Bad Credit: Elle Voneva Learns How Much It Costs to Get a Loan

Elle Voneva walks into the loan office, crystals clinking, eyes bright with the belief she can fix the planet. Tommy Pistol sees her file and shakes his head. No credit. Off-grid living might feel good, but it won’t pay back a dime. Elle smiles anyway. She shakes her stones, circles the desk, waves the air. One swing too wide and Tommy drops, cold. She works fast, rope in hand. When he wakes he’s bound to the chair, papers inches from his face. Sign or suffer. He rips the knots apart instead. Now Elle’s wrists are cinched behind her back, chest lashed to her thighs, mouth gagged with her own ponytail. The flogger snaps across her ass, stripes rising pink. She yells, tells him not to call the cops. He answers by driving into her tight cunt, pulling hair until her spine bends. Spit hangs in strings from her chin while he fucks her throat. He rolls her, spreads her, presses the wand to her swollen clit and rams back inside. Her cries turn to pleas. She wants his load on her skin. He paints her open mouth and flushed cheeks, then signs nothing.