Hands stroking her body.
Hands massaging her head, rubbing up and over and around her breasts, her belly, her arms and wrists. They moved slickly, sliding like silk. There was a soft scent filling her nostrils, something earthy and rich.
Hands rubbing her pussy, massaging the tender folds, then the gentle press against, around, and briefly, into her anus. She fluttered then, rousing a bit, but a soothing “shhhhhh” accompanied by the gentle massaging of her temples calmed her.
The calm after the storm, as it were. The feeling of being used lingered, despite the massaging hands. She stirred, restless. Hands held her down, rubbing down her arms, catching her wrists, rubbing each digit on her hands.
She should rise.
She should awaken and go.
There wasn’t a need to rise. There didn’t seem to be a reason to go.
The sound of the door closing roused her. The room was dark, though spears of sunlight pierce the edges of the curtains, seeking entry.
A hand trailed from her toes, up her leg, and rested at the pouting vee.
She knew the voice. She knew that hand. She would have sat up, but she was too lethargic to move. The bed groaned under the sudden weight of him. Like the mattress, she groaned as he moved onto her, pinning her to the soft sheets.
“I can’t,” she murmured against his lips.
“You will. You are mine now.”
Her eyes fluttered open. It was true then. Trying to understand, to comprehend the sudden change in her status.
“Mine. No longer a just a slave, but my slave.”
In the darkness she smiled. She’d feared becoming the sacrifice. Instead it seemed she’d been reborn.
His hand gathered her close as he rolled to his side, tucking her against him. His fingers found her breast, even as his cock rose, large and hard against her ass. His breathing deepened, fluttering her hair.
Time slowed, their breaths slowed in sync. Entwined, they slept.