Login

Lousy1995

A few days after we moved into the new house, I went across the street to Aravind uncle’s mansion. Mom had asked me to take some sweets and a packet of fresh milk as a neighborly welcome gift. When I reached there, only Aravind was sitting in the big hall, staring at something on his laptop. Shalini aunty was nowhere to be seen.

He welcomed me warmly, asked about my college and the new house, and we chatted for a few minutes. Then he said he had to take an important call and went to his room, telling me to wait on the sofa.

While I was waiting, I noticed his laptop was still on. A folder named “Project Vini” caught my eye. Curiosity got the better of me. I quickly opened it and was shocked to see dozens of photos and a long document file. My heart raced as I read the first few lines. I didn’t have much time, so I plugged in the small pendrive I always carry on my keychain and copied the entire folder. I closed everything and sat back like nothing happened just before Aravind returned.

That night, alone in my room, I opened the files. What I read was pure filth — Aravind had written everything in his own words like a private diary. It happened about five months before we moved here. This is what he wrote:

The Taming of Vini: How I Broke and Owned My Innocent Dusky Maid

My mansion in Koramangala was always quiet and luxurious. I am Aravind Menon, 40 years old — a ruthless businessman who built a massive logistics empire. People fear me in meetings, but at home I crave complete control. My wife Shalini, 38, is curvy and beautiful with heavy breasts and a juicy ass, but she could never feed the dark, cruel hunger burning inside me.

Vini was just 26 — a tiny, dusky village girl who worked as our part-time maid. She stood barely 5 feet 2 inches, with sharp cheekbones, big scared eyes, small firm tits, an impossibly tiny waist, and a tight little ass that jiggled softly under her cheap, faded cotton sarees. She came from a poor family and sent every rupee home for her sick father and younger brothers. She always kept her head bowed, spoke in a soft whisper, and wore the same old sarees that stuck to her sweaty, brown skin.

For a full year she was just another invisible servant. Then one hot, humid morning, everything changed.

I walked into the kitchen and froze. Vini was bent low over the counter, scrubbing hard. Her thin saree had slipped from her hips, and her petticoat rode up high, exposing her small, round ass cheeks and the tight edge of her simple white panties digging into her crack. A drop of sweat rolled down her spine and disappeared between her ass. My thick cock instantly swelled rock hard in my pants.

From that day, I started hunting her like prey.

I began small. While she reached for things on high shelves, I pressed my body against her back, letting her feel the full length of my hard 8.5-inch cock throbbing against her ass. I made her bend low to pick up pens, staring openly at her cleavage and ass. I trapped her against the fridge, ran my thumb slowly over her soft lips, and whispered filthy things. I gave her extra money and let my fingers graze her bare, sweaty midriff, murmuring, “Good girls get rewarded… and bad girls get used.”

Every night she went back to her tiny one-room house wet and ashamed. She tried to pray her god, but her fingers kept slipping between her thighs. She started rubbing her virgin cunt furiously while thinking of my touch, hating herself for getting so horny.

I installed hidden cameras everywhere. One afternoon when Shalini was out shopping, I called Vini to my office and played the video of her changing — her small brown nipples stiff and poking in the cold air. She collapsed to her knees, crying and begging, “Sir… please delete it… I’ll do anything!”

I smiled, pulled out my thick 8.5-inch cock — veiny, heavy, and leaking precum — and ordered, “Open your mouth, you little whore, or this video goes to your family, your neighborhood, and everywhere.”

Tears poured down her face, but I could smell her pussy getting wet. I grabbed her long hair and shoved my cock deep into her tight throat. She gagged hard, choking and retching as I fucked her face mercilessly. Saliva and tears dripped onto her cheap blouse. I pumped faster and shot thick, heavy loads straight down her throat until cum bubbled out of her nose. She swallowed every drop like a good little slut.

That was only the start.

A few days later, I bent her over my heavy teak desk, flipped up her saree, and rammed my fat cock into her virgin cunt in one savage thrust. She screamed in pain as her hymen tore and warm blood trickled down her thigh. I didn’t stop — I pounded her mercilessly, slapping her small tits hard and pinching her dark nipples until they swelled. Her tight pussy squeezed my cock like a vice. Against her will, she came hard, moaning like a cheap whore even while crying. I flooded her womb with hot, thick cum until it overflowed and ran down her legs.

After that, I claimed her ass too. I tied her naked on Shalini’s big bed, spat on her tiny brown asshole, and forced my thick cock inside inch by inch. She screamed and begged, “No sir… not there… please!” But soon her body betrayed her — she started pushing back, whimpering, “Harder, sir… please harder.” I flooded her asshole with cum while she squirted all over my wife’s expensive sheets.

To make her break faster, I started mixing a special powder — a strong Viagra-based mood mixture — into her daily drinks. At first I added just a little in her lemon water or tea. Within minutes her cheeks would flush, her nipples would harden painfully against her blouse, and her pussy would start dripping uncontrollably. She became restless, rubbing her thighs together while working, her breath coming in short, needy gasps. She hated it, but her body burned with lust she couldn’t control.

As days passed, I increased the dose. Her mind still fought, but her cunt stayed soaked all day. She started fingering herself secretly in the bathroom, moaning my name. The powder turned her into a dripping, desperate mess — perfect for breaking.

Week by week she crumbled completely. I made her wear slutty red lace bras that pushed her small tits together and crotchless panties that left her shaved pussy bare and ready under her old saree. I ordered her to send me photos of her stiff nipples and wet cunt while she cleaned the house. I fucked her in every hole — throat, cunt, ass — sometimes while Shalini slept just upstairs.

By the end of the month she was fully mine. I locked a black leather collar around her slender neck with the word SLUT sparkling in shiny letters. I made her crawl on all fours across the marble floor in red high heels, her small tits swinging, ass high. She sucked my cock like a hungry bitch, gagging herself willingly while moaning around my thick meat.

I fucked her right in front of the big glass windows where neighbors or the watchman could see. I slapped her swollen clit hard while she rode me, making her squirt in long arcs onto the glass. She screamed, “I’m your dirty maid slut, Master! Your personal cum-dump! Use all my holes please!”

The shy, God-fearing virgin who once prayed every night was completely gone. In her place was my collared, three-hole fuck-pet — a dripping, obedient whore who lived only to swallow my cum, get her holes stretched, and beg for more.

She crawled up to me, collar shining, eyes shining with desperate lust, and whispered, “Thank you, Master…

She was already his trained slut when she started working at our house.

Now I understood why her saree sometimes looked different underneath, and why she sometimes smelled of sex when she came to clean our place. And the worst part? Reading Aravind’s dirty words made my own cock rock hard.

Login
Username:
Password:	Lost Password?
	Remember me