Katja Kassin is a giggler!

I should’ve listened the first time someone said shoot this girl. Katja finally shows up on the couch and all I can think is: what the hell took me so long? Tiny German brunette, curves where curves count, smart mouth and that body already begging to be handled. I strap her into the steel cage, lower it into the tank, lock it, and the water takes over. The second the surface closes over her, the giggles start. Little bubbles of laughter that turn into real fear when she realizes she can’t lift her head. She thrashes, cuffs clanking against the bars, back arching, tits pressed tight to the grate, and every time she laughs she gulps water. By the time the lid comes off she’s soaked, shaking, but still grinning like a lunatic who just got away with something filthy. Later, dry and still tied to the chair, she talks about it—voice low, cheeks flushed—and says the fear and the laughter felt the same. She wants to come back. Tell her we need her. Soon.