The Wages of Sin

Two muscular men in jeans and leather cuffs, one with a thick beard, the other tattooed, stand bound to a wooden cross, their arms stretched wide as the first lash cracks against bare skin. The bearded man’s chest rises with sharp breaths while the tattooed one’s legs are locked in chains on the floor, his hole already slick with anticipation. The whip’s bite leaves red trails as they take turns, one dominating with precise strikes, the other gasping into the restraints. No mercy, just the weight of sin in every swing.