The Intern

Isis pins the little traitor to the desk, cuffs snap tight, and Daisy’s blouse splits down the front. Her skirt vanishes next, panties yanked so hard the elastic snaps. Isis rakes her nails down the pale skin, then the cattle prod kisses Daisy’s cheek, her nipples, her clit, each jolt twisting the intern’s body into a fresh arch. She spits once, slides the cold metal anal plug inside, and the current hits. Daisy’s hole clenches around the charge while Isis fucks her cunt with the live electro cock, driving both shafts deep until the girl howls and drools. The plugs come out slick; acrylic rods take their place, same lightning, twice the stretch. When Isis finally unbinds her wrists, Daisy drops to her knees, tongue working like salvation. Isis sits back, lets the intern feast, then fists her open on the polished wood, knuckles disappearing to the wrist. Daisy comes shaking, juice dripping onto senate letterhead, face streaked, holes raw and red, every trace of power drained and dripping down her thighs.