She is not a girlfriend. She is a bound display fixed to the countertop.
Rope fixes wrists and ankles. Blindfold steals sight. Gag silences protest.
Her most intimate folds clamped in metal, already swollen and darkened from strain. Candles burn patiently around her exposed form.
First candle tilts. Single drops test her stillness — bearable heat on trembling skin. Then two flames dance together. Wax multiplies across stomach, breasts, nipples, dripping lower to torment clamped flesh. Her muffled sounds grow desperate yet yielding.
Wick wheels appear, rolling sharp trails over sensitized skin. Body arches against restraints. Heat becomes unbearable. Gag rips free. Her mouth fills immediately — used hard while still pinned, face-up, immobile.
Marked and spent, camera lingers close.
She remains bound.
No escape.
Just endurance and service.
