<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff9999">To her credit, she saw the kick coming and was able to steel herself against the shock of the invasion. But the moment she heard the four latches and locks that sealed her in, knowing he was gone, the woman let out a cry of frustration, writhing in agony as the rod moved inside of her, trying to force herself back up on the tips of her toes. There was no way to keep track of how much time was passing, and the longer the torture went on, the less her mind could focus on other things, less arousing things. Like bank statements, or architectural plans. The layout of Master Dreven’s home and how best to break in if she wanted to take that sparkly sealed decanter of five hundred year old wine he was using as a bookend in his office.  <br/>
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But as the hours past, and her feet gave out again and again, her body’s writhing more and more pronounced, her senses dulled, vision going blurry and her mind unable to focus on such complex thoughts. Her head rolled back, tears running down the side of her face as she stared up at the ceiling, hanging limply as she panted and moaned, focusing on the point where one of the old growth ceiling beams met the stone slabs they supported. By the time he returned, her body was shaking with need, her head rolled back as desperate cries rang out from her, barely even registering that he’d returned until he was almost in front of her. <br/>
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Her head fell forwards, before she lifted her gaze to meet his, Ice and steel still present in her red rimmed eyes, blood dripping out of her mouth from where she’d bit down on her lip too hard when it had become too much to bear, crimson drops tracing paths down her bare chest. She didn’t even have the energy left to swear at him.</span>