But my tongue swirled his tip unbidden, tasting the musk. Raju flipped me slightly, ass up over the sofa arm, wrists still bound high, and rammed his 7-incher into my sopping hole from behind, his hands slapping my 44-inch cheeks red while Sunny fed me his thick 6.5, balls-deep throat-fucks that had me choking on drool and pride. Khan filmed it all on his phone, zooming on my pierced navel heaving, my shaved armpits slick with sweat. “Smile for the net, Madam Mohini—your hubby gets a show.”
Jayaram—oh, my faithful fool—out there oblivious, his 3-inch nub soft in ignorance.Wave after wave crashed over me, orgasms ripping through my arrogant frame uninvited—first a shuddering clench around Vikram’s curve, squirting on the cushions; then a howling peak as Raju’s girth milked my walls, my tits dragging the fabric raw. Sunny, the pup, lasted longest in my ass—wait, no, they saved that for later. He took my pussy missionary-style, my legs splayed wide, thong remnants dangling like defeated flags, his young hips pistoning until I came again, pussy gushing around his thickness, my voice cracking from “No, you scum!” to hoarse moans I couldn’t suppress. Khan orchestrated it all, barking orders: “Fill the bitch—mark the snitch!”
One by one, they unloaded—Sunny first, hot ropes painting my cervix; Raju flooding my depths with young seed; Vikram pulling out to hose my tits, cum dripping from my nipples like obscene jewelry. Khan saved the deluge for last, flipping me onto my back, arms screaming in the tie, and erupting deep inside, his 9-inch beast pulsing gallon after gallon, overflowing my trimmed pussy, leaking down my ass crack in creamy rivers.They untied me eventually, my body a limp, cum-drenched rag—red marks blooming on my tits from bites, ass cheeks handprinted, pussy swollen and gaping like a well-fucked trophy. I lay there, pride cracked but not shattered, whispering through cum-smeared lips: “This… changes nothing. Justice will come.” Khan zipped up, tossing my ripped salwar scraps at me like trash. “Keep dreaming, Maya. Tell your cop pals we said hi—and send Jayaram the vid. Maybe his shrimp dick likes sloppy seconds.”
They sauntered out, leaving me curled on the sofa, pious tears mixing with the mess between my thighs, my arrogant heart vowing revenge even as my thicc body hummed with aftershocks. Little did I know, darlings, this was just the appetizer to my slutty odyssey.But fuck, as I staggered to the mirror, seeing my voluptuous form marked like a goon’s canvas—bite welts on my nipples, handprints on my 44-inch ass, cum crusting my shaved armpits and pierced navel—I felt a forbidden spark. Not broken, no; Maya’s too proud. But wet? Gods, yes. I cleaned up, donned a fresh nightie, and called the station by dawn, voice steady as steel: “I need to file a complaint. Now.”
Jayaram came home to my composed facade, none the wiser, his 3-inch apology-kiss on my cheek met with my haughty smile. But inside, the floodgates creaked.
Want me to spill Part 2, you horny devils—the police station complaint and that twisted investigation that turns your proud Maya into a badge-banging cumdump? Or shall we pause here, cocks throbbing?