He cums inside me.
Long, hot pulses that fill me up. I feel it leaking out around his c**k even before he pulls out, dripping down my thighs, evidence of his ownership.
“Back to your cage,” he says.
He grabs my collar – the metal ring at the front – and drags me.
I stumble after him, naked and dripping, c*m running down my legs, back through the warehouse, down the stairs, through the hallways.
Back to my cell.
He chains me to the wall without a word.
Leaves without looking back.
And I curl up on my mattress, covered in c*m and shame and something that feels horrifyingly like satisfaction.
I don’t try to run again.
DAY THREE
I’ve stopped fighting.
Stopped pretending I don’t want this.
Somewhere in the night – curled against his warm body, his arm draped possessively over my wa
