Scaring the Fuck out of Alani Pi, Day Three

A wise man once said, "There is nothing to fear but fear itself." Fuck that. This slut is terrified of electricity for good reason: I am the sick fuck at the controls. She will ask for what she fears before she walks out of this basement. She steps in from the basement stairs already shaking, blonde hair in disarray, wrists cuffed behind her back. Her athletic legs tremble as I lay her down on the steel table. Leather straps bite into her thighs and the scent of her sweat mixes with cold metal. I press a padded plug between her cheeks, twist it until her ass opens around the thick shaft. The sight makes my cock twitch. She sucks in air, but the second jolt hits her clit before the moan can form. Her body jerks hard against the straps. I watch her eyes go wide. The voltage climbs. Each pulse drags a wet gasp from her throat, makes her clamp down on the plug like she could crush it. When I grab a handful of her hair and force her gaze to mine, I see the fear burning hot. She hates what I’m doing. She hates how wet she’s getting. I drag the wand over her nipples, let the current jump through her skin. The shocks travel down her abs, hit the tender flesh between her legs, make her back arch like a live wire. She starts to beg, but I only smile and turn the dial higher. Her athletic frame twitches, muscles rippling, sweat pooling in the hollow of her neck. Every time her voice cracks, I push a new shock through the metal plug buried in her ass, forcing her to squeeze tighter, to feel the full thickness stretching her open. The room smells like ozone and pussy. Her thighs glisten under the single bulb. When she finally whimpers the words I want—begging for the thing that scares her most—I let the current ride her nerve endings until she’s hoarse and begging louder, until her fear melts into something filthy and raw. Only then do I loosen the straps and let her roll onto her stomach so I can bury my cock where the plug left her aching, raw, and ready.