Chapter 7: Spoiled Brat Shopping Spree
The scent of Anita’s perfume still clung to the air as the town car glided away from the curb, leaving Aurora alone with Marcus under the bright, impersonal sun. His hand, possessive on the small of her back, guided her into the chilled, perfumed air of the first boutique. “Let’s find something pretty for our girl,” he murmured, his voice a low promise. Inside, surrounded by racks of silk and chiffon, his touch became a covert invasion. While a saleswoman fawned over a jade cocktail dress, Marcus’s thick fingers found their way beneath the scandalously short hem of Aurora’s own dress. He stroked her, his touch blunt and knowing, smearing the wetness that had been a constant presence since morning. “Soaked for Daddy already,” he whispered into her hair, his breath hot. She trembled, trying to focus on the reflection of a woman being undressed by unseen hands. In the fitting room, he made her model a sheer black bodysuit, his eyes dark as he watched her through the mirror. “Later,” he promised, his voice rough, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.” The promise coiled tight in her belly, a desperate ache. Back in the car, her head spun from the champagne and his relentless possession. The moment the penthouse door closed, she dropped to her knees on the marble foyer, her fingers fumbling with his belt. “Thank you, Daddy,” she breathed, taking his thick, heavy cock into her mouth, tasting salt and skin. She worshiped him with her tongue, a grateful, messy devotion, her own need a sharp, sweet pain between her legs. He groaned, tangling his hands in her hair, and she knew this was only the beginning.
He thrust deeper into her mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat with a wet, guttural sound. “Suck it, baby girl, take all of me,” he growled, his fingers tightening in her hair until her scalp stung. She relaxed her jaw, letting him fuck her face with slow, deliberate strokes, her tongue swirling around the thick vein underneath. The taste of him, musky and familiar, mixed with the faint salt of her own arousal from earlier. “Remember how wet you were in that dressing room?” he rasped, pulling her head back to watch her lips stretch around him. “I could smell your cunt through that silk.” She moaned around his length, the vibration earning a sharp, approving grunt from him. Her own need pulsed between her legs, a desperate, throbbing echo of each movement. “You love this, don’t you? Being Daddy’s little slut,” he said, his voice dropping to a dark, intimate whisper. She nodded, her eyes watering as he picked up the pace, his hips pumping faster. “I’m gonna come down your throat, and you’re gonna swallow every drop.” The threat was a promise, one that sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She focused on the weight of him, the way his balls tightened against her chin. His breathing grew ragged, a series of harsh pants that filled the quiet foyer. “Now, Aurora, now!” he commanded, and she felt the first hot, bitter spurt hit her tongue. She swallowed obediently, again and again, until he was spent, his grip on her hair finally loosening. He looked down at her, his eyes glazed with satisfaction, and wiped a stray trickle from her lip with his thumb. “Good girl,” he murmured, pulling her to her feet. “But we’re not done yet.”
He pulled her up, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that tasted of her own submission. Then he turned her, pressing her front against the cool, solid wood of the front door. His hands gripped her hips, lifting her effortlessly until her feet barely brushed the floor. “This cunt is mine,” he growled, the head of his cock nudging through her slick folds from behind. He drove into her with one long, deep stroke that stole her breath and made her see stars. “All day, I felt you dripping for me in those expensive shops.” He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back into her, setting a rough, punishing rhythm that shook the door in its frame. “You are so fucking perfect, Aurora,” he breathed into her neck, his voice thick with a reverence that contradicted the brutal pace. “This tight, wet heat belongs only to me.” Each word, each possessive declaration, made her clench around him, her body growing impossibly wetter. She could feel every inch of him stretching her, filling her, and she needed him deeper, needed to be impaled. “Daddy,” she moaned, the word a broken plea as he hammered into her spot again and again. “Please, don’t stop.” Her orgasm built, a terrifying wave of pressure coiling in her core, fed by his worship and his violence. “Come for me, baby girl,” he commanded, his thrusts becoming even more deliberate, more devastating. “Milk your Daddy’s cum out with that perfect little cunt.” The command shattered her. She screamed, her body convulsing around his shaft in relentless, pulsing waves. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of surrender, and poured his release into her, his own climax triggered by her violent, milking contractions.