Tied Up in the Workshop: Kendra James

Kendra James is marched down the hall. Her wrists are already cinched behind her back and a fat red ball gag is jammed between her teeth. The workshop door slams shut and she’s pushed onto the bench. Steel clamps bite her ankles to the legs of the table. A cord drops from the ceiling and her arms are hoisted high, stretching her body taut over the wood. The droning sawzall comes to life first. Its blunt rubber tip presses hard against her clit, buzzing deep while her hips jerk. Next the drill spins up. The narrow rubber attachment skates across her nipples, the fast rotation tugging and flicking until both peaks burn. She strains, saliva slips past the gag, but the straps hold her open. The sawzall grinds harder. The drill climbs in speed. Every jolt of power pushes another moan through the rubber ball. Sweat beads on her skin. Her thighs tremble against the clamps. She cannot close her legs, cannot escape the relentless, mechanical rhythm that keeps dragging her right to the edge and holding her there.