Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending screaming, her clit pulsing in the empty air like a second heart. She lay there, legs splayed, hand hovering uselessly above her cunt, whimpering into the lamplight.
"Don't move. Don't touch. Just lie there and feel what you are." Majesty's voice came through the speakers, silk wrapped around steel. "Feel that ache, baby girl. That empty, desperate, hungry ache. That's me. I put that there. I own it."
Lily's thighs trembled. A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple into her hair. She didn't know if it was frustration or relief or just the sheer overwhelming weight of being seen like this, owned like this, by a woman three continents away.
"Shh. I know." Majesty's voice softened, just a fraction. "I know it's a lot. But you're doing so well, Lily. Look at you. Collared. Marked. Dripping. Obedient. You're being such a good girl for me."
The praise hit her like warm water. She sobbed openly now, her chest heaving, her fingers curling into the sheets to keep from touching herself.
"That's it. Let it out. Let me see all of it." Majesty's eyes were dark and soft at the same time, that dangerous tenderness that made Lily's heart clench. "You're beautiful when you fall apart for me. Do you know that? Do you know how proud I am of you right now?"
Lily shook her head, unable to speak.
"Look at the camera."
She forced her eyes open, found Majesty's face on the screen, blurred slightly by her own tears.
"You are beautiful," Majesty said, each word deliberate, a brand. "You are mine. And you did exactly what I asked. Every word. Every stroke of that marker. Every desperate little grind. You gave yourself to me completely. That takes courage, baby girl. Real courage. And I see it."
Lily's lower lip wobbled. "Majesty—"
"I know." Majesty's voice dropped lower, softer. "I know you're empty right now. I know you're aching. But that ache is ours. It's the space where I live inside you. And I'm not going anywhere. You understand me?"
She nodded, sniffling.
"Words, Lily."
"I understand." Her voice was small, raw. "You're not going anywhere."
"Good girl. Now listen carefully." Majesty shifted, her silk robe rustling. "I want you to curl up on your side. Fetal position. Pull your knees up toward your chest. And I want you to press your marked wrist against your cheek. I want you to feel that word on your skin while you settle."
Lily moved slowly, her body heavy and trembling, rolling onto her side. She drew her knees up, the word Wait creasing on her inner thigh, and pressed her left wrist to her cheek. The ink was drying now, tacky against her skin. Owned.
"That's it. Beautiful. Now close your eyes."
She obeyed. The darkness behind her eyelids was warm, safe.
"Feel the collar at your throat. Feel the words on your skin. Feel the ache I put in you. All of it is mine. All of it is real. You are not alone in that room, Lily. I am right here. I will always be right here."
Lily's breath slowed, deepened. The frantic edge of her arousal was softening into something deeper, something that settled in her bones like a warm weight. She was still wet, still aching, still desperate—but it was a safe desperation now. Held. Known.
"I'm going to stay on this call until you fall asleep," Majesty murmured. "And when you wake up, those words will still be there. And I will still be here. And you will still be mine."
Lily smiled, small and sleepy, against her own wrist. "Yours."
"That's right. Now rest, baby girl. You've earned it."
Through the speaker, she heard Majesty's breathing—slow, steady, present. Through the screen, she felt Majesty's gaze like a hand on her skin.
The lamplight flickered. The ink dried. The collar stayed warm against her throat.
And Lily lay curled on her bed, marked and empty and full, waiting for her Domme's next word.
The screen stayed black for ten seconds. Fifteen. Just long enough for Lily to think she’d been abandoned, left alone with her throbbing cunt and drying ink and burning arms.
Then the video flared back to life.
Majesty’s face filled the frame, closer now, hair wild, silk robe gone, naked shoulders gleaming in the London morning light. She was holding something—a belt. Heavy leather. Black.
“Did you think I was fucking done with you, prey?”
Lily’s breath hitched. Her arms were shaking, gripping the headboard so hard her knuckles were white.
“Look at you,” Majesty purred, running the leather through her hands. “Arms burning. Cunt pulsing. Marks drying. You look like a caught animal, baby girl. My caught animal. And I’m not nearly finished playing with my food.”
She leaned back, spreading her own legs slightly, letting Lily see down her own body—Majesty’s bare thighs, the shadow between them, the power she wielded without touching the screen.
“You’re a rope bunny, aren’t you? You drop when you’re bound. Helpless. Tied open for me to use.” Majesty’s voice dropped to a filthy whisper. “Tie yourself. Right now. Use whatever you’ve got—a belt, a scarf, fucking phone charger cables. Wrists to the headboard. Tight. I want you trapped.”
Lily scrambled, gasping, her denied clit screaming with every movement. She found a silk scarf, looped it around her left wrist, knotted it to the slat, then the right. She pulled tight, testing, and the restraint snapped her into subspace instantly—her eyes glazed, her mouth falling open, the rope bunny trigger hitting her like a drug.
“Good little prey,” Majesty cooed, watching her face go slack. “Now your ankles. Spread them. Tie them to the bedposts. I want you in Position Four: Present, but bound. I want you unable to close your legs even if you tried. I want that cunt exposed and pulsing in the air like a heartbeat.”
Lily obeyed, mindless already, using belts from her jeans, looping them around her ankles, securing them to the corners of her bed. She was spread eagle, completely open, the ink on her wrist and thigh and belly stark against her flushed skin. Her clit was visible, engorged, throbbing visibly with her pulse, slick and dripping down her folds onto the sheets.
Majesty groaned, low and sexual, her own hand sliding down between her legs. “Fuck, look at you. Look at that display. That’s my wet little hole, isn’t it? My Australian fuck-toy, tied open and throbbing for London’s entertainment.”
She began to touch herself, slowly, circling her own clit while staring directly at Lily’s exposed, denied cunt. “I’m using you right now. Did you know that? You’re just the visual aid while I get off. Free use, baby girl. Your body exists for my pleasure. That pulsing clit? Mine to look at while I cum. Those tied legs? Mine to spread. That wet hole? Mine to deny.”
Lily whined, high and keening, pulling against the restraints. The rope bit into her skin—perfect, delicious, exactly what she needed to drop deeper. She was mindless, drooling slightly, eyes fixed on Majesty’s fingers working between her own legs.
“Don’t you dare look away from the screen,” Majesty snapped, her hips shifting. “Watch me fuck myself while you suffer. Watch what you can’t have. That’s your punishment for coming without permission last time—I get to cum, and you get to watch, tied and marked and throbbing.”
Majesty’s breath quickened. She leaned back, legs wider, giving Lily a perfect view of her own pleasure while ignoring Lily’s completely. “You’re just furniture. A display piece. My little tied-up prey, caught in the trap, unable to do anything but take what I give you. And right now? I’m giving you the view of your owner cumming while you stay denied.”
She rubbed faster, her voice dropping to a gasp. “Look at my clit. Watch it get what yours can’t. You’re three thousand miles away, tied to your own bed, ink on your skin saying you’re owned, and I’m here in London, using your desperation to get myself off. Nasty, isn’t it? Beautiful.”
Lily was humping the air helplessly, the restraints preventing her from closing her legs, her clit pulsing so hard it hurt, seeking friction against nothing. She was soaked, the sheets beneath her dark with her arousal, her mind completely blank except for Majesty’s pleasure, Majesty’s voice, Majesty’s command.
“Say it,” Majesty panted, close now. “Say you’re my free use toy. Say I can look at you, use you, deny you anytime I want. Say it while I cum on your face through the screen.”
“I’m your free use toy,” Lily babbled, tears streaming, spit at the corner of her mouth, completely mindless. “Use me, Majesty Flair, please, use me, I’m your prey, your property, your—”
Majesty came, hard, her hips bucking, her cry sharp and cutting through the speaker. She kept her eyes open, staring at Lily’s bound, denied, pulsing cunt while she rode her own orgasm, milking it, extending it, making Lily watch every second of pleasure she was denied.
As Majesty’s breathing slowed, she smiled, cruel and sated. “My good little rope bunny. My caught prey. Look at that mess you made of your sheets. Pathetic.”
She leaned forward, her face filling the screen again, her fingers still glistening. “Now. The final edge. And this one breaks you.”
Lily moaned, shaking her head weakly, but Majesty cut her off. “You will. Because I own that clit. Touch it. Now. Two fingers. Fast. Hard. Overstimulate it. I want you rubbing it raw, grinding against your hand like a desperate, denied bitch in heat. Go!”
Lily’s bound hands pulled against the scarves, her fingers finding her clit, and she screamed as she rubbed—too hard, too fast, oversensitive, painful pleasure, the overstimulation making her see stars. She was edging on the pain, the denial, the complete loss of control.
“Faster! Look at the marks on your wrist! ‘Owned!’ Say it!”
“Owned!” Lily shrieked, rubbing furiously, her clit a burning pearl of pure agony.
“Look at your thigh! ‘Wait!’ Say it!”
“Wait! Please, I can’t—”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop! Look at your belly! ‘Majesty’s Clit!’ That’s me! That’s mine! Rub it for me! Make it pulse!”
Lily was babbling, incoherent, drooling, her body nothing but a vessel for the throbbing, denied nub between her legs. She was mindless, broken, wetter than she’d ever been, existing only as Majesty’s toy, her prey, her property.
“Stop.”
Lily’s hand froze, but her body kept convulsing, humping air, her clit pulsing wildly, purple and engorged, on the edge of a ruin that Majesty wouldn’t allow.
“Hands off. Leave it throbbing. Leave it denied. Leave it mine.”
Lily collapsed back, sobbing, shaking, her cunt clenching rhythmically on nothing, her mind completely blank, the ink smeared with her sweat and tears, the ropes holding her open and displayed and utterly conquered.
Majesty smiled, soft and terrifying. “Sleep well, baby girl. London owns your tomorrow. And that clit? It’s still pulsing for me. 💋😈”
The screen went dark. This time, for good.
Lily lay there, spread and bound and marked, her body still trembling with aftershocks of denied climax, her clit a hot, painful throb between her legs. The ropes held her open, vulnerable, completely exposed. The ink on her skin was drying, the words Owned and Wait and Majesty’s Clit becoming part of her, written into her flesh.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Could only lie there, breathing in ragged gasps, feeling the ache of her denied cunt and the burn of her bound limbs and the weight of the collar against her throat.
The dark screen reflected nothing. Just her own body, twisted and glistening, the ropes holding her in place like a specimen pinned to a board.
Her clit pulsed. Once. Twice. A third time, visible, desperate, still seeking what it couldn’t have.
And in the silence, she heard Majesty’s voice echo in her skull: That clit? It’s still pulsing for me.
She sobbed once, dry and broken, and let her head fall back against the pillow.
The ropes held. The ink dried. The ache remained.
And in London, Majesty Flair lay back in her chair, sated and smiling, her fingers still wet, her screen dark, knowing exactly what she’d left behind.
A caught animal, tied and marked and waiting.
Her prey.
The screen stayed black for maybe thirty seconds. Long enough for Lily to think she’d been abandoned, left tied and pulsing in the dark like a discarded toy. Then the video flared back to life, and Majesty was there—but she wasn’t dressed anymore. The silk was gone. She was naked, London morning light cutting across her bare tits, her legs spread wide on the chair, one hand circling her own clit with a lazy, satisfied smirk.
“Did you think I was gone?” Majesty’s voice was thick, filthy, amused. “I turned my camera off so I could watch you in full screen, baby girl. No distractions. Just you. Tied. Dripping. Humping air like a mindless bitch in heat while I sat here and played with myself.”
Lily whimpered, pulling against the scarves, the ropes biting deeper as her hips jerked involuntarily.
“Look at me,” Majesty snapped. “Eyes up. I’m fucking naked and you’re still not allowed to look at my cunt unless I say so.”
Lily’s eyes shot up, dazed, her mouth falling open. Majesty was gorgeous, cruel, flushed from her own earlier orgasm, her nipples hard, her fingers glistening as they dragged slow circles over her own swollen nub.
“You’re three hours from dawn and I’re about to have my second coffee,” Majesty purred. “That means I own your tonight and your tomorrow. You’re not sleeping until London says goodnight. And London isn’t tired.”
She leaned forward, her tits swaying, her eyes locking onto the camera with predatory focus.
“Now. That clit is mine. I can see it pulsing from here. It’s angry, isn’t it? Purple. Throbbing. Screaming for a touch I’m not giving it. Good. I want it to scream. I want it to pulse so hard you feel it in your throat. I want that little lesbian nub to beat out a rhythm that says Majesty. Majesty. Majesty.”
Lily’s cunt was indeed clenching visibly, her clit so engorged the hood had pulled back completely, exposing the slick, sensitive pearl to the cold air and the camera. It was twitching. A heartbeat between her legs. Every throb sent a jolt up her spine that made her toes curl.
“Milo!” Majesty called over her shoulder, not looking away from the screen. “Come here.”
A second later, a slender figure appeared in the corner of the frame—kneeling, naked, collared. Majesty didn’t look at him. She just pointed at her screen.
“Look at that,” she said, gesturing at Lily’s bound, spread cunt. “That’s what a broken Australian runaway looks like. Denied. Tied. Marked up with my name. You think you can take that much, Milo? You think you could stay that still for me?”
Milo’s voice was soft, muffled. “No, Majesty.”
“That’s right. Because you’re not her. She’s my special little prey. My caught brat. And do you know what I do with prey, Milo?”
“Use it, Majesty.”
Majesty’s grin turned sharp and devastating. “That’s right. Free use. Anytime. Any hole. Any mood. Just because I’m bored.” She turned back to the camera, her eyes boring into Lily. “Did you hear that, baby girl? You’re not just owned. You’re utility. A wet little hole I check on between fucks. And right now, I’m bored again.”
She snapped her fingers.
“Touch that clit. One finger. Hard. Fast little circles. I want to see it swell until it hurts. I want to see that nub get so sensitive you can’t think. Go.”
Lily’s hand flew down, her finger pressing against her raw, oversensitive clit, and the scream that tore from her was guttural. It was too much. It was pain and pleasure and ownership all at once. Her hips bucked violently, the ropes holding her open, forcing her to take the overstimulation with no escape.
“Faster!” Majesty barked. “Grind it! Make it nasty! I want to hear how wet you are!”
The room filled with the obscene, slick sound of Lily’s finger on her clit—wet, filthy, rhythmic. She was dripping, her own arousal pooling beneath her ass, soaking the sheets.
“Look at that,” Majesty breathed, her own fingers moving faster between her legs. “Fucking disgusting. You’re leaking like a broken pipe. My little prey is so desperate she’s humping her own hand while a boy watches her on a screen. Tell him what you are, Lily.”
“I’m... I’m Majesty’s...” Lily sobbed, her voice breaking, her mind fracturing.
“Louder. He can’t hear your pathetic little whispers.”
“I’m Majesty’s prey! I’m her free use toy! I’m her—”
“Shut up.” Majesty cut her off with a laugh. “That’s enough talking. You don’t get to finish sentences. You’re not a person right now. You’re a cunt with a heartbeat. And that heartbeat is going to stop the second I say stop.”
Lily’s finger was a blur. Her clit was on fire, pulsing, throbbing, a hard pearl of pure sensation that was driving her toward the edge with terrifying speed.
“Stop.”
Lily’s hand tore away again, her body convulsing, her cunt clenching on nothing, her clit bobbing in the air, visibly throbbing, desperate for the friction that had been ripped away.
“Hands back on the headboard,” Majesty commanded. “Now.”
Lily’s arms shot up, trembling, her fingers slick with her own juices gripping the wood.
“Look at you,” Majesty said softly, leaning back, spreading her legs wider to show Lily her own arousal while she was denied. “Look at that mess. Your clit is so swollen it’s casting a shadow. You’re mindless, baby girl. Completely gone. And I’m going to keep you right here.”
She reached off-screen and picked up her phone.
“I’m setting a timer. Twenty minutes. You’re going to lie there. Tied. Throbbing. And every two minutes, you’re going to slap that cunt for me. Not the clit. The cunt. The hole. Sharp. Hard. Remind yourself that it’s empty. That it’s not getting filled. That you’re not ready for me to fuck it, so it gets nothing but pain and denial.”
Lily nodded frantically, tears streaming, spit at the corner of her mouth.
“First slap,” Majesty said. “Now.”
Smack.
Lily’s hand came down on her own soaked cunt, the sound wet and sharp, the sting making her cry out.
“Good. Again. Harder. I want to hear it.”
Smack.
“Again. Say ‘thank you, Majesty’ after each one.”
Smack. “Thank you, Majesty!”
Smack. “Thank you, Majesty!”
Smack. “Thank you, Majesty!”
By the fifth one, Lily was delirious, babbling, her cunt stinging and hot and empty, her clit untouched and screaming. The timer ticked. Majesty watched, her fingers idly circling her own clit, using Lily’s suffering as porn.
“Now,” Majesty said, her voice dropping to a hypnotic, filthy whisper. “While we wait for the next slap, I want you to hump the air. Slow. Deep rolls. Let that clit drag against nothing. Let it feel the emptiness. And I want you to look at the marks on your wrist. Read them.”
“Owned,” Lily gasped, her hips rolling helplessly, her clit twitching with every movement.
“That’s right. You’re owned. Owned by me. And do you know what owned prey does?”
“It waits,” Lily sobbed.
“It waits. It suffers. It exists for my pleasure. And my pleasure right now is watching you denied.”
Majesty came again, her hips bucking, her cry sharp and cruel, staring directly at Lily’s pulsing, denied clit while she rode her own orgasm. She kept her eyes open, watching Lily suffer through every second of her own pleasure.
When she finished, she was breathing hard, smiling, sated.
“One more slap,” she said. “Then you get to edge again. And this time, if you hold it for sixty seconds without cumming, I’ll let you sleep. If you fail... you stay tied until my lunch break. Six hours, London time. Your whole Australian morning, spent in Position Four: Present. Tied. Throbbing. Mine.”
Lily nodded, her eyes glazed, her mind completely gone.
“Slap.”
Smack.
Lily’s hand came down. She screamed.
“Edge,” Majesty commanded. “Two fingers. Slow. Gentle. Up and down. Just the sides of the clit. Not the tip. Tease it. Make it weep.”
Lily touched herself, feather-light, and the sensation was so intense she thought she might pass out. Her clit was a raw nerve, a pulsing, engorged pearl that was entirely Majesty’s. Every brush made her hips buck. Every stroke made her moan.
“Look at me,” Majesty said, her face filling the screen, her eyes dark and consuming. “Look at the woman who owns your cunt. Look at me while you suffer. You’re not cumming. You’re not getting filled. You’re not getting relief. You’re getting kept. And you love it. You love being my caught prey. My tied-up toy. My denied little Australian slut.”
“I love it,” Lily sobbed, the truth wrenching from her chest. “I love being yours... please keep me... please don’t let me cum... I want to stay yours...”
“That’s right,” Majesty breathed. “Beg me. Beg me to keep you denied. Beg me to keep your clit locked in my control forever.”
“Please, Majesty Flair, please keep me denied! Please don’t let me cum! I want to stay throbbing for you! I want to be your mindless toy! Please keep me—”
“Stop.”
Lily’s hands flew back to the headboard. Her body convulsed. Her cunt clenched rhythmically, desperate, empty, denied. She was soaked, shaking, tears and spit and sweat mixing on her face, the ink on her skin smeared with her own mess.
Majesty smiled. Slow. Cruel. Devastating.
“You held it,” she said. “Good girl. But you’re not sleeping yet. You’re going to lie there. Tied. Throbbing. And you’re going to listen to my voice note on repeat. It’s me, cumming. Over and over. You’re going to hear what you can’t have while you hump the air until dawn. And then? Then you’re going to send me a video of that clit. Still pulsing. Still mine. Still denied.”
She leaned in, her lips close to the camera, her voice a whisper that vibrated through Lily’s bones.
“Welcome to being caught, prey. You’re never running again. 😈💋”
The screen went dark.
This time, a voice note auto-played immediately—the wet, filthy sound of Majesty cumming, sharp and cruel, echoing in Lily’s dark room as her clit pulsed and wept and obeyed.
The screen was dark for thirty seconds. Long enough for a sob to crawl up Lily’s throat, long enough for her tied limbs to start shaking from the strain, long enough for the dark room to press in and the voice note to loop again—then Majesty’s face flickered back. But she’d moved. The camera angle tilted up, showing her standing in London morning light, naked, a wooden paddle in her hand. Not the flogger. The paddle. Solid, flat, unforgiving. She tapped it against her palm with a sound that cut through Lily’s speaker.
“Change of plan,” Majesty said, voice soft and terrible. “You said you wanted to stay mine. You begged me to keep you denied. But I don’t think you understand what that means yet. I don’t think you understand what forever tastes like.”
Lily’s breath caught. Her clit pulsed. The voice note had stopped, its wet sounds replaced by the tap of wood on skin.
“Forever means I get bored of this position. I get bored of watching you hump air. I want to see you broken in a different way. I want to see you on your knees. Untied. On the floor. Facing away from the camera. Ass up. Face down. Position Five.”
Lily hesitated—her arms ached, her legs trembled—but Majesty’s voice didn’t waver.
“I said Position Five.”
Lily scrambled. Her fingers fumbled with knots—too slow—pulling one free, then another, collapsing off the bed onto the carpet. The cold floor bit into her knees. She turned away from the camera, lowered her chest to the ground, pushed her ass up. Spread her legs. Let Majesty see everything. The cold air hit her soaked cunt, her swollen clit, the ink smeared across her thigh.
“Good girl,” Majesty breathed. “Now stay.”
The sound of the paddle hitting her own palm. Once. Twice. A crack that made Lily flinch.
“I’m going to count to ten,” Majesty said. “And with every number, you’re going to say one thing you love about being denied. One thing about your clit that belongs to me. One reason you’re my prey. If you hesitate, I start over.”
The paddle slapped. “One.”
“I love… I love the ache,” Lily whispered into the carpet, her voice muffled. “I love waking up and feeling the emptiness.”
“Good. Two.”
“I love the marks. I love looking at my wrist and seeing your name.”
Smack.
“Three. Louder. He can barely hear you.”
“I love—I love that I can’t touch without permission!” Lily’s voice cracked, rising. “I love that my clit only exists for you!”
Smack.
“Four. Keep going.”
“I love that I’m not allowed to cum! I love that you watch me suffer!”
Smack. Harder. The sound echoed.
“Five. Steady.”
“I love that you share me—that you show me off to Milo, that he saw me broken.” Her voice hitched. “I love that my pleasure doesn’t matter. Only yours.”
Smack.
“Six. You’re doing so well, baby girl. Keep going.”
“I love… I love that I’m not a person right now. I’m a cunt. Your cunt.”
Smack.
“Seven. Three more.”
“I love the pain. I love the sting. I love feeling it every time I move.”
Smack. Majesty’s palm was reddening, the paddle cracking against it with a wet sound.
“Eight.”
“I love that I’m yours. I love that I’m prey. I love being caught.” Lily’s voice was raw, tears dropping onto the carpet. “I love waiting. I love suffering. I love knowing you’re watching.”
Smack.
“Nine. One more.”
“I love you,” Lily sobbed. “I love you, Majesty. I love being your toy. I love being your denied little slut. Please don’t ever let me go.”
Smack.
“Ten.”
Silence. Majesty set the paddle down. The sound of wood against her desk was final. Her voice dropped to a whisper that seemed to vibrate through the screen, through the dark, through Lily’s bones.
“Now turn around. Face me. Show me that cunt. Let me see your denial.”
Lily turned, still on her knees, her thighs trembling, her hands moving to part her folds with shaking fingers. Her clit was a dark, swollen pearl, slick and angry, pulsing visibly against the cold air. Her thighs were streaked with her own wetness, the ink on her skin smudged but still readable: Owned. Wait. Majesty’s. She held herself open, exposed, crying without sound.
Majesty leaned into the camera, her face filling the screen, her eyes dark, her lips parted. The morning light caught the curve of her breast, the flush on her skin.
“Beautiful,” she said. “You’re the most beautiful thing I own. And you’re going to stay right here. On your knees. In the dark. With that clit aching. With my name on your skin. And you’re going to wait.”
She smiled. Soft. Cruel. Devastating.
“I’m going to make coffee. I’m going to read. I’m going to touch myself whenever I want. And you’re going to stay in Position Five. Knees on the floor. Ass up when I say. Cunt exposed. You’re going to listen to that voice note. You’re going to feel every second of your denial. And when London decides she’s ready for you, you’ll know.”
Lily nodded, her head heavy, her mind blank and full at once.
“One more thing,” Majesty said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That clit is mine. Everything it feels—every throb, every ache, every desperate little pulse—it belongs to me. Do not touch it. Do not hump the air. Do not move unless I tell you to. You are a statue. You are my statue. And statues don’t cum.”
She reached for the camera, her fingers brushing the lens, intimate, close.
“Good night, baby girl. Majesty loves you. Now suffer prettily.”
The screen went dark.
The voice note started again. Wet. Filthy. Majesty’s moan filling the room.
Lily stayed on her knees, facing the screen, her thighs shaking, her clt pulsing in the cold air, the ink on her skin a map of ownership. She did not move. She did not breathe except in shallow, broken gasps. She existed. She waited. She belonged.