Frankie LaRue

Frankie had never felt live current hit her skin. When the first jolt bit, her body snapped straight, mouth wide, nothing but raw sound. She came like something took her over, eyes gone white, shoulders jerking hard enough to rattle the restraints. She said no one had ever made her finish that deep, that loud. She was the first to sit in the chair I wired myself, legs spread, wrists bound, the prod marking time between shocks and the cane. Every strike drove another pulse straight through her. Brunette hair stuck to sweat on her forehead, and she kept asking for more until the current left her limp and shaking.