EroticReverie

Mila Vos

Standing in front of our floor to ceiling mirror in our walk in closet and dressing room, Victor smiled as he clasped the thin white gold, diamond choker around my neck. It was dainty much like the tiny diamonds in my ears, but unlike the 12 carat, million dollar pear shaped wedding ring on my finger. 

His fingers brushed my neckline, his hands resting on my bare shoulders, his fingertips grazing my collar bone as he looked me up and down in the mirror. 

I was wearing a long dark red red dress, form fitting on my torso with  short loose sleeves that dipped off my shoulders, the dress fell loose near my waist, and had a dangerously high slit on one side that bared my entire leg all the way to my waist. 

"You look stunning." he voice was dark, and so were his eyes as they looked back into mine in the mirror.

"Thank you." I replied lifting my chin with a little gasp as his one hand slipped from my shoulder over my upper chest and then curled up around my throat, he sqeezed gently. I swallowed feeling the pressure of his hand as her nudged his nose against my ear. 

"Are you prepared to be a good girl tonight Mila?" he asks as I nod, my nipples tightening in the expensive fabric he's wrapped me in. His living doll. 

His other hand slipped from my shoulder, down my back and then to my waist and then my hip where the high rise slit was.  I swallowed again, feeling my center heat as his fingers slipped undel the panel of fabric covering the front of me and between my legs. 

"So smooth" he said, cupping my recently , completely waxed pussy. 

My jaw lowered slightly as my lips parted, inhaling as he pressed a finger between my slit. 

I couldnt stop the moan that fell from my mouth or the way I sagged back against him. 

He was a brutal, and demanding lover, and an awful husband. But I was addicted to his form of love. He possessed me, and owned every part of me. At times I hated him, and at other times I couldn't imagine living without him. 

"So fucking slick..." he whispers against my ear his hand sliding from my neck, down to my breast, his fingers pushing into the top of my dress, his fingers fighting against the way the fabric clings tight to my chest.  His large greedy hand grabbing my breast as his finger slides down and into me. 

I let out a breath and a whimper as I lean back, my hips pushing forward. 

"Pretty little whore" he whispers , I yelp when his fingers pinch my nipple hard and he groans in my ear. 

"they're going to love you." he whispers. I feel my heart speed as he pumps his finger in and out and I grow even more wet. 

"Vic" I moan his name. 

"Quiet.." he whispers. 

I whimper and buck against his hand as he fingers me. 

"How...how many" I ask. 

"mmmm" he groans in my ear. "It's a surprise." he says and I lick my lips and bite my lower as he fingers me still, going faster and faster and then stops, sliding his hand out of my dress from both between my legs and from grabbing my breast.  

My eyes fly open and he's giving me a cruel smirk. 

"Please" I whisper. 

"Don't beg. It's pathetic." he says grabbing by the back of my neck now and I feel my arousal slicking my lips and my thighs. 

"You'll have plenty of things to fill your cunt with later." he grins. because tonight is the first weekend of the month, which means he's hosting yet another party, filled with more rich men and women who shares a similar mindset, shares similar desires and fantasies as Victor. 

It's not that I don't enjoy his twisted mind, and it's not that I don't enjoy that he has shared me with too many men and women for me to count. I love Victor, I truly do, but part of me wonders if he really loves me, or if I'm just as meaningful as a silcone molded pussy for him.  Yes, he married me, but everyone knows a ceremony, set of papers, and ring mean little to some. A wife looks good to the public, that's all. 

I like the dark life he's given me. I want for nothing. Except for one thing. Which I know he will never give me. The words.  I've said them to him, countless times over the 3 years we've been together. How does a man ask a woman to marry him, but has never told her he loves her?  Ask Victor Vos. 

"Come down when you're ready and your desperate cunt won't drip on my floors." he says , turning and leaves the closet. 

I let out a long breath and whimper to myself, clenching my thighs, hanging my head. I hate him in this moment. I hate him everytime he leaves me needing him more than he needs me. I hate how he walks away, how he doesn't fucking burn for me the way I do for him.  I suppose that's why my parents warned me that a 19 year old being married to a 40 year old was bad news.  But I couldn't tell him no, I could never say no to him from the minute I met him. 

He was a guest speaker at my college, a self made billionaire, giving a lecture on the struggles he faced as he grew up, it was meant to be inspiring, educational. But all I could think about when I sat in the second row watching him, was how fucking beautiful he was. Victor Vos ....it hurt to look at him. He was like the sun. Look too long, and you'll hurt yourself. I did....because I didn't take my eyes off of him. 

There was a small meet and greet type of party afterwards that the college hosted, for the guest speakers we'd had that day to mingle and talk with students, so students could ask them questions or network. 

I was far too nervous to approach Victor. So I didn't but I did lock eyes with him for heart stopping moments throughout the party. When I'd tortured myself enough, I'd left and took myself out to the parking lot of the hotel ballroom where the party was hosted. 

As I stepped outside, I lit a cigarette , and snapped the metal cigarette holder shut and shoved it in my purse as I stood outside the hotel for just a few minutes in the designated smoking area. 

I didn't even notice until a voice came from right behind me. 

"Those things will kill you." he said, making me jump, turn, and then jump back. 

He was even more beautiful up close, and my heart stopped for seconds.  I was 5'7" so I wasn't too short, but standing next to him I was.  I'd guess at that very moment, he was 6'6" with the way he was standing tall, looking down at me. I'd later learn he was only 6'3".  It was the confidence, the power that made him seem even taller. He had Dark brown hair which was slicked back, and the shadow of a full beard growing in. I remember the way my tongue pushed against the roof of my mouth as I imagined dragging my tongue over the stubble, and how it would feel brushing between my thighs. 

"Victor Vos" he says , reaching out his hand. 

I must have looked like a scared little deer, blinking up at him, and then shaking my head slightly and looking down at his hand. 

"M-Mila.." I said , holding my cigarette in my other hand as I reached out and grabbed his hand. 

His hand was large and made my damn toes curl in my shoes as he shook my hand firmly. 

"I was hoping you'd come to talk to me in there." he had said looking at me. 

"M-me?" I asked. 

"yes. You. That was you eye fucking me from the second row right?" he has said so passively, as if it were nothing. 

My eyes widened. "I...I wasn't..I didn't.." 

His smirk was disarming as he watched me stumble on words. 

I watched as he brought his hand to mine, holding my cigarette. He took it, and took a long drag. 

"Ladies don't smoke." he said to me. I let out a slight laugh. 

"But it's okay for men?" I asked and lifted my hand to reach for my cigarette, he turned slightly while taking another drag and then flicking it across the sidewalk. 

"Hey" I said, my brows pinching. 

"No more smoking Mila." he said shaking his head. 

"Are you my father now?" I ask, looking at this frustratingly perfect sttranger who was looking at me with his stupid dark brown eyes that were surrounded by thick dark lashes. 

"No." he said shaking his head and stepping forward. He was closer, so fucking close, and his hand lifted to my waist making my suck in a deep breath, every hair on my arms rising as he slipped his hand over the navy blue blouse I wore with black dress pants and heels. 

"Your master." he said so sure of himself and I opened my mouth to speak but was too fucking confused as to what was happening. 

"My master?" I managed to get out of my mouth. 

"Yes." he says

"Oh really?" I laugh slightly and step back putting space between us, but he follows and slides his hand behind my back and pulls me to him. 

"Don't be a bad girl Mila." he shakes his head and I open my mouth to speak again, but damn him. He smelled like expensive cologne and it made my hormones scream. Seriously, it felt like tiny little atoms in me were running around screaming "GET FuCKED! GET FUCKED! SPREAD YOUR LEGS!" 

"Well....DO be a bad girl...with me." he says. 

I look up at him. "You're serious right now?" I

 laugh slightly in disbelief. 

"Yes." he says. 

"I'm not a whore." I say. 

"Well good. Because I wasn't going to pay you." he says. 

I scoff slightly at the audacity of him this fucking man, this beautiful, beautiful fucking man. 

"Well, I'd pay you for any damamges." he says. 

My eyes go wide. "Damages?" 

He nods. 

"What kind of damages?" I ask, somewhere deep inside me the dangerous part of me that has yet to be unleashed is curious. 

He grins. "Just your blouse....probably your panties....as i plan on ripping all of your clothes off as soon as I have you in my hotel suite." 

My jaw drops again. 

He raises a brow. 

"Sorry, did I misread the way you stared at me, you looked like a girl in desperate need of a good fuck with the way you almost started to drool." he says. 

I gasp and then scoff and push at his chest. 

"You're...you're..." I say

"Honest? " he says.

"You're crude!" i tell him. 

He nods. "That too." he says, and makes no apologies. 

"And in the spirit of honesty....I wanted to pull you up on the stage and pull your pants down and fuck you in front of the whole room the second I noticed you staring so hard." he said. 

"Jesus" I say. 

"Come to my room Mila." he says. 

"I dont think I-"

"No, you're right...it's best that you don't think...because I'll do that for you....and I think you're under the impression that me telling you to come to my room was a question...forgive me if I wasn't clear....it was a command.   You WILL come to my room." he says. 

I had stood there, stunned. 

"Why, because you have money you think you can boss people around, or make girls...make girls do things to you..." I say. 

"Come Mila." he says, turning and making his way back into the hotel. 

I follow him ranting at him , putting him in his place, all the way through the lobby and into the elevator and into the hall towards his suite. 

"And how you dare you assume I'm going to do whatever the hell you want, who the hell do you think you are?!" I squeal as he slides open his door. 

In my rage induced haze I was dumbfounded when he cut me off. 

"Get on the bed." he'd said and I stopped mid rant and looked around. I was so angry that I didn't even realize I was doing exactly what he wanted me to the entire time. Or , had I actually known, and was yelling at him to combat my shame of listening to some rich beautiful bastard. 

"N-no" I say. 

I watched him shrug off his suit jacket and then loosen his tie. 

"You'll come to find that No, is never an acceptable response when I tell you to do something." he says pulling off the tie, and walking towards me, until Im backed against the massive bed. 

"NO" I say it again more clearly, getting even more angered by the nerve of him to think he can tell me what to do, and that he expects me to just fall back and spread my legs. 

My eyes widen as his hand goes right to my throat. He doesn't squeeze, but his eyes warn me...that he could. 

"Take your clothes off, or I'll do it for you." he says. 

"Are you....you going to r-rape me?" I ask clearly scared, and also disgusted as I scowl. 

"Would you like me to?" he asks, his hand slides down from my neck over my blouse and cups my breast. 

I shake my head. 

"But you DO want me to make you undress for me...don't you Mila?" he asks, his hand sliding down, both of them at my waist as he pulls my blouse out fo my pants, untucking it. 

"I..." I pause and look around. 

He steps back and he waves his hand in a sweeping gesture toward the door. 

"You walked up here on your own...you may walk back out...on your own..I am not keeping you here." he says. 

"So either leave...and quit wasting my fucking time....or be a good girl and take your clothes off for me." he says, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up. I swallow hard as I look at his forearms flex. 

He walks over to me again and looks down at me as I stare up at him, and he smirks slightly. 

"What will it be? Mila." my  name sounds dirty coming from his lips. 

We have a miniature stare off. 

The corner of his lips turns up as he cocks his head to the side. 

"If you decide to undress. I can promise you to fuck you from within an inch of your life." he says making my pussy clench. 

"I will NOT treat you with respect in my bed Mila." he says, and I feel my heart beating rapidly as I start to breathe heavy, listening to him talk. 

"You will be my whore." he says. 

"I will use you...all of you...and I will make you cum....but the purpose of you being here....is to please me....to let me use you." he says and I swallow again. 

"I will fuck your mouth....your pussy....and your ass." he says.

"I..I don't-"

"Do anal?" he finishes for me. He chuckles and shoves those sleeves up further. 

"We'll see about that." he says. 

"Now take of your fucking clothes and get on my bed so I can taste you."

That night Victor Vos had ruined me. I'd cummed, I'd screamed, I'd cried, I'd burned , I'd bruised and I'd fallen. Victor Vos had gotten what he wanted that night, and he'd made me an addict to his brand of sex, to him. 

He married me only a month later, and he's been bringing me deeper, making our love darker ever since.

 I was 22 now, and he was 43.  For the past three years, I've only fallen harder for the man the brought me to the dark side of "love". The dark side of sex and unleashed my inner desires that I was too ashamed or scared to try. 

Tonight was our anniversary. Which meant I knew that tomorrow I would wake up unable to walk. Because Victor loved to celebrate the day he "made me his whore legally".