India Summer's Principles of Servitude, Day Three

India Summer, body like sin, wrists lashed to the ceiling, ankles pulled wide. Every tendon pulled tight, nothing hidden. Leather bites into her hips. Rope digs between her thighs, wet already. She’s left to wait, drooling around a gag, dripping down her own leg. She breaks first. Just a twitch. Then another. The winch creaks and her shoulders burn. When the strap between her legs is yanked higher, she jerks like she’s been hit. That’s the lesson. Move and it hurts. Stay still and you still lose. India sweats, hips shaking, trying to stay quiet. The rope won’t let her. When he finally touches her she’s already begging, eyes glassy. He doesn’t untie her. Just opens her up and slams in. The stretch burns. The rhythm’s mean. Every thrust knocks her forward against the ropes. She comes once with a choked sound, and he keeps going, harder, splitting her open until her knees give out and the bondage holds her up. She’s shaking, wrecked, dripping down her thighs, face slack with it. Lesson learned.