I watch round two begin, and the rules are about to change. At first the dominas of this trample championship still take their slaves one by one on the white bed, each queen enjoying her own private stage. But the urge keeps growing, and soon one more climbs up, then another, two side by side in black, then a pair of tall laced sandals, until the slaves lie beneath a crowd of eager feet. Francesca and Mel Costa lead the stampede, laughing, pressing, walking wherever they please. Overwhelming, almost too much, and the slaves would not trade it for anything.

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