Taken by Her Patient: TJ

TJ’s ankles are lashed to the steel rails, knees forced wide. The metal bed rails dig cold lines into the backs of her calves. Liz leans close enough that TJ can smell the sharp antiseptic on her breath. No words. Liz just brings the cattle prod into view, lets the crackling blue arc speak for itself. One touch to TJ’s inner thigh and the jolt rips up her spine, locking every muscle rigid. When the current dies, she’s left shaking, throat raw from the scream she didn’t know was hers. Liz doesn’t wait. She rolls TJ onto her stomach, slaps a leather belt across the small of her back and yanks it tight until the mattress squeaks. A gloved hand spreads her cheeks; the prod tip follows, deliberate, teasing the tight ring of muscle until TJ’s breath hitches. Another pulse. TJ’s hips buck hard against the restraint, the shock driving straight through her core. Sweat slicks the sheets beneath her. The voltage climbs. Liz drags the metal down the length of one ass cheek, then up the other, each shock punctuated by the wet sound of lube being squeezed onto the prod’s tip. She presses it forward, slow, insistent. TJ’s hole gives with a sudden burn and stretch. The shock lands deeper this time, right where the prod is seated inside her. TJ’s thighs tremble; she claws at the mattress but the belt holds. Every pulse forces another spasm around the invading metal, and the pleasure edges so close to pain it blurs into one vicious current. Liz grunts approval when TJ’s ass clenches hard enough to make the prod jump. She flicks the dial higher. Another shock, deeper still. TJ’s vision whites out, body straining against the straps, every muscle locked and burning. The room smells like ozone and fear-sweat. Liz keeps her there, bound and jolted, until TJ’s cries break into ragged, wordless moans.