Riding crop.

You draw out the long black riding crop with it's tiny stinging strap, there's something so elegantly disdainful about it, so perfectly intimidating.

You walk circles around Natalie, striking accurately, hard, and unpredictably. The underside of her tightly bound breasts. The inside of her thighs. The top of her buttocks, the flesh under her arms. Natalie is instantly silent, and afraid. She breathes hard in her ropes and keeps still, her big brown eyes alert as you circle her.

You tickle her nipples with the soft leather tassle of the crop, menacing and pleasurable, the salt and pepper of pain and excitement, heightened senses, sensitised nerve endings. You tickle and tease her nipple and then snap it sharply with the crop. You drop it between her legs, slapping the flesh of her thighs.

"Have you ever been shaved like this before, Natalie?" you ask her.

Her exposed pink pussy is teased with the long black riding crop. "Some new sensations down here? All shaved smooth." You tap the flap of leather against her clitoris, slap, slap, slap. How much to hurt her? How much will it take for her to behave?

You walk suddenly around behind her, take a handful of her raven black hair, push her forwards in her bonds, her tiny ass rolling up at you on the saw horse. You wail on her naked flesh with the crop, striking left and right, five strokes. Six.

You pull off her ball gag and breathe hard with the exertion. You slide your fingers over her lips, feel wet tears on her face.

"Good girl, Natalie. Well done, it's over now." You run your fingers over her rope-tied breasts, her soft nipples. "You're doing very well."