Miss Ruby drags her trembling sissy into the MMA cage—her red PVC gleaming like armour, his frilly plastic pants already soaked with fear. From the first toe-tap on his tender balls the soundtrack is gasps, giggles, and delicious agony. Slow-motion kicks build to knees, foot-torments and verbal filth delivered in Miss Ruby’s trademark British bite. The bag appears like a promise of more—but stays a promise. She dangles it inches from Pinky’s face, his pupils blowing wide as the latex glints. With one last cruel squeeze to his bruised balls she simply whispers, “Bye.” She shoves him to the mat, bag now draped over his head, and strides out leaving nothing but ringing ears, aching nuts, and the echo of her laugh.
