The Water Rotisserie

Shannon Kelly hates water deeper than her knees. Still, 2004 she let us strap her tight, slice the clothes off, shove a ball gag between her teeth, and drop her face-down in the pool. The water closed over her. Every gasp came through the gag in wet bursts. Clothespins bit her nipples and we spun her on the rotisserie wheel, holding her under until panic showed in her eyes. Then the wand slid between her legs. The orgasm hit so hard her hips bucked against the cuffs. When we pulled her up, dripping and shaking, she only had one word left in her: more. We hoisted her again—this time in a full suspension, heavy tits swaying, cunt still throbbing—and left her hanging, swinging in the dark like forbidden fruit.