The first soft rays of morning sunlight filtered through the intricately carved lattice windows of Ananya’s chamber, casting delicate patterns of gold and rose across the rumpled silk sheets and the bound form of the young woman who lay helpless upon them. Lord Vikram woke slowly, his powerful body still pressed close to Ananya’s. His arm rested possessively across her widely spread thigh, fingers lightly tracing the faint red marks left by the silk scarves that had held her open all night. The crimson and gold silk bindings remained exactly as he had tied them hours earlier during his midnight visit: her wrists secured high to the ornate bedposts, arms stretched wide above her head in complete surrender; her ankles and upper thighs bound firmly to the lower posts, forcing her legs obscenely apart so that her tiny shaved innie was fully exposed to the cool morning air and the growing light; the longer scarf wrapped around her waist pinned her hips down against the mattress, preventing even the slightest bucking or closing of her thighs. The ruby-studded golden collar and leash still encircled her slender neck, the chain draped languidly between her massive, heavy breasts like a mark of permanent ownership.