We never know what the man's done or his relationship with the woman. She could be his wife, his girlfriend, his boss, a prostitute, whatever. They are on the spacious balcony of an urban high rise apartment and it must be warm because both are lightly dressed. The woman has a heavy leather thong about two feet long in her right hand. We can't hear their conversation. The man is nervous, teasing the woman trying to get her to laugh and shaking his head as if to say no to something. She is looking at him impassively, unmoved by his patter. Without warning, she lashes at the man with the thong, catching him hard across the side of his face. The blow makes him stagger and fall. He gets up on one knee with his hand to his face. He looks bewildered and frightened. The woman speaks to him, apparently giving instructions, her face still expressionless, the thong hanging at her side, ready. The man gets to his feet unsteadily. He takes off his t-shirt and trousers off shakily. He stands naked in front of her, covering his rather small cock with his hand, his body hunched in submission. The woman talks to him, perhaps explaining something, for a full minute or so and occasionally, he nods like he understands something that's become clear. His nudity bothers him but any disobedience has been whacked out of him by the woman's deliberate violence. At a gesture of her chin, he moves to grasp the railing of the balcony so that his arms bear his body's weight. He has a view of open country as far as the river. The people down there are like ants, living in another world. The woman moves nearer to him, raises the thong and brings it down hard on the man's pale buttocks leaving a wicked red weal that must hurt like hell. He squirms under the blow but remains in position. The next hit is the first of three in quick succession aimed at the man's back. He rears with one hand in the air but quickly resumes his grasp of the railing. The woman pauses for as much as 20 seconds before hitting him again with all the force she can manage, his soft, cushiony ass her target again. We can't see the man's face but it must be twisted with fear and pain. She hits him maybe 50 times in all. The man writhes and contorts his body, never quite surrendering but not daring to resist either. When she finishes, his back and ass are purpled with thong shaped weals and bruises. Every blow has been controlled and deliberate. She steps back but doesn't speak. The man lets go the railings and sinks to his knees. His face which is turned to us now is tight with misery and there are tears running down his cheeks. The women gets down on her hunkers beside him, lays down the thong as a sign that it's over. She says something to the man and suddenly he's weeping like a child, uncontrollably and unashamedly, letting the pain and humiliation flow out of his battered body. The woman moves closer to him, pulls his face into her breasts and strokes the man's hair until the his crying eventually subsides. She gets him to his feet and helps him from the balcony and out of sight leaving only the thong and his discarded clothes behind.