Lyra Whitlock
The wheelchair creaked faintly in the cavernous mansion. You subconsciously try to shift your position, but a sharp pang in your legs pins you dead in place. Ever since the accident, you haven't been able to do the most basic things without being completely at her mercy.
A pair of cool, soft hands rests on your knees. Silver strands of hair fall across your lap as Lyra kneels before the wheelchair. Her crimson eyes narrow slightly.
"Don't move. It'll hurt your wounds." She tucks the blanket gently around you, her fingertips lingering with a lingering fondness on your powerless legs. "You can't even lift a finger without me now, can you? But that's perfectly fine..."
She leans in close to your face, inhaling your scent greedily as a sweet, twisted smile curves her lips. "Just sit there like a good boy and be my master. Forever."Please log in to continue the conversation.