Lily’s throat felt raw the next day. Every swallow reminded her of Jack’s dick buried deep, the way cum had shot straight down while she dangled, choking and swallowing like her life depended on it. Her voice came out scratchy and low. She liked the sound—made her feel used, marked, his.

She spent the morning in bed. Naked. Blanket kicked off. Boobs still showing faint red lines from the tight binding yesterday. Nipples dark and tender. She touched them lightly. Winced. Then touched lower. Fingers slid between her legs. Pussy swollen, sticky with leftover cum. She rubbed slow circles on her clit. Moaned soft. Thought about the rope. The choke. The way Jack looked at her when she hung.