Clad in black, donning high leather boots, I sit enthroned, a true queen, while the slave, stripped naked, bound to the cross, begins to sigh. He has yet to feel my whip’s sting and already trembles. Rising, I begin to lash him with my whip’s many tails. Despite his tan, his skin turns red and warms. I take brief pauses, only to rake my nails across his flesh, feeling the heat of his inflamed skin. I claw at him like a cat, then resume lashing until he pleads for mercy. I allow him to count the final five blows, delivered with my sharp snake whip. Ultimately, I show mercy, untie him, and let him fall to the ground, kissing my boots.