Marc Bowman and Kym Wilde

Marc Bowman stands there naked. His body is tight, but the smallest jolt turns him soft. Kym sees it right away. She laughs, low and mean, and ties a black blindfold over his eyes. Rope bites his wrists behind his back. She fastens electrodes to his cock and balls, the wires cold against his skin. One wrong twitch, one missed breath, and she hits the switch. Current shoots through him—hot, sudden, cruel. His knees buckle. She calls him soft. Useless. Then the strap-on comes out. Thick. She shoves it in deep, no warning, hips snapping hard while the electricity still hums. Every thrust rocks the shocks loose again. He shakes, groans, stays hard anyway. When she’s finished she rips off the blindfold and points at the door. Tells him to get out. She’s waiting for someone who can take it.