New treatment for Vivien

Vivien Bianchy jerked awake. The room smelled like antiseptic. Bright lights overhead. Hospital-white walls. Ropes cut into her wrists and thighs, pinning her naked on a cold metal table. She tested them—tight, professional knots, no give. Then the door opened. Mistress Mandy didn't speak. She grabbed Vivien's chin, thumb digging into soft flesh, forcing eye contact. Two fingers pushed straight between her lips, pressing down hard on her tongue until drool ran down her chin. Vivien gagged. Mandy smiled. She pulled her hand free, wet with spit, and shoved it between Vivien's spread legs. Two fingers drove deep into her cunt in one smooth thrust, no warning, no mercy. Vivien's back arched off the table. Mandy finger-fucked her with quick, sharp jabs, thumb grinding her clit with every stroke. Vivien's thighs shook. Her wrists burned where the rope bit skin. Wet sounds filled the sterile room. Mandy added a third finger, stretching her open, knuckles dragging against slick walls. She pulled out. Vivien gasped. Mandy wiped her hand across the girl's mouth, smearing her own arousal over her lips, then forced those fingers back inside. Vivien sucked them clean, tasting herself, breathing through her nose. Her cunt throbbed, empty, aching, dripping. Mandy's free hand found a nipple, pinched hard, twisted, didn't let go. The rope creaked. Vivien's breath came in short, broken pants. She came like that—fingers stuffed in her mouth, cunt clenching around nothing, pain and want sharp under her skin. Mistress Mandy didn't slow down.