He opened the clothes pin, removed it from his fingertip.
“Those really pinch, the little fuckers.”
“ur ellng eee…”
A long string of drool hung from her chin. She stood with hands over her head, secured to the hook in the ceiling. The single hard slap to her cheek drew tears, which slid down to mingle with the spit on her chin.
“I didn’t ask for your commentary, slut. I was making an observation.”
He fastened the pin in his hand to the top of her inner thigh over a thin length of cording. Leg held open by the spreader bar, she had no way to keep his hands away. Her breath came in short gasps out her nose, a growl sounding low in her throat.
“Of course, it’s going to hurt you a lot more than it will me. And therein lies my pleasure. When should I pull the rope, slut?”
He tugged at the end of the rope, putting tension on the bottom few pins, making her whimper in pain. Releasing the cord, his finger flicked a few of the wooden pegs, which lay in a line from the topmost curve of her tit, to the inner curve of her thigh. His smile turned wicked.
“Of course, I still have this line…”
He held up a second rope, then jiggled a small rattan basket. It was full of clothes pins.
“…and all these.”