Jaime

Jaime heard we were shooting close by and reached out. Said she'd always wanted a crack at the Fucking Chair. We strapped her down, legs spread wide, black hair sticking to her forehead as she waited. The moment we fired up the new fucksaw the room changed. That motor growled like it had something to prove. She took the first thrust with a sharp inhale, then another, deeper, harder, until the machine found its rhythm and her whole body rocked with it. The Hitachi pressed tight against her clit kept her shaking between each drive. When she started begging for more we switched holes, working the thick dildo into her ass one slow inch at a time. Her knuckles went white on the armrests, sweat ran down the small of her back, and every wet slap of the rotating shaft sounded louder than the last. She stayed locked in that chair, taking it, breath hitching every time the saw bottomed out, until the line between pain and pleasure blurred and she came hard enough to rattle the frame.