His hands enclose you in a constrictor-like grip, and if he squeezes too hard, his fingers might fracture your ribs. You hang about six feet above them, arms and legs swinging in all directions, dangling from his fist like a lifeless doll. The squelching from your battered core is louder than the groan you make above the sounds. His groans are garbled by a symphony of perverse groans, barely holding you steady so he can desecrate you from the inside out. Mm... my sweet, diminutive plaything.