Torque and Carly

Carly returns to Torque’s grip for another round. Fifty-two minutes. She’s strapped down, limbs locked open, and the first ball gag hits before she can swallow. Torque circles, testing joints, tightening straps until the wood creaks. A cane appears. He lays stripes across her thighs, slow at first, then quick, each strike measured to make her back arch and her breath hiss through the gag. She shakes. He waits until the tremors stop, then fingers her cunt until she comes, hard, dripping onto the bench. He resets her, flips her, and canes the backs of her calves until they burn red. Another orgasm follows, forced out while she strains against rope. When she’s shaking again, he slides the gag deeper, holds her head, and works her clit until her eyes roll. Carly rides the line between pain and release, body jerking, cunt clenching, mouth stuffed and drooling. Torque keeps the rhythm, a strike, a stroke, another climax wrung out of her until the last scream fades behind the rubber ball.