Examined

The pale-blue chairs and steel stirrups should have felt clinical. They didn’t. Bettina pushed up on her elbows, breath tight, thighs already open around cold metal. Mandy did not pause. She shoved two slick fingers straight in, knuckle-deep, then curled them hard against that swollen spot that made Bettina’s spine bow. Bettina cursed and trembled; the only sound in the room was the slick slap of skin and the low, mean laugh that slipped from Mandy every time the younger woman clenched. When the mistress swapped her hand for the thick black strap, there was no slow slide—only one ruthless thrust that stole Bettina’s next breath. She took it all the way, gasping at the sudden stretch, hips jerking like she wanted more even as she begged it to stop. Mandy gripped the backs of her knees, pushed them wider, then drove again, piston-steady, the toy dragging over every nerve she had already lit. Sweat pearled on Bettina’s chest; her nipples ached where they scraped the fabric each time her body jolted. She moaned—loud, shameless—and let the next thrust tear it out of her again, the pleasure sharp enough to hurt, exactly the way she’d come looking for.