JP

JP takes the volts like she was born for them. She stretches out long and lean, skin tight over bone, and waits for the current. The first jolt hits hard and she jerks against the restraints, lips parting on a curse that turns into a moan. She wants more. She gets it. Each pulse climbs a notch, and her thighs tremble harder than the last time. The prod finds the soft skin inside her thigh and she sucks in air through clenched teeth. When the metal kisses the base of her spine she loses the fight, back arching, body bowing off the bench. Her face does the rest of the talking. Pleasure and pain trade places so fast you lose track of which is winning. Her mouth stays open, eyes unfocused, lashes wet. She breaks for a second, then begs for the next shock. The sound she makes when it lands is half laugh, half sob. That’s when the crop lands across the same burning skin and she cums hard, shaking, wet down to the knees. The next strike knocks the breath out of her. The one after that pushes her straight back into another climax. Sweat slides down her ribs. Her wrists twist in the cuffs but she keeps taking it, keeps asking for it. Every snap of electricity carves a fresh line of fire across her nerves. Every mark the crop leaves burns hotter than the one before. By the time the session is done she’s spent, raw, still twitching, still smiling.