30-07-2026, 06:43 PM
Mohan’s vision whited out for a second. Dizziness crashed over him like a wave—head spinning, ears ringing, knees buckling beneath him. He collapsed forward onto his forearms, ass still high, plug shifting deep inside from the sudden movement, cock swinging free and untouched, throbbing in agonized denial. A strangled, high-pitched cry tore from his throat around the thong gag—half sob, half scream—tears pouring freely now, mixing with Deepa’s slick on his face.
Shamita stood slowly, wiping her dripping fingers on Mohan’s back like he was nothing more than a rag.
“Poor married boy,” she murmured, almost tenderly. “So close. So fucking close. And still not allowed.”
She looked down at Deepa—still trembling, cunt clenching on nothing, face flushed with denied release—and then back at Mohan—dizzy, sobbing, cock leaking in hopeless pulses.
“Both of you stay exactly like that,” she said. “No touching. No moving. Just suffer for me.”
She stepped back to her chair, settling in with crossed legs, gloved hands resting calmly in her lap.
The room echoed with their ragged breathing, Mohan’s muffled sobs, and the soft, endless drip of their combined frustration onto the spotless marble.
Shamita smiled.
And waited.
Mohan’s sobs had turned raw—deep, guttural, chest-heaving cries muffled around the thong still packed tight in his mouth. His body shook like it was coming apart at the seams: cock throbbing untouched, heavy weight dragging his balls into constant agony, tears streaming unchecked, mixing with Deepa’s slick on his chin and lips. The edge Shamita had left him on felt like a physical thing—sharp, merciless, lodged in his gut and refusing to fade.
Then—sudden, brutal relief mixed with fresh torment.
Shamita’s gloved hand wrapped around the flared base of the plug. One swift, merciless tug.
The thick silicone slid free from Mohan’s stretched hole in a single, slick pull. His ass clenched violently on nothing, the sudden emptiness making him gasp around the gag—a high, broken sound that dissolved into another sob. The cool air hit his gaping rim like ice; his cock jumped, leaking a fresh rope of pre-cum that splattered between his spread knees.
Shamita didn’t pause.
She turned the glistening plug—still warm from Mohan’s body, slick with lube and traces of him—and pressed it straight to Deepa’s dripping entrance.
“Spread wider, slut,” she ordered.
Deepa obeyed instantly, thighs parting further, ass lifting higher. Shamita pushed the plug in—slow at first, letting Deepa feel every ridge and swell as it stretched her open. Then harder. Deeper. She fucked Deepa with it—rough, rhythmic thrusts that made the younger woman’s body jolt forward with each plunge. The plug disappeared to the base again and again, Shamita twisting it on the outstroke, grinding the widest part against Deepa’s swollen clit before slamming it back in.
Deepa’s moans turned frantic—high, keening, breathless. Her cunt clenched greedily around the silicone, slick pouring out in thick rivulets that coated Shamita’s glove and dripped onto the marble. Her hips rocked back desperately, chasing the rhythm, chasing release. Her welted breasts bounced with every thrust; her face—still red and puffy from the slaps—twisted in agonized pleasure.
Shamita watched her closely, timing it perfectly.
The exact moment Deepa’s thighs began to quake, her breath hitching in that telltale way, Shamita yanked the plug free in one vicious motion.
Deepa’s cunt spasmed on emptiness—clenching, fluttering, gaping. A frustrated cry tore from her throat; her whole body shuddered violently, hips bucking into nothing. She collapsed forward onto her forearms, ass still high, pussy throbbing and denied, slick dripping in slow, frustrated pulses. Breathless gasps filled the room—ragged, desperate, almost sobs of their own.
Shamita held the dripping plug up between them—coated thick with Deepa’s arousal, glistening under the lights.
“Clean it,” she said simply.
Deepa lifted her head, eyes glassy, lips parted. She crawled forward without hesitation, mouth opening wide. Shamita fed the plug between her lips—slow, deliberate—pushing until Deepa’s cheeks bulged around the thickest part. Deepa sucked hungrily, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as she drew every trace of herself off the silicone. She bobbed her head, taking it deeper, throat working visibly as she swallowed the mix of lube, her own juices, and the faint musk of Mohan’s earlier stretch.
When Shamita finally pulled it free, the plug gleamed—spotless, almost brand new, slick only with Deepa’s spit.
Shamita inspected it with cool approval, then set it aside on the velvet tray.
She looked between them: Mohan still on all fours, sobbing quietly now, cock twitching in hopeless denial; Deepa kneeling beside him, breathless, cunt clenching on nothing, face flushed and wrecked.
Shamita stepped closer to Mohan, crouching so her face was level with his tear-streaked one. She hooked a gloved finger under his chin, tilting it up.
“You felt that emptiness,” she murmured. “How it hurts more than being filled. How it makes everything sharper. That’s what your wife felt every time you pulled out too soon, left her aching.”
She released him, letting his head drop.
Then she turned to Deepa.
“And you… you just learned what denial really tastes like. You’ll remember it.”
Shamita rose, heels clicking once as she returned to her chair. She settled in, legs crossed, gloved hands resting calmly on her thighs.
“Now both of you,” she said softly, voice carrying that unmistakable edge of finality, “stay on your knees. No touching. No speaking. Just feel it. Let it burn.”
She clicked the edging wand back on—lowest setting again—and set it aside on the armrest, buzzing faintly like a promise.
The room filled once more with their ragged breathing, muffled sobs, and the soft, relentless drip of their shared frustration.
Shamita watched.
And smiled.
Shamita’s gloved hand moved to the chain between Mohan’s thighs. With a single, deliberate flick of her wrist, she unclipped the one-kilo weight. The steel ring remained locked tight around the base of his cock and balls, but the brutal downward pull vanished in an instant.
Mohan’s cock—finally freed from constant torture—snapped upward like a released spring. It stood rigid, almost vertical, veins bulging, head flushed dark purple and glistening with the pre-cum that had been leaking for what felt like hours. The sudden release of tension sent a violent shudder through his entire body; his hips jerked forward involuntarily, cock bobbing heavily in the air, harder and prouder than it had ever been.
Shamita stared at it for a long second—impressed, predatory—then her hand cracked across Mohan’s face in a single, open-palmed slap that rang through the room like a gunshot.
His head snapped sideways, cheek blooming red instantly, a fresh sting layering over the dried tears and smeared arousal. The impact jolted him back to sharp awareness.
“Fuck her,” Shamita ordered, voice low and lethal. “Like this is the last fuck you’ll ever get on this earth. No holding back. No mercy. No thinking about your wife, your guilt, your pathetic failures. You pound her until she screams. Until she breaks. Show me what that cock can do when it’s finally unleashed.”
Mohan’s eyes—red-rimmed, wild—locked onto Deepa. All the humiliation, the edging, the sobbing, the weighted agony, the plug’s stretch—it burned away in a single, primal surge.
Something animal took over.
He pounced.
No crawl, no hesitation. He surged forward on powerful legs, bodybuilder frame coiling and exploding. Deepa barely had time to gasp before he was on her—hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, flipping her onto her back in one rough motion. Her legs splayed wide instinctively, cunt still swollen and dripping from the earlier denial.
Mohan didn’t aim. Didn’t ease in.
He drove forward in one savage, unbroken thrust—his entire thick length slamming home to the hilt.
Deepa’s scream tore through the apartment—raw, high, animal.
The sudden stretch was brutal. Her entrance tore just a fraction at the corners, a sharp, stinging burn flaring inside her as his girth forced her walls apart without preamble. The ring at his base ground against her clit on impact, the steel cold against her overheated flesh. She arched off the marble, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails across sweat-slick muscle. Her cunt clenched violently around him—half pain, half desperate welcome—slick gushing out around his shaft in a fresh flood.
“Fuuuck—!” Deepa wailed, voice cracking, thighs quaking around his waist.
Mohan didn’t stop. Didn’t pause to let her adjust.
He pulled back almost to the tip—then slammed in again. Harder. Deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely. Each thrust drove the air from her lungs in sharp, broken cries. Her breasts bounced wildly with the force, welted skin flushing darker. Her head thrashed side to side, hair sticking to her tear-streaked face.
Mohan fucked like a man possessed—like every denied orgasm, every sob, every humiliating confession had been fuel poured straight into his veins. His hips pistoned relentlessly, thick cock splitting her open again and again, the steel ring battering her clit on every inward stroke. He growled low in his throat—wordless, feral—hands pinning her wrists above her head, body caging hers completely.
Deepa’s screams turned to ragged, sobbing moans. Pain blurred into something hotter, sharper—pleasure ripping through her like lightning. Her cunt fluttered wildly around him, walls spasming, trying to grip the brutal invasion. Slick poured out with every withdrawal, coating his balls, dripping down her ass to pool on the marble.
Shamita watched from her chair—legs crossed, gloved fingers steepled under her chin, expression cool and unreadable.
“Harder,” she said quietly.
Mohan obeyed without thought. He hooked one of Deepa’s legs over his shoulder, opening her wider, driving even deeper. The new angle let him grind against her cervix with every thrust; Deepa’s back bowed, a fresh scream ripping free as something inside her shattered open.
She came without warning—violent, full-body convulsions, cunt clamping down so hard around his cock that Mohan’s rhythm stuttered for the first time. Her release squirted out around him in hot pulses, soaking his thighs, his abs, the floor beneath them.
But he didn’t stop.
He fucked her through it—through the oversensitive spasms, through her clawing at his back, through her begging, broken pleas that dissolved into wordless wails.
Shamita’s voice cut through again—soft, almost gentle.
“Keep going, Mohan. Don’t you dare come yet. This isn’t about your release. This is about showing me—and her—what you’ve been holding back all these months.”
Mohan’s face twisted—teeth bared, sweat dripping from his brow, muscles corded and trembling. He pounded deeper, faster, hips snapping with punishing force.
Deepa was lost—body limp and shaking, cunt still fluttering in aftershocks, fresh tears streaming as another orgasm built impossibly fast on the ruins of the first.
And still he fucked.
Like it really was his last.
Slaaaaaat.
The sharp crack of Shamita’s leather-gloved hand landed square across Mohan’s ass—right over the still-tender, gaping hole where the plug had been ripped out earlier. The sting exploded like fire; his whole body lurched forward, cock slipping free from Deepa’s spasming cunt with a wet, obscene pop. A thick rope of her slick and his pre-cum stretched between them for a split second before snapping.
“I didn’t give permission to cum,” Shamita snarled, voice low and venomous. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back until his throat arched. “You think you get to finish inside her just because she’s screaming?
No. You fuck her until I say stop. Destroy that pussy. Slap those tits like you fucking own them. Show me the animal you’ve been hiding.”
Mohan’s eyes were wild—pupils blown black, tears still wet on his cheeks, but something feral had taken root. He didn’t hesitate.
He slammed back into Deepa in one brutal, unbroken thrust—deeper than before, hips crashing against hers with bone-jarring force. Deepa’s scream ripped raw from her throat; her body bucked, head thrashing side to side, eyes rolling back as the stretch burned fresh fire through her torn entrance. She could barely stay conscious—lids fluttering, mouth open in endless, broken wails—yet her cunt clenched greedily around him, milking despite the pain.
Mohan fucked her like she was nothing more than a cheap, disposable toy. Sasti randi. His hands came down hard—open-palmed slaps cracking across her swollen, welted breasts, making them bounce and redden further. Each impact drew a fresh scream from her, high and shattered.
“Tu meri biwi nahi hai…” he growled through gritted teeth, voice hoarse and unhinged. “Meri randi hai… meri sasti randi…”
Another slap—across her face this time—hard enough to turn her cheek scarlet. Deepa’s head snapped sideways; tears streamed, but her hips still lifted instinctively to meet his punishing rhythm.
Shamita laughed—low, throaty, delighted.
“Good dog, Mohan,” she purred. “She deserves that. Every fucking word.”
Without warning, Shamita stepped forward, swung one leg over Deepa’s face, and lowered herself—straddling her mouth, cunt pressing down firmly. Deepa’s muffled cry vibrated against Shamita’s folds as her tongue shot out instinctively, lapping, sucking, desperate to please even through the haze of overstimulation.
“Eat me properly, slut,” Shamita commanded, grinding slowly, riding Deepa’s face with deliberate rolls of her hips. “Tongue deep. Don’t you dare stop.”
Deepa obeyed—frantic, sloppy, tongue plunging inside while her body jolted with every brutal thrust from Mohan.
Shamita lifted herself after a minute, slick shining on Deepa’s chin and lips.
“Now you,” she said to Mohan, voice thick with arousal. She turned, bent slightly, presenting her ass. “Suck it. Tongue in deep. Worship like the dog you are.”
Mohan pulled out of Deepa with a wet gasp—cock glistening, throbbing, veins standing out like cords. He dropped to his knees behind Shamita without a second thought, hands spreading her cheeks, tongue diving straight into her tight ring. He licked, sucked, probed deep—hungry, obedient, moaning into her flesh while his cock bobbed untouched between his thighs.
Deepa lay beneath them—chest heaving, cunt gaping and red, multiple orgasms having left her limp and trembling, yet still whimpering softly.
Mohan’s rhythm faltered; his cock swelled impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight. He was right there—again—teetering.
Shamita felt it. She spun, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him toward her.
“Fuck me now,” she ordered.
She shoved him onto his back on the marble—cold against his sweat-slick skin—then straddled him in one fluid motion. She sank down hard, taking every inch in a single, claiming drop. Mohan groaned like he’d been gut-punched; his hands flew to her hips instinctively.
Shamita rode him mercilessly—hard, fast, hips snapping down with punishing force. She slapped him across the face—once, twice, three times—each crack echoing as she ground her clit against his pubic bone.
“Don’t you dare come,” she hissed between slaps. “Not yet.”
She flipped them—onto her hands and knees, ass up. Mohan mounted her from behind, pounding deep while she reached back to slap his thigh, his ass, urging him harder.
Missionary next—legs over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, her nails raking down his chest as she slapped his face again.
Against the wall—her back pressed to cool plaster, one leg hooked around his waist, riding him standing while she bit his shoulder and slapped his cheek red.
Thirty minutes of it—position after position, relentless, merciless.
Mohan sobbed openly now—tears pouring, body shaking, cock so hard it hurt, every thrust a knife-edge of denial. Deepa watched from the floor—curled, spent, fingers weakly circling her own clit—whimpering at the sight.
Finally Shamita locked eyes with him—dark, commanding.
“Come,” she whispered. “Now.”
Mohan shattered.
His scream tore from his throat—raw, primal, almost animal—as the orgasm ripped through him like a volcano. Thick ropes of cum erupted deep inside her, pulse after violent pulse, hips jerking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down his face; his whole body convulsed, muscles locking and releasing in waves. He cried like a man broken open—sobbing her name, sobbing apologies, sobbing gratitude.
Shamita clenched around him—once, twice—her own orgasms crashing through her in sharp, shuddering bursts. She came with a low, triumphant moan, nails digging into his shoulders, milking every drop from him while her cunt fluttered and spasmed.
When it finally ended, Mohan collapsed forward—still buried inside her—chest heaving, tears dripping onto her skin. Shamita held him there, one hand stroking through his sweat-matted hair almost gently.
“Good dog,” she murmured against his ear. “You finally earned it.”
Deepa lay nearby—exhausted, marked, dripping—watching them with glassy, awed eyes.
The room smelled of sex, sweat, and surrender.
And for the first time that night, the only sounds were soft, ragged breaths—and the faint, satisfied hum of Shamita’s laughter.
Shamita stood slowly, wiping her dripping fingers on Mohan’s back like he was nothing more than a rag.
“Poor married boy,” she murmured, almost tenderly. “So close. So fucking close. And still not allowed.”
She looked down at Deepa—still trembling, cunt clenching on nothing, face flushed with denied release—and then back at Mohan—dizzy, sobbing, cock leaking in hopeless pulses.
“Both of you stay exactly like that,” she said. “No touching. No moving. Just suffer for me.”
She stepped back to her chair, settling in with crossed legs, gloved hands resting calmly in her lap.
The room echoed with their ragged breathing, Mohan’s muffled sobs, and the soft, endless drip of their combined frustration onto the spotless marble.
Shamita smiled.
And waited.
Mohan’s sobs had turned raw—deep, guttural, chest-heaving cries muffled around the thong still packed tight in his mouth. His body shook like it was coming apart at the seams: cock throbbing untouched, heavy weight dragging his balls into constant agony, tears streaming unchecked, mixing with Deepa’s slick on his chin and lips. The edge Shamita had left him on felt like a physical thing—sharp, merciless, lodged in his gut and refusing to fade.
Then—sudden, brutal relief mixed with fresh torment.
Shamita’s gloved hand wrapped around the flared base of the plug. One swift, merciless tug.
The thick silicone slid free from Mohan’s stretched hole in a single, slick pull. His ass clenched violently on nothing, the sudden emptiness making him gasp around the gag—a high, broken sound that dissolved into another sob. The cool air hit his gaping rim like ice; his cock jumped, leaking a fresh rope of pre-cum that splattered between his spread knees.
Shamita didn’t pause.
She turned the glistening plug—still warm from Mohan’s body, slick with lube and traces of him—and pressed it straight to Deepa’s dripping entrance.
“Spread wider, slut,” she ordered.
Deepa obeyed instantly, thighs parting further, ass lifting higher. Shamita pushed the plug in—slow at first, letting Deepa feel every ridge and swell as it stretched her open. Then harder. Deeper. She fucked Deepa with it—rough, rhythmic thrusts that made the younger woman’s body jolt forward with each plunge. The plug disappeared to the base again and again, Shamita twisting it on the outstroke, grinding the widest part against Deepa’s swollen clit before slamming it back in.
Deepa’s moans turned frantic—high, keening, breathless. Her cunt clenched greedily around the silicone, slick pouring out in thick rivulets that coated Shamita’s glove and dripped onto the marble. Her hips rocked back desperately, chasing the rhythm, chasing release. Her welted breasts bounced with every thrust; her face—still red and puffy from the slaps—twisted in agonized pleasure.
Shamita watched her closely, timing it perfectly.
The exact moment Deepa’s thighs began to quake, her breath hitching in that telltale way, Shamita yanked the plug free in one vicious motion.
Deepa’s cunt spasmed on emptiness—clenching, fluttering, gaping. A frustrated cry tore from her throat; her whole body shuddered violently, hips bucking into nothing. She collapsed forward onto her forearms, ass still high, pussy throbbing and denied, slick dripping in slow, frustrated pulses. Breathless gasps filled the room—ragged, desperate, almost sobs of their own.
Shamita held the dripping plug up between them—coated thick with Deepa’s arousal, glistening under the lights.
“Clean it,” she said simply.
Deepa lifted her head, eyes glassy, lips parted. She crawled forward without hesitation, mouth opening wide. Shamita fed the plug between her lips—slow, deliberate—pushing until Deepa’s cheeks bulged around the thickest part. Deepa sucked hungrily, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as she drew every trace of herself off the silicone. She bobbed her head, taking it deeper, throat working visibly as she swallowed the mix of lube, her own juices, and the faint musk of Mohan’s earlier stretch.
When Shamita finally pulled it free, the plug gleamed—spotless, almost brand new, slick only with Deepa’s spit.
Shamita inspected it with cool approval, then set it aside on the velvet tray.
She looked between them: Mohan still on all fours, sobbing quietly now, cock twitching in hopeless denial; Deepa kneeling beside him, breathless, cunt clenching on nothing, face flushed and wrecked.
Shamita stepped closer to Mohan, crouching so her face was level with his tear-streaked one. She hooked a gloved finger under his chin, tilting it up.
“You felt that emptiness,” she murmured. “How it hurts more than being filled. How it makes everything sharper. That’s what your wife felt every time you pulled out too soon, left her aching.”
She released him, letting his head drop.
Then she turned to Deepa.
“And you… you just learned what denial really tastes like. You’ll remember it.”
Shamita rose, heels clicking once as she returned to her chair. She settled in, legs crossed, gloved hands resting calmly on her thighs.
“Now both of you,” she said softly, voice carrying that unmistakable edge of finality, “stay on your knees. No touching. No speaking. Just feel it. Let it burn.”
She clicked the edging wand back on—lowest setting again—and set it aside on the armrest, buzzing faintly like a promise.
The room filled once more with their ragged breathing, muffled sobs, and the soft, relentless drip of their shared frustration.
Shamita watched.
And smiled.
Shamita’s gloved hand moved to the chain between Mohan’s thighs. With a single, deliberate flick of her wrist, she unclipped the one-kilo weight. The steel ring remained locked tight around the base of his cock and balls, but the brutal downward pull vanished in an instant.
Mohan’s cock—finally freed from constant torture—snapped upward like a released spring. It stood rigid, almost vertical, veins bulging, head flushed dark purple and glistening with the pre-cum that had been leaking for what felt like hours. The sudden release of tension sent a violent shudder through his entire body; his hips jerked forward involuntarily, cock bobbing heavily in the air, harder and prouder than it had ever been.
Shamita stared at it for a long second—impressed, predatory—then her hand cracked across Mohan’s face in a single, open-palmed slap that rang through the room like a gunshot.
His head snapped sideways, cheek blooming red instantly, a fresh sting layering over the dried tears and smeared arousal. The impact jolted him back to sharp awareness.
“Fuck her,” Shamita ordered, voice low and lethal. “Like this is the last fuck you’ll ever get on this earth. No holding back. No mercy. No thinking about your wife, your guilt, your pathetic failures. You pound her until she screams. Until she breaks. Show me what that cock can do when it’s finally unleashed.”
Mohan’s eyes—red-rimmed, wild—locked onto Deepa. All the humiliation, the edging, the sobbing, the weighted agony, the plug’s stretch—it burned away in a single, primal surge.
Something animal took over.
He pounced.
No crawl, no hesitation. He surged forward on powerful legs, bodybuilder frame coiling and exploding. Deepa barely had time to gasp before he was on her—hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, flipping her onto her back in one rough motion. Her legs splayed wide instinctively, cunt still swollen and dripping from the earlier denial.
Mohan didn’t aim. Didn’t ease in.
He drove forward in one savage, unbroken thrust—his entire thick length slamming home to the hilt.
Deepa’s scream tore through the apartment—raw, high, animal.
The sudden stretch was brutal. Her entrance tore just a fraction at the corners, a sharp, stinging burn flaring inside her as his girth forced her walls apart without preamble. The ring at his base ground against her clit on impact, the steel cold against her overheated flesh. She arched off the marble, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails across sweat-slick muscle. Her cunt clenched violently around him—half pain, half desperate welcome—slick gushing out around his shaft in a fresh flood.
“Fuuuck—!” Deepa wailed, voice cracking, thighs quaking around his waist.
Mohan didn’t stop. Didn’t pause to let her adjust.
He pulled back almost to the tip—then slammed in again. Harder. Deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely. Each thrust drove the air from her lungs in sharp, broken cries. Her breasts bounced wildly with the force, welted skin flushing darker. Her head thrashed side to side, hair sticking to her tear-streaked face.
Mohan fucked like a man possessed—like every denied orgasm, every sob, every humiliating confession had been fuel poured straight into his veins. His hips pistoned relentlessly, thick cock splitting her open again and again, the steel ring battering her clit on every inward stroke. He growled low in his throat—wordless, feral—hands pinning her wrists above her head, body caging hers completely.
Deepa’s screams turned to ragged, sobbing moans. Pain blurred into something hotter, sharper—pleasure ripping through her like lightning. Her cunt fluttered wildly around him, walls spasming, trying to grip the brutal invasion. Slick poured out with every withdrawal, coating his balls, dripping down her ass to pool on the marble.
Shamita watched from her chair—legs crossed, gloved fingers steepled under her chin, expression cool and unreadable.
“Harder,” she said quietly.
Mohan obeyed without thought. He hooked one of Deepa’s legs over his shoulder, opening her wider, driving even deeper. The new angle let him grind against her cervix with every thrust; Deepa’s back bowed, a fresh scream ripping free as something inside her shattered open.
She came without warning—violent, full-body convulsions, cunt clamping down so hard around his cock that Mohan’s rhythm stuttered for the first time. Her release squirted out around him in hot pulses, soaking his thighs, his abs, the floor beneath them.
But he didn’t stop.
He fucked her through it—through the oversensitive spasms, through her clawing at his back, through her begging, broken pleas that dissolved into wordless wails.
Shamita’s voice cut through again—soft, almost gentle.
“Keep going, Mohan. Don’t you dare come yet. This isn’t about your release. This is about showing me—and her—what you’ve been holding back all these months.”
Mohan’s face twisted—teeth bared, sweat dripping from his brow, muscles corded and trembling. He pounded deeper, faster, hips snapping with punishing force.
Deepa was lost—body limp and shaking, cunt still fluttering in aftershocks, fresh tears streaming as another orgasm built impossibly fast on the ruins of the first.
And still he fucked.
Like it really was his last.
Slaaaaaat.
The sharp crack of Shamita’s leather-gloved hand landed square across Mohan’s ass—right over the still-tender, gaping hole where the plug had been ripped out earlier. The sting exploded like fire; his whole body lurched forward, cock slipping free from Deepa’s spasming cunt with a wet, obscene pop. A thick rope of her slick and his pre-cum stretched between them for a split second before snapping.
“I didn’t give permission to cum,” Shamita snarled, voice low and venomous. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back until his throat arched. “You think you get to finish inside her just because she’s screaming?
No. You fuck her until I say stop. Destroy that pussy. Slap those tits like you fucking own them. Show me the animal you’ve been hiding.”
Mohan’s eyes were wild—pupils blown black, tears still wet on his cheeks, but something feral had taken root. He didn’t hesitate.
He slammed back into Deepa in one brutal, unbroken thrust—deeper than before, hips crashing against hers with bone-jarring force. Deepa’s scream ripped raw from her throat; her body bucked, head thrashing side to side, eyes rolling back as the stretch burned fresh fire through her torn entrance. She could barely stay conscious—lids fluttering, mouth open in endless, broken wails—yet her cunt clenched greedily around him, milking despite the pain.
Mohan fucked her like she was nothing more than a cheap, disposable toy. Sasti randi. His hands came down hard—open-palmed slaps cracking across her swollen, welted breasts, making them bounce and redden further. Each impact drew a fresh scream from her, high and shattered.
“Tu meri biwi nahi hai…” he growled through gritted teeth, voice hoarse and unhinged. “Meri randi hai… meri sasti randi…”
Another slap—across her face this time—hard enough to turn her cheek scarlet. Deepa’s head snapped sideways; tears streamed, but her hips still lifted instinctively to meet his punishing rhythm.
Shamita laughed—low, throaty, delighted.
“Good dog, Mohan,” she purred. “She deserves that. Every fucking word.”
Without warning, Shamita stepped forward, swung one leg over Deepa’s face, and lowered herself—straddling her mouth, cunt pressing down firmly. Deepa’s muffled cry vibrated against Shamita’s folds as her tongue shot out instinctively, lapping, sucking, desperate to please even through the haze of overstimulation.
“Eat me properly, slut,” Shamita commanded, grinding slowly, riding Deepa’s face with deliberate rolls of her hips. “Tongue deep. Don’t you dare stop.”
Deepa obeyed—frantic, sloppy, tongue plunging inside while her body jolted with every brutal thrust from Mohan.
Shamita lifted herself after a minute, slick shining on Deepa’s chin and lips.
“Now you,” she said to Mohan, voice thick with arousal. She turned, bent slightly, presenting her ass. “Suck it. Tongue in deep. Worship like the dog you are.”
Mohan pulled out of Deepa with a wet gasp—cock glistening, throbbing, veins standing out like cords. He dropped to his knees behind Shamita without a second thought, hands spreading her cheeks, tongue diving straight into her tight ring. He licked, sucked, probed deep—hungry, obedient, moaning into her flesh while his cock bobbed untouched between his thighs.
Deepa lay beneath them—chest heaving, cunt gaping and red, multiple orgasms having left her limp and trembling, yet still whimpering softly.
Mohan’s rhythm faltered; his cock swelled impossibly thicker, balls drawing tight. He was right there—again—teetering.
Shamita felt it. She spun, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him toward her.
“Fuck me now,” she ordered.
She shoved him onto his back on the marble—cold against his sweat-slick skin—then straddled him in one fluid motion. She sank down hard, taking every inch in a single, claiming drop. Mohan groaned like he’d been gut-punched; his hands flew to her hips instinctively.
Shamita rode him mercilessly—hard, fast, hips snapping down with punishing force. She slapped him across the face—once, twice, three times—each crack echoing as she ground her clit against his pubic bone.
“Don’t you dare come,” she hissed between slaps. “Not yet.”
She flipped them—onto her hands and knees, ass up. Mohan mounted her from behind, pounding deep while she reached back to slap his thigh, his ass, urging him harder.
Missionary next—legs over his shoulders, folded nearly in half, her nails raking down his chest as she slapped his face again.
Against the wall—her back pressed to cool plaster, one leg hooked around his waist, riding him standing while she bit his shoulder and slapped his cheek red.
Thirty minutes of it—position after position, relentless, merciless.
Mohan sobbed openly now—tears pouring, body shaking, cock so hard it hurt, every thrust a knife-edge of denial. Deepa watched from the floor—curled, spent, fingers weakly circling her own clit—whimpering at the sight.
Finally Shamita locked eyes with him—dark, commanding.
“Come,” she whispered. “Now.”
Mohan shattered.
His scream tore from his throat—raw, primal, almost animal—as the orgasm ripped through him like a volcano. Thick ropes of cum erupted deep inside her, pulse after violent pulse, hips jerking uncontrollably. Tears streamed down his face; his whole body convulsed, muscles locking and releasing in waves. He cried like a man broken open—sobbing her name, sobbing apologies, sobbing gratitude.
Shamita clenched around him—once, twice—her own orgasms crashing through her in sharp, shuddering bursts. She came with a low, triumphant moan, nails digging into his shoulders, milking every drop from him while her cunt fluttered and spasmed.
When it finally ended, Mohan collapsed forward—still buried inside her—chest heaving, tears dripping onto her skin. Shamita held him there, one hand stroking through his sweat-matted hair almost gently.
“Good dog,” she murmured against his ear. “You finally earned it.”
Deepa lay nearby—exhausted, marked, dripping—watching them with glassy, awed eyes.
The room smelled of sex, sweat, and surrender.
And for the first time that night, the only sounds were soft, ragged breaths—and the faint, satisfied hum of Shamita’s laughter.
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