31-03-2026, 10:08 PM
Mallika turned her head slowly, her eyes like polished obsidian catching the low light. "Home?" She smiled, a thin, cold crescent. "Soon, Ayan. When Ravi is satisfied with her therapy." She gestured languidly toward the hallway. "Rohan, take Ayan to your room. Both of you play game now. Neha, remain here, I have few things to discuss with you" Her dismissal was absolute.
Back in Rohan’s room, the silence screamed louder than the Bollywood beat. I paced, the plush carpet swallowing my frantic steps. "I need to see what is going on" I hissed, stopping before Rohan. "Open that camera video feed now"
Rohan hesitated, fingers hovering over the laptop like it was radioactive. "Ayan, it should be worse now—you should not see this adult things”
"*Open it." My voice was low, trembling, but absolute. He flinched, then tapped the keys. The screen blinked awake, flooding the dim room with the Playroom’s harsh glare.
The top-down view from the mirrored ceiling was brutally clear. Ma lay naked on the stained leather bed, limbs still shackled wide apart. Her skin gleamed with sweat and oil under the lights. Deep, angry bite marks bloomed like dark bruises across the swell of her breasts and the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Her crimson silk saree lay ripped and scattered across the floor like discarded petals. Only the pearl necklace remained, incongruously elegant against the violence etched onto her skin, resting heavily between her breasts. Between her legs, thick, milky-white fluid dripped sluggishly from her swollen, parted folds onto the mattress cover beneath her hips, soaking into dark, wet patches.
Ravi Uncle sat slumped in a leather armchair near the corner, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curled lazily towards the ceiling vents. "See, Priya?" His voice rasped, thick with satisfaction and exhaustion. "The bitch finally understood what actual fucking feels like. No more delicate flower nonsense." He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. Priya, her face impassive, knelt by the bed, efficiently unlocking the heavy cuffs from Ma's ankles. Ma’s chest heaved with ragged, shallow breaths, making the pearls tremble against the bite marks. Her eyes stared blankly upwards, unfocused, tears dried in tracks on her temples.
Rohan’s finger trembled on the laptop’s touchpad. He zoomed in, the camera focusing brutally on Ma’s exposed sex. Thick, milky fluid seeped sluggishly from her swollen folds, pooling onto the stained leather mattress beneath her hips. The image was obscenely clinical under the harsh lights. Beside me, Rohan shifted uncomfortably. I glanced sideways. His hand was pressed flat against his thigh, but the bulge straining against his trousers was unmistakable. He wasn’t touching himself openly, but the rigid outline was clear – a traitorous response to the violation unfolding on screen. Shame burned hot in my own cheeks.
Then, deliberately, Rohan’s hand moved. He slipped it under the waistband of his trousers. A soft, rhythmic friction started beneath the fabric. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching Priya unlock Ma’s ankle cuffs. Ma’s chest heaved, making the pearls tremble against the bite marks. "Rohan?" My voice cracked, disbelief warring with nausea. "What... what are you doing?"
He flinched violently, snatching his hand away like he’d been burned. His face flushed crimson, eyes wide with panic. "Forget it!" he hissed, voice thick with shame. "Just... forget you saw that! Don’t look at me! Focus on... on your Ma!"
On screen, Priya finished unlocking the heavy cuffs from Ma’s ankles and moved to her wrists. The metal clattered open. "Stand up, Debjani-mem," Priya ordered, her voice flat. "I need to take you to the bathroom. Clean you." Ma stirred weakly, her head lolling towards Priya’s voice. Her lips moved, forming soundless words. Priya leaned closer. "Ayan?" Ma whispered, her voice a shredded thread. "Is... Ayan okay?"
Priya’s reply was brisk, impersonal. "He’s fine. Eating dinner. Now stand." Priya hooked an arm under Ma’s shoulders, trying to haul her upright. Ma’s legs buckled instantly, jelly-like. Priya staggered, unable to support her dead weight. Ma crumpled to the floor beside the stained bed with a dull thud, her limbs splayed awkwardly, the pearls swinging violently against her bruised chest. She moaned softly, curling in on herself.
Ravi chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette. "Useless," he muttered, standing. He pulled his trousers on, zipping them roughly, then tucked his phone into the pocket. He strode over, nudging Priya aside with his hip. "Move." Without ceremony, he bent, hooked an arm under Ma’s knees and another behind her back, and hoisted her limp body over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Her head lolled against his back, her dark hair obscuring her face. "I’ll handle the cleaning," he announced, adjusting her weight. "Properly." He carried her out of the Playroom, Ma’s bare feet dangling helplessly near his waist, leaving Priya staring at the wet stain on the mattress.
I whirled on Rohan. "*Where did he take her?*" My voice was a choked whisper. "*Where?*"
Rohan flinched, eyes darting to the laptop screen showing the empty Playroom. "*Probably... the main bathroom,"* he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. "Near his private suite. For... cleaning." He swallowed hard, then his fingers flew over the keyboard, closing the surveillance window. "But... look here" He clicked open a different folder, buried deep within his father’s encrypted files. It was labelled simply: *Inventory*.
The screen is filled with thumbnails – maybe a few dozens. Each showed a woman facing the camera against a homely background . Neha’s face stared back from one thumbnail, Priya’s from another, their expressions strained. Rohan double-clicked a video. A woman in her late forties, wearing a simple floral salwar kameez, stood nervously in what looked like the penthouse library. "My name is Sunita Sharma," she whispered, eyes downcast. "Age forty seven." An un known male voice off-camera, barked: "State your measurements. Chest, waist, hips." Sunita flinched, tears welling as she stammered the numbers. "Now remove your kurta." Sunita’s hands trembled violently as she fumbled with the buttons. "Faster!" The man behind the camera snapped. She obeyed, exposing her plain bra, then unhooked it with shaking fingers, revealing sagging breasts. "*Lower your salwar, bitch. Show your cunt." Sunita wept openly as she complied.
Rohan clicked another thumbnail. A younger woman,perhaps twenty-five, sat stiffly on a velvet sofa, wearing a bright red bridal lehenga, her hair adorned with fresh marigolds. "Introduce yourself," commanded a different male voice, deep and unfamiliar. "*I am... Rashmi Malhotra,” she stammered, her voice thick with tears. "Married... married a year ago."
"Tell us about your husband," the deep voice demanded. Priya Malhotra swallowed hard. "He... he is gentle. Kind." "Is he?" the voice mocked. "Then why are you here? Strip. Everything." Priya Malhotra’s hands shook uncontrollably as she began removing her heavy jewellery. "Faster," the voice growled. She sobbed, tearing at the lehenga hooks, exposing her plain white petticoat and blouse. "All of it," the voice ordered. She hesitated. "NOW!" She flinched, peeling off the blouse, then the petticoat, standing naked except for her bridal bangles and anklets. "On your knees." She sank down. "Open your mouth." The camera zoomed in as a thick, erect penis entered the frame, pushing roughly past her lips. "Suck it properly, bitch. Show us how a new wife pleases." She gagged, eyes squeezed shut.
"*Who are these men?*" I choked out.
Rohan slammed the laptop shut. "A lot of men worked under my dad. They manage most of the girls. Dad manages only the special ones." His voice was flat, hollow.
Rohan moved to the new one. "Look at this one." He clicked a thumbnail. A woman sat stiffly on the velvet sofa Mallika had lounged on earlier. She looked exactly like Ma – mid-thirties, Bengali features sharp with fear, dark hair pulled back tightly. She wore a simple cotton saree, faded floral print. The camera zoomed brutally close on her face. "State your name." Ravi Uncle’s voice, unmistakable, came from behind the camera.
"Sneha Saha," she whispered, eyes darting nervously. Her fingers twisted the edge of her pallu. "Age?" Ravi barked. "Thirty-four." Her voice cracked. "Measurements. Chest. Waist. Hips." Sneha flinched. "Please... I...*" "*State them!*" The command cracked like a whip. She choked out the numbers, humiliation staining her cheeks crimson.
The camera zoomed in. "Family?" Ravi demanded. "Husband..." Sneha stammered, "and two children." "Youngest?" "A baby boy..." Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "Four months." A pause. "The baby…" Ravi pressed, "is he your husband's?" Sneha froze. Tears welled. "No..." The admission was a strangled gasp. "From... another man.”
Behind the camera, Ravi chuckled. "Rajeev's kid?" Sneha nodded mutely. "Heard he knocked you up?" Sneha flinched. "Yes." "Good," Ravi declared. "A fertile cow." He leaned into frame, tapping the screen. "*See that mouth?*" He thrust a thick finger towards Sneha's lips. "Perfect cock-sucker." Sneha recoiled as Ravi shoved his finger brutally into her mouth, forcing her jaw wide. "Suck it! Show us!" She gagged, tears streaming, her lips stretched obscenely around his knuckle.
He withdrew his wet finger, smearing saliva across her chin. "Now show us those udders." Sneha trembled, fumbling with her blouse buttons. "Faster!" She ripped the fabric open, exposing large, heavy breasts swollen with milk, veins prominent beneath pale skin. "See that?" Ravi gloated, grabbing one breast roughly, squeezing until milk leaked in thin streams onto her saree. "Full buckets. Good for sharing." He pinched her nipple hard. "You like feeding other men? Like Rajeev? Like me?" Sneha whimpered, nodding desperately. "Yes..." "Louder!" "Yes!” she cried out, milk dripping onto her lap.
"Strip the rest." Ravi stepped back, camera focusing. Sneha wept silently as she unwound her saree, letting it pool around her ankles. She stood naked except for her petticoat, arms crossed over her sagging belly. "Petticoat off." She hesitated. "NOW!" She flinched, letting the thin slip fall. Her body was soft, stretched from childbirth, stretch marks like silver streaks across her hips. "Turn around." She obeyed, shaking. "Bend over.*
" Sneha bent forward, clutching her knees, exposing her full buttocks and the dark cleft between them. The camera zoomed brutally close on her anus and swollen vulva. "See that hole?" Ravi narrated to his unseen audience. "Untouched ass. Tight. Perfect for breaking." He jabbed a finger against her puckered opening. Sneha gasped. "And this sloppy cunt?" He spread her labia apart with two fingers, revealing glistening pink folds. "*Stretched out from Rajeev’s bastard. Ready for filling.*" Sneha sobbed, milk dripping onto the floor between her bare feet.
I slammed the laptop shut. The plastic casing cracked against the desk. "Enough!" My voice was raw, scbanging my throat. "*I don’t want to see anymore.*" Sneha’s milk-dripping breasts, the cruel inventory of her body – it wasn’t just Ma anymore. It was a factory line of violation. Rohan didn't argue. "I’m going to the living room," I declared, pushing back the chair. "To Mallika."
![[Image: IMG-9514.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/SXvWZHVm/IMG-9514.jpg)
online image sharing platform
Back in Rohan’s room, the silence screamed louder than the Bollywood beat. I paced, the plush carpet swallowing my frantic steps. "I need to see what is going on" I hissed, stopping before Rohan. "Open that camera video feed now"
Rohan hesitated, fingers hovering over the laptop like it was radioactive. "Ayan, it should be worse now—you should not see this adult things”
"*Open it." My voice was low, trembling, but absolute. He flinched, then tapped the keys. The screen blinked awake, flooding the dim room with the Playroom’s harsh glare.
The top-down view from the mirrored ceiling was brutally clear. Ma lay naked on the stained leather bed, limbs still shackled wide apart. Her skin gleamed with sweat and oil under the lights. Deep, angry bite marks bloomed like dark bruises across the swell of her breasts and the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Her crimson silk saree lay ripped and scattered across the floor like discarded petals. Only the pearl necklace remained, incongruously elegant against the violence etched onto her skin, resting heavily between her breasts. Between her legs, thick, milky-white fluid dripped sluggishly from her swollen, parted folds onto the mattress cover beneath her hips, soaking into dark, wet patches.
Ravi Uncle sat slumped in a leather armchair near the corner, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curled lazily towards the ceiling vents. "See, Priya?" His voice rasped, thick with satisfaction and exhaustion. "The bitch finally understood what actual fucking feels like. No more delicate flower nonsense." He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. Priya, her face impassive, knelt by the bed, efficiently unlocking the heavy cuffs from Ma's ankles. Ma’s chest heaved with ragged, shallow breaths, making the pearls tremble against the bite marks. Her eyes stared blankly upwards, unfocused, tears dried in tracks on her temples.
Rohan’s finger trembled on the laptop’s touchpad. He zoomed in, the camera focusing brutally on Ma’s exposed sex. Thick, milky fluid seeped sluggishly from her swollen folds, pooling onto the stained leather mattress beneath her hips. The image was obscenely clinical under the harsh lights. Beside me, Rohan shifted uncomfortably. I glanced sideways. His hand was pressed flat against his thigh, but the bulge straining against his trousers was unmistakable. He wasn’t touching himself openly, but the rigid outline was clear – a traitorous response to the violation unfolding on screen. Shame burned hot in my own cheeks.
Then, deliberately, Rohan’s hand moved. He slipped it under the waistband of his trousers. A soft, rhythmic friction started beneath the fabric. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching Priya unlock Ma’s ankle cuffs. Ma’s chest heaved, making the pearls tremble against the bite marks. "Rohan?" My voice cracked, disbelief warring with nausea. "What... what are you doing?"
He flinched violently, snatching his hand away like he’d been burned. His face flushed crimson, eyes wide with panic. "Forget it!" he hissed, voice thick with shame. "Just... forget you saw that! Don’t look at me! Focus on... on your Ma!"
On screen, Priya finished unlocking the heavy cuffs from Ma’s ankles and moved to her wrists. The metal clattered open. "Stand up, Debjani-mem," Priya ordered, her voice flat. "I need to take you to the bathroom. Clean you." Ma stirred weakly, her head lolling towards Priya’s voice. Her lips moved, forming soundless words. Priya leaned closer. "Ayan?" Ma whispered, her voice a shredded thread. "Is... Ayan okay?"
Priya’s reply was brisk, impersonal. "He’s fine. Eating dinner. Now stand." Priya hooked an arm under Ma’s shoulders, trying to haul her upright. Ma’s legs buckled instantly, jelly-like. Priya staggered, unable to support her dead weight. Ma crumpled to the floor beside the stained bed with a dull thud, her limbs splayed awkwardly, the pearls swinging violently against her bruised chest. She moaned softly, curling in on herself.
Ravi chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette. "Useless," he muttered, standing. He pulled his trousers on, zipping them roughly, then tucked his phone into the pocket. He strode over, nudging Priya aside with his hip. "Move." Without ceremony, he bent, hooked an arm under Ma’s knees and another behind her back, and hoisted her limp body over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Her head lolled against his back, her dark hair obscuring her face. "I’ll handle the cleaning," he announced, adjusting her weight. "Properly." He carried her out of the Playroom, Ma’s bare feet dangling helplessly near his waist, leaving Priya staring at the wet stain on the mattress.
I whirled on Rohan. "*Where did he take her?*" My voice was a choked whisper. "*Where?*"
Rohan flinched, eyes darting to the laptop screen showing the empty Playroom. "*Probably... the main bathroom,"* he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. "Near his private suite. For... cleaning." He swallowed hard, then his fingers flew over the keyboard, closing the surveillance window. "But... look here" He clicked open a different folder, buried deep within his father’s encrypted files. It was labelled simply: *Inventory*.
The screen is filled with thumbnails – maybe a few dozens. Each showed a woman facing the camera against a homely background . Neha’s face stared back from one thumbnail, Priya’s from another, their expressions strained. Rohan double-clicked a video. A woman in her late forties, wearing a simple floral salwar kameez, stood nervously in what looked like the penthouse library. "My name is Sunita Sharma," she whispered, eyes downcast. "Age forty seven." An un known male voice off-camera, barked: "State your measurements. Chest, waist, hips." Sunita flinched, tears welling as she stammered the numbers. "Now remove your kurta." Sunita’s hands trembled violently as she fumbled with the buttons. "Faster!" The man behind the camera snapped. She obeyed, exposing her plain bra, then unhooked it with shaking fingers, revealing sagging breasts. "*Lower your salwar, bitch. Show your cunt." Sunita wept openly as she complied.
Rohan clicked another thumbnail. A younger woman,perhaps twenty-five, sat stiffly on a velvet sofa, wearing a bright red bridal lehenga, her hair adorned with fresh marigolds. "Introduce yourself," commanded a different male voice, deep and unfamiliar. "*I am... Rashmi Malhotra,” she stammered, her voice thick with tears. "Married... married a year ago."
"Tell us about your husband," the deep voice demanded. Priya Malhotra swallowed hard. "He... he is gentle. Kind." "Is he?" the voice mocked. "Then why are you here? Strip. Everything." Priya Malhotra’s hands shook uncontrollably as she began removing her heavy jewellery. "Faster," the voice growled. She sobbed, tearing at the lehenga hooks, exposing her plain white petticoat and blouse. "All of it," the voice ordered. She hesitated. "NOW!" She flinched, peeling off the blouse, then the petticoat, standing naked except for her bridal bangles and anklets. "On your knees." She sank down. "Open your mouth." The camera zoomed in as a thick, erect penis entered the frame, pushing roughly past her lips. "Suck it properly, bitch. Show us how a new wife pleases." She gagged, eyes squeezed shut.
"*Who are these men?*" I choked out.
Rohan slammed the laptop shut. "A lot of men worked under my dad. They manage most of the girls. Dad manages only the special ones." His voice was flat, hollow.
Rohan moved to the new one. "Look at this one." He clicked a thumbnail. A woman sat stiffly on the velvet sofa Mallika had lounged on earlier. She looked exactly like Ma – mid-thirties, Bengali features sharp with fear, dark hair pulled back tightly. She wore a simple cotton saree, faded floral print. The camera zoomed brutally close on her face. "State your name." Ravi Uncle’s voice, unmistakable, came from behind the camera.
"Sneha Saha," she whispered, eyes darting nervously. Her fingers twisted the edge of her pallu. "Age?" Ravi barked. "Thirty-four." Her voice cracked. "Measurements. Chest. Waist. Hips." Sneha flinched. "Please... I...*" "*State them!*" The command cracked like a whip. She choked out the numbers, humiliation staining her cheeks crimson.
The camera zoomed in. "Family?" Ravi demanded. "Husband..." Sneha stammered, "and two children." "Youngest?" "A baby boy..." Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "Four months." A pause. "The baby…" Ravi pressed, "is he your husband's?" Sneha froze. Tears welled. "No..." The admission was a strangled gasp. "From... another man.”
Behind the camera, Ravi chuckled. "Rajeev's kid?" Sneha nodded mutely. "Heard he knocked you up?" Sneha flinched. "Yes." "Good," Ravi declared. "A fertile cow." He leaned into frame, tapping the screen. "*See that mouth?*" He thrust a thick finger towards Sneha's lips. "Perfect cock-sucker." Sneha recoiled as Ravi shoved his finger brutally into her mouth, forcing her jaw wide. "Suck it! Show us!" She gagged, tears streaming, her lips stretched obscenely around his knuckle.
He withdrew his wet finger, smearing saliva across her chin. "Now show us those udders." Sneha trembled, fumbling with her blouse buttons. "Faster!" She ripped the fabric open, exposing large, heavy breasts swollen with milk, veins prominent beneath pale skin. "See that?" Ravi gloated, grabbing one breast roughly, squeezing until milk leaked in thin streams onto her saree. "Full buckets. Good for sharing." He pinched her nipple hard. "You like feeding other men? Like Rajeev? Like me?" Sneha whimpered, nodding desperately. "Yes..." "Louder!" "Yes!” she cried out, milk dripping onto her lap.
"Strip the rest." Ravi stepped back, camera focusing. Sneha wept silently as she unwound her saree, letting it pool around her ankles. She stood naked except for her petticoat, arms crossed over her sagging belly. "Petticoat off." She hesitated. "NOW!" She flinched, letting the thin slip fall. Her body was soft, stretched from childbirth, stretch marks like silver streaks across her hips. "Turn around." She obeyed, shaking. "Bend over.*
" Sneha bent forward, clutching her knees, exposing her full buttocks and the dark cleft between them. The camera zoomed brutally close on her anus and swollen vulva. "See that hole?" Ravi narrated to his unseen audience. "Untouched ass. Tight. Perfect for breaking." He jabbed a finger against her puckered opening. Sneha gasped. "And this sloppy cunt?" He spread her labia apart with two fingers, revealing glistening pink folds. "*Stretched out from Rajeev’s bastard. Ready for filling.*" Sneha sobbed, milk dripping onto the floor between her bare feet.
I slammed the laptop shut. The plastic casing cracked against the desk. "Enough!" My voice was raw, scbanging my throat. "*I don’t want to see anymore.*" Sneha’s milk-dripping breasts, the cruel inventory of her body – it wasn’t just Ma anymore. It was a factory line of violation. Rohan didn't argue. "I’m going to the living room," I declared, pushing back the chair. "To Mallika."
online image sharing platform
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)