Sasha Monet

Sasha sits in detention, legs spread over a wooden desk. Chanta runs the cattle prod along Sasha’s thigh. The first jolt makes her jerk. The second pulls a groan. Chanta ties her wrists to the chair legs, clips electrodes on nipples and clit, then sends short, sharp pulses. Sasha’s hips buck. Juice runs down her crack. Chanta cranks the dial until Sasha shudders and gushes. When the knots come off, Chanta straps herself to a steel frame. Both girls climb onto thick steel probes wired to the same box. A single twist of the dial sets them rocking. Metal slides in deep and steady. Their cries overlap. Chanta reaches over and turns the current higher. Sasha’s eyes roll back. They cum hard, together, bodies jerking against the straps as sparks crack between wet thighs.