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Under most circumstances, Moist Von Lipwig strongly objects to being restrained.

When it’s Adora Belle Dearheart doing the restraining, of course, he doesn’t mind at all. Spike is good with knots.

Moist doesn’t swing as she runs the tip of a riding crop from the base of his throat down to his navel. He doesn’t breathe. Of course, breathing’s made a little difficult by the fact that his arms are dragged over his head - the restraining part. It's made easier by the fact that he hasn't got a stitch of clothing on.

Spike stalks around him, fully clothed, corseted, and gloved, her hair primly tied back, a cigarette smoking in her spare hand.

“I’m not going to ask if you’ve been bad, Mr. Von Lipwig,” Spike says as she leans in, and the ashy scent of her breath wafts across Moist’s senses. “We already know you have.”