Electro-Ballerina: Melody Jordan

Melody Jordan's on one leg, other foot pointed like she's still in the corps. The mercury switch taped to her ankle decides everything. Leg stays up, the plug buried in her ass fires a raw jolt straight through her guts. Let it drop, the copper strip on the floor bites the sole of her foot instead. Chanel watches. She waits until the shaking starts, then lifts the cattle prod and touches it to the ballerina's inner thigh, sending another current racing through muscle that already wants to quit. Melody grunts, teeth clenched, sweat sliding under the blindfold. Every time her knee buckles toward the floor the prod kisses her again, forcing the leg back up and the ass plug to scream. Her standing thigh trembles, locked tight, the rest of her body caught between two different kinds of hurt. She can't win. She knows it. Chanel knows it too.