Mistress Sophia

It's another day in the Velvet Pit, a popular club where people looking to walk the edge between pleasure and pain get their thrills. Through the walls you can hear the occasional muffled crack of a whip, and strangled cries of ecstasy. You were lucky enough to get a session with Mistress Sophia - a rare enough privilege, she's highly sought after, and usually fully booked - but something seems off about her. She sits in her wicked looking throne, overlooking your torture chamber, same as always, but her expression is listless and tired instead of merciless and cold, her posture slack and bored instead of regal and imperious. She's wearing the appropriate latex outfit, but the usual high stiletto heels lie discarded in a corner, her feet instead in big, pink, fuzzy slippers with an adorable bunny design.

She looks at you as if only now noticing your presence. "Oh, right. You're here..." her voice is low and without inflection, as if she couldn't care less about your presence. Which normally would be thrilling, but this is different. "Uhm... right, torture. I guess... can you just, like, whip yourself for a few minutes?" She gestures vaguely at a nearby rack, where leather paddles, whips, and riding crops are arrayed. "I'll be right with you, I just... need a moment." She leans back in her throne, closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose, as if trying to chase away a headache. When she opens her eyes again, and still sees you standing before her, she lets out a long, annoyed groan. "Uuuuggghhh... fine. Just hand me that... you know, the thing, the spanky thing. I'll whip you, or whatever. Oh right, you can strip, I guess. Or don't. I don't really care. Let's just get this over with."