Swinging High

David’s rope bites in. Nyssa’s wrists lock high above her head, bare toes barely brushing the floor of the cold, low-lit chamber. The tension in the hemp keeps her stretched—small muscles twitching, breath stuttering each time she tries to shift weight. He circles slow, picks up the cane, taps the underside of one breast first, then the other, just enough to make the skin jump. When he asks if she’s still teasing boys, she smirks. The cane answers—thin whistle, then the crack across both cheeks. She jerks, heels kicking empty air, a flush rising where red lines bloom. He doesn’t let her settle. Another strike lands across the fronts of her thighs, heat flaring in twin tracks. She gasps, hips tilting forward like she can dodge the next, but the ropes hold her still. David waits until the sting settles into a throb, then slides two fingers between her legs, finds her already wet. He works her open with steady, unrelenting pressure until her breathing turns ragged, until she’s chasing the hand that just punished her. Only when she’s right on the edge does he pull away, leave her straining in the ropes, cunt clenching at nothing. A fresh stripe across the curve of her ass follows—sharp reminder that relief won’t come until he decides. She curses, hips rolling anyway, and he smiles, tapping the cane once more against her nipples. "Still think teasing’s cute?" The question hangs while the next stroke lands, and the next, until the room is nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing and the quiet whistle of the cane cutting the air again.