A six-figure debt to the underground mafia boss has finally caught up with her. The boss dispatches his infamous hitman—a masked specialist in information—to recover every last penny. When the scene opens, Emma struts into her high-rise apartment after a long day in her figure-hugging pencil skirt and silk blouse. Before she can kick off her heels, a gloved hand clamps over her mouth and the lights go dark.
Cut to: Emma splayed face-down on her own bed, elbows crushed together and wrists bound behind her back until the rope bites into her skin. Her ankles, knees, and even her full breasts are lashed so tightly her chest is forward, swollen and exposed. A tough cleave gag, fashioned from a sweat-soaked pair of her own panties, distorts her mouth and starts the drool river that will stain the sheets for hours.
While the hitman tears through her laptop and safe, Emma wriggles into a futile hogtie. The crotch-rope cinches deeper with every struggle, creating a shameful tug at her core. A desperate hop toward the hallway is cut short as the masked intruder reappears, dragging her back by the nape and re-cinching her bonds until her spine arches painfully.
Scene Two is a merciless chair interrogation. Emma is anchored to the seat: ankles crossed and roped to the chair base, wrists anchored behind her, and another loop encircling her neck to keep her head tilted back like a drool-drenched trophy. The gag now alternates between a purple cloth and the same rank panties that were in her mouth moments earlier. Each time she tries to scream they're jammed deeper, until strings of saliva cascade from her chin, pooling across her blouse and between her bound tits.
The hitman toys with her buttons, popping them open, exposing her soaked lace bra and smearing her own drool across her nipples like warpaint. When he finally stalks out, promising he'll return tomorrow to “finish the audit,” Emma writhes until the chair legs groan, her cleave gag hanging around her neck like a badge of total submission.
But the clock is ticking, and every drop of spit is another cent of the debt. By morning the bonds may loosen... but her humiliation has only just begun.
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