Inspector Rajesh, the lead, was broad-shouldered with a paunch from too many chai breaks; Vikram, lean and sly; and Karan, the youngest of the trio at 38, with a boxer’s build. They called her “Madam” from the jump, all professional courtesy. “Madam Mohini, please, have a seat. Tell us everything.”Maya perched on the edge of the wooden chair, spine ramrod straight, voice dripping disdain. “Everything? Those gutter thugs—led by some animal named Gouda—broke into my home, violated me like a common streetwalker! I’m the wife of Umesh Mohini, secretary to Councilor Patil himself. You will investigate this immediately, or I’ll have your badges by evening!” Her pride shone through the trauma, chin up, eyes flashing—pious Maya, faithful to her core, demanding justice not for pity, but because she deserved it.Rajesh nodded gravely, jotting notes, but his gaze flicked to the faint red marks peeking above her kameez collar.
“Of course, madam. We’ll head to your residence right away for a full investigation. Your word is law here.” The others murmured agreement—”Absolutely, madam”—their tones smooth as butter chicken, hiding the hunger brewing.Back at the flat, the sun high and merciless, Mumbai’s humidity turning the air to steam. Maya led them in, her red salwar swishing against her thicc thighs, every step a statement of unbowed royalty. “See? The sofa— that’s where the beasts tied me. Disgraceful.” The inspectors fanned out, gloved hands poking around like it was a crime scene from CID. Vikram lifted cushions, whistling low. “Madam, looks like they left quite the mess.” Tucked in the corner? A pile of used condoms, crusty with dried cum, some still knotted at the base. Karan bagged them carefully, but not before holding one up. “These… uh, match the description, madam. Evidence of the assault.”Maya’s cheeks burned, but she lifted her nose higher. “Bag them and burn in hell with those pigs. I won’t have my home tainted longer.” Then Karan straightened, holding a balled-up thong—black lace, stiff with her own juices and their loads, the scent musky even in the heat. “And this, madam? Yours?” She snatched it away, mortified, but Rajesh’s hand on her shoulder—firm, lingering—stopped her. “Evidence, madam. We must collect it all.” Her skin tingled under the touch, but she shrugged it off, arrogant fire undimmed. “Fine. But hurry— I have a life to reclaim.”Deeper in the search, under the sofa, Vikram unearthed the mocking ID card. He flipped it over, eyes widening at the crude photo: Maya mid-thrust, tits bouncing, pussy stretched around a cock, captioned
“High Class Slut No. 98 – Free Use for Gouda’s Boys.” The inspectors exchanged glances, cocks twitching in their uniforms. “Madam… this is damning,” Rajesh said, voice thick. “Proves their intent.” Maya glared, snatching it. “Burn it! I’m no slut—I’m a devoted wife, a pillar of this society. Umesh will hear of this outrage if you dawdle!”They wrapped up quick after that, evidence bagged, but the air hummed with something darker. “Back to the station, madam,” Rajesh urged. “We need a full statement… and a medical exam. Protocol.” Maya huffed—arrogant to the last—but nodded.