"I don't care how difficult it is. Stay still. If the swats are too distracting, i can always give you something else to focus on."
Which in fact i did. Mind you, she had every reason to complain. I had her in an incredibly uncomfortable position. She was completely naked, and bent like an A-frame roof. Her feet planted firmly into the ground and her wrists sandwiched against the wooden slats of the floor. This caused her butt to be the lone prominent thing pointed up at me.
I don't take yoga, but i'm sure this would qualify for one of their more strenuous postures. Except, that wasn't enough for me. I needed more. I'd attached her adjustable vice nipple clamps to each perky nib, with the attached chain running between each gatored device pinching into her flesh. With her pyramided like this, the chain of the clamps dangled in the airspace between her tits and the floor below them. I'd also taken a leather strap and pulled it between her lips, latching it behind her head, rendering her incoherent.
I produced our mini-flogger with the long rigid plastic tendrils and began this week's correction. Immediately, either because of the brutal bite of the raking plastic or the position her body was in, she protested.
She kicked into the air. Perhaps even at me, but certainly to exchange this energy thrust into her body. And moaned. I remember her moans. They were quite sharp and pedantic, but with fruity notes that dispelled their desperation. I sipped from them gingerly, wanting to drink more from their rich vintage. I uncorked upon her a new fury of floggings.
Wails this time. Pleading, sickened, angry wails. Undernotes of "You bastard", "You sick fuck" and "I hate you" filled out the vast landscape of these cries. I didn't blame her. I was being ruthless.
"Listen to me. If you do not stop, i will give you something to complain about, not for just today, but for the rest of the week."
I then took a double-headed metal clasp and latched it onto the chain dangling from her tits. This added weight, that with each jerk and spasm her body mustered would find greater articulation in this area. I returned my attention to her ever-crimsoning buttocks.
She stamped into the ground. These sounds had definitely matured. They'd become cries. Tear-producing, deep surrendering, cries of desperation. Clearly, she was too focused on what was happening to her backside. I took another double-headed clasp and also a thick, heavy brass padlock, and clipped these onto the already taxed chain hanging from her tits.
"I do hope this is enough to keep you occupied."
Like a good girl who identifies the path to her salvation and chooses to take it, with the added weight tugging on her screaming nipples, she managed to remain as still as possible while i conversed with the white fleshy mounds of her ass. Well, not me exactly, but the very handy and sadistic plastic flogger.