Her arms had been bound behind her back. She was still bound to/lying on the marble tabletop.
Frankenstein observed the scene between his Master and Edian with the occasional hum or exclamation of enjoyment (or an ill-suppressed moan)
He ran the razor up and down her forearms, upper back, posterior, and inner thighs in short, horizontal lines, periodically lapping at the blood.
He dipped the ladle into the oil, which was still being kept boiling. It was undoubtedly scalding.
And Edian screamed, bucking within the restraints.
There was still no safeword.
A faint moisture pooled beneath her eyes.
Frankenstein at last made his way to the table, presumably, to indulge himself directly. He pulled a knife, discarding the sheath at the foot of the table.