The Taming

Leah Wilde is nervous, fresh off the straight-porn circuit. I hand her the vibrator and tell her to touch herself. She slips right into the old routine, eyes heavy, hips rolling for the lens. I bark at her to quit performing. She tries. For a minute or two she breathes, really feels it, then the mask snaps back on. When the first cold chain kisses her ankle, her whole body jolts. Belts cinch around her thighs, her ribs. Her lips part; a soft, involuntary whimper slips out before the last buckle clicks shut. She’s wide-eyed, trembling, no script left to hide behind. This isn’t acting anymore. It’s the first time she’s ever been truly helpless.