Sharp suit, sharper aim. Tonight Ophelia channels her inner Patrick Bateman: tailored pinstripes, icy smirk, zero mercy. Curvy red-head Angelica thinks she’s arrived for drinks and flirting, but the floggers laid out on the marble counter tell a different story. Before Angelica can question the rope and duct tape, Ophelia sweeps in, binds her in a TIGHT hogtie, strips off her designer heels and goes to work on those tender, manicured soles. A leather flogger delivers the warm-up, turning creamy skin a blushing pink while Angelica’s gasps echo through the penthouse. Next comes the leather paddle, crisp rhythmic smacks that make her squirm against the ropes. The rattan cane follows, precise stripes painting arches and heels until every twitch draws a muffled whimper behind the silver tape sealing her lips. Finally the single-tail cracks like a verdict, curling around soft soles, pushing Angelica over the edge – tears streaking mascara, makeup ruined, yet her eyes plead for every last kiss of pain. Ophelia stays immaculate, calm, delighted by the symphony of squeals beneath her patent Louboutins. She inspects the damage, trails a polished fingernail along swollen soles and purrs approval while Angelica quivers in aftershock.
