Morning light filtered through the penthouse blinds, casting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets of the massive king bed. The men had risen early—showered, suited up, murmuring about the big client pitch downtown. Scott kissed Stiles’s forehead sleepily before leaving, whispering, “Rest up, baby. Meetings all day—back tonight.” He followed the others out, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving the suite in blissful silence.

Stiles lay there for a while, curled naked under the covers—her slip dress long since shredded and discarded. The moment the elevator dinged downstairs, her body betrayed her. Her pussy clenched hard around nothing, a phantom ache from last night’s brutal toy-fucking and gangbang. Her ass did the same—pink hole fluttering, remembering the plug’s ridges, the fingers stretching her wide. Nipples throbbed from the clamps, still faintly sore. She rolled onto her back, thighs pressing together, but the emptiness only worsened.