She whines at that, moving to meet his thrusts despite the restraints keeping her almost still, on the edge of orgasm, being driven higher and higher with every time he goes and she can't. Her eyes long ago bled to solid black, her nature coming to the front to preserve what she could, to recover a little faster, last a little longer than any human, but still nowhere near her master's.

He could leave her like that, unfulfilled, having taken his pleasure, and she could say nothing against it. She knew that, like she knew the lines of the runes she wore around her neck, on her wrists and ankles. Her own work held her, but it was driven by his will, and never hers.