Two days later, Rohan made another challenge. “Your father,” he said, his eyes somber. “He’s coming Saturday. Seduce him. Make him have you.” Sonia’s heart thudded, the thought of fucking her own father at once shocking and thrilling, her cunt already wet at the prospect. Mr. Sharma, 60, came on Saturday, his warm smile wavering as he stood looking at Sonia naked, the “WHORE” collar shining, her breasts dripping milk, clit on display. “Sonia, what—” he started to say, but she stopped him, embracing him, breasts crushing into his chest, milk marking his shirt. The children were at a friend’s place, so they had Rohan alone with them, standing in the living room and observing. Sonia took her father to the balcony, saying she needed assistance with a plant. She stooped down, her pussy open, clit wet, milk trickling onto the floor. “Papa, you’ve always loved me,” she purred, her hand brushing his crotch. His breath hitched, his eyes conflicted but hungry. “I shouldn’t,” he murmured, but she knelt, unzipping his pants, sucking his cock, her tongue swirling. He groaned, unable to resist, and lifted her, fucking her against the railing, his cock deep in her pussy, her breasts bouncing, milk squirting. He mounted her clit, white stripes sheathing her arrow of hair, his shame entangled with desire.Sonia came back to Rohan, cum spilling, milk marking her body. He licked her clean, his tongue relishing her father’s cum, and then screwed her on the balcony, her moans ringing, the neighbors possibly hearing.
Sonia was a total whore now, her life a mad whirl of sexual activity, choreographed by Rohan, Rakesh, and herself. Rakesh’s mastery went on, taking her out every day, naked or in a flimsy camisole, to markets, alleys, and clubs. He took her, collared and allowed to wear a camisole only to a street corner, where he presented her to three strangers, who fucked her pussy and mouth, cumming on her face and clit, milk dripping while she moaned. Rakesh fucked her afterward, his dick up her ass, making her dirty for Rohan to pick up. Vikrant, her clandestine lover, met her in parks and toilets, fucking her unremittingly, clueless about her existence with Rakesh and Rohan. He fucked her in a cinema toilet, her camisole in the floor, make her naked body against the tiles, his spunk on her face and pussy, her moans attracting glances. The silence of her infidelity with Vikrant spiced up her orgasms, her body a war zone for her lovers. At home, Sonia fucked delivery men and neighbors, their cum and her milk on the furniture, while Arjun and Nia played innocently. She breastfed them daily, their mouths suckling milk, the action a combination of maternal love and forbidden excitement, Rohan observing, Sonia was transformed.
Her days were spent in endless trysts—public, private, with Rohan’s connivance, and without. Rakesh’s leash, Vikrant’s secret preference, and Rohan’s cuckoldry encouragement made up her life. She screwed strangers in alleys, malls, and clubs, her body ever nude or near-nude, cum and milk her perpetual decorations. Arjun and Nia were raised in this world, their innocence not tainted by their mother’s transgressions, their laughter a reminder of normalcy in the midst of chaos. Sonia’s betrayal with Vikrant lay concealed, a flame of revolt in her surrender, as Rohan’s love, tainted and ferocious, kept her in its hold. And so, slut Sonia went on leading her slut existence with Rohan, their union unconquerable, their passions unslakable, in a world where lust did not know restraint, her meetings infinite, a test to their unquenchable, carnal love.