Raw Pleasures
She stood back, arms folded, her eyes sharp and proud as the women collapsed around me, panting, sated, their lips slick with me, their bodies shining with sweat.
I wasn’t a man anymore. I wasn’t even Henry.
I was a manuscript—read, annotated, memorized.
A book they had written themselves into, page by page.
“You’ve been read,” Mistress said softly. Her voice was almost tender, but her smile carried nothing but possession. “Page by page. Line by line.”
Then—darkness.
When I woke, I wasn’t on the table, or in the library.
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