Ultimate Obedience: Heights, Drowning, and the Dark

Atom promised the Pope she'd obey, no matter what. Now she's paying the price. Strapped in a harness, vibe clutched tight, she's hauled eighty feet up into the Armory ceiling. Naked, spinning, the crowd below watching every inch of trembling skin. The first five feet already crack her. By forty she's sobbing, begging to come down. The Pope keeps his thumb on the button. No descent until she cums like the circus slut she swore to be. She breaks and does it—screams, shakes, hangs limp in empty space. Next, the Pope's dry-drowning trick. She's lashed at an angle, pretty face buried under a wet canvas bag. A splash of water turns cloth to suffocating skin. No flirting her way out this time. She thrashes, fights, begs, and still cums hard, wrung out on that table. Last, the box. Spent, sensitive, she sits in the dark with every fear echoing inside. Then the cattle prod kisses her. She flails blind, no way to see where to run. All that’s left is to beg for the shock, give herself to it, and prove she meant every word of her promise.