The Stalking of Chanel Preston: An Electrosluts Feature

Chanel Preston once swore electrosex would never touch her. That oath meant nothing to Maitresse Madeline, who had studied Chanel for months, learning her habits down to the exact minute she slipped past the dungeon gates. Madeline bided her time, waiting for an afternoon when the halls emptied and the staff vanished. She closed in with slow, deliberate charm, guiding Chanel down a dim, deserted corridor until they were alone. Then the current came alive. Madeline pressed the wand to Chanel’s skin and every muscle locked, every nerve screamed. Chanel’s knees buckled. Her breath hitched into broken gasps. The blonde dropped to the floor, shaking and drooling while Madeline pinned her and drove shock after shock between her legs, forcing Chanel to take the same volts she once dished out. Madeline’s cattle prod crackled; each jolt tore another ragged cry from Chanel’s throat. She worked her over in the dark—deep, brutal anal, clamps, cuffs, everything until the former Domme became nothing but a twitching, pleading body begging for the next jolt or the next mercy.