>>96418
Chloe lay naked on the cold steel table, small frame stretched brutally taut by red silk ribbons that sliced into her wrists overhead and yanked her ankles wide apart. Her tiny toes fanned helpless in merciless loops, a wide green velvet bow crooked in her damp blonde hair. Sweat already glistened across her skin, droplets tracing rivulets down her ribs and pooling between her thighs—she had been enduring the machine for what felt like hours.
Dr. Marrow’s calm voice drifted over the intercom. “Subject C-19. Perspiration optimal. Vital signs holding. We approach the threshold.”
The seafoam brushes had long become a continuous, blurring torment across both soles—grinding slow circles that suddenly exploded into rapid, sawing strokes, raking every crease and screaming nerve between her toes. The tickling burned white-hot, an unrelenting fire that stole her breath and shredded her voice into raw howls. “EHEHEHEHE—NO MORE—PLEASE—DOCTOR—IT BURNS TOO MUCH—HAHAHAHA—I CAN’T—!”
Puffballs whipped in vicious spirals over her ribs, burrowed deep under her arms, then skittered mercilessly across the hypersensitive skin beneath the faint swells of her chest. Her nipples stood painfully stiff, tortured by feather-light figure-eights that forced her torso into rhythmic, helpless convulsions. A single lower brush had claimed the secret hollow where arch met ball-of-foot, grinding, flicking, hammering in evil staccato pulses that never let up.
Sweat poured from her brow, hair plastered to her temples, chest heaving in sobbing gasps between laughter that tore her throat raw. Beneath the inferno, a monstrous heat had been swelling for ages—liquid pressure building low in her belly, pressing insistently against her untouched sex until every muscle quivered with the effort of holding back. “I’M—HAHAHA—I’M GONNA—SOMETHING’S HAPPENING—PLEASE—I CAN’T HOLD IT—IT’S TOO STRONG—!”
“Almost there,” Dr. Marrow murmured. “Let it build.” The machine escalated once more: brushes blurred into blinding frenzy, puffballs tightened their spirals, and the vibrating pad pressed firmly against her smooth mound began pulsing in deep, deliberate waves. Her hips slammed upward again and again, bucking wildly against the restraints, slick thighs trembling. The pressure coiled impossibly tighter—hotter—sharper—until she teetered right on the edge, eyes blind with tears, body glistening and shaking.
Then she broke. A shattered, primal scream ripped from her chest as the first orgasm detonated inside her like a bomb—violent, endless, world-ending. Her sex clenched in brutal spasms, slick heat flooding out in helpless pulses. Her back arched so violently the ribbons drew fresh blood; toes curled into agonizing cramps. Every muscle locked and released in blinding waves of ecstasy-pain. When the peak finally cracked, she collapsed back, drenched and trembling, voice a tiny, broken whisper: “…it’s… still going…” The machine never paused, already dragging her toward the next merciless fall.