Lily woke before dawn. The room was still dark, only faint streetlight slipping through the cracked curtain. Her body felt heavy—every mark alive under her skin. The tattoo on her pussy lips still stung fresh, “Jack’s” in black like a brand that would never fade. Her neck bruise had turned deep violet, almost black in places, spreading like spilled ink. Small thorn punctures on her boobs had scabbed over into tiny dark points. Her ass ached from every dry thrust, her throat burned from the last brutal suck while she dangled near death.

She touched the rope mark on her neck. It felt like a collar she could never remove. She didn’t want to remove it.