cheek. A pool of glistening saliva had gathered beneath the gag, slowly trickling down her jawline. I switched off the vibrator, then leaned down and unlatched the gag from the back of her head. The instant the gag was removed, she gasped for air, like someone submerged for a long time finally breaking the surface. Her mouth, stretched open for so long, couldn't immediately close, her lips parted slightly, traces of saliva and red marks from the gag lingering at the corners. Her tongue moved with difficulty inside her mouth, as if relearning how to control it. "…You…" Her voice was hoarse, broken, thick with gasps, "...you fucking…" She trailed off mid-curse, sucking in another breath as if she lacked the strength to finish. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving for a long moment. Then she opened them, the wetness in her gaze even deeper. "...Continue," she said, her voice a rasp from the depths of her throat. "...I'm not… done." The skin of her inner thighs still trembled faintly, slick and flushed. The rope knot remained deeply embedded in her most intimate place. Her toes were still curled, though no longer with the same desperate force. Her fingers slowly uncurled behind her back, leaving four deep nail imprints in her palms. I picked up the vibrator and pressed the switch again. "You're quite resilient," I said. "But—" I brought the feather stick back towards her, this time aiming for her waist. Her waist was one of her most sensitive areas, a fact I'd already confirmed from her earlier laughter. The instant the feather touched the skin of her flank, her abdominal muscles spasmed violently. It was a rapid and intense reflex—her entire torso arched to the side, tightening the ropes on her waist and leaving deep crimson welts on her skin. The twitching of her waist muscles was visibly apparent—the muscle fibers beneath her skin pulsed rapidly as if a switch had been flipped, each twitch causing a small patch of goosebumps to erupt on her skin. "Hahahahaha—! Don't, don't touch there—Hahahahaha… You fucking… Nnngh—!" Her laughter spiraled completely out of control. It was sharp, rapid, and carried a sense of helplessness she couldn't contain. Her abdomen contracted fiercely, her whole body writhing on the restraint table, but her limbs were secured in place by ropes, rendering any effective evasion impossible. She could only twist her head from side to side, writhe her hips within the small range allowed by the ropes, and frantically curl her toes. Her toes flexed and unflexed with her laughter, the dark red nail polish glinting under the light. Her arches tensed and relaxed, the veins on the tops of her feet appearing and disappearing with the continuous movement of her foot muscles. "Stop, stop—Hahahahaha—I, I surrender—!" She finally choked out the words, her voice fragmented by laughter, "...Please... stop..." I stopped. The feather stick hung in mid-air, the cluster of white feathers still retaining the warmth of her skin on their tips. She lay sprawled on the restraint table, gasping for breath, her entire body still trembling uncontrollably. Her face was slick with sweat and tears of laughter—her nose was red, the tears in her eyes shimmering in the sunlight, and distinct tear tracks ran down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat on her jawline. Her lips were blanched from biting them, and a red mark from repeated gnawing was visible on the inside of her lower lip. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, her chest heaving so much that the ropes of the shibari almost dug into her cleavage. The contours of her breasts were repeatedly compressed and released by the ropes with each breath, the skin covered by the net of ropes flushed a uniform rosy hue, like bruised petals. Her abdomen continued to twitch involuntarily after the laughter subsided. On her flat stomach, the muscle fibers were in a state of fatigued tremor from the sustained, intense contractions. Each subtle twitch brought new friction against the rope marks, causing fresh redness to bloom on her flanks. Her navel was small and delicate, casting a faint shadow in the sunlight, and the skin around it was slick with a thin sheen of sweat from the abdominal contractions during her laughter. Holding the feather stick, my gaze drifted down her body. Her legs were folded up to her chest, the fronts of her thighs pressed tightly against her abdomen, her calves bent upwards, and her ankles tethered to her wrists. This position stretched the muscles of her thighs and buttocks to their fullest—her thighs were full and supple, gleaming warmly in the sunlight; her buttocks were plump and rounded, glistening with a moist sheen from the combined effect of the rope marks and sweat; her calves were shapely and long, the curve of her gastrocnemius muscles smooth and flowing, narrowing gradually from her knees down to form two delicate arcs at her ankles. I crouched down and extended the feather towards the sole of her foot. Her feet were exquisitely shaped—her arches were high, the curve of her instep like a swan's neck, her toes small and delicate, neatly arranged, painted with dark red nail polish that gleamed with a moist, ethereal light in the afternoon sun. The skin on the soles of her feet was fine and soft, the hollow of her arch revealing fine lines. Even before the feather touched her, her toes had already curled slightly in anticipation. The moment the cluster of white feathers actually made contact with the sole of her foot, her reaction was the most violent of the entire afternoon. "Ah—!!!" Her entire body jolted upright like a fish thrown onto shore. Her waist arched high, her body suspended above the table by a single point of contact at her hips, every muscle in her body tensing instantly—her thigh muscles contracted fiercely, her knees pressing even tighter against her chest as her muscles tightened, her calf muscles spasmed violently, and her ankles thrashed wildly against the ropes, trying to break free. The hemp rope dug deeper, redder indentations into her slender ankles. Her toes splayed to their absolute limit in an instant, then snapped back, opening and closing repeatedly as if being clenched and released by an unseen hand. The dark red polish on her toenails flashed blindingly under the sun with each movement. "Hahahahahahaha—! Don't, don't touch there—! Hahahahaha… It's, it's too ticklish—!" Her laughter was completely unrestrained, sharp, high-pitched, and laced with sobs. Tears streamed from her eyes, tracing paths down her cheeks, mixing with sweat and saliva, leaving crisscrossing watery marks on her flushed face. Her head thrashed wildly from side to side on the restraint table, her slightly curled long hair clinging damply to her forehead and cheeks. A few strands were caught between her lips, only to be painstakingly pushed away by her tongue. Her toes cycled between intense curling and splaying, each sweep of the feather across her sole triggering a new wave of violent reactions—her calves kicked, her ankles twisted frantically, her toes flexed and unflexed repeatedly, her arches tensed and relaxed. The veins on the tops of her feet bulged from beneath her skin with the violent movement of her foot muscles, a network of pale blue veins resembling river branches on a miniature map, appearing and disappearing with every movement of her toes. The skin at the front of her soles wrinkled finely from the repeated curling of her toes, and the skin beneath her arches developed a faint red mark from friction against the table. "Please, please—Hahahahaha—Stop—! I, I really can't take it anymore—!" Her voice had changed, shifting from initial resistance to pleading, a clear sob in her tone, "...I'll do anything you want—Hahahahaha—Just don't, don't touch my feet—!" I lingered for two more seconds on the sole of her foot. During those two seconds, her reaction reached its peak—her toes curled to the extreme, all ten digits clenched together tightly, the tips almost digging into the flesh at the front of her soles, the skin between her toes turning white from the strain. Her entire calves trembled violently, the contours of her gastrocnemius muscles clearly pulsing beneath her skin. The ropes around her ankles dug deeper and deeper with her struggling movements, leaving deep crimson circular indentations on the skin around her ankle bones. Her arches were highly pronounced, the skin on the soles of her feet erupting in a dense layer of goosebumps from the continuous stimulation of the feather. Her toes were simultaneously curling violently, the nail beds turning slightly white from the exertion. "I surrender—! I really surrender—!" she cried out, her voice thick with tears, "...Please, Lin Xi—stop—!"