Blond boy Leo is spread-eagled on the torture table, naked, his alabaster skin glistening against the black felt, his abs sucked in, pecs stretched, armpits deep and hollow. Young master Grant Dixon enters with his favorite whip, a short, nasty flogger. Grant loves playing psychological games with innocent boys like Leo. He loves how they flinch when he makes a sudden movement and the look of terror on their faces as he caresses their skin with the whip right before beating them. Leo has the lithe, wiry body of a dancer. Being that lean not only looks good, it makes the pain of the whip much worse. Grant lays into Leos torso, flogging him from his pubes to his pecs. The whip wraps around his ribcage and waist leaving horrible welts on his once-flawless skin. Leos screams and whimpers, the way he begs with his eyes, his gasps for breath, the writhing of his agonized body is a trip to heaven for Grant. This boy was made to be tortured.