30-07-2026, 06:35 PM
“Chinaal randi,” Shamita spat, voice rising for the first time. “Tere boobs kon dhakega? Teri randi maa aayegi kya? Who’s going to cover these slut tits for you? Your whore mother coming to dress you up like a decent girl? No. They stay out. Naked. Swollen. Marked. Because that’s all they’re good for—taking punishment from someone who actually knows how to give it.”
Deepa gasped, body jerking forward from the force of the slap. Her breasts swung heavily, the fresh welts stinging like fire, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She pressed her face lower, tongue flattening against the cool marble, dragging long, wet trails through the combined mess—his pre-cum pooling in small lakes, her own arousal streaked in thin lines where it had dripped from her thighs. She licked faster now, desperate, sloppy—chin smearing with the slick, lips shining, small whimpers escaping every time her tongue scooped up another mouthful.
Mohan watched from his position—still on all fours, thong strings dangling from his stuffed mouth, cock throbbing untouched now, the heavy weight still pulling his balls downward, plug buzzing faintly from the earlier wand contact. His tears had slowed to silent tracks down his cheeks, but fresh ones welled at the sight: Deepa debased beside him, face pressed to the floor, ass up, licking their combined shame like it was nectar.
Shamita stepped between them, one stiletto heel planted deliberately in the largest remaining puddle. The leather sole pressed down, spreading the fluid outward in a slow circle.
“Missed a spot,” she said softly.
Deepa crawled forward immediately, tongue chasing the smear under Shamita’s shoe. She lapped at the edge of the heel, then higher—tasting the faint leather polish mixed with their juices—until Shamita lifted her foot just enough to let Deepa clean the underside. Deepa’s tongue worked diligently, circling the sharp point, sucking lightly at the tip like it was a cock.
Shamita watched with hooded eyes, then reached down and grabbed Deepa by the hair again—yanking her head up so her slick-shiny face was on display.
“Look at him,” Shamita ordered, turning Deepa’s head toward Mohan. “Look at the married man whose cock you almost made spill without permission. Look how hard he still is. How he’s crying for control he never had at home.”
Deepa’s eyes met Mohan’s—hers glassy with tears and lust, his wide and wrecked. A fresh bead of pre-cum welled at his slit and dripped free, landing inches from Deepa’s face.
Shamita released her hair.
“Finish the floor,” she said. “Then crawl back to him. Lick his cock clean too. Slow. No sucking. Just tongue. Edge him again—bring him right back to that brink—and stop the second he starts to throb like he’s going to come.”
Deepa nodded once—small, obedient—then dropped her head again, tongue sweeping the last scattered drops across the marble until it gleamed wet but clean under the lights.
When she was done, she crawled the short distance to Mohan, positioning herself beneath him. Her swollen, welted breasts brushed his thighs as she lifted her head.
Her tongue flicked out—soft, tentative at first—lapping the underside of his cock from base to tip, collecting the fresh pre-cum in slow, deliberate strokes. Mohan’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, a muffled groan vibrating around the thong gag.
Deepa’s tongue circled the head once, twice—teasing the slit—then flattened along the shaft again, milking upward in long, wet drags.
Mohan’s body began to tremble harder.
The edge returned—sharp, merciless.
Deepa felt it—the sudden thickening, the frantic pulse against her tongue—and stopped instantly, pulling back with a wet pop. She stayed there, inches away, breathing hot against his aching cock, watching it twitch and leak in frustration.
Shamita smiled—slow, predatory.
“Good girl,” she murmured. “Now both of you… stay exactly like that. Don’t move. Don’t touch. I want to see how long you can suffer together before one of you breaks and begs.”
She settled back into her chair, legs crossed, gloved fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.
The room filled with the sound of their ragged breathing.
And the soft, endless drip of denial.
Shamita’s gloved fingers hooked the dangling strings at the corners of Mohan’s mouth. She pulled slowly—deliberately—drawing the sodden thong out inch by inch. The fabric slid over his tongue with a wet, sucking sound, leaving his lips swollen and glistening. She held it up between them, inspecting it in the low light.
Bone dry.
Not a trace of moisture remained. The lace looked almost pristine, as if freshly laundered and sun-dried. Shamita’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile of approval—cold, but impressed.
“Good dog,” she murmured, voice soft enough to make Mohan’s cock twitch violently. “You sucked every filthy drop like your life depended on it.”
She folded the small triangle neatly—once, twice—into a compact wad no bigger than her thumb. Then she turned to Deepa, who was still on all fours, breasts hanging heavy and welted, face pressed low after cleaning the floor, ass presented high in instinctive submission.
Shamita crouched behind her protégé. With one gloved hand she parted Deepa’s swollen lips—exposing the slick, flushed pink of her entrance. Deepa whimpered, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
Shamita pressed the folded thong against her opening.
“Take it,” she ordered.
She pushed—slow, inexorable. The damp fabric disappeared inside Deepa’s cunt, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, inner walls clenching greedily around the intrusion. Only the three thin strings remained outside, dangling like obscene ribbons between her thighs.
Shamita wrapped the strings once around her index finger, then tugged—gentle at first, then harder. The fabric scbangd slowly along Deepa’s sensitive inner walls, the lace catching and dragging against every ridge and fold. Deepa’s back arched, a broken moan spilling from her lips. Her hips rocked back instinctively, chasing the friction.
Shamita played with the strings like a puppet master—pulling, twisting, letting them slip through her fingers only to yank again—each tug scbanging the bundled cloth deeper or dragging it outward just enough to tease without giving release. Deepa’s cunt clenched visibly around the intrusion, fresh slick coating the strings, dripping down her thighs in slow rivulets.
Then Shamita looked at Mohan—still on all fours, cock throbbing untouched, heavy weight swinging, plug still seated deep, tears dried into salty tracks on his cheeks.
“Your turn,” she said.
She released the strings and gestured to Deepa’s presented ass.
“Pull it out with your teeth. Slowly. Don’t tear it. Don’t rush. And while you do…”
She reached under Mohan, gloved hand wrapping around his aching cock once more—firm, expert grip. She began to stroke: long, slow pulls from root to tip, thumb circling the head on every upstroke, squeezing just below the corona on the downstroke.
“Every time you tug it out a little more,” Shamita continued, voice low and hypnotic, “I stroke you closer to the edge. But the second you start throbbing like you’re about to spill… I stop. Completely. Hands off. You stay denied. You stay desperate.”
Mohan crawled forward on shaking limbs, face lowering until his nose brushed the cleft of Deepa’s ass. The scent hit him—thick, musky, intoxicating—Deepa’s arousal mixed with the faint trace of her earlier juices still lingering on the fabric. He opened his mouth, teeth carefully catching the dangling strings.
He pulled.
The first inch emerged—slow, wet, dragging along her walls. Deepa moaned loudly, hips bucking backward, trying to keep it inside. Shamita’s hand sped up on Mohan’s cock—faster now, slick with his pre-cum, twisting at the head.
Mohan tugged again—another inch. The folded thong began to stretch her open as it slid outward, lace scbanging her clit on the way. Deepa cried out, thighs trembling.
Shamita stroked harder—relentless, perfect rhythm—bringing him right to the brink in seconds. His balls tightened, cock swelled impossibly thicker in her grip, the weight yanking downward with every heartbeat.
Then—stop.
Her hand vanished. Cold air hit his throbbing length. Mohan whined around the strings in his teeth, hips jerking uselessly into nothing.
“Keep going,” Shamita ordered.
He pulled again—teeth gripping tighter, careful not to bite through. Another inch. Deepa’s cunt fluttered visibly around the retreating fabric, slick pouring out in a fresh gush that coated Mohan’s chin.
Shamita’s hand returned—stroking again, faster this time, thumb pressing hard into the slit, milking more pre-cum. The edge crashed back in violent waves. Mohan’s whole body locked, muffled groan vibrating against Deepa’s ass.
Stop.
Again.
He tugged—halfway out now. The thong was soaked anew, strings dark and dripping. Deepa sobbed with need, rocking back, trying to fuck herself on the retreating bundle.
Shamita stroked—merciless, expert—edging him so close he could feel the orgasm coiling tight in his gut, ready to snap.
Stop.
Mohan’s tears started again—silent, frustrated. His cock jerked wildly in the empty air, leaking in thick, steady ropes that splattered the floor he’d just watched Deepa clean.
One final pull.
The thong slid free with a wet pop—Deepa’s cunt clenching on nothing, gaping slightly, dripping. Mohan held it between his teeth like a prize, strings hanging from his lips once more.
Shamita took it from him gently, dangling the freshly soaked fabric in front of his face.
“Look how wet she got just from your pathetic teeth,” she murmured. “Now open.”
Mohan obeyed. She stuffed it back into his mouth—deeper this time—packing his cheeks full again.
Then she leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“You’re going to keep that in while I decide how many more edges you can take before I let you beg properly.”
She wrapped her hand around his cock again.
And started stroking once more.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Unforgiving.
Shamita’s gloved hand tightened around the strings still dangling from Mohan’s stuffed mouth. She pulled the thong free again—slow, deliberate—watching his lips stretch and release around the fabric with a wet pop. It was soaked anew, heavy with Deepa’s fresh arousal from being buried inside her.
“Open wide, dog,” she ordered softly.
Mohan’s jaw dropped instantly, tongue flat, tears still tracking down his cheeks. Shamita stuffed the dripping bundle back in—deeper this time—packing his cheeks until they bulged, strings once more hanging like sad little leashes from the corners of his lips.
“Now lick it clean again,” she said, voice low and commanding. “Every drop you missed the first time. Suck it dry while you watch what you can never have.”
She turned to Deepa, who knelt trembling beside them—breasts welted and heaving, cunt still gaping slightly from the earlier intrusion, slick shining on her inner thighs.
“Deepa. Bring that greedy pussy right up to his lips. Close. But not touching. Not a single centimeter of contact. Let him smell it. Let him feel the heat. But if his tongue so much as grazes you, I’ll whip your clit until it swells twice its size.”
Deepa crawled forward on shaking knees, positioning herself directly in front of Mohan’s face. She spread her thighs wide, ass lifting slightly so her dripping cunt hovered mere centimeters from his nose and mouth. The scent hit him like a drug—thick, musky, intoxicating—warmth radiating off her swollen folds, a fresh bead of arousal welling at her entrance and threatening to drip. Her clit throbbed visibly, peeking from its hood, begging for attention he was forbidden to give.
Mohan’s muffled whimper vibrated around the thong. His eyes—red-rimmed, glassy—locked onto the glistening pink inches from his face. His tongue strained uselessly against the fabric gag, desperate to taste, to lap, to worship.
Shamita knelt behind him again, one hand wrapping around his tortured cock—grip iron-hard now, no more teasing slowness. She stroked him brutally: fast, rough pulls from base to tip, twisting viciously at the head, thumb digging into the slit on every upstroke. The heavy one-kilo weight swung wildly with each jerk of her wrist, yanking his balls downward in punishing rhythm.
Mohan sobbed harder—deep, broken sounds muffled by the thong—body shaking violently as the edge rushed back in like a tidal wave. His hips bucked helplessly into her fist, cock swelling thicker, veins pulsing, pre-cum pouring in thick ropes that splattered the floor between Deepa’s knees.
Shamita’s other hand reached past Mohan’s face—gloved fingers sliding straight into Deepa’s cunt without warning. Two, then three—rough, deep, curling hard against her front wall. She finger-fucked her protégé mercilessly right in front of Mohan’s eyes: wet, squelching thrusts, knuckles grinding against Deepa’s clit with every plunge. Deepa cried out, hips rocking forward instinctively, cunt clenching around Shamita’s fingers, fresh slick gushing out in rhythmic pulses that coated Shamita’s glove and dripped down onto Mohan’s chin.
“Look at it, Mohan,” Shamita hissed against his ear, stroking his cock even faster, harder. “Look how she comes apart for me. Look how wet she gets when she’s used properly. This is what your wife needed. This is what you could never give her.”
Deepa’s moans turned to high, desperate keens—body trembling, thighs quaking, cunt fluttering wildly around Shamita’s thrusting fingers. A fresh gush of her release squirted out, splashing Mohan’s lips, his cheeks, the strings dangling from his mouth. He sobbed harder—tears streaming, body convulsing—right on the brink, cock throbbing so violently in Shamita’s grip that it felt like it might burst.
And then Shamita released him.
Completely.
Her hand vanished from his cock.
In the same instant, she grabbed the short chain attached to the cock ring and yanked downward—hard. Brutal. The full one-kilo weight jerked violently, stretching his balls to their absolute limit in one savage pull.
Deepa gasped, body jerking forward from the force of the slap. Her breasts swung heavily, the fresh welts stinging like fire, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. She pressed her face lower, tongue flattening against the cool marble, dragging long, wet trails through the combined mess—his pre-cum pooling in small lakes, her own arousal streaked in thin lines where it had dripped from her thighs. She licked faster now, desperate, sloppy—chin smearing with the slick, lips shining, small whimpers escaping every time her tongue scooped up another mouthful.
Mohan watched from his position—still on all fours, thong strings dangling from his stuffed mouth, cock throbbing untouched now, the heavy weight still pulling his balls downward, plug buzzing faintly from the earlier wand contact. His tears had slowed to silent tracks down his cheeks, but fresh ones welled at the sight: Deepa debased beside him, face pressed to the floor, ass up, licking their combined shame like it was nectar.
Shamita stepped between them, one stiletto heel planted deliberately in the largest remaining puddle. The leather sole pressed down, spreading the fluid outward in a slow circle.
“Missed a spot,” she said softly.
Deepa crawled forward immediately, tongue chasing the smear under Shamita’s shoe. She lapped at the edge of the heel, then higher—tasting the faint leather polish mixed with their juices—until Shamita lifted her foot just enough to let Deepa clean the underside. Deepa’s tongue worked diligently, circling the sharp point, sucking lightly at the tip like it was a cock.
Shamita watched with hooded eyes, then reached down and grabbed Deepa by the hair again—yanking her head up so her slick-shiny face was on display.
“Look at him,” Shamita ordered, turning Deepa’s head toward Mohan. “Look at the married man whose cock you almost made spill without permission. Look how hard he still is. How he’s crying for control he never had at home.”
Deepa’s eyes met Mohan’s—hers glassy with tears and lust, his wide and wrecked. A fresh bead of pre-cum welled at his slit and dripped free, landing inches from Deepa’s face.
Shamita released her hair.
“Finish the floor,” she said. “Then crawl back to him. Lick his cock clean too. Slow. No sucking. Just tongue. Edge him again—bring him right back to that brink—and stop the second he starts to throb like he’s going to come.”
Deepa nodded once—small, obedient—then dropped her head again, tongue sweeping the last scattered drops across the marble until it gleamed wet but clean under the lights.
When she was done, she crawled the short distance to Mohan, positioning herself beneath him. Her swollen, welted breasts brushed his thighs as she lifted her head.
Her tongue flicked out—soft, tentative at first—lapping the underside of his cock from base to tip, collecting the fresh pre-cum in slow, deliberate strokes. Mohan’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, a muffled groan vibrating around the thong gag.
Deepa’s tongue circled the head once, twice—teasing the slit—then flattened along the shaft again, milking upward in long, wet drags.
Mohan’s body began to tremble harder.
The edge returned—sharp, merciless.
Deepa felt it—the sudden thickening, the frantic pulse against her tongue—and stopped instantly, pulling back with a wet pop. She stayed there, inches away, breathing hot against his aching cock, watching it twitch and leak in frustration.
Shamita smiled—slow, predatory.
“Good girl,” she murmured. “Now both of you… stay exactly like that. Don’t move. Don’t touch. I want to see how long you can suffer together before one of you breaks and begs.”
She settled back into her chair, legs crossed, gloved fingers drumming lightly on the armrest.
The room filled with the sound of their ragged breathing.
And the soft, endless drip of denial.
Shamita’s gloved fingers hooked the dangling strings at the corners of Mohan’s mouth. She pulled slowly—deliberately—drawing the sodden thong out inch by inch. The fabric slid over his tongue with a wet, sucking sound, leaving his lips swollen and glistening. She held it up between them, inspecting it in the low light.
Bone dry.
Not a trace of moisture remained. The lace looked almost pristine, as if freshly laundered and sun-dried. Shamita’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile of approval—cold, but impressed.
“Good dog,” she murmured, voice soft enough to make Mohan’s cock twitch violently. “You sucked every filthy drop like your life depended on it.”
She folded the small triangle neatly—once, twice—into a compact wad no bigger than her thumb. Then she turned to Deepa, who was still on all fours, breasts hanging heavy and welted, face pressed low after cleaning the floor, ass presented high in instinctive submission.
Shamita crouched behind her protégé. With one gloved hand she parted Deepa’s swollen lips—exposing the slick, flushed pink of her entrance. Deepa whimpered, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
Shamita pressed the folded thong against her opening.
“Take it,” she ordered.
She pushed—slow, inexorable. The damp fabric disappeared inside Deepa’s cunt, stretching her just enough to make her gasp, inner walls clenching greedily around the intrusion. Only the three thin strings remained outside, dangling like obscene ribbons between her thighs.
Shamita wrapped the strings once around her index finger, then tugged—gentle at first, then harder. The fabric scbangd slowly along Deepa’s sensitive inner walls, the lace catching and dragging against every ridge and fold. Deepa’s back arched, a broken moan spilling from her lips. Her hips rocked back instinctively, chasing the friction.
Shamita played with the strings like a puppet master—pulling, twisting, letting them slip through her fingers only to yank again—each tug scbanging the bundled cloth deeper or dragging it outward just enough to tease without giving release. Deepa’s cunt clenched visibly around the intrusion, fresh slick coating the strings, dripping down her thighs in slow rivulets.
Then Shamita looked at Mohan—still on all fours, cock throbbing untouched, heavy weight swinging, plug still seated deep, tears dried into salty tracks on his cheeks.
“Your turn,” she said.
She released the strings and gestured to Deepa’s presented ass.
“Pull it out with your teeth. Slowly. Don’t tear it. Don’t rush. And while you do…”
She reached under Mohan, gloved hand wrapping around his aching cock once more—firm, expert grip. She began to stroke: long, slow pulls from root to tip, thumb circling the head on every upstroke, squeezing just below the corona on the downstroke.
“Every time you tug it out a little more,” Shamita continued, voice low and hypnotic, “I stroke you closer to the edge. But the second you start throbbing like you’re about to spill… I stop. Completely. Hands off. You stay denied. You stay desperate.”
Mohan crawled forward on shaking limbs, face lowering until his nose brushed the cleft of Deepa’s ass. The scent hit him—thick, musky, intoxicating—Deepa’s arousal mixed with the faint trace of her earlier juices still lingering on the fabric. He opened his mouth, teeth carefully catching the dangling strings.
He pulled.
The first inch emerged—slow, wet, dragging along her walls. Deepa moaned loudly, hips bucking backward, trying to keep it inside. Shamita’s hand sped up on Mohan’s cock—faster now, slick with his pre-cum, twisting at the head.
Mohan tugged again—another inch. The folded thong began to stretch her open as it slid outward, lace scbanging her clit on the way. Deepa cried out, thighs trembling.
Shamita stroked harder—relentless, perfect rhythm—bringing him right to the brink in seconds. His balls tightened, cock swelled impossibly thicker in her grip, the weight yanking downward with every heartbeat.
Then—stop.
Her hand vanished. Cold air hit his throbbing length. Mohan whined around the strings in his teeth, hips jerking uselessly into nothing.
“Keep going,” Shamita ordered.
He pulled again—teeth gripping tighter, careful not to bite through. Another inch. Deepa’s cunt fluttered visibly around the retreating fabric, slick pouring out in a fresh gush that coated Mohan’s chin.
Shamita’s hand returned—stroking again, faster this time, thumb pressing hard into the slit, milking more pre-cum. The edge crashed back in violent waves. Mohan’s whole body locked, muffled groan vibrating against Deepa’s ass.
Stop.
Again.
He tugged—halfway out now. The thong was soaked anew, strings dark and dripping. Deepa sobbed with need, rocking back, trying to fuck herself on the retreating bundle.
Shamita stroked—merciless, expert—edging him so close he could feel the orgasm coiling tight in his gut, ready to snap.
Stop.
Mohan’s tears started again—silent, frustrated. His cock jerked wildly in the empty air, leaking in thick, steady ropes that splattered the floor he’d just watched Deepa clean.
One final pull.
The thong slid free with a wet pop—Deepa’s cunt clenching on nothing, gaping slightly, dripping. Mohan held it between his teeth like a prize, strings hanging from his lips once more.
Shamita took it from him gently, dangling the freshly soaked fabric in front of his face.
“Look how wet she got just from your pathetic teeth,” she murmured. “Now open.”
Mohan obeyed. She stuffed it back into his mouth—deeper this time—packing his cheeks full again.
Then she leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“You’re going to keep that in while I decide how many more edges you can take before I let you beg properly.”
She wrapped her hand around his cock again.
And started stroking once more.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Unforgiving.
Shamita’s gloved hand tightened around the strings still dangling from Mohan’s stuffed mouth. She pulled the thong free again—slow, deliberate—watching his lips stretch and release around the fabric with a wet pop. It was soaked anew, heavy with Deepa’s fresh arousal from being buried inside her.
“Open wide, dog,” she ordered softly.
Mohan’s jaw dropped instantly, tongue flat, tears still tracking down his cheeks. Shamita stuffed the dripping bundle back in—deeper this time—packing his cheeks until they bulged, strings once more hanging like sad little leashes from the corners of his lips.
“Now lick it clean again,” she said, voice low and commanding. “Every drop you missed the first time. Suck it dry while you watch what you can never have.”
She turned to Deepa, who knelt trembling beside them—breasts welted and heaving, cunt still gaping slightly from the earlier intrusion, slick shining on her inner thighs.
“Deepa. Bring that greedy pussy right up to his lips. Close. But not touching. Not a single centimeter of contact. Let him smell it. Let him feel the heat. But if his tongue so much as grazes you, I’ll whip your clit until it swells twice its size.”
Deepa crawled forward on shaking knees, positioning herself directly in front of Mohan’s face. She spread her thighs wide, ass lifting slightly so her dripping cunt hovered mere centimeters from his nose and mouth. The scent hit him like a drug—thick, musky, intoxicating—warmth radiating off her swollen folds, a fresh bead of arousal welling at her entrance and threatening to drip. Her clit throbbed visibly, peeking from its hood, begging for attention he was forbidden to give.
Mohan’s muffled whimper vibrated around the thong. His eyes—red-rimmed, glassy—locked onto the glistening pink inches from his face. His tongue strained uselessly against the fabric gag, desperate to taste, to lap, to worship.
Shamita knelt behind him again, one hand wrapping around his tortured cock—grip iron-hard now, no more teasing slowness. She stroked him brutally: fast, rough pulls from base to tip, twisting viciously at the head, thumb digging into the slit on every upstroke. The heavy one-kilo weight swung wildly with each jerk of her wrist, yanking his balls downward in punishing rhythm.
Mohan sobbed harder—deep, broken sounds muffled by the thong—body shaking violently as the edge rushed back in like a tidal wave. His hips bucked helplessly into her fist, cock swelling thicker, veins pulsing, pre-cum pouring in thick ropes that splattered the floor between Deepa’s knees.
Shamita’s other hand reached past Mohan’s face—gloved fingers sliding straight into Deepa’s cunt without warning. Two, then three—rough, deep, curling hard against her front wall. She finger-fucked her protégé mercilessly right in front of Mohan’s eyes: wet, squelching thrusts, knuckles grinding against Deepa’s clit with every plunge. Deepa cried out, hips rocking forward instinctively, cunt clenching around Shamita’s fingers, fresh slick gushing out in rhythmic pulses that coated Shamita’s glove and dripped down onto Mohan’s chin.
“Look at it, Mohan,” Shamita hissed against his ear, stroking his cock even faster, harder. “Look how she comes apart for me. Look how wet she gets when she’s used properly. This is what your wife needed. This is what you could never give her.”
Deepa’s moans turned to high, desperate keens—body trembling, thighs quaking, cunt fluttering wildly around Shamita’s thrusting fingers. A fresh gush of her release squirted out, splashing Mohan’s lips, his cheeks, the strings dangling from his mouth. He sobbed harder—tears streaming, body convulsing—right on the brink, cock throbbing so violently in Shamita’s grip that it felt like it might burst.
And then Shamita released him.
Completely.
Her hand vanished from his cock.
In the same instant, she grabbed the short chain attached to the cock ring and yanked downward—hard. Brutal. The full one-kilo weight jerked violently, stretching his balls to their absolute limit in one savage pull.
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