Like a Brisket, Part Eight

Penthouse came back with the riding crop. I had never been hit with it before and jumped a bit in the hogtie when he thwacked it right against my back near my shoulder blade.

“Ow, sheesh,” I muttered as he rubbed where he had hit.

“See,” Penthouse explained in the little official demonstration tone he seemed to put on whenever he just wanted to jerk me around. Sure, he checked in and asked permission like a champ, but he wasn’t above being a little cheeky. “The problem with a hogtie is that even though she can’t move, your access is kind of limited." 

He punctuated his little lecture with a few more hits to my back.

"But, see, you’ve got the back just fine,” he continued as he kept whacking me with the crop. 

I groaned and buried my face in the carpet. But, I liked the sting and I’ve never been opposed to a little condescension.

Penthouse moved down to my legs. “And, you can get the legs, too. This all right, Ivy?”

“Just fine,” I muttered into the rug just as The Prodigy got herself free. My hands had started to turn red from the cinched rope around my wrists and so I was let out as well to swallow down the rest of my cocktail after that ordeal.

“Go check in the bathroom, see if I left any marks,” Penthouse said with a smirk. “They’re all probably under your dress. I’d like to know.”

For the record and for all my whining, there were none.