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December 14, 2002
The ball gag is bright red and jammed into my mouth. The ball gag is held tightly in place with leather straps fastened with steel buckles.

I am naked and cold in the cellar, arms fastened to the moldy pipe that runs across the ceiling a mere two inches from the top of my head. I think about kicking the bitch when she returns but eye the two electrodes clipped to my testicles warily.
Nope.
I am at her mercy.
I grimace as best I can and silently pray for a massive coronary to take me.
None does, of course.