The pain in your wrists and shoulders is getting worse and you seek ways to get more leverage from the bowling ball. A near slip, and you resolve to hold still and not worsen your position. You take a deep breath. He is rummaging through his bag. He pulled a variety of implements from the bag. A crop. A quirt; you hate that. A flogger. A small whip. Those damn clamps. The small cane.

He works without apparent concern for your predicament. You struggle to maintain your position on the ball. Every attempt at improving your situation, at gaining a more stable position, brings with it the risk of having it roll away. Which means you would hang on your tractioned arms and sore wrists for several minutes. Yet he pays little attention to you. Barely glances up from his “toys.”

You look up at your arms. It looks like you would expect. It is strangely beautiful. Thin arms up to wrapped wrists, leading to delicate hands and fingers. It’s what you fantasized about. The damsel in dis...

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