“Get dressed,” I tell her, voice low. “Archie and Dale are downstairs with Hudson.”
She tenses as I brush my thumb along the underside of her jaw. It’s like she can anticipate what's coming, and that’s exactly what I expect of her. To anticipate my needs.
She may not like what’s coming now, but by the end of the day, I know I’ll see the weight she’s been carrying lifted from her shoulders.
“Remember what I said last night. You’re not to speak today,” I say quietly as I press my lips to her own.
“Wait, what? Not speak at all?” She questions with a furrowed brow. “How could I possibly accomplish anything without talking?”
I peck her once, twice more on her pink lips, and watch her eyes turn from worried to soft.
“You don’t need to accomplish anything. You just need to behave and trust me, and not utter a single word. You’re silent today.”
“But what if—”
“If anyone has questions, I’ll answer them. Understood?”
She nods.
“I said, is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, her eyes filling with tears again, but this time they almost seem thankful. “I just don’t understand how I’m supposed to host anyone and not speak. I mean, Dale is here, and she needs—”
“That's not for you to worry about.”
She nods, shoulders slumped, and I can see the desire and torment weighing on her shoulders. I didn’t let her cum last night, and her body is wound tight because of it. Even though she has an intense emotional release, it’s not enough. It never is with my little monster.
I step back, satisfied.
“Good girl.”
She nods like she always does when she’s broken down far enough to obey. But I don’t move right away.
I watch the flush in her cheeks. The gloss was still wet at the corners of her eyes. Her mouth can be expressive when it wants to be, but so much more exquisite when it’s still.
I don’t want her voice today. I don’t want the protests or the small deflections. I especially don’t want the bratty little remarks she thinks shield her from submission. Her flimsy armor of protests is no match for me today.
I want her broken. Without words, without opinion, without the ability to protest. The silence will suit her once I bend her will to accept it.
There will be awkward moments, and I’ll smooth them over for her—because she’s my perfect little pet, and she shouldn’t feel anything beyond what I allow. Obeying a request like this isn’t easy, but I trust that her need to please me runs deeper than any discomfort it might cause.
There’s something sacred in it—owning not just her body but her words and keeping them, withholding them from the world. She becomes mine in a way that makes my cock stiffen in my pants.
Her voice is mine. Her demented little mind belongs to me. Every syllable she’ll choke back because I told her to. Every answer she’ll swallow will belong to me. She’s learning, and I could spend the rest of my life teaching her.
I finally step away, and she watches me like I’m still touching her. I like that too.
I continue with my morning routine, watching her frequently and judging her up. Seeing what movements make her jump, what movements make her breath catch.
She thinks I don’t see her watching me pull my shirt over my abs.
She thinks I don’t feel her watching me as I put on my cufflinks.
She thinks I don’t know her pussy is wet from watching me dress, but if I walked over to my little whore of a wife, I know exactly what I’ll feel between her legs.
Just how wet she’ll be.
By the time we reach the dining room, the others are already seated in a familiar silence.
