ENGLISH SPEAKING My slave is tied to the bed, her arms and legs spread wide and restrictive. She can’t close herself off, she can’t escape, she can’t even cover herself. She’s completely exposed, all mine. The other mistresses are already here. We arrange ourselves around her. I sit next to her chest; the others take their places on either side of her thighs, hips, and feet. None of us is in a hurry. We want to savor every second. I go first. My light fingers glide along her hips, beneath her ribs, right where I know she’s most vulnerable. She jerks immediately, a small, futile leap against the ropes. I smile. The others join in. One attacks the soles of her feet with nails and feathers, another her lower ribs, yet another her inner thighs. I stay on her chest and armpit, searching for the exact spot that makes her lose control. Every time we find a new sensitive spot, her screams grow higher-pitched, more desperate. The bindings hold. She’s not going anywhere. We keep moving, switching places, testing. Armpits, neck, belly, behind the knees, the curve of her hips, the soles of her feet again. Every area is explored with cruel patience. When we discover a particularly weak spot, we stop there and hammer away at it mercilessly, until she cries, screams, and writhes in desperation. Our hands overlap, take turns they don’t give her a second’s respite. We keep moving, changing positions, testing. Armpits, neck, belly, behind the knees, the curve of her hips, the soles of her feet again. Every area is explored with cruel patience. When we discover a particularly vulnerable spot, we stop there and hammer away at it mercilessly, until she cries, screams, and writhes in despair. Our hands overlap, take turns they don’t give her a second’s respite. The slave is a tangle of laughter, sobs, and futile attempts to close her legs. The bed creaks beneath her, but the ropes don’t give way. I lean in closer, continuing to tickle her armpit and hip with sadistic precision. My fingers don’t stop. Neither of us stops.