Dylan Returns

Dylan Ryan walks back in and the current hums before she even touches the bench. Isis Love waits in black latex, a coil of wire in one hand, a smirk on her lips. She straps Dylan down tight—blonde hair pinned flat, wrists high, ankles spread, the metal of the table cold against her skin. The first zap hits her inner thigh and her whole body jerks against the leather. Isis leans in close, breath hot, and turns the dial. Another shock kisses the blonde’s nipple, quick and mean, and Dylan bites back a curse. Isis doesn’t give her time to catch it; she slides a gloved hand between the spread thighs and shocks her again, right on the clit, short, sharp, deliberate. Dylan cries out, hips bucking, but the straps hold. Sweat beads on her collarbone while Isis traces the probes lower, dragging them over the tight pucker of her ass. Electricity dances across that sensitive ring and Dylan’s moan cracks into something raw. Isis keeps the current low, teasing, pushing one slick finger in beside the probe, opening her while the charge flickers. When Dylan starts to shake, Isis cranks it just enough to make every muscle lock, then backs off, fingers working deeper, crooking against the spot that makes the blonde see white. The shocks and the steady thrust blur together until Dylan is gasping, hips rolling despite the pain, until the orgasm rips through her so hard the table creaks. She lies there afterward, chest heaving, a crooked smile on her face, the fear gone and the current still humming low in the wires.