Under My Spell

Blake’s not choosing this. Elise has him sealed inside heavy black rubber, straitjacketed from neck to toe. She snaps steel shackles around his rubber-covered ankles and spreads him open across the thick planks of her bondage bed. His head disappears inside a tight gas-mask hood; a single hose snakes from the mask to the console Elise controls. One flick of a switch and every breath Blake draws is hers. Wires run under the suit to the plug buried in his ass and the conductive bands wrapped tight around his cock. Elise turns the dials. Current hums through him in sudden jolts that yank raw sounds from his chest. He arches hard, rubber squeaking, cock twitching full and dark against his belly. She lets the power fade, then trails one fingertip up the throbbing length—barely there—making him strain toward the touch he’s denied. Every gasp he takes is filtered through her machine, every shock timed to the rise and fall of his chest. She owns the air he breathes and the current that lights his nerves, and she uses both without mercy.