Fight or Flight = The Bitch That Broke Everything

Cherie's body went off like a tripwire. Heart hammering, lungs clawing for air, every nerve screaming for blood and speed. Fight or flight kicked in hard—pupils wide, sweat slicking her palms, muscles locked and ready. She’d been pushed past the edge, and the damage came out looking like desire. She yanked against the ropes until her wrists burned. The knots bit back. The brunette who’d put them there watched, calm and hard, her strap already thick and waiting. Cherie’s nipples were tight, her breath short, her legs shaking with a mix of fear and something darker. The blonde didn’t wait. She drove forward, taking what the struggle offered, pushing deep until Cherie’s cry split the air. Each thrust fed the fire. Pain twisted into heat. Rope creaked. Skin slapped. The bound girl met every stroke like she meant to break it, or be broken trying. When the tension finally snapped, it wasn’t surrender. It was combustion.