Electro Dance

Beretta James thought the wait would end. It never does. Lorelei wires her down with EMS pads on her thighs, clamps biting her nipples and clit. Electricity hums low and mean. Each pulse hits harder than the last. Lorelei circles the table, fingers slick, sliding two deep inside Beretta’s dripping cunt while the clamps buzz and snap against swollen lips. Beretta thrashes in leather, hips jerking, chasing any release. Lorelei pulls away the second her breathing breaks. Again. And again. Sweat shines on pale skin, black hair plastered to her face. She begs—voice raw, eyes wide. Lorelei smiles, thumb stroking her clit once, twice, then gone. Pain spikes. Pleasure retreats. The cycle drags on until Beretta’s whole body trembles, every nerve screaming for what Lorelei keeps locked just out of reach. When Lorelei finally steps back, the clamps stay live, the denial stays sharp, and Beretta hangs there—aching, empty, still waiting.