Leena was crying now—real tears, hot and steady, streaming down her cheeks. But she was also crawling. Still crawling. Still moving up the stairs toward his bedroom, even as her cunt throbbed and her nipples burned and the chain swung its silver pendulum between her legs.

They reached the top landing. Jagan stepped around her and offered his hand, helping her to her feet. The change in position made her dizzy—the clamps, the chain, the blood rushing from her head—and she swayed against him.