Living in that Jaipur house felt like owning a secret kingdom—no nosy college roommates, no family breathing down my neck, just endless hours to mold her into the perfect fuck-toy. It had been weeks since I'd moved in fully, turning our stolen moments into a brutal routine. Every dawn, I'd wake her like the worthless slave she was: straddling her face in the dim light, shoving my thick morning cock deep into her throat until she gagged and sputtered, her eyes watering as I growled, "Earn your fucking air, you lazy, dripping fuck-hole. Choke on Master's meat like the greedy whore you are."
She'd thrash under the sheets at first, hands instinctively pushing at my thighs, but then her body would betray her—those full tits heaving, nipples hardening into desperate peaks, her filthy cunt starting to leak just from the humiliation. I'd hold her head down, fucking her mouth slow and deep, calling her a "pathetic throat-slut" until drool coated her chin and my balls slapped her face. No release for me yet; this was just the appetizer, teasing her awake with the promise of more agony.
Mornings dragged into light teasing rituals that drove her insane. I'd make her cook breakfast naked, her ass swaying as she stirred eggs or chopped fruit, ropes from the night before still leaving faint red welts on her skin. I'd come up behind her, sliding two fingers into her "greedy, sloppy cunt" without warning, curling them against that spongy spot inside while my thumb circled her swollen clit. "Beg for it, you pathetic whore on heat," I'd whisper, pumping slow, feeling her walls clench like a vice. She'd whimper, hips bucking back, voice cracking: "Please, Master... let your worthless slave cum... I need it so bad..."
But I'd deny her every time, pulling my fingers out just as her breaths turned ragged, leaving her "throbbing pussy lips" twitching in the air, slick with her shame. "Not yet, cum-slut. You don't deserve to flood my floor like a broken faucet." She'd slump against the counter, tears pricking her eyes, body a quivering mess of denied fire. It made my cock ache—watching her struggle, that beautiful face twisted in lust and frustration, her magnificent boobs heaving with each denied wave. This was better than any porn; her real desperation ignited me, making me want to ruin her over and over.
One morning, after a particularly cruel edging—fingering her to the brink three times while she flipped pancakes, her juices dripping down her thighs like a "filthy kitchen whore"—she confessed her work stress over breakfast. "Master, today's video call... the board is pressuring me about quarterly reports. I can barely focus." Her voice was small, eyes downcast, but I saw the spark—how my control bled into her "normal" life, turning her into a corporate cum-dump even from afar.
A wicked grin split my face. "Perfect. Strip and spread those legs, slave." I locked the remote-controlled vibe deep into her "eager fuck-tunnel," the curved tip nestled against her g-spot, clit attachment humming softly at first. "You'll present like the desperate edge-slut you are. If you cum without permission, I'll make you confess to them what a whore you really are."
She bit her lip, nodding, but her eyes were wide with fear-lust as she logged into the call, dressed professionally from the waist up, naked and vibrating below. I watched from the side, app in hand, ramping the buzz during her speech. "And as you can see in the projections—ohhh..." She faltered, thighs clenching under the desk, her "pulsing clit-whore" grinding against the seat. I cranked it higher, whispering abuses in her earpiece: "Feel that, you corporate cum-rag? Your sloppy cunt's betraying you while they drone on. Cum and expose yourself as Master's broken toy."
She held it together barely—face flushing crimson, voice hitching, a tiny moan slipping out as she wrapped up. The second the call ended, she begged: "Master, please... fuck your worthless slave harder... I can't take this teasing anymore!" That was my cue.
I bent her over the kitchen counter, yanking the vibe out with a wet pop, her "greedy, sloppy cunt" gaping and dripping like a faucet. I slammed into her raw, pounding with brutal force, each thrust slapping against her ass as I growled, "Take it, you filthy cunt-whore! Milk my cock with that desperate fuck-hole!" She screamed, back arching, tits smashing against the cold granite: "Yes, Master! Fuck your worthless slave harder—ruin my pathetic pussy!" Her orgasm hit like a storm—squirting in humiliating floods, soaking the floor in hot spurts, her walls convulsing around me as I filled her with my load, calling her a "cum-guzzling bitch" the whole time.
She collapsed, trembling, body wrecked and glistening. For the first time, I didn't just walk away. I pulled her into my arms on the floor, holding her close, whispering soft praises: "Good girl, my broken little toy... you took it so well." I bandaged the minor rope burns on her wrists, kissed her forehead, feeling a strange warmth stir. She wasn't just a slave anymore; in her exhaustion, she looked vulnerable, almost maternal, enduring all this for me. It hinted at something deeper, but I pushed it down—for now, the fire of her desperation was enough to make me hard again.
That night, as she slept, I planned more—desperate teases that would push her to the edge of sanity, her physiological breakdown looming like a delicious storm. But watching her peaceful face, I wondered if I was breaking myself too.