Description
Built like a big old Chevy pickup, Jackson Reid’s got a bad-ass gaze and a profile like a nicked axe. Reid’s desperate for brutality and tenderness, and his Master’s ready to give him plenty of each at the end of a whip. With his arms chained high over his head and his legs spread wide, Reid’s a fine sight to see. His Master starts him off slowly, kneading his arms, his shoulders and ass. He takes his time, moving that whip so lightly you can hear it whisper when it passes over Reid’s shoulder blades. He turns up the heat without changing the pace, and soon enough we get to hear Reid holler and groan and scream in a voice that sounds like a dog caught under a wheel. By the time he begins to count off strokes for his Master, Reid’s rugged face is shiny with sweat and tears. He travels from “Sir! Ten!” down to “Sir! One!” in a glorious aria of shrieks, rattling his chains all the way. When he’s had all the whippin’ he can take and all he can do is hang by his arms, whimpering, that’s when his Master puts down the lash. He wraps his arms around Reid’s thick body, holds his head and kisses him – slowly, gently. In a voice so quiet you can barely hear it, Reid mutters, “Thank you, Sir. Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”