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Cloudy arrives for her latest training session clad in a sporty outfit and sneakers, her sweat-soaked socks clinging to her feet—a glossy testament to days of unwashed wear. Fiddler, in no mood for games, swaps ropes for zip-ties, declaring today’s focus on “discipline.” Cloudy dismisses the threat with a laugh, only to freeze when ordered to strip down to her underwear and those infamous socks. What follows is a meticulously calculated b*ndage spectacle: her hands mummified into fists with tape, a colossal gag crammed into her mouth, and every limb immobilized under layers of extreme-tight zip-ties that leave her elbows fused and legs clamped together.

Fiddler dangles a cruel bargain: retrieve a spiked mat, rigid neck brace, and clover clamps in under three minutes, or face breathplay-enhanced panishment. Cloudy’s bound form crumples under the clock. Her failure unleashes Fiddler’s full wrath. The gag is replaced by her own rank socks, jammed into her mouth and sealed under multiple layers of tape. A stocking and additional wraps mummify her head, sparing only a sliver of her nostrils—until even those are revoked.

With Cloudy immobilized, Fiddler collars her in the leather brace, anchoring it to an overhead beam. Made onto a spike-studded mat, her bare feet succumb to the cruel texture while Fiddler’s leather slapper and single-t*il whip paint her buttocks crimson. But this is mere prelude. The clover clamps descend on her nipples, tethered to a distant b*r, stretching her torso taut as the neck brace yanks her onto trembling tiptoes. Every flinch tightens the clamps; every gasp is stifled by Fiddler sealing her nostrils with tape, pushing her into airless panic between strikes.

The Breaking Point is close.

Post-whipping, Fiddler drags Cloudy into a br*tal hogtie: elbows lashed to ankles, zip-ties screeching tighter. Her spike-marked feet are showcased in close-up before Fiddler unleashes a relentless bastinado with a short, unforgiving whip. The catch? If Cloudy screams “I want it tighter!” through her gag, the hogtie cinches further—a endless loop of choice between whip strikes and unbearable compression. Fiddler savors her dilemma, prodding until she battles silently, defeated by her own limits.

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