Nikki Revisiting the Machines

They dragged Nikki back to the machines, and this time the blonde didn’t come quiet. Collar locked around her throat, wrists clipped behind her back. They kicked the table down flat and bent her over it. The camera catches the shine on her black boots when one of them spreads her open and works two fingers straight into her cunt, then drags them higher, slicking her asshole before the steel tip starts its slow press in. She grunts, tries to rise, gets shoved back down. The probe keeps coming—short, deliberate pushes that force her wider with every inch. Every time she breathes out, the collar tugs against her neck. The machine doesn’t care. It keeps feeding, slow and steady, until her ass takes the full length and the base locks flush against her. Nikki’s boot heels scrape the floor. She’s shaking. They hit the switch and the thing starts to piston, fucking her in hard, mechanical strokes that make her whole body jolt. Her moans are ragged, half-swallowed, the kind you hear when someone’s fighting not to come and losing fast. The room smells like leather, sweat, and hot metal. She pushes back anyway. Every thrust drags another sound out of her. The blonde is sweating now, hair stuck to her cheek, boots sliding on the concrete while the machine works her open like it owns the place.