Chapter 6

I couldn’t stop replaying the mansion. Every time I tried to study, the pages blurred and I was back there—legs spread over Master’s lap, his cock deep in my ass while stranger after stranger used my cunt like it was public property. The bruises on my tits had faded to yellow smudges, but I still felt the bite marks when I brushed my nipples in the shower. My holes ached for days—puffy, tender, constantly reminding me how many cocks and strap-ons had stretched them. I should have felt disgusting. Used. Broken. Instead I walked around campus dripping, clit throbbing at the slightest memory. Masturbating did nothing anymore; my fingers felt like insults. I needed to be filled, overwhelmed, owned until my brain shut off. The shame only made me wetter. I was ruined and I fucking loved it.

Saturday came too slow. I dressed in the shortest black skirt I owned and a cropped top that barely covered my tits—no bra, no panties, just like always now. My collar stayed home; Master hadn’t told me to wear it tonight. I walked to the bar with my heart in my throat, thighs already slick by the time I pushed through the door.

He was waiting. One look and he jerked his head toward the back. I followed, heels clicking, cunt clenching in anticipation.

The staff room was quiet. He locked the door, turned, and stepped close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with smoke.

“Tonight’s different, Pet. A new experience. You’re going to feel everything and see nothing.”

My stomach flipped. He didn’t explain more—just led me out the back alley to a waiting black car. The drive was silent except for the low hum of the engine. Downtown lights streaked past the tinted windows. We stopped at a sleek high-rise. He guided me through a private elevator straight to the roof.

The air hit me first—cool, scented with jasmine from the rooftop garden. Stars glittered overhead, no city haze tonight. In the center of the greenery sat a massive outdoor bed—low platform, white sheets, pillows scattered like an invitation to ruin. Fairy lights twinkled in the plants, soft and romantic, which only made what I knew was coming feel dirtier.

“Strip,” he said.

I peeled everything off, shivering in the night air. He handed me black lace lingerie—crotchless, open cups that framed my nipples, garters, thigh-highs. Thin straps dug into my skin. He poured the usual three shots—vodka burning, aphrodisiac hitting like gasoline on a match. Heat roared through me instantly, nipples tightening to painful points, cunt swelling and leaking down my inner thighs.