Getting Hosed

Sarah Jane Ceylon steps into the lights in 2012, all blonde hair and attitude. She strips for the ropes. The rigger binds her elbows first, pulling them tight behind her back until her shoulders strain and her tits jut forward. She stays quiet. She stays hard. Wrists cinch to ankles next, bending her into a compact arch, knees spread, cunt open and on display. She breathes through it, muscles flexing, testing every knot. One thick stream of water cuts across her face, then her chest, then straight between her legs. The shock jerks her against the ropes; she gasps and laughs at the same time. The stream never stops. It pins her clit, drills her open, soaks the wood beneath her. Her nipples stand tight and dark. Sweat and water run down her belly in shiny tracks. She rocks into the pressure instead of away from it, mouth open, eyes half-lidded, chasing the edge. The bondage keeps her exactly where the water wants her. She comes anyway, body bucking, voice breaking. The stream stays locked on her, forcing the orgasm longer, harder, until she’s shaking and dripping and the ropes are the only thing holding her up. Extreme. Unforgiving. Exactly what she came for.