Jules looks to her, wincing and wiggling as her fingers pluck and pull and pinches his nipples, hands tugging weakly at the bonds that hold his wrists prisoners behind his back.  Their position forcing his leather strapped breasts up more for her to torment.  Glad that she put the strap on away, he has avoided that... for now.<br/><br/>Jules swallows as she returns with the crop and the paddle.  Looking from one to the next, hoping she is just going to use one to psyche him out, not use both.  Knowing such hope is in vain.<br/><br/>Jules squirms as the blows land, his breasts shift with each move of his body, with each blow of the crop.  He struggles, wanting to roll over, to shimmy his body just enough to make her miss.  But, blow after blow after blow lands on those helpless breasts.<br/><br/>Jules lays there, those breasts so red and covered with welts, as lips then kiss a nipple, gasping as those lips touch him.  He whimpers hearing her, but struggles to roll onto his side, then dragging himself over the surface of the bed.  Another whimper as his sore breasts are mashed and rubbed over the bed, then his legs dangle off the side of the bed. They drop down, until his ass is presented for her.  He does not the glance to the strap on.  Hoping he had avoided that, but maybe not.  Dangled on the side of the bed, he dreads whatever comes next.<br/><br/><br/>