Tied Up and Used: Rhannion

Rhannion’s back. Steel bites around her ribs. Leather straps cut across her hips. Rope bites and rubs in all the right wrong places. She hangs, feet off the floor, breathing hard through a fat ball gag that bulges her cheeks and muffles every moan. The chain above her creaks each time her toes twitch for ground that isn’t there. Sweat runs down the dip of her spine and soaks the thin white cotton she refuses to lose. Every knot above those panties is cinched cruel; every inch below stays covered, a small defiant flag that still makes her thighs shake. She strains, trembles, drools around the gag, and the ropes keep their promise.