Chapter 7 His Remote controlled slut

The next morning didn't start with sunlight. It started with his hand on my throat. I woke up choking, my wrists pinned above my head, his thick hard cock already pressing against me. No words. No warning. Just Brayden taking what was his. "Spread that cunt," he growled. I hated how fast my thighs obeyed. The sheets twisted under me as he shoved his dick inside me. My gasp broke into a cry, but the sound only made him thrust harder, pushing me further into the bed. "So wet," he snarled against my ear. "Mine." Every thrust was punishment.

Every drag of his cock inside me reminded me that I wasn't a woman, not a wife, I was a hole, a fucktoy he'd bought then legally married. And still, my body betrayed me. Wetness spilled around him, coating his cock. I wanted to scream in his face, claw his eyes out, but my cunt clamped down, greedy for more. "Pathetic," he hissed, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. "You hate me, don't you? You fucking hate me. But you're dripping on my cock." "Yes," I gasped before I could stop myself, shame tearing through me. "Yes what?" His thrusts slammed deeper, harder, his hand squeezing my throat until black spots danced at the edge of my vision. "Yes, sir!" He fucked me until my body convulsed, until I came despite the anger boiling in my chest. Only then did he cum inside me. When he pulled out, I rolled to the side, trembling, clutching the sheets. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to scrub my skin raw. I wanted more. But Brayden wasn't done. He tossed something onto the bed. A vibrator. "Put it in," he ordered. My stomach turned. "Mr Gatsby, please..." His slap snapped across my cheek. "Sir," I corrected quickly, tasting blood. "Please, sir..." "Do it." My fingers shook as I slid the toy between my folds. It slid in too easily; I was still wet from the brutal fuck he'd given me. He put the remote into his pocket, smirking. "Good girl. Now get dressed. We have a meeting." Breakfast was untouched on the table. My stomach was empty, but his rules were clear, I didn't eat unless he allowed it. My hunger twisted tighter with every tick of the clock. By the time we walked into his underground club, i was exhausted. The air smelt of sex and smoke. Mafia men waited at the long table, their eyes sharp. Brayden took the head seat like a king. I sat on a chair behind him with my collar on my neck. Then all of a sudden I felt it. A low hum inside me. My back arched before I could stop it. The vibrator pulsed to life, deep inside, vibrating against every raw clit. My thighs pressed together under the table, trying to fight it, but the vibration was too intense. Brayden didn't even look at me. He sipped his whiskey while the fucking remote was hidden in his palm. "Mr. Gatsby," one of the men said, "about the shipment..." The vibration intensified. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. My breath hitched. I stared at the table, praying no one noticed the redness of my skin. Brayden looked at me briefly, lips curving into the faintest smirk before returning to business as if nothing was happening. The vibrator went a level higher.. My wet cunt clenched desperately around the toy. My nipples peaked under the thin fabric of my dress. God! I hated him. He leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched. Only I knew what he was doing. When I shifted slightly, trying to relieve the pressure, his eyes snapped to me. The remote clicked. The vibrator went to its highest setting. I almost cried out. My hand shot to my mouth, muffling a strangled moan. The men kept talking. Numbers. Deals. Blood. Guns. And I sat there, legs trembling, cunt spasming around the vibrator, Brayden's eyes burning holes into me, daring me to disobey Rule One. By the time the meeting ended, my body was soaked. He stood. "Gentlemen." His tone was smooth. "That will be all." Then his hand fisted my hair, dragging me up from my chair. The men pretended not to see. Pretended not to hear my gasp as he shoved me down the corridor, through a guarded door, into his private suite. The moment the door shut, he slammed me against the wall. "You glared at me." His voice was low, lethal. "No I didn't..." The vibrator buzzed to life again inside me. "You dared to glare at me, slut. My wife doesn't glare. She takes what I give her." He ripped my dress open. My swollen breasts spilled free, nipples hard. His hand closed over my throat as the toy hummed mercilessly inside me. "Say it," he demanded, thrusting two fingers into me alongside the vibrator. "I hate you," I gasped. He grinned like a devil. "And yet your pussy's begging for me." I came then, explosively, violently. My thighs shook, liquid squirting out, soaking his hand. "Slut," he spat, shoving me to the floor. He yanked the toy out, dragged his belt free and unzipped his pants. His thick cock sprang out heavy and hard, glistening with precum at the tip. He stroked himself once spreading the cum over the swollen head. "You see this, whore?" His voice was a growl. "This cock owns you. Every hole, every inch." Then he shoved himself inside me "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned, pounding me into the rug. "Soaking wet for me. Don't pretend you don't love this cock." Each thrust rocked me forward, scraping my skin against the carpet until it burned. His hips crashed into mine, his balls slapping against my ass with every stroke. "Take it, slut. Take your Master's cock." His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back, forcing my eyes to him. "Say it. Say this pussy is mine." Tears blurred my vision. Hate clawed through my chest, but my body betrayed me, clenching tight around him, sucking him deeper. And even as tears burned down my cheeks, my body betrayed me again. Pleasure tore me apart, sharp and humiliating. He groaned as he spilled into me, filling me to the brim. When he pulled out, cum leaked down my thighs, dripping onto the floor. "Good girl," he said, mocking. "My perfect little wife." I lay broken, hating him, hating myself.