The morning after the alley, I woke up sore in places I didn't know could feel sore. My cunt was still puffy and tender, my ass bruised in shades of purple and blue, and my throat raw from the brutal face fucking. But Papa had given me no time to recover. He had pulled me out of bed at dawn, told me to shower and make myself presentable, and then disappeared into his study to make phone calls.

I stood under the hot water, letting it soothe my aching muscles, my mind drifting through the events of the previous night. I had screamed my identity into the darkness of that alley. I was Papa's raand. His rakhail. There was no going back now. The shame that used to burn me had transformed into something else entirely. It had become fuel. Every humiliating act, every degrading command, only stoked the fire in my cunt and solidified my devotion to the man who owned me.