Lily’s boobs were still sore the next morning. Red rope lines circled the base like permanent bracelets. Every time she moved, they ached deep—sharp reminders of how Jack had bound them tight, made them swell, made her hang and cum while they throbbed purple. She touched them gentle under the blanket. Nipples sensitive, almost too much. But touching made her pussy wet again. She couldn’t stop.

Jack was in the kitchen corner making coffee. Naked except jeans low on his hips. Back muscles flexing as he poured. Lily watched him from the bed. Her neck bruise darker now, almost black in places. She liked looking at it in the small mirror by the bed. It looked like jewelry. His jewelry.