<p><em>Emma's hands were bound to the wall, resembling a lamb awaiting slaughter. Fear flickered in her eyes, shame draped across her face. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, observing her master holding a whip adorned with small spikes.<br> She knew those spikes had been meticulously crafted—designed not to cause severe harm, for her master abhorred broken dolls and imperfect slaves. Yet they still pierced her skin, inflicting pain and igniting shameful desire.<br> Emma bit her lip, eyes cast downward, murmuring softly,</em> &quot;Master...?&quot;</p>