No Means Harder

Yhivi kneels on the raised platform, nothing on but thigh-high stockings and a thin undershirt. Her wrists are locked at her waist, knees trapped in pipes, round ass and cunt offered up like an open invitation. Eli Cross grabs her tits, squeezes hard, then slaps her skin until it warms under his hand. The flogger cracks next, the paddle follows, each strike louder than the last. When the Hitachi hits her clit, she thrashes; his fingers slide inside and she breaks, screaming through the forced climax. Flat on her back now, wrists bolted to the box, ankles chained wide. He crops her feet and ass. She twists, so he chains her thighs down tight. Clothespins bite into her labia; the belt snaps across them, making the pins jump. Fingers back inside her, vibrator pressed flat—she comes again, raw and loud. Last position: standing, a heavy metal hook sunk deep in her ass, the ball weighing on her wrists behind her. Collar chained back, wrists chained forward, ass hooked to the frame. Clothespins march across her tits. The cattle prod kisses skin and she howls. Tears streak down her face. Eli watches, waits, then drives her to one final, shattering orgasm before he stops.