Felony in Copper Wire

Felony walks through that door like trouble in heels. Hardest bitch we’ve got, and she breaks hardest when she comes. So I put her on her knees, hands strung high, and lace copper wire everywhere—tight coils hugging her tits, her ribs, the backs of her thighs. Current hums low, just enough to heat her skin, and every nerve stays on a razor’s edge between good and bad. The second the prod kisses bare flesh the wires answer. One second warmth blooms; the next, a sharp bite digs in. I keep her guessing, dialing it up, dialing it back. She shakes, curses, drips. Then I drive the samurai straight into her ass—hard, fast, no mercy. All those wires and the zap of the prod start working together and her body can’t tell pain from pleasure anymore. She jerks, spasms, comes so hard she almost chokes on it. I don’t slow down. I fuck the orgasms straight out of her until she’s shaking against the wire like she’s about to short out.