Thriller THE VILLAGE IS NO PLACE FOR GIRLS by desidesires - Continuation by me

[tharkibudda]

While Garima's world was consumed by the degradation she was being subjected to, Pratap had his eyes on a different prize. Unbeknownst to her, he had pulled out his phone,  His thumbs moved deftly over the screen, capturing every sordid detail of her ordeal.

The camera's cold gaze focused on her exposed buttocks, which quivered with each movement she made to accommodate Birju's cock in her mouth. Her pussy, still gaping and slick from his abuse, was framed by the phone's camera, the evidence of her unwilling arousal on full display. Pratap's eyes glinted with malicious intent as he recorded her humiliation.

"Look at her," Pratap said to Birju, his voice a mix of disgust and excitement. "Her mouth says no, but her pussy tells a different story. It's begging for something to fill it up again, isn't it?" He gestured to her wetness, which gleamed in the dim light of the room. 

Pratap stepped closer, his erection now fully restored. He reached out and slowly rubbed his fingers over her slick folds, examining her wetness with a sadistic curiosity. "Look how much you are  enjoying it," he murmured, his voice a mix of mockery and lust. "Your body can't lie, Garima."

He turned to Birju "You see, she's just like any other city girl," he said, his hand moving to cup her butt cheek. "They all pretend to be innocent, but when you get them alone, they're just begging for it."

Birju's eyes flickered with doubt, but he didn't pull away as Pratap continued to manipulate Garima's body, his own erection still standing tall despite the guilt eating away at him. Pratap knew that by making her feel guilty for her body's response, she'd be less likely to confess to anyone what had happened here. It was a twisted logic, but it was all part of the game he was playing.

"Keep sucking," he ordered her, his hand tightening in her hair. "We're not done with you yet." Garima's eyes shot open in horror as she felt his fingers pushing into her still-sensitive cunt, his other hand reaching around to fondle her clit. She moaned around Birju's cock, the sensations overwhelming her.

Pratap's grin grew wider as he watched her body betray her. "You see," he said to Birju, "She can't get enough." He began to fuck her with his fingers, hard and fast, his thumb rubbing her clit in time with her sucking. "Look at her, her second lips begging for a  dick while the first one is in her mouth."

Garima's eyes widened as she felt Pratap's fingers enter her, the pain mixing with the pleasure she hadn't wanted. Her moans grew louder, her mouth moving faster on Birju's cock .

Pratap took his time, savoring the way her body clenched around his fingers. He watched her with a detached fascination, noting every little tremor and gasp she made. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But we'll fix that, won't we?"



Without waiting for a response, he withdrew his fingers and lined his cock up with her wet, trembling pussy. He thrust in hard, watching her eyes widen with pain and shock. Garima's muffled scream was lost around Birju's cock, and she couldn't help the way her body arched up to meet him, her muscles clenching around his shaft.

Pratap began to fuck her, his movements merciless and unrelenting. Each thrust sent a bolt of pleasure-pain through her, making her stomach churn. She could feel herself being torn apart, her insides burning from his roughness. But her body responded, her pussy spasming around him, her hips lifting to meet his every movement.

Birju's cock grew harder in her mouth as he watched his friend claim her.  But he didn't pull away, didn't stop her from sucking him. He was lost, his own desires and fears warring within him.

Pratap's cock slammed into her, filling her completely. She felt so full, so stretched, that she could hardly breathe around Birju's erection. The two men began to move in sync, their hips thrusting together as they used her body for their own pleasure.

Her mouth was filled with Birju's thick, hard cock, his hands on either side of her face, holding her in place.  And she couldn't help it, her body was responding again, her cunt clenching around Pratap's dick as he pounded into her while holding her buttocks on his hands . 

The two of them worked in a brutal rhythm, one that made her feel like nothing more than a piece of meat to be used and discarded. Every thrust of Pratap's cock into her pussy sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, even as she choked and gagged on Birju's cock.

Her eyes watered, her throat ached, and she could feel the beginnings of bruises on her buttocks where Pratap's fingers dug in, but she couldn't stop. Her body was no longer hers, it was theirs to use and abuse. Pratap's grunts grew louder, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered obscenities that made her skin crawl.

"Look how much she loves it," he taunted Birju, who was now fucking her mouth in sync with Pratap's brutal thrusts.


The room was a cacophony of sounds - the wet slaps of flesh, her muffled cries, and their grunts of pleasure. Garima's eyes were wide with shock, fear, and an undeniable, unwanted arousal. Her body was a battleground of pain and pleasure, and she felt powerless to stop them.

On the other side of the village, the sangeet was in full swing. The air was alive with the rhythmic beat of dholaks and the melodious sounds of singing. .

Gauri looked breathtaking in her red and gold lehenga, her eyes shimmering with excitement and a hint of nerves. Her heart raced as she stepped onto the dance floor, her hands adorned with intricate mehndi patterns that matched her bridal attire perfectly.

The room was a riot of color, the walls adorned with strings of marigolds and fairy lights casting a warm glow over the guests. The music grew louder as the initial dance of the bride and groom came to an end, the crowd clapping and cheering for the new couple.

Gauri's heart was racing in her chest as she took a moment to catch her breath, the heavy embroidery of her lehenga feeling like a second skin. She was so caught up in the whirlwind of her wedding festivities, so dizzy from the swirls of happiness and nerves, that she had forgotten for a brief moment about her best friend, Garima.

The music transitioned from the sweet, traditional melodies of the opening dance to the thumping beats of Punjabi rap, and the energy in the room shifted. The air grew thick with excitement as the crowd surged onto the dance floor, eager to let loose. The men gravitated towards the back of the hall, where bottles of whiskey and beer were passed around like sacred offerings.

The women had initially danced with a mix of joy and caution, their laughter a sweet symphony that filled the space. But as the night grew darker and the alcohol flowed more freely, the atmosphere grew heavier. The respectful glances from the men grew more intense, their hands starting to roam without permission.

A few of the bolder women giggled at first, flattered by the attention, but as the touches grew more insistent, a sense of unease began to spread among them. They knew the unspoken rule of these village celebrations - when the drinks were in full swing, the dance floor was no longer a place of innocent fun.

One by one, the women began to retreat, leaving the floor to the men. Their laughter grew forced, their smiles tight as they extricated themselves from the grasping hands. The air grew charged with a new kind of energy, one that was darker, more primal.

The men, fueled by the alcohol and the heady scent of untouched desire, began to dance with an exaggerated, almost feral grace. They moved their hips in a way that mimicked the mating rituals of chimps, their eyes gleaming with a hunger that was all too human. The crowd roared with laughter, clapping and jeering as they egged each other on.

It was an unwritten rule in the village, one that the women had grown accustomed to. The wedding night was a time for the men to let loose, to indulge in the crudest of jokes and the most outlandish of behaviors. The women would look the other way, giggling behind their hands at their antics. But as long as the line is not crossed and the womenfolk weren't harmed.

Birju had always been one of the more eager participants in this dance of debauchery. He'd don a garish suit, his eyes shining with mischief as he approached the shy, unmarried girls, whispering sweet nothings that were more lewd than romantic. His advances were met with laughter or slaps, and he'd retreat, nursing his bruised ego with a swig of whiskey.

As the night progressed, the alcohol would loosen his inhibitions, and his dance moves grew more erratic. He'd twirl and leap, his shoes slapping against the floor, he threw his head back and howled with laughter. The crowd would cheer him on, delighted by the spectacle.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Birju's mind was not on the festivities. His thoughts were consumed by the events unfolding back at the farmhouse. Garima's tear-streaked face, the feel of her soft skin, the way she'd moaned around his cock as Pratap fucked her from behind.

For years, Birju had been the butt of the village's jokes, the perpetual bachelor who couldn't seem to win the heart of any of the local girls. They saw him as strange, a bit of a loser, and definitely not the kind of man they'd want to marry their daughters. So he'd turned to the whores that frequented at pratap's lodge , the ones who didn't care about his awkwardness or his lack of charm. They'd take his money and give him what he wanted, no questions asked.

But none of them had ever come close to the intensity of fucking Garima. They were experienced, yes, their bodies trained to give pleasure, but it was mechanical, almost boring. With Garima, it was different. Her innocence, her lust,the way she'd looked at him with those big, pleading eyes - it was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

The whores he'd been with knew the score. They knew what they were getting into, and they knew how to play the game. They'd moan and arch their backs on cue, faking pleasure so convincingly that even he had been fooled at times. But Garima was real. Her reactions were raw and unfiltered, her pain and humiliation genuine.

Birju felt a twisted kind of pride swell in his chest as he watched Garima sucking his cock . He wanted to boast to everyone about this conquest, to rub it in the face of every man who had ever called him a loser. He wanted them to see him now, a man who could take what he wanted, who had the power to make a girl like Garima do unspeakable things.