This time, she heard a light whistle and felt a soft impact at the wood her hand was bound to. "A crop," he clarified, tapping the edge along her sides, teasingly patting her butt, and then swatting her more firmly. She yelped and jumped, but it felt more shocking than painful, the heat receding quickly without a lingering sting. He repeated the process a few more times along her thighs and breasts before inquiring a pain level. She held up one and then two fingers, alternating between the two. "A crop can’t reasonably be quite as soft as a flogger, but it can’t be as painful at the other extreme either," he mused. "It’s generally a bit more painful than a hand, but with less lingering heat. You may recall that I used something like this the first time you came to me. He replaced the crop and brought out something else, tapping a hard flat wooden object against her thigh.