The next morning, Elena woke before the sun.
Her thighs still ached. Her lips were still swollen. Her wrists carried faint red marks from the silk tie that had held her captive to Mr. Blackwell’s headboard.
She didn’t touch herself. Not like before.
There was no point. The pleasure didn’t come without him. Her body had learned that lesson by now.
She dressed slowly, silently. No panties. No bra. Just the plain housemaid uniform. She tied her apron, pulled her hair into a bun, and stared at herself in the mirror.
Same face. Same posture. Same polite smile.
But something was gone.
Something had been taken.
He didn’t speak to her that day.
Not when she passed him in the hallway.
Not when she served him his coffee.
Not even when she knelt to scrub the floors, ass raised in the air,
