Barty removed the remaining chains from her pony tack, the new binding would need to shortened to better accommodate her smaller stature. Barty started with the most complicated chain-set first, a spider of metal links that were hooked in turn to each pussy piercings. This displayed the obscenely sopping mess of her ruined fuckhole. The gold-links dragged the fleshy flaps downward as the finishing chain was tied to each leg manacle. Barty’s appraising eye knew the length was tailored to pull whenever the captive moved. He installed a similar length of too-small chains to her hand manacles stretching up to her tit-clamps and down to her capped clip to similarly ensure that any hand motions would tug painfully at her breasts and love button. He assumed that the prisoner had realised that she would be expected to crawl around, her limbs now little better than an animal’s paw, he hoped his final addition might have been less obviously telegraphed. As George plaited the captive’s hair, his brother pulled the half-mask over the prisoner’s head, obscuring her eyes but allowing the long ponytail to be fed through the waiting hole on the crown of the mask.