Tia Ling Impaled in a one person prison.

Tia Ling sits locked inside a steel box built for one body. Her wrists and ankles are bolted in place so the dildo under her never leaves her cunt. A cold metal bit pries her mouth open. The camera lingers on smooth, shaved skin stretched tight across muscle as the first heavy flogger cracks across her spread lips. She jerks, but the box holds every inch. Another strike lands, then the cane snaps against the sole of her bare foot and the sound cracks like bone. Her breath whistles past steel. Sweat beads between small breasts and trails down her belly. The vibrator hums to life. Her hips twitch once, twice, then lock as the orgasm slams through her. The first climax makes her thighs shake; the second rips a raw scream from her throat. By the fourth her clit is swollen, too tender for air, yet the machine keeps pressing. She shakes her head, eyes wild, voice gone hoarse, pleading without words. Her strength slips away in pulses until nothing moves except the automatic quiver of overused nerves. The box stays shut. She stays impaled.