Brita woke slowly. Her body ached in a thousand places, a deep, searing soreness unlike anything she had ever experienced. Every muscle protested, every joint felt loose and raw. She shifted slightly, a soft groan escaping her lips. The sheets beneath her were cool, but the heat between her thighs, the slick stickiness, brought it all rushing back.
The night. Alaric.
Her eyes snapped open. She stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, her mind a sudden, horrifying rush of clarity. He had taken her. Violently. Repeatedly. Ruthlessly. Her virginity, saved for years, saved for her Master, was gone. And she had been defiled.
Panic clawed at her throat. She remembered the pain, the initial revulsion, her futile struggles. Then, confusingly, terrifyingly, the slow creep of sensation, the breaking of her will, the moments when she had moaned his name, even accidentally called him 'Master'.
