Sex slave: Lily

Lily's cheeks carry streaks of dirt. Tears cling to her lashes. Her body is small, marked with soft violet bruises where skin has given. Metal cuffs bite her wrists. Escape is pointless. The door opens. Dora steps inside and the air changes. Her mouth finds Lily's without hesitation. She tastes the salt, the grit, the trembling. Fingers slide over sore flesh with slow command. Lily gasps, half fear, half surrender. Dora follows the bruises with lips and teeth, lingering where the skin is tender. Her palm presses between Lily's thighs, spreading what little resistance remains. Each movement owns the moment. Lily's breath breaks into moans she cannot swallow. The cuffs hold her still while Dora drinks the quiet sounds that escape her, taking her apart with the same care she uses to break bread.