"Touch me, please, Peter..."
"No," I said, soft as a blade sliding home. "Bad girls don't get touched. Bad girls get to watch themselves fall apart while their god decides if they're worthy."
Her whole body convulsed, thighs snapping together instinctively, then wrenching open again because she knew, she knew, closing them would be disobedience.
Another coming. Uncontrollable. Humiliating. Perfect.
I walked around to face her at last.
Stood between her spread knees, towering, fully clothed, cock straining obscenely against my jeans, and looked down at the wreck I'd made of her.
Her eyes were glassy, wrecked, adoring.
I cupped her jaw with one hand, thumb pressing into the hollow of her cheek, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"Repeat after me," I said, voice calm, absolute.
She was already nodding before I spoke.
"This cunt is not yours anymore."
Her lips trembled. "This cunt… is not mine anymore."
"It belongs to Peter."
