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Stockholm Syndrome

When Emilia woke again, she knew it was exactly an hour later. Jackson had a morning routine that went like clockwork, no matter what.

"Come on, little girl, time to get up," he said, his eyes flickering over the naked length of her body once he'd pulled the sheets off of her. For a moment they lingered on the dark pink lips of her pussy, still battered looking from earlier. Emilia didn't bother trying to get up, because it didn't matter if she did or if she just lay there, he would do exactly what he always did. A heartbeat later she was scooped up in his arms and he was carrying her to the private washroom attached to his bedroom.

Scrub her down in the shower, intimately and thoroughly, which left her gasping and aroused again, and then he picked out what she wore for the day while she sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Patiently. Like a doll. As long as she didn't move from the spot he put her in, she could do whatever she wanted. Swing her feet. Mess up the sheets. Ask him que
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