You do it to Yourself

Tara Lynn Foxx shakes when the leads go on. She holds the dial herself, thumb sweating on the knob. Ten points for an orgasm, her rule tonight, and she turns it. The current bites low. Princess Donna watches, arms crossed, one foot tapping. Tara takes another click. The zap moves up her thigh and settles between her legs. She bites her lip, hits the button, and the first orgasm hits hard enough to make her knees dip. The dial keeps climbing. Twenty. Thirty. She twists harder, chasing the next rush. Current snaps through her like a live wire on bare skin. She’s panting now, eyes glassy, turning another ten and another until the meter’s pegged and her body jolts with every pulse. Donna steps in, grazes the prod against her hip just to watch the flinch, then pulls back. Tara’s thumb stays on the dial, white-knuckled, desperate to stay in the game. Blonde hair sticks to her cheek. The room smells like ozone and sweat. She keeps turning it up anyway, every fresh shock traded for another shot at coming apart, until the power box hums at full and her voice cracks on the edge of one more release.