09-07-2025, 11:08 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-07-2025, 11:09 PM by chodn_khanki. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
As Chaitali stepped out of the bathroom, her body completely nude and exposed, she felt a rush of excitement and anticipation. She hadn't worn clothes in the last five days, and her body had become accustomed to the feeling of being bare and vulnerable. Her face was adorned with tattoos, the word "whore" prominently displayed around her mouth, a constant reminder of her role and purpose. The dog's collar is a reminder of her position, and she loved the feeling of being treated like a kutiya, a cheap randi for the pleasure of others.
Rajesh Sir was waiting for her, his eyes gleaming with lust and satisfaction. He grabbed her by the collar and led her down the hallway, his grip firm and commanding. "Chal, besharm randi," he said, his voice low and authoritative.
Chaitali loved the feeling of being controlled, of being nothing more than a cheap whore for his pleasure. "Haan, Sir," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Main aapki gandi randi hoon. Please mujhe use kijiye."
As Rajesh Sir led Chaitali into a room, Chaitali could see the cameras and lights set up, ready to capture every moment of her degradation. Five men were waiting for her, their eyes hungry with desire. They were setting up cameras and lights, preparing for the live show that would be broadcast to an audience of eager viewers. Chaitali felt a rush of excitement at the thought of being watched by so many people, of being the centre of attention in such a depraved setting.
One of the men, a tall, muscular man with a smirk on his face, stepped forward. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A cheap whore who loves to be used and abused."
Chaitali smiled, her eyes locked on his. "Yes, sir," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm your whore, your slut, your cheap little rand. Use me however you want."
The man grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close, his breath hot on her face. "Tujhe pata hai, tu ek gandi chudail hai," he said, his breath hot on her neck. "Aur aab puri duniya ko pata chalega ki tu kitni gandi aur sasti rand hai."
Chaitali moaned softly, her body responding to his touch and his words. "Haan Ji," she gasped. "Main aap saab ki sasti rand hoon. Aap mujhe jaisa chahe, use kar sakte hain. Saab ko dikha dijiye meri chut, and, saab kuch, mujhe fadk nahi padhti."
As Rajesh Sir left. Slowly, four other men stepped forward; they were all wearing masks, but Chaitli’s face was not covered. "Aa ja, rand," he said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards him. "Hum sab ko pata hai ki tu kya chahti hai. Aur hum sab tere ko wohi denge."
As Chaitali was led to the centre of the room, she felt a rush of excitement and anticipation. The bed, positioned under the bright lights and surrounded by cameras, was the stage for her degradation. The men pushed her onto it, her body fully exposed to the cameras and the men. She loved the feeling of being wanted, of being the centre of attention in such a depraved setting.
The live show began, and the men took turns using her, their bodies pressing against hers in a frenzy of lust and desire. Chaitali's body writhed with pleasure as she was filled and stretched in ways that made her feel alive.
As the show went on, the men became more and more creative in their degradation of her. They spat on her, called her names, and made her do things that would have made her blush in any other setting. But here, in this room, with the cameras rolling and the audience watching, she felt a sense of liberation and emancipation that she had never experienced before.
"Dekh, yeh rand kitni geeli hai," one of the men said, his voice filled with contempt. "Bas chodne ke liye banayi gayi hai tu randi."
Chaitali moaned in response, her body trembling with pleasure. "Haan," she gasped. "Main aap sabki gandi rand hoon. Kutiya hun. Please aap log meri chut fadh do, meri gand mariye please“
The comments from the online audience flooded in, each one more degrading and filthy than the last. Chaitali loved the attention, the feeling of being watched and desired by so many people. She positioned herself in front of the camera, her eyes locked on the lens as she spread her legs wide, giving the audience a clear view of her wet and glistening pussy.
"Look at this slut," one comment read. "She loves being used and abused."
"Yeah, she's nothing but a cheap whore," another comment said. "Look at her, begging for more."
Chaitali moaned softly, her fingers tracing circles around her clit as she read the comments. She loved the feeling of being wanted, of being the centre of attention in such a depraved setting. She arched her back, her body writhing with pleasure as she fingered herself, her moans growing louder and more desperate.
One of the men came in front of her, his cock hard and ready. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her towards him, his voice gruff and commanding. "Chal muah khol randi," he said. "Ab mujhe dikha ki tu kya kar sakti hai."
"Look at this slut," one of the men said. "She loves sucking cock."
Chaitali moaned around the cock in her mouth. Her tongue swirling around the head of his cock as she began to pleasure him.
"Dekh, yeh rand kitni achhe se chus rahi hai," one of the men said, his voice filled with contempt. As he reached his climax, the man's body trembled with pleasure, his cock throbbing in her mouth as he released his seed. Chaitali swallowed every drop.
As the show went on, the men became more and more creative in their degradation of her. They made her suck their cocks, fucked her in every hole, and made her do things that would have made her blush in any other setting. But here, in this room, with the cameras rolling and the audience watching, she felt a sense of freedom and liberation that she had never experienced before.
When it was all over, Chaitali lay on the bed, her body spent and her mind buzzing with the memories of what had just happened. She knew that she would never be the same again, and she couldn't wait for the next time she would be used and abused in such a delicious way.
As the men left the room, Chaitali couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the experience. She was their whore, their slut, their cheap little rand, and she loved every moment of it. She knew that countless people had watched the live show, and the thought sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.
She lay there, her body aching and her mind racing, knowing that she had found her true calling. She was a cheap whore, a gandi rand, and she loved every moment of it.
As the live show ended, I closed the lid of the laptop which Rajesh Sir had given me a few hours back. Now there is no going back, no undo button. Chaitali is now exposed to the world. My chain of thoughts broke when I saw a WhatsApp message from one of my friends - "Tera biwi ka show mast tha".
Rajesh Sir was waiting for her, his eyes gleaming with lust and satisfaction. He grabbed her by the collar and led her down the hallway, his grip firm and commanding. "Chal, besharm randi," he said, his voice low and authoritative.
Chaitali loved the feeling of being controlled, of being nothing more than a cheap whore for his pleasure. "Haan, Sir," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Main aapki gandi randi hoon. Please mujhe use kijiye."
As Rajesh Sir led Chaitali into a room, Chaitali could see the cameras and lights set up, ready to capture every moment of her degradation. Five men were waiting for her, their eyes hungry with desire. They were setting up cameras and lights, preparing for the live show that would be broadcast to an audience of eager viewers. Chaitali felt a rush of excitement at the thought of being watched by so many people, of being the centre of attention in such a depraved setting.
One of the men, a tall, muscular man with a smirk on his face, stepped forward. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "A cheap whore who loves to be used and abused."
Chaitali smiled, her eyes locked on his. "Yes, sir," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm your whore, your slut, your cheap little rand. Use me however you want."
The man grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close, his breath hot on her face. "Tujhe pata hai, tu ek gandi chudail hai," he said, his breath hot on her neck. "Aur aab puri duniya ko pata chalega ki tu kitni gandi aur sasti rand hai."
Chaitali moaned softly, her body responding to his touch and his words. "Haan Ji," she gasped. "Main aap saab ki sasti rand hoon. Aap mujhe jaisa chahe, use kar sakte hain. Saab ko dikha dijiye meri chut, and, saab kuch, mujhe fadk nahi padhti."
As Rajesh Sir left. Slowly, four other men stepped forward; they were all wearing masks, but Chaitli’s face was not covered. "Aa ja, rand," he said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her towards him. "Hum sab ko pata hai ki tu kya chahti hai. Aur hum sab tere ko wohi denge."
As Chaitali was led to the centre of the room, she felt a rush of excitement and anticipation. The bed, positioned under the bright lights and surrounded by cameras, was the stage for her degradation. The men pushed her onto it, her body fully exposed to the cameras and the men. She loved the feeling of being wanted, of being the centre of attention in such a depraved setting.
The live show began, and the men took turns using her, their bodies pressing against hers in a frenzy of lust and desire. Chaitali's body writhed with pleasure as she was filled and stretched in ways that made her feel alive.
As the show went on, the men became more and more creative in their degradation of her. They spat on her, called her names, and made her do things that would have made her blush in any other setting. But here, in this room, with the cameras rolling and the audience watching, she felt a sense of liberation and emancipation that she had never experienced before.
"Dekh, yeh rand kitni geeli hai," one of the men said, his voice filled with contempt. "Bas chodne ke liye banayi gayi hai tu randi."
Chaitali moaned in response, her body trembling with pleasure. "Haan," she gasped. "Main aap sabki gandi rand hoon. Kutiya hun. Please aap log meri chut fadh do, meri gand mariye please“
The comments from the online audience flooded in, each one more degrading and filthy than the last. Chaitali loved the attention, the feeling of being watched and desired by so many people. She positioned herself in front of the camera, her eyes locked on the lens as she spread her legs wide, giving the audience a clear view of her wet and glistening pussy.
"Look at this slut," one comment read. "She loves being used and abused."
"Yeah, she's nothing but a cheap whore," another comment said. "Look at her, begging for more."
Chaitali moaned softly, her fingers tracing circles around her clit as she read the comments. She loved the feeling of being wanted, of being the centre of attention in such a depraved setting. She arched her back, her body writhing with pleasure as she fingered herself, her moans growing louder and more desperate.
One of the men came in front of her, his cock hard and ready. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her towards him, his voice gruff and commanding. "Chal muah khol randi," he said. "Ab mujhe dikha ki tu kya kar sakti hai."
"Look at this slut," one of the men said. "She loves sucking cock."
Chaitali moaned around the cock in her mouth. Her tongue swirling around the head of his cock as she began to pleasure him.
"Dekh, yeh rand kitni achhe se chus rahi hai," one of the men said, his voice filled with contempt. As he reached his climax, the man's body trembled with pleasure, his cock throbbing in her mouth as he released his seed. Chaitali swallowed every drop.
As the show went on, the men became more and more creative in their degradation of her. They made her suck their cocks, fucked her in every hole, and made her do things that would have made her blush in any other setting. But here, in this room, with the cameras rolling and the audience watching, she felt a sense of freedom and liberation that she had never experienced before.
When it was all over, Chaitali lay on the bed, her body spent and her mind buzzing with the memories of what had just happened. She knew that she would never be the same again, and she couldn't wait for the next time she would be used and abused in such a delicious way.
As the men left the room, Chaitali couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the experience. She was their whore, their slut, their cheap little rand, and she loved every moment of it. She knew that countless people had watched the live show, and the thought sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.
She lay there, her body aching and her mind racing, knowing that she had found her true calling. She was a cheap whore, a gandi rand, and she loved every moment of it.
As the live show ended, I closed the lid of the laptop which Rajesh Sir had given me a few hours back. Now there is no going back, no undo button. Chaitali is now exposed to the world. My chain of thoughts broke when I saw a WhatsApp message from one of my friends - "Tera biwi ka show mast tha".
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