Her father’s crime

She wore the clothes Ria had given her. A top that barely covered her chest, exposing more than she ever wanted, and a skirt so short it revealed most of her thighs. Shame burned through her. She despised every thread clinging to her body.

The only clothes left in her room were those plain, ugly servant uniforms, short skirts with half-cut tops that squeezed her and still failed to hide her. Yet, compared to what Ria had brought, even those seemed merciful.

Drawing in a shaky breath of submission, Lisa slipped into the outfit. She had no choice. She couldn’t risk another punishment tonight. The pain she already carried was enough to remind her that disobedience had a price.

Earlier, in the kitchen, while cleaning, she had accidentally broken a dish. Ria’s response had been a sharp slap across her face, stinging with humiliation. Her body still throbbed from that strike, her spirit bruised deeper than her skin.

She stood before the mirror, staring at her own reflection, fragile, humiliated and trapped. Then her eyes flicked toward the clock on the wall. Her heart lurched. She was already late. Three minutes past the time Alfred had demanded her presence. Ria had warned her, and now six minutes had slipped away.

“Oh God… I’m dead,” she whispered, terror thick in her throat.

She rushed out and, in what felt like a heartbeat, she stood at Alfred’s door. Fear wrapped around her ribs like chains. He had given her three minutes. She had failed.

She knocked softly.

“Come in,” came the faint voice. At the sound, a cold shiver ran the length of her body.

Lisa stepped inside. Alfred was seated on a couch in the corner of his room, an office file in hand. She had seen her father with such files countless times before he died, important documents he would protect with care. A pang of grief tore through her chest. If only her father were still alive.

Alfred set the file aside and rose slowly. His steps carried the weight of anger as he strode toward her.

“I. Said. Three minutes, Lisa. Three minutes.” His words cut through the room like a sharp blade.

“I… I…”

“Kneel.” His command was sharp, unforgiving.

She hesitated. A single moment. And that hesistion cost her.

His hand clamped around her throat, pinning her to the wall. Lisa gasped as her vision blurred, tears flooding her eyes. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor, his grip still like and iron around her neck.

“I see how much you crave punishment, Lisa,” he whispered, voice low but lethal. “What you demand is what you will always receive.”

She felt his nails dig into her skin, sharp and merciless, until warm drops trickled down her neck.

“P-please… Master, I’m sorry,” she sobbed, voice broken. “I’ll obey. Please…”

His eyes burned with hatred. “When I tell you to kneel, you kneel instantly. You do as I say, when I say it. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Master,” she choked out.

“The next time you defy me, you’ll beg for death before I’m through with you.”

“Yes, Master,” she whimpered, her body trembling with pain.

At last, he released her and turned away. She clutched her neck, still kneeling, her knees aching against the hard floor. But before she could rise, Alfred swung back and struck her across the cheek. The blow cracked through her head, and blood filled her mouth.

“You rise only when I command it,” he growled.

Tears she had been holding back finally spilled. She stared at him through the blur, hatred smoldering in her gaze. Why? Why did he despise her so deeply? What sin had her father committed that she must suffer like this? Was it simply a crime to be his daughter?

Her voice broke free before she could stop it. “What was my father’s crime? Why won’t you just say it?”

Alfred’s eyes turned murderous, and she realized instantly what she had done. She had spoken out of turn. To him. Her master.

Her stomach dropped. She shut her eyes tight, bracing for another blow, for punishment far worse.

But instead of striking, Alfred smirked, a dark, devilish curl of his lips. He savored her fear. Her pain was his pleasure.

“You dare question me?” His calm tone was more terrifying than his rage. “I’ll spare you this time. But not again.”

Lisa lowered her gaze quickly. “Yes, Master,” she murmured, swallowing her tears.

He retreated to the couch, his voice cold and commanding. “Stand. Strip.”

Her body moved before her mind could resist. She stood, trembling, and removed the thin scraps of cloth, shame burning every inch of her exposed skin.

“To the table,” Alfred said, his voice low and dark. “Turn your back.”

She obeyed, her hands tightening on the edge of the table as she braced herself. Every nerve screamed with fear. Her body trembled violently, adrenaline and dread colliding inside her.

The silence in the room was unbearable. She felt him behind her, his presence suffocating. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry out, forcing her mind to retreat somewhere…anywhere…away from this.

He came up behind her and slid a finger into her experimentally, making her wet. Leaning closer, she felt the hard press of his erection against her, though she could not see it.

He began pushing into her, stretching her. She clenched her teeth and tightened her grip on the table as pain seared through her body. Then he pulled back and thrust forward again, driving in deep all at once until he bottomed out completely. Lisa cried out in anguish as the pain tore through her, her nails digging into the wooden surface.

He covered her with his body and began plunging into her with relentless force. The table shook beneath them, her body trembling with each powerful thrust.

One hand pressed down firmly on her hips while the other curled into her hair. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the sharp pain she expected when he yanked her head back.

But he didn’t. Instead, he gripped her black hair tightly without pulling, his body driving into hers in deep, punishing strokes. Then he released her hair and slid his hand over her breast, fingers closing around her nipple in a grip that was almost painful. Almost.

He shifted his angle, thrusting deeper inside her. He made no sound, only her cries filled the room, along with the harsh rhythm of skin slapping against skin. She could feel him holding something back, restrained, though she couldn’t see it, she could feel it. Suddenly, he pulled out of her.

“Get out,” Alfred barked. His voice cracked like a whip.

Before she could react, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her trembling, stripped, humiliated, and broken.

TBC