Love your cane marks.

Lilla Katt does not look like a slut. She looks like the girl who stamps your books at the library, soft voice, shy smile, lily white skin. That changes fast. We lock her into steel, arms pulled tight, legs spread. The cane comes out first. We lay stripes across her ass, her thighs, the tops of her breasts, each stroke snapping clean and leaving a raised red line. She gasps through gritted teeth, eyes watering. We switch to the flogger and beat her harder, the thick falls landing again and again until every inch of her front turns hot pink and her nipples stand stiff from the sting. Clothespins come next. We pepper them over her tits, belly, and cunt lips, each one pinching tight. Then we fasten a cord between the rows and wait. Every breath makes them tug. We leave them there while we make her come the first time, fingers shoved deep inside her, rubbing the spot that makes her squirm. She tries to hold still, but the pain and the pleasure fight and she breaks. Her whole body jerks. The zipper rips off in one long tear and she screams, cunt pulsing around my fingers. We do not stop. The vibrator goes on her clit, strong and relentless. She comes again, harder, squirting across the metal frame, voice cracking. We finger-fuck her through a third orgasm, then a fourth. She is shaking, drooling, eyes glassy, asking for mercy in a whisper we ignore. We keep her open and take another one, until her mind blanks and all that is left is the need to come again.