Paige Richards

Paige Richards needed no force in 2002. She climbs into the cage on her own, brown hair falling across her face as the door swings shut behind her. Inside the bars she waits, eyes sharp, daring the rope. Hands reach in next, pulling her wrists behind her back, winding the cord until her elbows nearly meet. A ball gag slides between her teeth, the strap cinched tight, filling her mouth and muffling every sound. She tests the knot, hips shifting, breath heavy through her nose. The metal frame keeps her small; the ropes keep her still. No one drags her. She wants it. Every pull, every knot only makes her lean harder into the frame, locked in, shut away, left to feel the ache and the heat it wakes.