Agnes's cry shattered the quiet of the villa like glass under a hammer, high, broken and reverent. The sound echoed off marble and velvet, swallowed quickly by thick drapes and roaring hearth, but it lingered in Victor's blood like wine.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a long heartbeat, letting her feel every thick inch stretching her, every vein pulsing against fluttering walls that clamped down in frantic welcome. Her inner muscles rippled helplessly around him, still spasming from the sudden invasion, trying to milk what he had not yet given permission to take.
The ropes creaked softly as her bound body strained, wrists pulled high behind her back, shoulders drawn taut, heavy breasts thrust forward and swaying with each ragged breath. The blindfold kept her world black; every sensation sharpened to cruel intensity: the burn of rope against pale skin, the slick heat where their bodies joined, the cool air kissing sweat-damp nipples already aching from neglect.
Victor's hands settled on her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh just above the rope that framed her waist. He pulled back slowly and agonizingly until only the swollen head remained inside her, stretching the tight ring of her entrance. Agnes whimpered, hips rocking backward in tiny, desperate jerks, chasing the fullness he denied.
"Still," he ordered, voice low and edged with dark amusement.
She froze instantly, trembling, thighs quivering around his.
He rewarded the obedience with one shallow thrust, barely half his length then withdrew again. Another shallow plunge. Another retreat. Each time he stopped just short of giving her the deep grind she craved, the angle that would drag along that sensitive patch inside her until she screamed.
Agnes's lips parted on silent pleas. Tears soaked the silk blindfold, tracking down flushed cheeks to drip onto the velvet below. Her nectar flowed freely now, coating his shaft, dripping in slow, obscene trails down her inner thighs and pooling beneath her knees.
Victor leaned forward, chest pressing flush against her bound arms. One hand slid up to cup a heavy breast, thumb circling the dark, pebbled nipple before pinching—hard enough to make her gasp, soft enough to keep her teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure.
"Tell me, you are whose," he murmured against the shell of her ear.
Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Yours… Master… I'm yours…"
"Louder."
"I'm yours!" The words burst out, raw and trembling. "Your maid… your pet… your slut… please—please don't stop—"
He thrust again deeper this time, but still controlled, and measured. The wet slap of their bodies meeting rang louder than before. Agnes's back bowed as far as the ropes allowed; a fresh sob tore from her throat.
Victor set a rhythm then, slow, punishing, and deliberate. Every withdrawal dragged along her sensitive walls; every re-entry bottomed out with a firm grind against her cervix. He angled his hips just enough to rub the thick ridge of his crown over that swollen inner spot with each plunge, building pressure without mercy.
Her cries grew incoherent, half pleas and half worship. "Master—ah—please—deeper—harder—I can't—I need—"
He pinched her nipple again, twisting just enough to make her arch violently.
"You come when I say," he reminded her, voice velvet over steel. "Not before."
She nodded frantically, silver hair clinging damply to her neck and shoulders. Her bound breasts bounced with each thrust now, nipples scraping against nothing but air, sending fresh sparks through her over-sensitized body.
Victor's free hand slid downward, fingers finding the rope that ran between her thighs. He hooked it, tugged upward making the knotted cord grind directly against her throbbing pearl.
Agnes screamed short, sharp, shattered.
Her walls clamped down like a fist, fluttering wildly around his length. She teetered on the brink, body shaking so hard the bedframe creaked in protest.
Victor stilled completely buried deep, unmoving.
She sobbed in frustration, hips twitching uselessly.
"Not yet," he said softly.
He waited until her trembling eased, until her desperate clenching relaxed into helpless, quivering acceptance.
Only then did he begin again faster now, harder, each thrust driving the air from her lungs in broken moans. The ropes bit deeper into her skin with every collision; red lines bloomed against pale flesh like delicate artwork.
Victor's control never wavered, but his breathing grew rougher, darker. He felt the familiar coil tightening low in his gut, the heat building at the base of his spine.
One hand returned to her throat not squeezing, just resting there, thumb pressing lightly against her racing pulse.
"Beg for my release inside you," he commanded.
"Please—" Agnes's voice was wrecked, hoarse from crying out. "Please fill me, Master… flood me… mark me… make me drip with you… I need it—I need you—please—"
Victor drove forward one final time—brutal, unyielding, burying himself to the root.
He came with a low, guttural growl.
Thick, hot pulses flooded her depths, surge after surge, claiming every inch she could take. Agnes's walls fluttered frantically around him, milking greedily, drawing out every drop as though her body had been made for this single purpose.
She shattered a heartbeat later, permission unspoken but granted in the violence of his release. Her climax ripped through her like lightning; bound limbs seized, blindfold-soaked tears streamed, a raw, worshipful wail tore from her throat as her nectar gushed around his length, soaking them both, dripping in thick rivulets onto the sheets.
Victor held her through it, hips locked, one arm banded around her waist to keep her upright as aftershocks rolled through her trembling frame. He stayed inside her long after the last pulse, letting her feel the slow softening, the warm overflow that leaked out around him and trickled down her thighs.
Only when her sobs quieted to soft, shattered whimpers did he ease out carefully.
A thick stream followed his seed mixed with hers pouring from her swollen entrance in a slow, obscene cascade.
Victor caught her as the ropes finally slackened. He lowered her gently onto the bed, unbound her wrists with deft fingers, massaged the red marks until circulation returned. He removed the blindfold last; emerald eyes blinked up at him, glassy, adoring, utterly spent.
He brushed damp silver strands from her face.
"You did well," he said quietly.
Agnes managed a trembling smile, voice barely a thread. "Thank you… Master."
He pulled the ruined sheets aside, drew a clean blanket over her shivering form, then lay beside her still bare, still warm from exertion. One arm draped possessively across her waist.
Outside, snow continued to fall in heavy, silent sheets.
Inside the villa, the fire burned low.
Tomorrow the academy would demand his presence classes, rivalries, and the heroines who still believed their fates were unwritten.
But tonight belonged to this: to the girl who had already surrendered everything, and to the villain who intended to take so much more.
Victor closed his eyes.
The shadows in the corners of the room stirred lazily, content.
For now.
XXXX
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