Seven of us, stunning and ruthless, don lavish attire as we step off the villa’s veranda. Our slaves have secured today’s candidate on a leash, clothed in jeans and a t-shirt. The winter air is frigid, and snowflakes blanket the ground. A small act of mercy, really, to leave him some clothing – bare skin would have frozen instantly, denying us our entertainment. On all fours, he crawls through the garden, humiliated, pelted with snowballs, stomped on, kicked, and pressed into the frozen earth. We command him to lick our boots, whip him, and ultimately, leave him to crawl like a worm, his bare chest serving as our makeshift walkway. We depart, abandoning him to the cold and frost.