The tower stood alone on the highest ridge of the ruined estate—black stone spiraling upward like a finger accusing the sky. No doors at ground level. Only a narrow exterior stair of crumbling steps wrapped around the outside, slick with moss and night dew. Wind howled through the broken battlements at the top, carrying distant thunder that never quite arrived. Midnight exactly when she reached the base. Naked again. Skin chilled to gooseflesh. The cavern cuts on her tits and stomach still wept thin red lines—fresh scabs torn open by the climb. Throat bruised purple from repeated choking. Ass and pussy raw, constantly leaking faint traces of his earlier loads mixed with her own cream. Every step rubbed her swollen clit against her thighs. Pain kept her wet. Fear kept her dripping.

She climbed. Step by step. Wind tore at her hair, slapped her heavy tits, made the cuts sting fresh. Halfway up her legs trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the growing ache between her legs. By the top she was panting, nipples diamond-hard, cunt clenching on nothing.