Vibed To Insanity

Houdini. Houdini. That’s what she keeps saying through clenched teeth, like the word itself might break the cuffs or slow the machine between her legs. But the vibe doesn’t stop. Black hair clings to her sweat-slick face as her hips fight to jerk away, then shove forward again, chasing the buzz that’s already frying her nerves. Every time the pleasure crests it melts into something mean—electric teeth sinking deeper, dragging moans out of her that sound half terrified. Then it drops, just enough for her lungs to grab air, and rockets back up before the breath even settles. She swears, spits curses, begs for a second of mercy that never comes, and somewhere in the middle of all that thrashing she stops being sure whose idea this was—hers or the toy still humming like it knows her limits better than she does. That’s the trick. That’s the trap. She came in wanting the high and now she can’t tell if she’s still riding it or drowning in it.