He lit a cigarette.
Naked. Spent. Still hard.
I sat at the edge of the bed, legs shaking, my body dripping with everything he’d done to it. My throat was raw. My holes used. My skin painted in bruises, handprints, spit, and c*m.
And I wanted more.
He took a drag, watching me through the smoke like a hunter sizing up a toy that wasn’t broken enough yet.
“On the chair,” he said, nodding toward the one in the corner. “Legs spread. Touch yourself.”
I moved without thinking, obeying like the fuckdoll he’d trained me to be. My ass hit the cold leather, my thighs falling apart shamelessly. I didn’t hide my wetness. My need. I wanted him to see how ruined I was.
How ruined I still needed to be.
He stepped forward, cigarette between his lips, and crouched in front of me. His fingers slid be
