Leather Punching Tool Crossword Novels & Stories

********************************************** *PUNCH* Motherfucking! *PUNCH* Arrogant! *PUNCH* Self-absorbed! *PUNCH* Italian! *PUNCH* Prick! *PUNCH* Sweat ran down my face as my fist continued to make contact with the punching bag. It continued like this for another 30 minutes before I yelled out in frustration and roundhouse kicked the bag harder than necessary, causing it to break the chain connecting it to the ceiling and split in half on the gym floor. One freaking month. Thirty goddamned days!!! That’s how long it’s been since the little excursion with Ace in the basement. My fists clenched at the memory:

Enzo’s POV I went to my drawers and took out a thick leather flogger with heavy straps, a wooden paddle, adjustable nipple clamps with a connecting chain, a thick black candle and lighter, a bottle of lube, a large metal toy, wrist and ankle cuffs with chains, and a vibrating wand.

Velvet drapes hung from the walls, their deep crimson color contrasting against the dark floor. The scent of leather and something faintly musky filled the air, intoxicating and overwhelming. My eyes darted around, drinking in the sheer extravagance of it all. Along one wall, there was an X shaped cross, made of black polished wood, adorned with silver restraints at each end. Beside it, an elegant rack displayed whips, floggers, paddles, and riding crops, each varying in size and intensity. Some were sleek and smooth, while others had textured surfaces.

One both sides were padded Four inch wide shelves with Velcro straps on them just above the shelves were padded leather buckle straps backed with wooly sheep skin. Cherry looked at Abi. "Get up on the pad, head toward the higher end." Abi looked nervously at Gio "Gio?" Gio nodded. "I need to know how to use it Abi for Becky." "You won't do anything or let her do anything to me?"

She sighed, turning her attention to the tray still inside the case. The bottom tray held two pairs of handcuffs, but instead of being a heavy metal as she had seen so many times on television shows, these were wrapped in what looked like the tail of a tiger, and a mask with the same feline covering. A strange adjustable black strap with a small red wiffle ball in the middle, and a black leather covered board that looked like a hand, similar to the spanking board Nana used when children would disobey. There was also a long silver bar with a locking mechanism in the center to adjust the width. Attached to the bar were two sets of wide leather cuffs with silver buckles. A long thin stick that

I keep my face straight and opt for a discreet silence. EIGHT YEARS AGO From an overhanging branch of the oak, a sack, stuffed with straw, off-cuts of leather, old rags and who-know-what-else, swings slightly in the breeze. "It's not a proper punch-bag," says Chad, "but you can start with that and maybe when they see what you're doing, the school will pay for the real thing." "Can you wrap my hands for me, please." "Sure." Chad loops the elastic wrap over her left thumb, running it over the back of her hand. "You're getting really good you know."

Music thudded faintly from overhead speakers, but his rhythm drowned it out. Thud, thud, thud. Each punch landed with a smack that made heads turn. His knuckles, wrapped tight in tape, blurred as he battered the bag. Shoulders heaved, lungs burned, but he kept his stance sharp; jab, cross, hook, reset. The veins in his forearms bulged with effort.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. I wasn't sure that you were ready for this. Thank you." From the box, he takes the flogger, red and black leather, soft and flexible. He tests it on the back of his hand, raising eyebrows at the sheerly erotic snap of the leather over his skin. Then he takes the paddle, again red and black leather, again testing it on himself. The nipple clamps he experimentally tries on his little finger. The riding crop, he examines closely, tests on his own arm with a sharp 'Thwack' that sends a thrill through me, then says, "I think we'll build up to that. "Time enough for everything..."

I prepared. I went to the work room and opened the cabinet. The leather smell rose up to meet me. I took everything out, one piece at a time, and laid it on the bench. The flogger with the braided tails. The single-tail. The riding crop. A set of nipple clamps, the screw kind, not the twee little clothespins the amateurs used. A leather collar with a steel ring at the throat. Cuffs, wrist and ankle, lined with sheepskin so they wouldn't cut. A ball gag, red, medium. A butt plug, stainless, weighted. A cock ring, leather and snaps. I cleaned each one. I oiled the leather. I checked the welds on the chains. I laid it all out in neat rows like a surgeon setting a tray.

Arch. He curls them. Hits that spot. I moan, low, broken. Then he pulls out. Walk to the table. Returns with a slim leather paddle, short, flexible, holes cut in the blade for less air resistance. He doesn’t speak. Just swings. The first strike lands across both cheeks, sharp, stinging. I jerk against the chain. Second strike. Lower. Where thigh meets ass. Third, Fourth. Each one builds heat. Fire. My cock hardens fully, leaking against my stomach.