Her dainty hands are encased in shiny sleeves pulled taught through tight and rigid leather anchors and wrapped around behind her back. Even without a crotch rope or shoulder/arm straps she can barely wiggle her arms.

Her hips grind in the rhythm demanded by the pulses of the vibe. She has to work hard to force air in and out through the nostril openings of the second skin mask. She knows she has to focus to breathe but she’s losing her mind from the building wave of sensation.

Desperation is starting to overcome her but she can’t do a thing about it. She can only take it all.