My name’s Rhea, and the moment that red light flares on, I drop to my knees on the cold hardwood like the obedient little slave I was born to be. The only things that exist are this camera, the steel collar locked tight around my throat, and the burning, dripping need between my clamped-open thighs.

Black leather cuffs bite into my wrists, chained short to a spreader bar that forces my knees obscenely wide. My ankles are locked in matching cuffs, tethered to rings bolted into the floor so ...