A leather body suit: her apparel of choice as it clung to her curves and emphasized on her prized assets. On hand, the chosen weapon – her prized whip, which served many slaves, but only one master.
She strode the hallway like no tomorrow. They said that they’re a perfect match. Now she’s about to find out.
Her present had nothing but her red Louboutins and lipstick in matching shades of red. Her wild curls went past her shoulders, and she sat there, waiting for her master.
At last she arrived, her hand hitting one end of her weapon. “Are you ready to get whipped, Miss River Song?”
“Happy Birthday, Miss Adler.”