Mallory Knots

Officer Liz marches Sierra down the dim corridor to the electric chair. The inmate stops short, bites her lip, and asks for one last favor: she wants to come before they strap her in. Liz doesn’t blink. She locks the door, yanks Sierra’s wrists overhead, and works her over with a thick strap until the inmate’s thighs are slick and shaking. The cattle prod comes next—sharp, blinding jolts across those heavy tits—each crack pulling a louder, rawer moan out of Sierra. Liz wedges a toy deep in her ass and leaves it running while she circles the chair, testing every exposed inch of skin with voltage and rope until Sierra is jerking on the edge of panic and pleasure. Liz doesn’t stop at one orgasm. She keeps the prod crackling, the toy humming, the cuffs biting, until the convict is hoarse, soaked, and begging for the chair just to get a break.