Cassandre’s upperbody is tickled on the rack

Cassandre thought she knew what she was signing up for. She was wrong. Strapped
to the rack with her arms stretched high and her armpits completely defenseless,
she discovers a weakness she never suspected she had. Her sides? Catastrophic.

Her belly button? Don’t even think about it. The dancer in her tries to find
rhythm in the chaos, but there is no rhythm here, just relentless, merciless
fingers and her own helpless laughter filling the room.
Short-haired, wide-eyed, and absolutely beside herself, Cassandre on the rack is a sight to behold.