Cassandra

Cassandra sits on the sybian. She knew it would shock her the second they flipped the switch. The leather straps bite into her wrists as the first jolt hits, snapping through her core and making her jerk upright. Another one comes fast. Then another. She counts them the way you count lashes. The current buzzes between her thighs and climbs her spine until her teeth ache. They turn up the dial. The machine under her starts to grind while it shocks. Every time she tries to lift off, the prod kisses her flank and plants another white-hot kiss. Her back arches, then folds. Sweat rolls down the crease of her ass and drips onto the charged saddle. The electricity finds every drop of sweat and turns it to a live wire. Cassandra’s breath stutters, breaks, catches again. The brunette shakes from scalp to ankle, but she stays seated, shaking harder when the next surge cracks through her. The year is 2003. The voltage stays high.