Day 5: Owning My Mute Slave Wife in Hyderabad – Fifteen Relatives in Our House for Newlywed Dinner While I Edged Her Mercilessly With the Remote Vibrator in Front of Everyone…

I woke up to her cunt spasming around my cock and her throat raw from screaming silently into the pillow all night.

The new remote vibrating plug — black silicone, 3 inches wide at the base, viciously curved to hammer her g-spot from inside her ass — had been pulsing on the lowest “tease” setting since 3 a.m. I’d set a scheduled program from the app before sleep: random two-second bursts every 7–11 minutes, just enough to wake her up desperate but never enough to come. All night she had been grinding back against me, tears soaking the sheets, wrists still cuffed to her collar, collar chained short so she couldn’t even hump my thigh properly.

At 6:30 a.m. I finally rolled her over, spread her legs wide, and turned the plug to maximum for exactly ten seconds.

She exploded instantly — hips bucking off the bed, cunt squirting in thick arcs all over my stomach, eyes rolled completely back, body in full seizure while the ghungroos on her anklets went wild. When she came down she was sobbing silently, mouthing “thank you Master” over and over against my chest.

I wasn’t done.

I pulled out the plug (her asshole stayed open a perfect gaping circle, red and fluttering), and fucked that destroyed hole raw while it was still spasming from the orgasm. Came deep inside her bowels in under two minutes, then shoved the plug straight back in — still on high — and left it there while I went to shower.

Breakfast was served on the kitchen floor: I pissed in her dog bowl, made her lap it up while I drank coffee and scrolled through tonight’s guest list on her phone.

Fifteen people coming. Her two buas, one mama-mami, three cousins (including the nosy one who always asks too many questions), her chachi-chacha, two sets of neighbours pretending to be family, and her youngest cousin sister who idolises her. All of them expecting the perfect newlywed couple hosting the traditional “nau din ka saaman” dinner.

They were going to get it.

I spent the entire morning preparing her like a sacrificial offering.

First, full enema in the shower — three litres, held for twenty minutes while I throat-fucked her against the wall. She cried beautifully when I finally let her release, the water running filthy with my cum from last night. Clean inside and out now. Perfect.

Then I shaved every hair below her neck again. Spread her pussy lips wide and shaved the inner folds until they were baby smooth and hypersensitive. Plucked a few stray hairs from her asshole with tweezers just to make her scream silently.

New jewellery for the day: I added weighted clover clamps to her nipples, hidden under the blouse but tight enough that every movement would pull excruciatingly. A thin silver chain connected them under her clothes, running down to a third clamp on her swollen clit. Every step would yank all three at once.

Outfit: deep maroon Benarasi saree, heavy gold border, sleeveless blouse that pushed her tits up like an extra cup size, low-cut enough to show the mangalsutra nestled perfectly between her tits. No bra, no panties. The collar was hidden under a high-neck lace choker that looked traditional from afar. The vibrating plug stayed in her ass, lubed with chilli oil this time — just enough to burn to keep her on the edge of pain all day. I tested the remote ten times while she tried to cook, watching her double over each time it hit maximum, thighs clamping together, tears springing instantly.

By noon she was already a wreck, and the guests hadn’t even arrived.

I made her practice everything.

How to walk without limping when the plug shifted.
How to smile sweetly when the clit clamp pulled.
How to bend properly to serve food without the wet spot on her petticoat showing.
How to sit without the nipple clamps making her gasp.

Every time she failed, I turned the plug to “earthquake” mode for thirty seconds. By the fifteenth failure she was on her knees begging with her eyes, crawling to me, trying to push her face into my crotch for mercy.

I gave her none.

Guests started arriving at 7 p.m.

I greeted everyone at the door like the perfect host. My slave stood beside me — radiant, blushing, hands folded demurely, the perfect bahu. No one noticed the way her thighs trembled every time I casually brushed my phone screen in my pocket.

Dinner was served at 8:30. Long teak table, fifteen relatives, her at one end, me at the other — perfect positioning.

I started slow.

Level 3 pulse while her bua was asking about our suhaagraat. She choked on her water. I smiled innocently.

Level 5 steady vibration when her cousin asked if she was “happy with Arjun bhaiya.” Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes watering, nodding frantically while her cunt flooded the chair beneath her.

Level 7 random bursts during the main course. I watched her grip the tablecloth until her knuckles went white. Her youngest cousin sister kept saying “Didi, you’re glowing so much!” while my slave sat there with my cum slowly leaking around the plug into her saree, chilli oil burning her rim, clit clamp swollen to twice its size.

The real cruelty came during dessert.

I set the app to a custom pattern I’d programmed last night: 8 seconds max → 4 seconds off → 8 seconds max → 4 seconds off. Relentless. While everyone was eating gulab jamun and praising her cooking, I watched the exact moment it became too much.

Her eyes locked on mine across the table.
Mouth opened in that perfect silent O.
Entire body went rigid.
Then she came — silently, brutally — right there in front of her entire family.

I saw it hit her like a train. Her thighs slammed together under the table. Her spoon clattered. A single tear slid down her cheek as her cunt and ass spasmed around the plug, squirting so hard I heard the wet sound against the wooden chair. She disguised it as a cough, pressed her napkin to her lips, but I saw her eyes roll back for a split second.

Her nosy cousin asked “Didi are you okay?”
I answered for her: “She’s just overwhelmed with happiness.”

Everyone laughed. My slave stared at me with pure animal gratitude and terror.

The second orgasm I forced on her twenty minutes later, when everyone was taking photos. I turned it to constant maximum while the group picture was being taken. She had to stand between her parents, smiling sweetly, while her body betrayed her completely — thighs shaking so hard her mother asked if she was cold. I kept it on until she came again, biting her inner cheek so hard it bled, fresh flood of juices running down her legs under the saree.

By the time the last guest left at 11:47 p.m., she was destroyed.

The second the door closed I ripped the saree off her in the hallway, tore the clit clamp off (she screamed silently, back arching), removed the nipple clamps (blood rushed back so painfully she collapsed), then yanked the plug out and fucked her ass right there on the cold marble while she was still wearing her mangalsutra and sindoor.

She came the moment I entered her.
Again when I wrapped her own saree pallu around her throat and choked her with it.
Third time when I made her watch in the hallway mirror — seeing herself: makeup ruined, tits purple from clamps, asshole gaping, my cock disappearing into her over and over.

I flooded her ass with the biggest load yet, then made her push it out into her palms and eat it while I recorded on my phone.

Cleaned her with my tongue after — every drop, every fold — then carried her to bed.

New toy arriving tomorrow morning: the steel chastity belt with internal dildo and plug, lockable, inescapable. Because Day 6 we’re going to her parental home for the “muh dikhayi” rasam with fifty-plus relatives.

She will spend the entire day locked in steel, unable to come, while I hold the only key.

She is already crying thinking about it.

Day 5 complete.

Fifteen people saw her glowing.

Only I know she was glowing because she was coming on my command in front of every single one of them.

My mute slave wife is reaching levels of submission I didn’t know were possible.

And tomorrow, in her childhood home, surrounded by every person who ever loved her…
I’m going to edge her for twelve straight hours in a locked steel belt while she smiles for photographs.

She is terrified.

Her cunt is already throbbing for it.

She is mine.