Just hanging out again. Letting your soul and balls dangle, your nipples drooping from the leaden weight, your body tormented by gravity, the Earth's pull on this planet. Sometimes you just wish you were on some space station, far away from all the nastiness that Madame Lynn brings with her.

It felt like she'd bolted all the scrap metal from the surrounding junkyards to the guy's clamped scrotum. Like centuries-old leather pouches, his balls dangle gently in space, resembling the tubes from which Nero once drank ambrosia. The servant? He's already unforgiving my expression. Although we can't quite tell if he's even conscious anymore with all the pain. Even when attaching the nipple clamps and weights, we couldn't detect any reaction. But perhaps, as suspected in the first part, he simply ran out of breath at the beginning. Either way, Madame Lynn will breathe life back into him. At the latest, after her next act of meanness.

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