“This is what we call the bullwhip, boy – the single most painful whip we have,” Jared says as he caresses Riley’s body with the braided leather. The first lash of the whip makes Riley grunt, almost as if his brain can’t quite process the extreme level of pain delivered by the whip. By the third lash, Riley is screaming in complete agony, gasping for breath in between lashes. Then he smells the alcohol that will be sprayed on his wounds and begs for mercy. His pleas are ignored. He is whipped and sprayed with alcohol over and over. Such a beautiful boy, flexing and moaning, screaming and whimpering.