Smooth, muscle-boy Blake Ellis lies collapsed on the floor, totally exhausted after hanging by his wrists for hours, his back screaming in pain from the single-tail whip, his ass covered with red welts like two ripe globes of tenderized boy-meat. His Master, Alex, enters and flogs his fresh wounds, then sprays them and orders him to roll over onto the cross. “You are going to hang for seven hours, boy,” Alex tells the trembling slave. “These muscles you are so proud of are now your worse enemy. Their weight will tear you apart and their strength will keep you in total agony the whole time.” Moments later Blake rises. He immediately feels the power of the cross as his arms and pecs stretch and his abdomen sucks in so he can barely breathe.
