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For some questions we don’t have answers. This is one of them: why are the guys in the shop taking turns (I hope?) whipping each other with heavy nylon/poly towing straps? All while laughing like maniacs?
That shit looks like it hurts!
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Becoming His Pet by Measha Stone is a BDSM romance of great foolishness, but in it, our heroine (also of great foolishness) has been kidnapped from a mafia-run flower shop front-business (more or less for her own good) by the male main character. He has questions and a great deal of humiliating BDSM gear; she has considerable spirit, and an agenda that does not include cooperating with him. And thus, enough conflict to drive the plot forward:
Yanking on the cuffs around her wrists proved useless, but it didn’t stop her from continuing her struggle. When his warm hand wrapped around her right ankle, she stilled for a moment. But only briefly, while her mind caught up with his actions.
Kicking became a priority, but he already had a stone-hard grip on her.
“The more you struggle, the more you hurt yourself.” He clasped the first cuff around her ankle.
“Greg. Stop.” She froze. He could be reasoned with; she had to at least try. “Please. Let’s just talk.” She closed her eyes when the cuff wrapped around her left ankle. “Please. We can talk this out. You don’t have to do this.”
“You wasted your chance to talk, Nora.” He patted her bare bottom lightly after he finished restraining her body. If it weren’t for the light bit of padding on the bench beneath her belly, she’d have the sharp edges of the wood biting into her stomach. As it was, being restrained over a wooden horse proved uncomfortable enough.
He walked away again. She craned her neck, trying to find him, but she was bent too far over. She could only make out the ceiling above her. What was he doing now?
“Greg. Really. Let’s just talk.” A sharp smack to her right ass cheek caught her off guard and she cursed as the sting registered.
“I told you, you blew that chance.” His boots came into view as she stared down at the floor. A crinkling of plastic was followed by the appearance of a black ball gag.
The one he’d told her about in his car. Brand new.
Who had he been planning on using it with?
Did he work with the brothers? Maybe he had come into the flower shop on purpose. Maybe they’d planned on her being abducted the entire time. She increased her struggles.
“No! Damn you! You planned this! You did this! Fuck you!” She yanked and wiggled, but nothing worked. The only success she had was in burning her skin where the cuffs chafed.
“Hey. Shhh.” Squatting down in front of her, bringing his gaze level with hers, he fisted her hair, pulling her head back. She had to look down her nose to see him clearly. “I didn’t plan any of this.”
“You did!” she continued to accuse. “You work with them, don’t you? They had you come to the shop today.”
“No, Nora. I don’t work with anyone. But I think maybe you do. I think maybe you have a lot to tell me, don’t you?” How could his tone be so casual, so soft? Didn’t he have any outrage at being caught?
“You work with Teo and Anthony.” She swallowed hard, fearing she’d lose her composure if she kept staring at him.
“Nope. Just stopped in for those carnations.” He smiled. Fucking smiled at her. Like this was just a casual meeting.
“You’re lying.” She grimaced at the sharp pain in her scalp. Apparently, he didn’t like being accused of dishonesty. His fist tightened, pulling the hairs harder.
“One of us is. But it’s not me, trouble.” He released her hair, pressing the gag to her mouth. She clamped down tight. “After you’ve taken fifteen lashes with this entirely too soft flogger, I’ll give you the chance to answer me with the truth. But you only get one chance.”
As he explained what was coming, she clenched her jaw tighter, and tried to turn her head. But he wasn’t going to let up until he had his way. And he had the full use of all his extremities to get what he wanted.
“Open this mouth, Nora. Open it now, or you’ll take those fifteen licks with a cane instead.”
Her eyes widened. That sounded a hell of a lot worse. But she wasn’t going to give in. Giving in meant he won. Meant she was complicit, and she wasn’t going to just go along with allowing him to spank her.
His heavy sigh blew a few strands of hair from her face. “I’m being too nice, apparently.”
Nice? Was he completely fucking insane?
He gripped her face with one hand, pinching her cheeks until they bit into her teeth. The pain came as a surprise, but she kept her mouth clenched. It became sharper, more intense and tears welled in her eyes. He wasn’t going to let go. He would have his way.
She caved. Opening her mouth, trying to work her jaw only gave him the opportunity he wanted. The rubber ball shoved between her teeth and the straps were quickly pulled around her head and buckled. Hair caught in the contraption, but he didn’t seem to care.
Her cheeks hurt from being pressed on, and now her jaw ached from being propped open with the damn ball. She ran her tongue over it, feeling the smooth texture.
His heavy steps drew her attention to his whereabouts. Not behind her like he should be if he was going to start the flogging. And the damn flogger was still on the floor within her eyesight.
A whooshing sound focused her attention. Frantic, she tried to see him, tried to make sure what she feared he had in his hands, was just a fear, not reality.
“You really need to learn to take the chances I give you, Nora. It will go easier for you.” He reappeared before her, on his haunches, balancing a long wooden stick on his open palm. “This is a rattan cane. I’m sure you’ve never seen one before, otherwise you would have opened that pretty mouth of yours for me and not found yourself in this situation.”
Tears formed at the sight of it. It wasn’t very thick. She hadn’t paid much attention in science class in high school—science hated her—but she remembered the simple principle that smaller circumferences would make sharper impact. This would fucking hurt.
She shook her head, trying to beg him to stop. That she’d tell him what he wanted to know. She wouldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Fifteen, after I get you ready.” He patted her head and stood up, his groin now even with her eyes. The asshole had an erection.
Then he was gone again, but not far. Just behind her. She clenched her ass cheeks, waiting for the first strike of that damn cane. The smack of his hand hurt, but not like she’d expected. He hadn’t used the cane. He’d changed his mind.
She let out a breath through her nose and relaxed her muscles. She could take a little hand spanking. Hell, her father spanked her plenty when she was little. Never made much of an impact.
But Greg wasn’t gentle and loving like her father. Greg was a fucking monster.
His hand crashed down on her ass over and over again, spreading heat like a forest fire across her entire ass. When he covered every inch, he started another round, harder and faster this time.
It wasn’t long before she started to wiggle her hips, trying to evade him. She bit into the ball, keeping back any cries for mercy. She could still handle this. She’d make it through.
“Okay, then.” He gave her one last hard slap to her right cheek.
She let out another breath. Good. That wasn’t so bad.
“Now for the fifteen.”
Her eyes flew open in panic. No!
The first line of fire crossed her ass at the up-curved cheeks. She screamed by the third, and by the sixth she was jerking in her restraints. Tears built and fell from her eyes, dropping to the floor by the tenth.
“Only five more, then you have a chance to answer my questions.”
She heard him. The words all made sense when put in line, but she couldn’t focus on much else than the blazing inferno that he’d turned her ass into. She shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to find a way to tune out the raw pain.
“Well, we’ll see if you change your mind.” He patted her back.
She heard the cane whistle through the air, but only the intense sharp pain registered in her mind. Her throat, raw from screaming, burned anew with her cry.
“Four more.” He tapped the cane against her ass.
Sobs tore through her. But he didn’t care, he just kept going.
Another stroke of the cane and another scream for a mercy that wouldn’t come. Her legs buckled, no longer wanting to keep her ass in the air. Easily rectified. He hoisted her back up, so her ass was presenting high for him.
“Three more,” he announced, again tapping the cane against her ass, which had to be a complete mess by now.
She shook her head, mumbling that she’d tell him. She’d tell him exactly who she was, and why she’d been at the flower shop. She’d tell him anything if he wouldn’t deliver the last three.
Except it was all garbled between her sobbing and the fucking ball gag. She’d missed her chance, and all she could do now was wait for the next one to come.
Another scream, more tears, and another stroke. Her body tensed, waiting for the next, and he took some pity on her. He didn’t make her wait, delivering the next quickly.
“One more. Think you will answer my questions now?” he asked, pressing the cane into her sore ass.
She nodded and babbled that she would. Of course she would!
“No more lying about being a journalist.” It wasn’t a question. He knew. He already knew the answers.
Her head dropped, but she managed a nod. All of this had been pointless. She wasn’t keeping anything from him, because he already knew. All she’d done was cause herself to be caned. To be spanked, and hurt, and… she didn’t want to think about the warm, tingling feeling between her legs. Whatever that was, it sure as hell wasn’t arousal.
The last stroke came harder than the rest, but she only grunted. Her energy was fading.
“Okay.” He appeared in front of her again, squatting down and unbuckling the gag. When it pulled free from her teeth, she ignored all the spit pouring down her chin and onto the floor. She hadn’t noticed the mess during the caning, and she was too tired, in too much pain to care about it now.
He wiped the drool from her chin, then cupped it, bringing her gaze to meet his again. Concern laced through the steel in his stare.
“You’re going to be okay, Nora, but you have to tell me the truth. Why were you working at the flower shop?”
She sniffled. The tears continued to fall, her chest constricted. Telling him would give him too much power.
“How do I know you don’t work for them?” she whispered.
“Because if I was working for a crime family like the Santinellis, do you think I would have wasted time with a spanking?” His smile came softly, lopsided. It wasn’t fair to put such a sexy smile on such an evil man.
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She didn’t have as much knowledge as she wished she did about the inner workings of the family she vowed to hurt. Her father never talked openly around her, and what little she overheard from her snooping didn’t give her much to go on either.
“I haven’t lied to you, Nora. The only reason you’re strapped down like this, with your ass full of red welts, is because you lied.”
She sighed and sniffled again. She could handle the drool, but if her nose started to run uncontrollably she’d lose the last bit of dignity she possessed at the moment.
“Why were you working at the flower shop?”
“I was getting information. Not for a story, you’re right.” How much to tell him?
“Keep talking, Nora,” he prompted her.
“Maybe I could stand up?” she asked, feeling the strain in her back from the way she was bound.
“Stalling will make it worse.” The warning was clear.
“I just wanted to know more about Antonio,” she said. And she did. She wanted to know the man who killed her father. She wanted to know what his schedule was, what his likes where, what he took in his coffee. She wanted to know so she could find a way to get her vengeance.
Greg sighed again. “I think you need some thinking time.” He patted her cheek. “You haven’t lied, so you get spared another five strokes. But you’ll need to be in the naughty cage until you tell me everything.” He picked up the flogger from earlier, and she heard him moving behind her. Cabinets opened and closed and then his steps moved to her again.
Her ankles and wrists were unsecured, and he helped her straighten up to her full height again. Her hands gently touched her ass, feeling the raised welts and hissing at her own touch. It probably had doubled in size with the swelling. The skin felt tight and hot; moving would be hard, sitting would be impossible.
“You’ll have another chance in an hour.” He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her along with him to the cage he’d shown her earlier. It wasn’t big enough for her to stand in.
“No, Greg.” She pulled back when he opened the door.
“Yes, Nora.” He fisted her hair again, pushing her down to her knees. She struggled, but after taking such a hard spanking already she’d been left weak. “Now, crawl, like a good little pet into the cage. I’ll come back in an hour and we can try this conversation again.”
Her eyes flew to him at the word pet. She was no one’s pet!
“No!” She tried to push up to her feet and run, but he held her fast, shoving her further to the floor until her cheek pressed against the plush carpeting.
Five hard smacks to her abused backside took what little fight she had away.
“Now, crawl in your cage, little pet. Do it now, or you’ll have to wear your naughty tail while you think.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about, and she didn’t want to know. Nor did she want to explore the sensations coursing through her body. The response to his voice, his words, his complete domination of her was unlike her, and she wouldn’t give it any thought. Yet.
Another swat got her moving, and she crawled on shaky knees into the cage. Once inside, she was able to turn around, just in time to see him shut the cage and bolt the lock.
“Don’t lock it. What if—”
“Shhhh.” He put his hand through the bars and covered her lips with his hand. “Caged pets don’t talk.”
Her tears ran down her cheeks, running right into his fingers. When he pulled away from her, he looked at them, coating his fingertips, then licked them slowly.
“Sweeter than I expected.” He smiled down at her. A shiver ran through her and she scrambled away from the door, to the far side of the cage away from him.
“One hour.”
And then he was gone.
He left the door to the room open, but she was alone.
And caged.
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She told him to get his stuff and get out, but she forgot one very important fact:
She forgot his proprietary interest in her ass!
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In Aphrodizzia by Richard Manton, there’s a scene where a reluctant bride is vigorously encouraged to ride her new husband for their mutual pleasure by a bystander with a leather strap:
Now that Sonja had been well prepared, Karl unbuttoned his stout prick and walked towards his slave-bride with an erection that was heavy and bold. Karl guided his knob to the well-opened cunt-hole and thrust up deep into Sonja’s love tract. Sonja gave another shuddering moan and began at once to match the rhythm of her lover’s thrusts. It mattered little that she had never seen him until that morning. After all, they say that some arranged marriages are the happiest, do they not? If that is so, I am sure Sonja gave ample proof now. She had been uneasy, even rebellious, when the decision was first made for her. Now she rode as vigorously and eagerly on the penis as if Karl had been her childhood sweetheart! Karl rode her vigorously too for ten or fifteen minutes, Sonja’s heels beating their tattoo on his strong back. When he felt like a variation, he turned her over, kissed her crop of black curls, then fastened his mouth to her lips and eased his erection into the well-vaselined grip of Sonja’s arsehole.
Whatever protests the young woman made were muffled by his amorous lips and his tongue in her mouth. I saw the tension in her lithe sunbrowned legs and knew that Karl’s bulk must be a severe test of her body. Yet even know she was moving in time to his ravaging of her.
It was Petra on the next bed, watching from only a couple of feet away, who showed signs of panic at the realisation that she would soon be suffering such agreeable scouring herself. Otto gathered her flaxen hair into a short tail and slipped the rubber band about it. He made her watch what Sonja was getting and whispered teasingly in her ear.
“No!” cried Petra, her hard pale features colouring up, “No! I won’t! I would rather die first!” This provoked general amusement, for how often has this protest echoed through a honeymoon bedroom, only to be replaced at dawn by the soft cooing gratitude of the protester? Having sodomised Sonja with great relish for a further ten or fifteen minutes, Karl withdrew from her arse and lay down on his back, making Sonja climb on top and ride that way with the penis in her cunt. They were now coming to the climax of the first encounter and he wished Sonja to be spurred on by the aid of Otto. The young woman lay on her lover, her hips rising and falling, her gypsy-tanned buttocks swelling out and then clenching together rhythmically. Otto got up with a smile and took a thin punishment-strap. He stood over Sonja as she squirmed arse-upwards on her groom’s prick. Down flashed the strap across her writhing bottom-cheeks. Whack! Smack! Crack! Sonja cried out but one had the impression that she found the painful experience far from entirely disagreeable. Otto slashed and lashed until there were bright paths of the straps crimson across the cheeks of Sonja’s bottom. Otto thrashed very hard indeed, bringing down the strap with an impact which almost made one wince. Sonja gave short, energetic, animal screams at each stroke, as of anger and revulsion. Yet not once did she ask for pity, nor did she cease to ride the penis which she was loving with such utter devotion between her thighs. The first blue colouration of bruises began to appear in the vivid red swathes of the strap marks.
Sonja was thrashed across her backside as few girls ever are. The gold-skinned energy of her firm young legs and narrow back was an excitement to watch. As her hips rose, and her buttocks parted broadly, one saw the thick blobs of vaseline still between the cheeks of Sonja’s bottom. Then down flashed the strap again with an ear-splitting smack across her bare arse and Sonja pressed herself writhing upon her lover’s tool. Otto was, of course, merely driving her to the summit of her pleasure. He spared her nothing, knowing that Sonja would thank him for driving her on. At last we heard that crescendo of short rising cries which signifies the approach of a girl’s happiness. Karl, too, was goaded on by hearing Sonja’s joy. In a moment of ecstasy his own sperm burst the dam and spurted deep into her cunt, a supreme sensation which caused Sonja to climax with a scream that might have been heard on the far side of the lake! She lay there, sweltering in the warm night and exhausted by her labours. Her head reposed on Karl’s breast, and she broke into gentle sobs — but they were of joy rather than anguish. The strange truth is, of course, that Sonja was in that paradoxical state of being hurt but happy!
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His wife Nikki’s pretty buns were right there in those stretchy tights, and he had his belt in his hand, and well… it just had to be done. He understood the assignment, he set up the camera, he did what he did, and yes, he said “sorry, babe” while he was doing it, but in truth he wasn’t even a tiny bit sorry.
At least she’s laughing!
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Here’s another “vanilla, only not” photo from the July 1979 Dutch porn magazine Lovely, starring a model who (we may imagine) has been sent to the back yard by her lover to prepare herself for a switching. Clearly she has not yet resolved her spirit to the seriousness of the trouble she is in with him:
On her side of the ledger, she is awfully cute. One suspects she has wiggled and wagged her pretty tail out of an awful lot of trouble in her life hitherto. Will today be the day that strategy stops working for her?
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A well-executed towel snap is deadly, and if you wind up properly while making small talk about lamb chops for dinner, she’ll never know it’s coming:
I do hope that man likes ghost peppers in his remoulade, however. Because fair is fair, and when you ambush the cook while she’s washing dishes, it creates a karmic imbalance that cries out for comic justice.
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