Claire Adams vs Dahlia Sky

Dahlia Sky walks in looking like trouble wrapped in silk. Shy, blonde, and already curious about pain, she’s signed up for a long day on the rig. I start her laced tight in a steel-boned corset, ballet boots, and a high steel collar. Ankles spread, knees locked open. One boot on her ass while I haul the laces and crank the collar until her breathing shortens. A fat metal hook sinks into her ass; her own hair gets tied to the ring, yanking her head back. Finger by finger I wedge her hands open with cold steel. Nothing left to hide. Everything on display. Next I dress her like a toy. Black latex stockings, thin heels, garters biting into her thighs, and a single leather armbinder that wrenches her elbows together. Bent backward over a steel bar, nipples sucked up into clear tubes. I clip the leads on and start the current. She jolts, curses, then grins through it. I push higher, watching how far she’ll ride the pain. Last, the Scavenger’s Daughter: heavy iron that folds her tight. A long spreader rod keeps her arms wide. She’s shaking, dripping, taking every volt and clamp I give her. When her knees buckle I unlock the rig, lay her on her back, and fuck every hole she has—ass first, then cunt, then both. She screams, swears, and still pushes back for more, coming hard inside the iron that holds her open.