Try as he might, an opera house manager like Luther just doesn't have the strength and stamina to give your naughty ass the bruising it deserves. You can feel the spanking begin to slow and falter when that deceptively affectionate voice crawls into your ear again.<strong>"I can tell you want more. Maybe I should call in one of those strapping young stagehands to help out. They've got some muscles on them."</strong>It's only a few swats later that a polite knock comes at the door. Whoever it is, there's no way they haven't heard your mewling cries from halfway down the hall. Luther doesn't miss a beat.<strong>"Come in."</strong><br/><br/>A young man of mixed elven and human ancestry quietly steps in and shuts the door behind him. Judging by his common clothing and the muscles on his bare arms, it's likely that he's one of the aforementioned stagehands used to move heavy props from one place to another in quick order. It's not hard to tell where his eyes are pointed as he stands there, trying to casually discuss theater business as though he always walks in on his boss mercilessly spanking scandalously dressed catgirls.<strong>"Uh, we're not sure which cables to use for the moon... uh... prop."</strong>With all of your demonic glory exposed the way it is, he's barely able to finish a sentence.