Wenona

Wenona showed no fear at the thought of water bondage. A Florida girl, she’d lived in the ocean most her life, loved it—until the ropes came on. Strapped into the electric chair, head locked in a vise, she had nowhere to go when the hoses opened. Water slammed over her skin, ran between her thighs, drove the dildo deeper each pulse. She came hard, shaking against the straps, breath caught in her throat. Next they spread her wide in the splits, ankles cuffed far apart, and made her grind down onto another thick dildo until her legs trembled. Last, they dropped her into the tank. The lid shut. The space closed in. She thrashed, chest heaving, every muscle fighting the dark press of water and glass.