Just Plain Screwed

Nadia Styles is flat against the wall, wrists bolted in place, legs spread wide. A thick dildo rams up her cunt while the clamp keeps her skull pinned back. In the chair tie the machine takes over, pumping into her again, relentless, wet sounds echoing off concrete. Then they string her up, toes barely brushing the floor, and the suspended frame starts thrusting harder. Plastic wrap comes last—tight, airless, sealed around every curve. She thrashes inside the clear cocoon, lungs burning, every muscle straining for one more breath while the water laps at her muffled screams.