Day 2: Owning My Mute Slave Wife in Hyderabad – I Woke Her With My Cock Down Her Throat, Made Her Cook Naked While Edged to Insanity, Then Fucked Her Ass Until She Blacked Out Begging for More

I woke before dawn with my cock already buried balls-deep in her throat.

She had slept exactly as ordered: wrists cuffed to her collar in permanent prayer position, body spooned against mine, collar chain locked short to the headboard so she couldn’t move more than a few inches. All night I had felt her restless little shifts, her ass grinding back against my half-hard cock every time she had a filthy dream. Around 4:47 a.m. I decided I was done waiting.

I rolled her onto her back, straddled her chest, and shoved straight into her sleeping mouth.

Her eyes flew open in shock, then instantly glazed with submission as I started fucking her face slow and deep. No warm-up. No mercy. Just morning throat training. Drool poured from the corners of her lips immediately, soaking the pillow, her wedding bangles clinking softly against the cuffs as her trapped hands fluttered uselessly. I held her head still with fistfuls of her tangled black hair and used her like a fleshlight until my balls were tight and her mascara from last night was running again in fresh black streaks.

Only when I was right on the edge did I pull out and paint thick ropes of cum across her face — forehead, cheeks, lips, open mouth. I smeared it in with my cock like war paint.

“Breakfast for my slave,” I growled.

She licked her lips desperately, trying to catch every drop with her tongue while I watched, stroking myself hard again already.

I uncuffed her wrists from the collar but immediately locked them behind her back. Then I clipped the leash to her collar and led her crawling to the bathroom.

First task of the day: cleaning her Master.

I stood in the shower while she knelt on the hard tile, hands still bound, mouth open. I pissed long and hot straight down her throat while she swallowed frantically, not spilling a single drop — exactly as trained. When I was empty I let her lick me clean, then washed her myself like property.

I soaped every inch of her body slowly, possessively. Spent extra time on her heavy tits, pinching her nipples until they were swollen and purple. Finger-fucked her cunt roughly under the spray until she was shaking and trying to ride my hand, then stopped right before she came.

“No orgasms today until I say. You edge. You suffer. You stay desperate. That’s your new religion.”

I shaved her cunt again — smooth as the day I took her virginity last night — while she stood trembling, legs spread wide, eyes pleading. I nicked her on purpose once, just a tiny cut on her inner lip, then licked the blood away while she sobbed silently from the denied ache between her legs.

New plug for the day: the large steel one, cold and heavy, with the jewel base that flashes red when she bends over. I made her suck it first, get it dripping with her spit, then bend over the counter while I worked it into her already-gaping ass. She took it easier than yesterday — proof her hole is learning its purpose — but she still cried beautifully when the widest part stretched her ring.

I dressed her for household duties: nothing but collar, cuffs, leash, plug, and a tiny lace apron that barely covered her cunt and left her spanked ass completely exposed. Wedding jewelry stayed on — the heavy jhumkas, nath, bangles, waist chain, anklets with ghungroos that announced every humiliating step.

“Crawl to the kitchen, slave. You’re cooking my breakfast naked while I watch you suffer.”

The entire morning was delicious torture.

I sat at the counter drinking coffee while she crawled around the kitchen on all fours, fetching ingredients with her mouth, trying to stir dosa batter with her bound hands behind her back. Every time she had to reach for something high, the apron rode up and the plug’s jewel winked at me. I made her grind her cunt against my boot while she waited for the tawa to heat — just enough pressure to keep her on the edge, never enough to come.

By the time she served me idlis and sambar — kneeling, plate balanced on her upturned palms, eyes down — she was literally dripping on the floor. A puddle. I made her lick it clean before I let her have her own breakfast: cold cum from last night that I’d saved in a bowl, eaten off the floor like a dog while I fingered her ass around the plug.

Afternoon training was brutal.

I chained her spread-eagle on the dining table, face up, wedding bangles clinking against the wood. Inserted the remote vibrator deep in her cunt, turned it on the lowest setting, and left it there for three straight hours while I worked from home.

Every thirty minutes I came in, cranked it higher for sixty seconds — just long enough to bring her to the very edge — then turned it off completely. By the third hour she was thrashing in the chains, tears streaming, hips bucking air, silently screaming at me with those huge pleading eyes.

I finally stood over her, stroked her tear-soaked face, and whispered, “Beg.”

She couldn’t speak. So she begged with everything else — spreading her legs impossibly wider, arching her back to push her cunt toward me, fresh tears spilling as she nodded frantically.

I fucked her then. Not gentle. Not loving. Ownership.

First her cunt — slamming in so deep the vibrator shot out and clattered to the floor. I pounded her until she came instantly, violently, squirting all over my cock and the table in thick pulses while her whole body convulsed in the chains.

I didn’t stop.

Pulled out and flipped her over, ass high. Removed the plug slowly, watching her hole gape obscenely, then replaced it with my cock in one savage thrust.

Her second orgasm hit before I was fully seated.

Third when I started moving.

Fourth when I wrapped her leash around my fist and used it to pull her back onto me like a ragdoll.

I fucked that ass until it was puffy and ruined, until she was limp and boneless and babbling silent pleas. Only then did I let myself come — pulling out at the last second to spray across her back and hair and the sacred threads of her mangalsutra that still hung between her tits.

I left her chained there for another hour to “cool down,” cum drying on her skin, pussy and ass twitching with aftershocks.

Evening was for worship.

I sat on the couch watching cricket while she knelt between my legs, mouth on my cock for two straight hours — not sucking to make me come, just holding me warm and wet, tongue occasionally swirling when I tugged her leash. If I got fully hard I fucked her throat until I felt like stopping, then made her settle again.

By night she was destroyed in the best way — shaking, covered in fluids, eyes glazed with that perfect broken-slave look.

I carried her to bed, re-cuffed her wrists to collar, plugged her ass with the even larger inflatable one (pumped it up until she was sobbing), and locked the collar chain short to the headboard again.

Just before sleep I leaned close to her ear and whispered:

“Tomorrow your mother is coming for pag phera rasam. You’ll wear a beautiful saree, smile sweetly, serve her chai… and the whole time my cum will be leaking out of your cunt and this monster plug will be stretching your ass while you try to act like the perfect bahu.

You’ll sit there aching, desperate, knowing one wrong move and everyone will know what a filthy owned slave you really are.”

She came just from my words — untouched, body seizing so hard the headboard rattled.

Day 2 complete.

My mute slave wife is learning fast.

And tomorrow… tomorrow she learns to hide her slavery in plain sight while her cunt throbs for her Master’s cock.

She is already dreading it.

She is already dripping for it.