Cross Bracing Table Legs Novels & Stories

I sucked in a breath. "Keep your legs apart." He ordered in that low, commanding tone again. He gripped behind one knee and forced it open. I gasped. “Oceans...” Then, cool metal bracketed one ankle. It was a cuff. The inside was padded, but the lock still gave a hard, little sound when it shut. He did the same to the other side, then attached something between them. There was a small series of clicks. And when he let go, my legs stayed completely spread.

At first he thought of making two of different heights but it was wasteful and they didn’t have the space to keep it in the house. “The only trouble is you have adjust each leg separately.” Jack demonstrated as he explained “you have to do the legs in a cross way to stop it from toppling.” He adjusted the knobs of one leg by pulling the frame to a taller height and then did the same on the leg diagonal to the first one. He repeated the same process for the other two. “Wow" Mira clapped her hands happily as the height of the table was a height comfortable for her to work standing. Jack let her do it on her own a few times so that she became comfortable doing it when he wasn’t home.

I could see where a person could be made to lay on it, face down or face up, and their legs would drape over the edge. I moved about, looking even deeper into the shadows towards the back of the room. A red velvet sofa was there, and then I spied some things I had never seen before but had read about. There was a large wooden cross shaped like an "X," with rings attached at different points and supported by other beams. I recognized this as a St. Andrew's cross, designed to have someone tied to it with their arms above their head and their legs spread and attached at the bottom of the cross.

The room revealed itself in intoxicating pulses of crimson, each new glow unveiling horrors and temptations I’d only read in dark romance novels. Walls gleamed with polished steel rails, instruments displayed like macabre art pieces—floggers with thick leather tails, some braided for sting, others studded with metal for bite. Paddles hung in neat rows, crafted from ebony wood, silicone, even padded leather. Cuffs dangled from overhead chains, heavy and unforgiving, designed to lock wrists, ankles, or even encircle a neck in unyielding restraint. A massive St. Andrew’s cross dominated one corner, its X-frame equipped with buckles that glinted menacingly.

The sun also was setting now and i could only imagine what the view will be like when it's completely dark in the sky. Wooden tables were set on the floor,many of them right along the edge to give the customers the best view.On the side where the hotel stood was a brightly lit bar with men and women mingling in front of it with drinks in their hands. "Wow,beautiful"then i breathed. "Come on I reserved us the best table,"he said pushing on my back a little. I almost stumbled forward but managed to catch myself from falling.I couldn't embarrass myself now although with the dim light i doubt anybody would notice still I have to be careful.

I hoped what we were going to do would get it out of my system once and for all. Scott took a shower and changed into his poker clothes, usually shorts or jeans and a polo shirt. Done, he showed me what else we needed to finish. He had brought some foam padding home and he showed me all the surfaces it would cover. I would apply some padding, put the leathery vinyl over it and around the wood edges and use a staple gun to staple it down to the wood on the opposite side. Essentially everywhere it would touch the slaves body, me, it would be padded. The insides of all the holes on the stocks wherever a head, wrist or ankle would go through, on the exterior of the St. Andrew's cross, and the be

He was smiling too, and he gave Nathan a salute. “I’ll demonstrate on my own, Mr. Langley.” He looked at the table not far from them and walked over. Casey raised his hand and slammed the table hard. The table could not take the force of his palm, and spider web-like cracks appeared all over the table. Nathan’s eyes widened. That was a table made of pear tree wood and was at least 20 centimeters thick. Neither he, Darren, nor the other bodyguards would be able to even cause a minor crack to the table.

Padded along the surface. "Sit on the table," Alex said. I looked at it. Half my height. Not even. The proportions of it were not immediately making sense to me and I said so. "It is quite small," I said. "Half my height at most." "I will check on that." He moved to the side of it and reached underneath and pulled something out. A fitted extension, built in, drawer style, one section for arms and another that unfolded for legs, the whole thing locking into place with a quiet precise click that said this had been designed with specific intention and someone had thought about it in detail.

Restraints next from a side table drawer, black leather cuffs with silver buckles. He dragged her to the coffee table, glass-topped and sturdy, positioning her on all fours facing the windows. Wrists cuffed to front legs, ankles to rear spread wide, ass high, pussy exposed obscenely to the city lights. The leather bit her skin, cool at first then warming, immobilizing her completely. Every shift tugged, heightening vulnerability.

The edge dug into my sides, and I winced. “Serves you right,” he growled. “You should’ve thought twice before stealing from our mall. Now get on the table and spread your legs—and do it fast.” With a heavy sigh, I climbed onto the table, which creaked under my weight. I lay on my back, the cold wood pressing against my skin, and spread my legs. “Wider,” Bryan growled. I spread my legs as far as I could. Heat flushed through me, and I felt so fucking exposed.