Straight Outta Jacket

Ziva’s got that look—big anime eyes, big everything else. She’s strapped in tight, straitjacket hugging every curve, arms pinned useless behind her. Black hair falls across her face, strands sticking to her lips as she starts to wriggle. Heels click sharp on the floor every time she kicks. The buckle at her throat forces her chin high, so every moan comes out loud and clear. The vibrator’s in his hand before she can finish another smart remark. She fights it for half a second, thighs clenched, then the hum hits. Her body jerks like she’s plugged in, heels scraping the boards. He presses harder. She gasps, eyes rolling, mouth falling open wide, all that cartoon energy going straight to her hips. Every twist just pulls the jacket tighter, every squirm grinding the vibrator deeper. She’s loud. She’s shameless. She’s enjoying every second of not being able to do a thing about it. The jacket creaks. Her voice cracks. The heels keep tapping like they’re keeping time. Straight out of the jacket and straight into trouble, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.