Gracie

Gracie lies stretched on the bench, wrists locked above her head and ankles spread wide, every knot pulled tight enough to bite. The rope has her attention, forces her to breathe slow and shallow while her skin already feels too warm. They run the cable down her inner thigh, press the cold tip against the soft crease where leg meets ass, and switch it on. She jerks, but the rope holds. Another jolt lands higher, just below the curve of her cheek, sharp and sudden. The sting fades into a low throb that settles straight between her legs. They turn the current down, drag the prod across the other side, and she starts to rock against the bench, chasing the next shock like she can’t help it. Sweat beads at her temples. She gasps each time the prod kisses bare skin, and the rope creaks in answer.