Leather Punching Tool Crossword Novels & Stories

Oh no, by the time I was done, he was going to regret the day he was born and every day since. Now that they were coordinating well, I went to the waiting bag on the floor and dug around to find the best tool. After a moment, I pulled out a long leather strap. Perfect. Walking back to Henry, I folded it to a comfortable length in my hand and then unleashed my fury with it across Henry's back and butt, making a point to repeatedly come into direct contact with the wooden stake still impaled in his ass.. Henry wailed. Sweat poured off of his body. Not a minute later, the Wolf came.

A complicated series of pulleys and ropes hung from one corner, a bed with high wooden posts and a bare mattress sat in the middle of the room and one wall contained a series of hooks from which hung a variety of wicked implements. Presley whistled in appreciation at the sight of the master-craftsmanship of the whips and elk hide floggers; their artistry and elegant brutality was obvious from where she stood and she turned her head to look at the manacles hanging from iron loops driven into the opposite wall and the St Andrew’s cross. The bright red rolling tool box that stood at chest height interested her greatly and she strode to it, opened a drawer and felt heat fill her lower belly at t

And everywhere, hung from hooks, laid across tables, suspended from chains, were instruments I had no name for until this moment. Leather straps studded with metal. Wooden paddles of varying thickness. A row of polished glass plúgs graduated from slender to impossibly wide. Whips with many tails. A metal bar with cuffs at either end. Díldos carved from smooth ebony and ivory, some ridged, some curved, some monstrous. A harness with straps that looked designed to hold someone open and vulnerable. Bottles of oil that caught the candlelight like liquid amber. And, hanging nearest me, a flogger whose leather strands were knotted at the ends.

“The deceased has multiple linear bruises and subcutaneous hemorrhages. There are both fresh and old injuries on her back and arms. The time of death is within four hours.” The lead officer walked out onto the balcony. Wearing gloves, he picked up the laundry rod. “There are traces of blood. Send it for forensic analysis.” He then walked over to Mom while still holding the rod. “What is this?” She recoiled slightly. “It’s… to hang clothes.” The officer pointed to the red marks on it. “Where did the blood on it come from? And how did your daughter get these linear bruises on her body?” Mom lowered her head. “She didn’t do well in her exams and I gave her a few hits. Just to teach her a lesson

“Where are the rest of you hiding?” He turns his head away, jaw tight. Not even a curse slips past his lips. I glance over at Mark. “Bring the toys.” Mark grins, then unrolls the leather bundle on the table beside me. Small blades, twisted hooks, tiny iron tongs, a thin whip lined with barbs. Tools made to make grown men weep. My eyes land on the whip, three short metal spikes tied to the ends. Good enough for a start.

They kept a small display in the shop, an assortment from their nearby warehouse. "Now what were you looking for today?" Blake surveyed the racks of crops, floggers, and other impact tools. There was also a display of bondage gear like cuffs, collars, and rope of various kinds. Leather apparel hung on racks across the back wall. "A couple of things, really. I was thinking about a set of soft cuffs." "Soft. So not steel handcuffs, then?" Eve opened a deep drawer and started shifting the contents. "I was thinking soft leather. In pink, maybe."

Not too shabby. I move across the room to examine the items hanging from a display rail beside the St. Andrew's cross. There are paddles of varying weights and design, whips, crops, more canes than I personally care for, floggers and all manner of restraints. I select a pair of soft leather cuffs and press them to my nose to inhale the sensuous aroma. My pussy starts to moisten in anticipation. "You may put that pair on, if you like them, and select another pair for your ankles, Miss Barnett."

I moved deeper into the room, pulse racing, body already warming. On a wide display shelf, tools were arranged with almost reverent care. I reached out and touched a soft black flogger, running my fingers through the suede falls. The leather was buttery smooth. My thighs pressed together instinctively as I imagined the sound it would make against skin—against my skin. Next to it were several paddles—wooden, leather, one with heart-shaped cutouts. I picked up a smaller one, testing its weight. A shiver ran down my spine. I set it down carefully and moved on.

He slammed his h‌and aga‌inst​ t⁠he s‌pin‌e of a fake leather-bound encyclopedia. Th⁠e heavy b‍o‍o⁠kc‌ase swun‌g inward with a p‍neuma​tic his​s, revealing a corridor of ra​w, re​inforced steel. Crack-cra‍ck-crack-c​rack!

When I pull one, it barely budges—it’s been tightened recently. Who was restrained here? Or worse . . . who will be? My throat dries. I stand and drift toward the table against the wall. It’s long, metal, and cluttered. My fingertips hover over a coiled whip. I touch the handle with just two fingers. The leather grip is cracked, and along one side is a faint brown stain. Blood. Definitely blood. I move my hand to the next item—a leather cuff. When I flip it over, there are four deep gouges inside the lining. Claw marks. The person wearing this had tried to claw their way out.