Three sadistic mistresses, including Lady Scarlet, stand over a slave, who is kneeling and in his underwear. His back is unmarked, pristine white – an unacceptable blank canvas. We seize our nine-tailed whips, eager to transform his back into a vibrant, crimson masterpiece. A symphony of lashes fills the air, punctuated by the slave’s cries of anguish. His skin reddens, finally bearing the desired hue. Overwhelmed, the slave collapses, only finding mercy when he pleads for it. We permit him to crawl away, granting him the privilege of kissing our bare feet as he retreats.