As the bag comes halfway open, it leaps up around Carissa's hand, over her wrist, snapping tight.
Most sexual masochists prefer a gradual buildup of their pain. This bag is the opposite of that, as if somebody was trying to make the experience unpleasant even for a masochist, maybe as a challenge. Molten-iron heat on one finger, instantly there from zero buildup, lasting for maybe a quarter-minute, and then it cuts out and is replaced by the sensation of her middle finger being flayed, which goes on for another quarter-minute.
(It's probably not actually molten iron; real molten iron would burn out nerves quickly and end up feeling mostly like the pain of an amputation.)