= Sarah POV =
The water hit my wrist with a sharp, bruising sting, a reminder of what Chris had done to me. Each splash sent a ripple of pain through the tender marks, yet somehow, it stirred something deep inside me. I'd agreed to everything—every act, every touch—but now, standing under the cascading stream, I couldn't help but question myself. The sight of the markings on my skin, the faint purples and reds blooming like forbidden flowers, worried and thrilled me. My fingers traced the outlines almost compulsively, a shiver running through me. What was wrong with me? Why did this arouse me instead of filling me with dread?
I tilted my head back under the spray, letting the warmth envelop me as I worked shampoo through my hair. Slowly, I massaged my scalp, the tension unwinding with each circular motion. The ritual calmed me, allowing my thoughts to drift. I scrubbed every inch of my body, careful and methodical, as though purifying myself would bring clarity to my tangled emotions. When I finished, I blow-dried my hair, brushing out the damp curls and smoothing leave-in conditioner through the strands to keep them soft and lush. Wrapping myself in a towel, I stepped out of the bathroom, my skin still tingling from the heat of the water and the fresh sting of my bruises.
Chris had told me she would dress me, and as I entered the room, my pulse quickened. She stood near the bed, adjusting the cuffs of her shirt with an air of effortless precision. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with tension. Her presence always commanded my attention, but this moment felt different—more charged, more intimate.
"Are you going to work at the café today?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
Chris didn't reply. Her sharp eyes flicked up, scanning me from head to toe. I felt her gaze like a touch, lingering, assessing. Then, with a single word, she commanded, "Drop the towel."
I hesitated, clutching the terrycloth tighter around my body. Her expression didn't waver, and there was a quiet dominance in her stance that made my heart race. Slowly, I let the towel fall to the floor, the cool air raising goosebumps on my skin. I resisted the urge to cover myself, vulnerable under her scrutiny, her gaze pinning me in place.
"Come here," she said, her voice low and steady. It wasn't a request.
I stepped toward her, my movements tentative but obedient. Her eyes roamed over me again, a faint smirk on her lips. "Beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself. "Marked up like this, you're perfect."
My cheeks burned as I glanced down at my body. The bruises were stark against my pale skin, reminders of every moment we'd shared. Shame and pride warred within me, but the quiet approval in her tone sent a thrill coursing through me.
Reaching for the bed, Chris picked up a lacy pink bustier. The fabric was delicate, almost ethereal, and completely unlike anything I'd ever worn. She gently slipped it over my arms, pulling the ribbons taut to secure it. Her fingers brushed against my skin, firm yet careful, adjusting the garment until everything was perfectly in place. The faint scrape of her nails against my chest made me shiver, heat pooling low in my stomach.
Chris's hands moved with deliberate purpose as she retrieved the matching underwear. She knelt slightly, guiding the soft fabric over my legs and up my thighs. Her fingers grazed my skin, teasing, lingering just enough to leave me breathless. I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to react, to arch into her touch. She knew exactly what she was doing; her slow, deliberate movements were a calculated game.
When she finally stood, her gaze locked with mine, an electric intensity passing between us. My breathing hitched as she leaned in, her lips just inches from my ear. "There," she whispered. "You're gorgeous."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning, as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. My heart pounded in my chest, my body alive with a thousand sensations. Dressed and exposed, I felt like a masterpiece she had crafted, entirely hers to control.
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