)

> “She didn’t want kindness.

She didn’t want comfort.

She wanted to be undone —

bone by bone, breath by breath —

until she could finally feel something again.”

---

🌒 Pieces of the Past

The photograph in Meher’s hands trembled as she stared at her younger self — seven years old, innocent and oblivious.

Next to her stood her father, tall and smiling.

But it was the woman beside him — young, regal, tragic — who pierced Meher’s memory like a shard of glass.

Her mother.

The woman who stopped looking Meher in the eyes when she turned eight.

The woman who cried behind bathroom doors.

And standing in the background, almost like a shadow…

> Veer.

Younger. Bloodstained. Jaw clenched.

Unforgiving.

The article whispered betrayal between its lines.

Affair. Murder. Disappearance.

And in the final paragraph: “...boy confessed to the push during questioning. Case was closed as accidental fall.”

---

🥀 Shattered Confrontation

She didn’t throw the paper at him.

Didn’t scream.

She waited.

Naked emotionally, but dressed in a red silk robe — the same one he bought for her.

She sat on the floor near the fireplace. The only thing glowing was the fire behind her eyes.

When Veer walked in, his body tensed. He knew.

“You found it.”

Her voice was soft. Too soft.

“You killed him.”

“Yes.”

Her heart cracked.

“You killed the only man I ever called father.”

He walked closer, but she didn’t flinch. “I killed the man who tried to force your mother into silence and was grooming you for worse.”

Meher’s stomach twisted.

> “He touched your drawings.

Touched your clothes.

Left money in your bag.”

She froze.

Some memories return like a scream in the dark.

Sudden. Raw. Merciless.

She remembered.

The way her mother slapped her when she tried to talk.

The way her father took pictures of her asleep.

The way she felt dirty when she wore yellow.

---

🥀 Collapse

Her knees gave out.

She hit the floor, gasping, the breath knocked from her chest.

“I forgot,” she whispered.

“You were meant to,” Veer said softly, kneeling beside her.

“I always wondered why I felt unsafe at home. Why I hated silence. Why I never trusted hands…”

She looked at him.

“You remembered for me?”

He touched her hair, pushing it back gently.

“No,” he whispered. “I became your monster so he wouldn’t stay one in your story.”

And then she cried.

Not with sound.

With body. With trembles. With breathless ache.

---

🔥 Her Request

That night, the moon poured light onto the dark oak floor of his bedroom.

Meher stood by the bed.

Bare.

Unflinching.

Veer watched her silently, a glass of whisky in his hand.

Her voice cut through the stillness:

> “I don’t want love.”

His brow arched. “No?”

“I don’t want softness. I don’t want safety.”

She stepped closer, eyes burning.

“I want to be broken.”

“Meher—”

She stopped in front of him, pressed her palms to his chest.

“You’ve been carrying my pain like it’s yours.”

She took the glass from his hand, set it aside.

“Now I want to carry yours. Even if it means you ruin me.”

---

🖤 The Ritual of Pain

He didn’t move for a moment.

Then — slow as smoke — he opened the drawer.

Velvet.

Black.

Inside it:

A leather collar

A thin crop

Two silk ropes

A set of pearl clamps

He lifted the collar first.

“Once I put this on you,” he said darkly, “you don’t speak unless I allow.”

She nodded.

“You don’t come unless I command.”

She trembled.

“You don’t cry, unless I make you.”

> “Yes,” she whispered.

“Please.”

He walked behind her.

Fastened the collar.

Then — he pushed her to the bed.

---

🌪️ Unleashed

Her wrists were tied with silk to the bedposts.

Her thighs spread.

Her nipples pinched gently with pearls, the ache shooting straight to her core.

He circled her slowly, like a predator examining prey.

Then — the first strike.

The crop landed just above her thigh.

She gasped.

Not from pain.

But from release.

Another.

And another.

Her skin turned pink, heat blossoming beneath each kiss of leather.

She moaned — low, breathless, surrendering.

Then, he bent down, kissed each red mark he made.

“You feel that?”

“Yes…”

“Every inch of your pain, Meher, is mine now.”

---

🔥 Pleasure-Flooded Submission

He removed the clamps with his teeth.

Sucked her nipples until the blood rushed back in waves of raw sensitivity.

Then dipped his fingers between her folds — dripping.

Without warning, he slid in two fingers and pressed upward, finding her spot.

She screamed into the room.

“Louder,” he demanded.

She sobbed.

“LOUDER!”

And when she did — he replaced his fingers with his cock.

Thick. Full. Unforgiving.

He pounded into her.

Ruthless.

Rhythmic.

Perfect.

Tied.

Exposed.

Utterly his.

---

🌊 Orgasm Like a Flood

“You don’t come yet.”

“Please…”

“You haven’t bled enough.”

Another thrust.

Another moan.

Another slap to her breast.

Then — he grabbed her face, forced her eyes to his.

> “Now.”

And her entire body exploded.

Pleasure tore through her like fire and wind and ash.

She came with a cry so loud, so raw, he shuddered with her and released inside her, moaning her name into h

er neck.

---

🕯️ After

Untied.

Marked.

Held.

She curled into him like she was made for his chest.

He didn’t say “I love you.”

He whispered something darker.

> “I’ll never let anyone take you.

Not even yourself.”

And in his arms, for the first time in years…

She slept without fear.