Power tools and a power trip

Anastasia doesn’t play. She sets the drill on the bench and grins, watching her girl’s eyes widen at the sight. That brute of a tool now hangs between her thighs like a weapon—blunt steel, rubber sheath, steady, brutal thrust waiting to happen. Anastasia uncoils a coil of hemp. Every pass of her wrist leaves another clean knot at wrist, ankle, thigh. Rope sings when she tightens it; the new girl jolts and bites her lip. She lines the converted tool up with slick heat, thumbs the trigger, and the whole room vibrates. Thrusts quick, shallow, then deeper, until the girl is nothing but shaking limbs and strangled moans. Pain rides right behind the pleasure—sharp, hot, perfect—and Anastasia leans in to watch it land. Tears streak down flushed cheeks. A breathless “Mistress, please” slips out, followed by another, quieter, more desperate. The girl bucks back against the machine, greedy for the next pounding jolt, already learning the rules: no mercy, only obedience. Anastasia hums low in approval, yanks the rope tighter, and gives her another greedy inch.