Alani Pi Exposed and Vulnerable

Alani Pi shows up already wired for nerves. They fold her forward and trap her in metal—balls on her head and hands, arms yanked high behind her, knees jammed to her chest. She can’t see, can barely hear, and panic crawls up her spine. She tries to hold it together, but the frailty leaks out anyway. They stand her up next and spread her across a grid of bars that run her length. Leather mitts, elbow ties, a stiff collar that won’t let her drop her chin. A fat padded pipe rams into her cunt and stays there. Every twitch, every breath, is catalogued. Finally they bend her into a nasty hogtie, straps biting deep. Drool slides down her chin, her eyes flip white, and she comes hard enough to shake the frame. She endures like she was built for it, and they leave her wrecked and dripping.