Mura's Brainwash

Mura stares straight into the lens, blonde hair catching the light. She lets a finger hover just above the controls, smirking. Then it drops. Uncontrollable Orgasm Mode: Activated. The counter flashes. Three. Two. One. Her slim frame jolts like a current shot through her. Natural breasts lift and fall, hard. Her mouth drops open, but no sound comes. Not yet. Her hand flies down. She finds her clipped, smooth clit and rubs in frantic circles. Every muscle locks, then shudders again. The first climax crashes through her before the second even finishes. She doesn’t get a breath between them. The table vibrates beneath her. Her legs kick. Her back arches, spine bowing off the surface, belly tight. Sweat beads along her collarbone, runs between her breasts. She keeps stroking, hips snapping like she can’t stop even if she wanted to. She’s soaked. The table’s slick. Her fingers slip, but she doesn’t let up. Another wave slams her flat, legs shaking. Her moans crack into half-sobs. She gasps a curse, voice hoarse. The light on the console glows red. She glances at it, eyes glassy, still grinding down onto her own hand like the only thing left in her head is this endless, electric loop. No mercy. No pause. Just the next crash coming, and she’s already wide open for it.