Page 20 of Filthy Business (Obsessive Age Gap #1)

Magnus

I read over the contract as the coffee machine worked its magic. She hadn’t screamed the apartment down, so that was a good sign.

MARRIAGE & FILTHY DEVOTION CONTRACT

Between Mr Magnus Lucas Trentham ("Husband") and Miss Iris Wren Dalton Trentham ("Wife/Brat")

1. Purpose

This contract exists to legally, emotionally, and erotically bind the Husband to the Wife, acknowledging his utter dependence on her presence, scent, cunt, and continued existence as his sanity tether. This is not a traditional union. This is obsession, devotion, and degradation in its most exquisite form.

2. Term & Divorce Refusal

2.1 This Agreement commences immediately upon Iris saying 'yes' and continues until death, destruction, or divine intervention.

2.2 Divorce shall not be initiated by the Husband under any circumstances. He would rather perish.

2.3 The Wife may threaten divorce in jest, but such threats will be met with orgasm denial and excessive oral worship. If the threat is not in jest, see Clause 7.4.

3. Financial Devotion

3.1 Husband agrees to spoil the Wife without restraint. No budget. No questions.

3.2 Wife shall never want for lingerie, heels, or high-end snacks.

3.3 If the Wife utters the phrase 'I saw something cute online,' the purchase shall be made within 24 hours or the Husband will suffer by means of whiskey withdrawal.

4. Emotional Possession

4.1 Wife is not permitted to be sad, stressed, or distant without the Husband immediately interfering.

4.2 Husband will listen, hold, praise, or fuck feelings away as required.

4.3 Any emotional withholding by the Wife will result in intense sulking, obsessive clinging, and prolonged eye contact.

5. Sexual Terms

5.1 All holes belong to Husband.

5.2 Condoms are henceforth banned unless roleplay requires.

5.3 Daily usage is recommended. Morning, evening, and mid-snack penetration encouraged.

5.4 Wife retains sole rights of ownership of Husband’s cock.

6. Public & Private Conduct

6.1 In public, Wife shall be admired but untouchable. In private, she is to be ruined.

6.2 PDA is permitted. So is dragging her into bathrooms.

6.3 'Daddy' is to be used liberally. So is spitting on the Husband’s cock before sucking.

7. Breeding Intent

7.1 Wife shall be fucked full at Husband's whim.

7.2 Pregnancy is a blessing. Stretch marks are sacred.

7.3 All come belongs to Wife's cunt, mouth, or tits. Spillage is discouraged.

7.4 When Brat is excessively naughty, all come is to be deposited in anal passage. Repeatedly.

8. Final Clause

This union is not equal. It is warped, filthy, obsessive, and perfect. Husband needs Wife more than air. Wife will exploit this accordingly through cock privileges. Executed in a state of full arousal and eternal submission by both named parties.

Signed,

__________________________

Mr Magnus Lucas Trentham

(Husband / Daddy/ Protector)

__________________________

Miss Iris Wren Dalton Trentham

(Wife / Brat / Entire Universe)

She came into the kitchen as naked as I was, phone in hand.

“Seriously?”

“You do realise you’re killing my children right now?”

I said, reaching for some paper towels.

She snatched them from my hand and stuffed the tissue between her legs. I must have left her speechless, because she twirled around and waddled awkwardly back out of the kitchen. My eyes lingered on her arse. As soon as her pregnancy test was confirmed that sweet arsehole was all mine.

“I’m off to drown your children,”

she said over her shoulder.

It didn't matter with any luck, she’d be pregnant now.

It wouldn't stop me from fucking her all weekend.

***

Since my office had become a little too loud for our activities, I moved our liaisons to the new floor. It offered more privacy—and a conference room with a functioning lock on the door.

Connor never reported me to the police, though I was sure he would try to exploit me in some way. I needed to get rid of him before that happened. Iris later confessed that he’d been making her uncomfortable during dinner. I was certain there was more to it, but I didn’t press her. I didn't like seeing her upset. He wouldn’t last long in the London office either way.

I smiled when I heard the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway.

“Ready for some lunch?”

I asked, unzipping my pants.

“Yes, please,”

she said, closing the door behind her and locking it.

She shrugged out of her jacket, then whipped off her top.

I gulped. She meant business today.

The bra followed.

All I could do was stare as she walked toward me—calm, confident, sinful.

“Mmm. I missed you, Daddy,”

she murmured, trailing her finger down my tie.

I cleared my throat, gripped her shoulders, and pushed her down.

“Why don’t you show Daddy just how much? On your knees. Now.”

She obeyed instantly—no hesitation, no sass. Just a brat exactly where I wanted her. Kneeling between my legs, lips already parted, eyes wide with need.

I gripped her jaw.

“Open that pretty little mouth. Daddy’s got a job for you.”

She moaned as I slid my cock between her lips, no warning, no easing in. Just thick, hard, and aching to be buried down her throat. Her lipstick smeared instantly—messy and obscene—and it only spurred me on.

“Take it, baby. All the way. I don’t want to see an inch left.”

Her throat tightened, and she gagged, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth. Perfect.

I gripped her hair tight and held her in place, rocking my hips in slow, brutal thrusts. The wet, slick sound of her choking on my cock filled the room, along with the desperate little moans she couldn’t stop.

“Listen to that,”

I growled.

“You hear how fucking filthy you are? Choking on Daddy’s cock like it’s your air.”

She blinked up at me, tears streaking her cheeks, spit trailing down her chin. Her mascara was smudged, and her mouth—God, her mouth was fucking perfect.

“Such a dirty little brat,”

I said, snapping my hips harder now.

“Look at you. Covered in spit and precum and still gagging for more.”

She tried to speak, but I wasn’t done. I shoved back in, deeper this time, watching her throat bulge with the force of it.

“That’s it,”

I groaned.

“Fucking swallow me. You’re just a cock-sleeve for Daddy now, aren’t you?”

She whimpered around me, lips stretched wide, tongue flattened under the weight of my cock. I slapped her cheek lightly, just to watch her flinch and moan.

“You love this. You love being used. You love it when I fuck your mouth until you can’t breathe.”

I held her there, deep and punishing, until she tapped my thigh. I pulled back just enough for her to gasp—then shoved back in again with a groan.

“Messy little whore. You want Daddy’s come, don’t you?”

She nodded frantically, drool dripping onto her tits now.

“Then fucking earn it,”

I snarled, thrusting harder, faster, until my balls slapped against her chin with every stroke.

I could feel it building—tight and savage. Her throat convulsed, her eyes rolled, and I lost control.

With a growl, I held her head still and pumped load after load down her throat.

“Swallow it,”

I ordered.

“Every last drop. No drips. No waste. This is what that mouth is for.”

When I finally pulled out, her lips were red and swollen, her face soaked in spit.

She gasped, eyes glassy, licking the corners of her mouth like the filthy brat she was.

And I knew one thing for sure.

She’d never suck another cock in her life—because no one would ever fuck her mouth the way her Daddy did.

I helped her up, bending her over the table to peel her skirt up, removing her wet knickers and stuffing them in my pocket.

“Now Daddy will feed you some real food,”

I said, moving us to the chair, sitting her on my lap to unpack our food.

She took a napkin and dabbed her lips. I couldn't help but laugh.

Like that would fix her smeared lipstick.

She gasped when I grabbed her thighs and pulled her flush against my cock, still semi-hard and twitching beneath her. I opened the takeout container and forked a bite of pasta toward her mouth.

“Open,”

I said, voice low.

She glared at me.

“Brat,” I warned.

Her lips parted, and I fed her slowly, watching the sauce smear at the corners of her already-ruined mouth. I wiped it away with my thumb and shoved it between her lips.

“Suck it,”

I muttered.

She obeyed, and I groaned.

“That mouth’s going to kill me.”

She smiled like she knew it.

I fed her another bite, then trailed my fingers down her belly, over her thighs, brushing against the slick heat between her legs.

“Mmm. Still wet. Didn’t get enough of Daddy’s cock?”

She squirmed on my lap, chewing slower. Her scowl returned.

I leaned in, mouth brushing her ear.

“Keep giving me attitude, and I’ll take you back across the table, bend you over this food, and make you come while your face is buried in your salad.”

She clenched—both her thighs and her cunt—and I knew she loved it.

“Better eat up,”

I said, slipping her ruined knickers out of my pocket and pressing them to her mouth.

“You’ll need your energy. Because after lunch, Daddy’s going to feed your sweet cunt something else.”

Nothing made my brat hotter than domination and a filthy mouth.

Me?

I lived to serve.