4 hours ago
The Delhi sun beat down, a relentless anvil forging heat into the very air. Mily’s black saree clung to her, a second skin damp with perspiration as she hauled a heavy grocery bag up the three flights of stairs to her apartment.
The silver anklet on her left foot, a delicate chain with tiny bells, chimed a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to her laboured breathing. Her milky skin, usually luminous, shimmered with a fine sheen of sweat.
Inside, the apartment offered little respite, the stale air thick and unmoving. She dropped the bag onto the kitchen floor with a sigh, the clatter of vegetables echoing in the quiet space. A faint scent of cumin and turmeric, remnants of yesterday’s cooking, mingled with the metallic tang of her own exertion. Her choco lipstick, carefully applied that morning, felt like a heavy paste on her lips, and she longed for a cool shower.
It was barely eleven, and the day already felt endless. A sharp, insistent ring sliced through the silence. The doorbell. Who could it be? Amit, her husband, was at work, undoubtedly struggling to make ends meet, oblivious to the quiet desperation that often settled around her like dust motes in the afternoon light. Her neighbours rarely visited.
Absentmindedly, she moved towards the door, her hand reaching for the latch. The cool metal offered a momentary comfort against her warm fingers. She pulled the door open. Her breath hitched. A cold dread, familiar and sickening, coiled in her stomach. Sid. His face, usually a map of petty grievances and cheap liquor, held a predatory glint.
The man beside him, a hulking figure with a sagging belly and a face like a crumpled paper bag, leered. Ballu. The name, whispered weeks ago by Sid, now solidified into a grim reality. Ballu’s eyes, small and beady, raked over her, from the loose strands of her hair framing her face to the curve of her hips beneath the black silk. A slow, wet smile spread across his thick lips. “See, Ballu? Told you she’s pretty, didn’t I?” Sid’s voice, rough and triumphant, sliced through the air.
He didn’t wait for an invitation, simply pushed past her, the stench of stale alcohol and unwashed skin preceding him into her sanctuary. Ballu followed, his heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards. The apartment, once her refuge, now felt small, suffocating.
Mily stood frozen, the black saree a stark contrast against the milky white of her skin, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to scream, to push them out, to slam the door and lock them away, but the words, the actions, remained trapped. Her mind raced, a frantic hamster on a wheel. The 1.5 lacs, the money for her mother’s operation, a debt she could never repay, a leash Sid held tight around her throat.
Twice that day, weeks ago. Then twice again, a few days later, his hands on her, his breath hot on her neck, the shame burning deep. And now this. “So, this is the one you were talking about, huh?” Ballu’s voice was a gravelly rumble, his gaze lingering on her chest, then dropping to her waist, where the saree fabric stretched taut. He licked his lips, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver of disgust down her spine.
Sid’s hand clamped around her arm, his grip bruising. He spun her, shoving her against the cool wall of the hallway. The sudden impact knocked the wind from her lungs. Before she could react, his mouth descended, a wet, forceful assault. He licked her salty sweat from her face, neck before his tongue, thick and invasive, plunged past her lips, tasting of cheap tobacco and something sour. Her chocolate lipstick, a small attempt at reclaiming her composure, smeared and vanished, consumed by his hungry maw.
Her mind screamed, a silent, desperate wail, as his tongue scbangd against hers, a brutal invasion. Ballu, meanwhile, moved with surprising speed. His hand, heavy and calloused, found the bare skin of her waist, just above the saree’s edge. His lips, wet and coarse, followed, pressing against her flesh. A hot, slimy sensation. He kissed her skin, tasting her sweat, her fear. The silver anklet on her left leg, usually a source of quiet joy, now felt like a branding iron, marking her. Sid pulled back, a string of saliva connecting their mouths for a brief, disgusting moment. His eyes, dark and triumphant, locked onto hers. “Get her ready, Ballu.” His fingers, surprisingly deft, went to the knot of her saree, unravelling the fabric with practiced ease. The silk slid down, pooling around her feet, exposing the black lingerie beneath. The lace, meant for private comfort, now felt like a public display. She stood before them, bare to the waist, her breasts, 34B, pushed up by the flimsy bra, her nipples already taut from the raw humiliation.
A cold draft, or perhaps just a tremor of fear, prickled her skin. “Down on your knees, Mily,” Sid commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. He gestured towards Ballu, who stood with a knowing smirk, his trousers already unbuttoned, his cock, thick and purplish, springing free.
Her legs felt like lead, heavy and unwilling. But the memory of her mother’s face, pale and weak in the hospital bed, flashed before her. The debt. The unspoken threat. Her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, the rough texture of the carpet digging into her skin. Her head felt light, a detached observer watching her own body betray her. Ballu stepped closer, his heavy scent filling her nostrils. He pushed her head down, his hand firm on the back of her neck. His cock, thick and unyielding, pressed against her lips. A gag rose in her throat, bile burning. She clamped her lips shut, resisting. “Open up, slut,” Sid snarled, his foot nudging her side. The words were a hammer blow. Her lips parted, trembling. Ballu’s cock pushed past, thick and unyielding, scbanging against her teeth, then plunging into her mouth. The taste was metallic, musky, sickening. She gagged, her stomach churning, tears stinging her eyes.
Her throat constricted, but Ballu’s hand held her head firm, forcing her to take him deeper. She felt the heavy head of his cock press against her soft palate, the veins prominent against its shaft. Her jaw ached, her cheeks stretched, as she tried to accommodate the sheer size of him. She couldn't breathe properly, her nose filling with the acrid scent of his unwashed body. Each thrust was a painful violation, a constant reminder of her helplessness.
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the faded floral pattern of the carpet. A whimper escaped her, choked and muffled by the invading flesh. She wanted to bite, to tear, to fight, but the fear of Sid’s retribution, the image of her mother, paralyzed her. The rough texture of his foreskin rubbed against the delicate skin of her inner lips, a constant, sickening friction. She felt the pressure build, the fullness of him making her eyes water more.
Sid watched, a cruel smile playing on his lips, then pulled her away from Ballu, her face streaked with tears and saliva. He shoved her onto the floor, her back hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Her bare legs, trembling, were pushed apart, exposing her. The delicate silver anklet, still on her left foot, seemed to mock her vulnerability. Sid knelt between her splayed thighs, his eyes devouring her. His gaze, hot and possessive, lingered on her pussy, the dark hair a soft contrast against her milky skin. He leaned down, his bald head gleaming under the dim light, and his tongue, broad and wet, touched her clit.
A shock ran through her, an electric current of disgust and a perverse, unwanted sensation. She tried to pull her legs together, but his hands clamped onto her inner thighs, holding them wide. His tongue worked with a practiced, relentless rhythm, licking and lapping, teasing and tormenting.
The wetness spread quickly, a betrayal from her own body. She fought against it, against the rising tide of sensation, but the relentless pressure, the hot, wet friction, began to unravel her. “Ah-ah-ahhh,” a moan escaped her, raw and uncontrolled. Her hips began to arch, involuntarily lifting towards his face. Her fingers, usually so gentle, curled into claws, digging into his bald head, pulling him deeper into her dripping pussy. The soft bells of her anklet jingled faintly as her leg twitched. Each lick, each suck, sent shivers through her, her body betraying her with its response.
She wanted to hate it, to push him away, but the pleasure, sharp and undeniable, began to bloom, eclipsing the shame. Her nails, digging deeper, pulled at his scalp, a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable. Her legs, strong and shapely, locked around his shoulders, holding him captive as he devoured her. “Oh, God, oh, God,” she gasped, her voice hoarse, her body arching higher and higher.
The world narrowed to the wet, insistent pressure between her legs, the rhythmic shlicking sounds his tongue made. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurring. A wave built inside her, a tsunami of sensation, pulling her under. Her body convulsed, a violent tremor shaking her from head to toe. “Ahhhhhh!” she screamed, a guttural cry ripped from her throat, as the orgasm tore through her, a blinding white light. Her muscles spasmed, her hips bucking wildly.
She came, a gush of wet heat, all over his face, his bald head glistening with her essence. The silver anklet, still clinging to her left ankle, trembled with the aftershocks of her release. Sid pulled away, his face slick with her cum, a triumphant grin stretching his lips. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “She’s ready for you now, Ballu.”
Ballu, who had been watching with an eager glint in his eyes, wasted no time. He moved into position, his heavy frame settling between her legs. Her body still thrummed, a hollow ache where Sid’s tongue had been. She felt weak, spent, yet the tension coiled again, a new dread mixing with the lingering echoes of pleasure. Ballu spread her legs wider, his touch rougher, less precise than Sid’s. His face, pitted and coarse, lowered between her thighs. The scent of him, musky and strong, filled her senses. His tongue, thick and surprisingly agile, began to work on her clit. It was a different kind of assault, less skilled, more brutal, but no less effective. Her pussy, still throbbing from the last orgasm, responded with a traitorous readiness. The wetness returned, a fresh wave, as his tongue scbangd and licked, his breath hot against her swollen flesh. She tried to fight it, to clench, to deny her body its response, but the sensations were too overwhelming.
The sharp pangs of pleasure, mixed with the lingering humiliation, began to build again. “Mmmph… ahhh…” she moaned, her voice thick with unwilling pleasure. Her hands, still trembling, found his bald head, her nails digging in again, not in an act of aggression, but in a desperate attempt to anchor herself against the rising tide. She pulled him closer, deeper, her hips lifting, seeking the relentless friction. The silver anklet jingled, a frantic, desperate rhythm. The wave built faster this time, a quick, intense surge. Her body arched, her back bowing. “Ahhhhhh!” another scream tore from her, raw and primal, as she came again, a torrent of release, her muscles clenching around his face, her pussy pulsing with the force of it.
Sid moved then, scooping her up into his arms with surprising strength. Her body, limp and yielding, felt like a rag doll. He carried her towards the bedroom, her bare legs dangling, the silver anklet catching the light. Ballu followed close behind, his breath heavy. The bedroom, usually a sanctuary of quiet rest, now felt like a stage for their depravity. Sid laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. The cool sheets offered a brief, fleeting comfort. He positioned her, her legs bent, her pussy open and exposed. Ballu, meanwhile, climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above her head. “Ready for round three, Mily?” Sid’s voice was a low growl, a promise of more to come.
Ballu’s heavy hand gripped her head, tilting it back. His cock, still thick and engorged, pressed against her lips once more. This time, there was no resistance left, only a weary acceptance. Her mouth opened, a silent invitation, and he plunged inside, filling her. The familiar gag rose, but she swallowed it down, her throat accepting the invasion. He began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing deep into her mouth, her cheeks stretching, her jaw aching. At the same time, Sid positioned himself between her legs.
He lifted them, resting her ankles on his shoulders, exposing her pussy fully. The silver anklet, cool against his skin, rubbed against his shoulder as he settled. His cock, thick and rigid, pressed against her wet folds, then slid inside, filling her with a deep, stretching sensation. Mily’s body was a battlefield, assaulted from both ends. Ballu’s cock pounded her mouth, a relentless, rhythmic invasion, while Sid’s thrust deep into her pussy, stretching her, filling her completely. She could only manage a muffled, guttural *“Mmmmmmffffff”* as Ballu’s cock worked her mouth, her throat a tight tunnel around him.
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down her temples, disappearing into her loose hair. Her hands, frantic, reached out, finding Sid’s arms. Her shapely nails dug in, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin as she writhed beneath him, a prisoner to their combined assault. The pain and the pleasure mingled, a dizzying concoction that stole her breath. Sid’s hips drove into her, a powerful, insistent rhythm, while Ballu’s thrusts pounded her mouth, pushing deeper and deeper. The sounds of their bodies, wet and sloshing, filled the room: *shlicking* from her pussy, a wet, *squelching* sound from her mouth.
The air was pushed out of her lungs with each deep thrust. Ballu grunted, a deep, satisfied sound. His thrusts intensified, a final, desperate push. Then, with a shuddering groan, he pulled out of her mouth, a thick stream of cum erupting, spraying across her face, her hair, her closed eyelids. It was warm, sticky, and smelled faintly of ammonia. Almost simultaneously, Sid let out a roar, his body convulsing.
He drove into her one last, powerful time, his cum erupting deep inside her pussy, a hot, liquid invasion. “Ahhhhhh! Oh, God, oh, God!” Mily screamed, her voice raw, a mixture of ecstasy and profound release as Sid pulled out, his cock dripping. Her body, spent and trembling, collapsed onto the bed, her muscles quivering. They left her there, a crumpled heap on the bed, her face streaked with cum and tears, her pussy and mouth still throbbing. The silence, when they finally moved away, was deafening. She lay for a moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body heavy and aching. The stickiness on her face, the metallic taste in her mouth, the wetness between her legs – it was all too much. With a monumental effort, she pushed herself up. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out with each step, but she dragged herself to the washroom.
The cool water on her face, washing away the cum, the tears, the lipstick, felt like a small act of reclamation. She scrubbed at her hair, trying to remove the sticky residue. The mirror reflected a stranger, a woman with haunted eyes and bruised lips. She stared, unseeing, at her own reflection, the image blurring through a fresh wave of tears. This wasn't her. This couldn't be her.
She returned to the bedroom, her legs still unsteady, the metallic taste of fear coating her tongue. The two men were waiting, their eyes hungry, their cocks, surprisingly, already hard again. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wasn’t over. Not yet. “Get on your hands and knees, Mily,” Sid commanded, his voice flat. She obeyed, her movements stiff, her mind numb. She knelt on the bed, her ass raised, her pussy, swollen and slick, presented to them.
The silver anklet, now free, dangled from her left ankle. Ballu moved first, his heavy body pressing against her back. He positioned his cock, thick and veiny, at her pussy. With a grunt, he pushed, slowly at first, then with more force. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as he slid inside, filling her again. The sensation was deep, stretching, a familiar invasion. Then, Sid was behind her, his hand pushing her ass cheeks apart. His cock, surprisingly large, pressed against her asshole. A wave of panic, cold and sharp, washed over her. Anal. She had never… “Relax, Mily,” Sid’s voice was close to her ear, a low, menacing whisper. “It’ll feel good.” He pushed, a slow, insistent pressure. A sharp, searing pain shot through her.
She cried out, a strangled sound, her body tensing. “No, no, please!” she whimpered, her voice cracking. But he didn’t stop. He pushed harder, slowly, relentlessly, until the initial pain gave way to a stretching, tearing sensation. Then, with a final, determined thrust, he was in, filling her, stretching her to her absolute limit. The feeling was alien, overwhelming, a profound invasion. Ballu, meanwhile, began to thrust from the front, his cock pounding into her pussy with a steady rhythm. Mily cried out, her hands clutching at the bedsheet, her knuckles white.
Her body was being torn, stretched, filled from both ends. The double penetration was agonizing, yet, as her body adjusted, a strange, perverse pleasure began to bloom in the midst of the pain. The pressure, the fullness, the sheer intensity of it all, was unlike anything she had ever experienced. “Ahhhhh! Please, please, please!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, raw, echoing through the silent apartment. Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging, blurring her vision. Were they tears of pain? Or pleasure? She couldn't tell. Her hips bucked, her body writhing, caught between the two invading forces. The rhythm intensified, a relentless pounding, a primal drumbeat. Her pussy, her ass, both stretched and filled, were being hammered, relentlessly.
The silver anklet jingled, a frantic, desperate symphony accompanying her cries. The combined assault was too much, too intense. Her mind fractured, her body taking over. The pain, sharp and exquisite, mingled with a rising, blinding pleasure. She felt herself unraveling, losing control, her body a mere vessel for their brutal desires. Her screams became a continuous wail, a desperate plea for more, for less, for something she couldn’t articulate. Both men grunted, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Their thrusts became more frantic, more powerful, building towards a crescendo. Mily felt the pressure building, a volcanic eruption threatening to tear her apart. “Ahhhhhhh! OH GOD! OH GOD!” she shrieked, her voice tearing, as both men groaned, their bodies convulsing. They pulled out almost simultaneously, a gush of warm cum erupting from both her pussy and her ass, flowing down her thighs, mixing with her sweat and tears. They collapsed beside her, one on each side, their heavy bodies pressing against her. Ballu, still breathing heavily, reached out, his hand finding her milky breast.
He began to knead it, his thumb circling her nipple, then leaned down, his mouth closing over it, sucking gently. Mily lay there, spent, exhausted, her body a mass of throbbing aches and lingering tremors. A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound of utter depletion. The marathon of sex had left her hollowed out, empty. She could feel the wetness between her legs, the sticky residue on her face, the soreness in her mouth, her pussy, her ass.
The silver anklet, a silent witness, gleamed faintly in the dim light. After a few minutes, a lifetime, they stirred. Sid and Ballu slowly got up, their movements heavy. They dressed, their clothes rustling in the quiet room. Mily lay still, watching them through half-closed eyes, her mind a blank slate. As they reached the door, Ballu paused.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled 500 rupee notes. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he tossed them onto the bed beside her. The notes fluttered down, landing on the rumpled sheets, a stark, brutal insult. The metallic tang of the money, the crinkle of the paper, brought a fresh wave of nausea. Mily stared at the notes, then at the closed door where they had just exited. The question, sharp and searing, pierced through the haze of her exhaustion. *Am I their whore now?* The words echoed in the silence of the room, a bitter, chilling truth. The silver anklet, still on her left leg, felt heavier than lead. The sun, still high in the sky, cast long, accusatory shadows across the floor. The apartment, once her refuge, now felt like a cage. And Mily, the Bengali housewife, lay broken, violated, her identity shattered, the lingering scent of their cum a constant, sickening reminder of her new reality.
The silver anklet on her left foot, a delicate chain with tiny bells, chimed a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to her laboured breathing. Her milky skin, usually luminous, shimmered with a fine sheen of sweat.
Inside, the apartment offered little respite, the stale air thick and unmoving. She dropped the bag onto the kitchen floor with a sigh, the clatter of vegetables echoing in the quiet space. A faint scent of cumin and turmeric, remnants of yesterday’s cooking, mingled with the metallic tang of her own exertion. Her choco lipstick, carefully applied that morning, felt like a heavy paste on her lips, and she longed for a cool shower.
It was barely eleven, and the day already felt endless. A sharp, insistent ring sliced through the silence. The doorbell. Who could it be? Amit, her husband, was at work, undoubtedly struggling to make ends meet, oblivious to the quiet desperation that often settled around her like dust motes in the afternoon light. Her neighbours rarely visited.
Absentmindedly, she moved towards the door, her hand reaching for the latch. The cool metal offered a momentary comfort against her warm fingers. She pulled the door open. Her breath hitched. A cold dread, familiar and sickening, coiled in her stomach. Sid. His face, usually a map of petty grievances and cheap liquor, held a predatory glint.
The man beside him, a hulking figure with a sagging belly and a face like a crumpled paper bag, leered. Ballu. The name, whispered weeks ago by Sid, now solidified into a grim reality. Ballu’s eyes, small and beady, raked over her, from the loose strands of her hair framing her face to the curve of her hips beneath the black silk. A slow, wet smile spread across his thick lips. “See, Ballu? Told you she’s pretty, didn’t I?” Sid’s voice, rough and triumphant, sliced through the air.
He didn’t wait for an invitation, simply pushed past her, the stench of stale alcohol and unwashed skin preceding him into her sanctuary. Ballu followed, his heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards. The apartment, once her refuge, now felt small, suffocating.
Mily stood frozen, the black saree a stark contrast against the milky white of her skin, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to scream, to push them out, to slam the door and lock them away, but the words, the actions, remained trapped. Her mind raced, a frantic hamster on a wheel. The 1.5 lacs, the money for her mother’s operation, a debt she could never repay, a leash Sid held tight around her throat.
Twice that day, weeks ago. Then twice again, a few days later, his hands on her, his breath hot on her neck, the shame burning deep. And now this. “So, this is the one you were talking about, huh?” Ballu’s voice was a gravelly rumble, his gaze lingering on her chest, then dropping to her waist, where the saree fabric stretched taut. He licked his lips, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver of disgust down her spine.
Sid’s hand clamped around her arm, his grip bruising. He spun her, shoving her against the cool wall of the hallway. The sudden impact knocked the wind from her lungs. Before she could react, his mouth descended, a wet, forceful assault. He licked her salty sweat from her face, neck before his tongue, thick and invasive, plunged past her lips, tasting of cheap tobacco and something sour. Her chocolate lipstick, a small attempt at reclaiming her composure, smeared and vanished, consumed by his hungry maw.
Her mind screamed, a silent, desperate wail, as his tongue scbangd against hers, a brutal invasion. Ballu, meanwhile, moved with surprising speed. His hand, heavy and calloused, found the bare skin of her waist, just above the saree’s edge. His lips, wet and coarse, followed, pressing against her flesh. A hot, slimy sensation. He kissed her skin, tasting her sweat, her fear. The silver anklet on her left leg, usually a source of quiet joy, now felt like a branding iron, marking her. Sid pulled back, a string of saliva connecting their mouths for a brief, disgusting moment. His eyes, dark and triumphant, locked onto hers. “Get her ready, Ballu.” His fingers, surprisingly deft, went to the knot of her saree, unravelling the fabric with practiced ease. The silk slid down, pooling around her feet, exposing the black lingerie beneath. The lace, meant for private comfort, now felt like a public display. She stood before them, bare to the waist, her breasts, 34B, pushed up by the flimsy bra, her nipples already taut from the raw humiliation.
A cold draft, or perhaps just a tremor of fear, prickled her skin. “Down on your knees, Mily,” Sid commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. He gestured towards Ballu, who stood with a knowing smirk, his trousers already unbuttoned, his cock, thick and purplish, springing free.
Her legs felt like lead, heavy and unwilling. But the memory of her mother’s face, pale and weak in the hospital bed, flashed before her. The debt. The unspoken threat. Her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, the rough texture of the carpet digging into her skin. Her head felt light, a detached observer watching her own body betray her. Ballu stepped closer, his heavy scent filling her nostrils. He pushed her head down, his hand firm on the back of her neck. His cock, thick and unyielding, pressed against her lips. A gag rose in her throat, bile burning. She clamped her lips shut, resisting. “Open up, slut,” Sid snarled, his foot nudging her side. The words were a hammer blow. Her lips parted, trembling. Ballu’s cock pushed past, thick and unyielding, scbanging against her teeth, then plunging into her mouth. The taste was metallic, musky, sickening. She gagged, her stomach churning, tears stinging her eyes.
Her throat constricted, but Ballu’s hand held her head firm, forcing her to take him deeper. She felt the heavy head of his cock press against her soft palate, the veins prominent against its shaft. Her jaw ached, her cheeks stretched, as she tried to accommodate the sheer size of him. She couldn't breathe properly, her nose filling with the acrid scent of his unwashed body. Each thrust was a painful violation, a constant reminder of her helplessness.
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the faded floral pattern of the carpet. A whimper escaped her, choked and muffled by the invading flesh. She wanted to bite, to tear, to fight, but the fear of Sid’s retribution, the image of her mother, paralyzed her. The rough texture of his foreskin rubbed against the delicate skin of her inner lips, a constant, sickening friction. She felt the pressure build, the fullness of him making her eyes water more.
Sid watched, a cruel smile playing on his lips, then pulled her away from Ballu, her face streaked with tears and saliva. He shoved her onto the floor, her back hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Her bare legs, trembling, were pushed apart, exposing her. The delicate silver anklet, still on her left foot, seemed to mock her vulnerability. Sid knelt between her splayed thighs, his eyes devouring her. His gaze, hot and possessive, lingered on her pussy, the dark hair a soft contrast against her milky skin. He leaned down, his bald head gleaming under the dim light, and his tongue, broad and wet, touched her clit.
A shock ran through her, an electric current of disgust and a perverse, unwanted sensation. She tried to pull her legs together, but his hands clamped onto her inner thighs, holding them wide. His tongue worked with a practiced, relentless rhythm, licking and lapping, teasing and tormenting.
The wetness spread quickly, a betrayal from her own body. She fought against it, against the rising tide of sensation, but the relentless pressure, the hot, wet friction, began to unravel her. “Ah-ah-ahhh,” a moan escaped her, raw and uncontrolled. Her hips began to arch, involuntarily lifting towards his face. Her fingers, usually so gentle, curled into claws, digging into his bald head, pulling him deeper into her dripping pussy. The soft bells of her anklet jingled faintly as her leg twitched. Each lick, each suck, sent shivers through her, her body betraying her with its response.
She wanted to hate it, to push him away, but the pleasure, sharp and undeniable, began to bloom, eclipsing the shame. Her nails, digging deeper, pulled at his scalp, a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable. Her legs, strong and shapely, locked around his shoulders, holding him captive as he devoured her. “Oh, God, oh, God,” she gasped, her voice hoarse, her body arching higher and higher.
The world narrowed to the wet, insistent pressure between her legs, the rhythmic shlicking sounds his tongue made. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurring. A wave built inside her, a tsunami of sensation, pulling her under. Her body convulsed, a violent tremor shaking her from head to toe. “Ahhhhhh!” she screamed, a guttural cry ripped from her throat, as the orgasm tore through her, a blinding white light. Her muscles spasmed, her hips bucking wildly.
She came, a gush of wet heat, all over his face, his bald head glistening with her essence. The silver anklet, still clinging to her left ankle, trembled with the aftershocks of her release. Sid pulled away, his face slick with her cum, a triumphant grin stretching his lips. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “She’s ready for you now, Ballu.”
Ballu, who had been watching with an eager glint in his eyes, wasted no time. He moved into position, his heavy frame settling between her legs. Her body still thrummed, a hollow ache where Sid’s tongue had been. She felt weak, spent, yet the tension coiled again, a new dread mixing with the lingering echoes of pleasure. Ballu spread her legs wider, his touch rougher, less precise than Sid’s. His face, pitted and coarse, lowered between her thighs. The scent of him, musky and strong, filled her senses. His tongue, thick and surprisingly agile, began to work on her clit. It was a different kind of assault, less skilled, more brutal, but no less effective. Her pussy, still throbbing from the last orgasm, responded with a traitorous readiness. The wetness returned, a fresh wave, as his tongue scbangd and licked, his breath hot against her swollen flesh. She tried to fight it, to clench, to deny her body its response, but the sensations were too overwhelming.
The sharp pangs of pleasure, mixed with the lingering humiliation, began to build again. “Mmmph… ahhh…” she moaned, her voice thick with unwilling pleasure. Her hands, still trembling, found his bald head, her nails digging in again, not in an act of aggression, but in a desperate attempt to anchor herself against the rising tide. She pulled him closer, deeper, her hips lifting, seeking the relentless friction. The silver anklet jingled, a frantic, desperate rhythm. The wave built faster this time, a quick, intense surge. Her body arched, her back bowing. “Ahhhhhh!” another scream tore from her, raw and primal, as she came again, a torrent of release, her muscles clenching around his face, her pussy pulsing with the force of it.
Sid moved then, scooping her up into his arms with surprising strength. Her body, limp and yielding, felt like a rag doll. He carried her towards the bedroom, her bare legs dangling, the silver anklet catching the light. Ballu followed close behind, his breath heavy. The bedroom, usually a sanctuary of quiet rest, now felt like a stage for their depravity. Sid laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. The cool sheets offered a brief, fleeting comfort. He positioned her, her legs bent, her pussy open and exposed. Ballu, meanwhile, climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above her head. “Ready for round three, Mily?” Sid’s voice was a low growl, a promise of more to come.
Ballu’s heavy hand gripped her head, tilting it back. His cock, still thick and engorged, pressed against her lips once more. This time, there was no resistance left, only a weary acceptance. Her mouth opened, a silent invitation, and he plunged inside, filling her. The familiar gag rose, but she swallowed it down, her throat accepting the invasion. He began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing deep into her mouth, her cheeks stretching, her jaw aching. At the same time, Sid positioned himself between her legs.
He lifted them, resting her ankles on his shoulders, exposing her pussy fully. The silver anklet, cool against his skin, rubbed against his shoulder as he settled. His cock, thick and rigid, pressed against her wet folds, then slid inside, filling her with a deep, stretching sensation. Mily’s body was a battlefield, assaulted from both ends. Ballu’s cock pounded her mouth, a relentless, rhythmic invasion, while Sid’s thrust deep into her pussy, stretching her, filling her completely. She could only manage a muffled, guttural *“Mmmmmmffffff”* as Ballu’s cock worked her mouth, her throat a tight tunnel around him.
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down her temples, disappearing into her loose hair. Her hands, frantic, reached out, finding Sid’s arms. Her shapely nails dug in, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin as she writhed beneath him, a prisoner to their combined assault. The pain and the pleasure mingled, a dizzying concoction that stole her breath. Sid’s hips drove into her, a powerful, insistent rhythm, while Ballu’s thrusts pounded her mouth, pushing deeper and deeper. The sounds of their bodies, wet and sloshing, filled the room: *shlicking* from her pussy, a wet, *squelching* sound from her mouth.
The air was pushed out of her lungs with each deep thrust. Ballu grunted, a deep, satisfied sound. His thrusts intensified, a final, desperate push. Then, with a shuddering groan, he pulled out of her mouth, a thick stream of cum erupting, spraying across her face, her hair, her closed eyelids. It was warm, sticky, and smelled faintly of ammonia. Almost simultaneously, Sid let out a roar, his body convulsing.
He drove into her one last, powerful time, his cum erupting deep inside her pussy, a hot, liquid invasion. “Ahhhhhh! Oh, God, oh, God!” Mily screamed, her voice raw, a mixture of ecstasy and profound release as Sid pulled out, his cock dripping. Her body, spent and trembling, collapsed onto the bed, her muscles quivering. They left her there, a crumpled heap on the bed, her face streaked with cum and tears, her pussy and mouth still throbbing. The silence, when they finally moved away, was deafening. She lay for a moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body heavy and aching. The stickiness on her face, the metallic taste in her mouth, the wetness between her legs – it was all too much. With a monumental effort, she pushed herself up. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out with each step, but she dragged herself to the washroom.
The cool water on her face, washing away the cum, the tears, the lipstick, felt like a small act of reclamation. She scrubbed at her hair, trying to remove the sticky residue. The mirror reflected a stranger, a woman with haunted eyes and bruised lips. She stared, unseeing, at her own reflection, the image blurring through a fresh wave of tears. This wasn't her. This couldn't be her.
She returned to the bedroom, her legs still unsteady, the metallic taste of fear coating her tongue. The two men were waiting, their eyes hungry, their cocks, surprisingly, already hard again. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wasn’t over. Not yet. “Get on your hands and knees, Mily,” Sid commanded, his voice flat. She obeyed, her movements stiff, her mind numb. She knelt on the bed, her ass raised, her pussy, swollen and slick, presented to them.
The silver anklet, now free, dangled from her left ankle. Ballu moved first, his heavy body pressing against her back. He positioned his cock, thick and veiny, at her pussy. With a grunt, he pushed, slowly at first, then with more force. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as he slid inside, filling her again. The sensation was deep, stretching, a familiar invasion. Then, Sid was behind her, his hand pushing her ass cheeks apart. His cock, surprisingly large, pressed against her asshole. A wave of panic, cold and sharp, washed over her. Anal. She had never… “Relax, Mily,” Sid’s voice was close to her ear, a low, menacing whisper. “It’ll feel good.” He pushed, a slow, insistent pressure. A sharp, searing pain shot through her.
She cried out, a strangled sound, her body tensing. “No, no, please!” she whimpered, her voice cracking. But he didn’t stop. He pushed harder, slowly, relentlessly, until the initial pain gave way to a stretching, tearing sensation. Then, with a final, determined thrust, he was in, filling her, stretching her to her absolute limit. The feeling was alien, overwhelming, a profound invasion. Ballu, meanwhile, began to thrust from the front, his cock pounding into her pussy with a steady rhythm. Mily cried out, her hands clutching at the bedsheet, her knuckles white.
Her body was being torn, stretched, filled from both ends. The double penetration was agonizing, yet, as her body adjusted, a strange, perverse pleasure began to bloom in the midst of the pain. The pressure, the fullness, the sheer intensity of it all, was unlike anything she had ever experienced. “Ahhhhh! Please, please, please!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, raw, echoing through the silent apartment. Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging, blurring her vision. Were they tears of pain? Or pleasure? She couldn't tell. Her hips bucked, her body writhing, caught between the two invading forces. The rhythm intensified, a relentless pounding, a primal drumbeat. Her pussy, her ass, both stretched and filled, were being hammered, relentlessly.
The silver anklet jingled, a frantic, desperate symphony accompanying her cries. The combined assault was too much, too intense. Her mind fractured, her body taking over. The pain, sharp and exquisite, mingled with a rising, blinding pleasure. She felt herself unraveling, losing control, her body a mere vessel for their brutal desires. Her screams became a continuous wail, a desperate plea for more, for less, for something she couldn’t articulate. Both men grunted, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Their thrusts became more frantic, more powerful, building towards a crescendo. Mily felt the pressure building, a volcanic eruption threatening to tear her apart. “Ahhhhhhh! OH GOD! OH GOD!” she shrieked, her voice tearing, as both men groaned, their bodies convulsing. They pulled out almost simultaneously, a gush of warm cum erupting from both her pussy and her ass, flowing down her thighs, mixing with her sweat and tears. They collapsed beside her, one on each side, their heavy bodies pressing against her. Ballu, still breathing heavily, reached out, his hand finding her milky breast.
He began to knead it, his thumb circling her nipple, then leaned down, his mouth closing over it, sucking gently. Mily lay there, spent, exhausted, her body a mass of throbbing aches and lingering tremors. A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound of utter depletion. The marathon of sex had left her hollowed out, empty. She could feel the wetness between her legs, the sticky residue on her face, the soreness in her mouth, her pussy, her ass.
The silver anklet, a silent witness, gleamed faintly in the dim light. After a few minutes, a lifetime, they stirred. Sid and Ballu slowly got up, their movements heavy. They dressed, their clothes rustling in the quiet room. Mily lay still, watching them through half-closed eyes, her mind a blank slate. As they reached the door, Ballu paused.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled 500 rupee notes. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he tossed them onto the bed beside her. The notes fluttered down, landing on the rumpled sheets, a stark, brutal insult. The metallic tang of the money, the crinkle of the paper, brought a fresh wave of nausea. Mily stared at the notes, then at the closed door where they had just exited. The question, sharp and searing, pierced through the haze of her exhaustion. *Am I their whore now?* The words echoed in the silence of the room, a bitter, chilling truth. The silver anklet, still on her left leg, felt heavier than lead. The sun, still high in the sky, cast long, accusatory shadows across the floor. The apartment, once her refuge, now felt like a cage. And Mily, the Bengali housewife, lay broken, violated, her identity shattered, the lingering scent of their cum a constant, sickening reminder of her new reality.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)