24-09-2026, 08:50 PM
(This post was last modified: 24-09-2026, 08:51 PM by SilverArrow. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter Name: The savage licking
Monica stared at the dusty condom packet in her hand, then at the thick cock in front of her. The cabin felt smaller than before. Heat, cement dust, and the faint smell of the labourer’s bag still clung to her fingers.
Ranga nodded toward the wooden desk.
“On the table.”
She looked at the surface — the red-stamped sanction file, a stack of lower clerk notes, a half-empty tea glass with a brown ring at the bottom, a scatter of grit and pencil shavings. The wood was rough and stained.
“You want me to lie on this?”
“I want you on it,” Ranga said. “Clear the files and get up there.”
Monica let out a short, bitter breath. She stepped forward, still in the white bra and the tiny panties, and used the side of her forearm to push the files and the tea glass toward the far edge. Papers slid. One corner of the red-stamped sheet folded under itself. The glass scbangd. She didn’t care. She planted her palms on the cleared space, hopped up, and sat on the edge of the desk. The wood was warm and slightly gritty under her bare ass.
“Happy?” she asked, voice sharp.
“Lie back properly.”
She held his gaze for another second, then leaned back on her elbows. The position pushed her breasts up against the thin bra. Her legs hung off the edge, the tiny panties already doing nothing to cover the heavy curve of her ass.
A sharp, sudden pain stabbed up through her thin panties.
“Ah—damn it—”
Monica jerked hard, one hand flying back under herself. An open screw head, half-rusted and sticking up from the old wooden desk, had dug straight into the soft flesh of her ass through the tiny panties. The point had caught and pulled, leaving a small tear in the fabric of her panties and a stinging, immediate mark on her skin.
She twisted, still on her elbows, and yanked the ruined edge of the panty aside with two fingers, face tight with pure irritation.
“Are you serious? There’s an open screw sticking out of this desk.” Her voice was irritated “It’s already cut my panties and dug into me. Who leaves screws like this exposed?”
Ranga’s low laugh filled the cabin.
“This is a construction site, Monica. It’s built for labour and files, not for soft asses or quick sex”
Ranga stepped between her knees. His hands closed around the narrow sides of the panties. Instead of sliding them down he simply pulled. The thin fabric stretched, then tore with a short, sharp sound. He tore again, ripping the scrap clear of her hips, and tossed the ruined piece onto the floor beside her discarded kurti.
Monica’s eyes widened as the fabric gave way with that sharp rip.
“Hey—those weren’t yours to destroy!” She stared at her torn panties in his hand, then at the bare skin he’d just exposed, voice sharp with surprise and irritation. “You couldn’t just pull them down like a normal person? You had to rip them off the second you touched them?” Monica flinched at the sound.
“Stop crying for your panties … and spread your legs properly” Ranga ordered ... He looked down at her exposed cunt — already slightly parted from the position, the soft outer lips visible, a faint sheen of moisture at the centre despite everything. “And this is what I want first.”
Before she could answer he dropped to a crouch, hooked his hands under her thighs, and dragged her closer to the edge of the table so her ass almost hung off the wood. Then he put his mouth on her.
The first contact was flat and deliberate — the broad of his thick tongue dragging slowly from the lowest point of her opening all the way up over her clit. Monica’s whole body jerked. A startled, angry sound left her throat.
“Ranga—fuck—”
He didn’t lift his head. He licked her again, slower, pressing firmer, parting her with the tongue so he could taste deeper. The wet sound was sudden and obscene in the quiet cabin. Monica’s head tipped back. One of her hands shot down and tried to push at his scalp.
“You don’t need to—do that. Just get on with it.”
Ranga pulled back only far enough to speak, lips already shiny.
“I decide what I do with you sweetie. Stay still.”
He went back down. This time he focused on her clit — tight, circling strokes, then a slow suck that made her thighs try to close around his head. He pushed them open again with his hands and kept going. Monica’s breathing turned uneven. The bra felt too tight. The rough wood scbangd lightly against her shoulder blades every time she moved.
“This is not—part of the deal,” she managed, voice already losing its edge.
“Everything is part of the deal,” he said against her, the words vibrating into her. Then his tongue pushed inside her, thick and insistent, fucking her with it in short, deep strokes while his nose pressed against her clit.
Monica’s elbows nearly gave out. A helpless, frustrated sound escaped her.
.
“Ranga No..Aah ..You’re doing this to humiliate me.”
“I’m doing this because your cunt is already wet and I want it wetter before I fuck it.” He lifted his head just enough to look at her over the plane of her stomach. “You can keep talking. It doesn’t change anything.”
He returned to her clit and sucked harder. Monica’s hips tried to lift off the table. One of her bare heels braced against the edge of the desk. The red-stamped file sat inches from her waist, slightly crumpled where she had shoved it.
Outside, the site remained silent under the sun. Inside, the only sounds were the wet, rhythmic work of Ranga’s mouth and Monica’s increasingly broken attempts to stay in control of her own voice.
“Ranga… stop licking and just—do what you came for.”
He ignored her. He licked her open, thorough, almost methodical, as if he had all the time in the world. Monica’s head dropped back. Her fingers curled against the rough wood. The last pieces of her resistance were dissolving under the steady, filthy attention of his mouth, and both of them knew it.
Monica stared at the dusty condom packet in her hand, then at the thick cock in front of her. The cabin felt smaller than before. Heat, cement dust, and the faint smell of the labourer’s bag still clung to her fingers.
Ranga nodded toward the wooden desk.
“On the table.”
She looked at the surface — the red-stamped sanction file, a stack of lower clerk notes, a half-empty tea glass with a brown ring at the bottom, a scatter of grit and pencil shavings. The wood was rough and stained.
“You want me to lie on this?”
“I want you on it,” Ranga said. “Clear the files and get up there.”
Monica let out a short, bitter breath. She stepped forward, still in the white bra and the tiny panties, and used the side of her forearm to push the files and the tea glass toward the far edge. Papers slid. One corner of the red-stamped sheet folded under itself. The glass scbangd. She didn’t care. She planted her palms on the cleared space, hopped up, and sat on the edge of the desk. The wood was warm and slightly gritty under her bare ass.
“Happy?” she asked, voice sharp.
“Lie back properly.”
She held his gaze for another second, then leaned back on her elbows. The position pushed her breasts up against the thin bra. Her legs hung off the edge, the tiny panties already doing nothing to cover the heavy curve of her ass.
A sharp, sudden pain stabbed up through her thin panties.
“Ah—damn it—”
Monica jerked hard, one hand flying back under herself. An open screw head, half-rusted and sticking up from the old wooden desk, had dug straight into the soft flesh of her ass through the tiny panties. The point had caught and pulled, leaving a small tear in the fabric of her panties and a stinging, immediate mark on her skin.
She twisted, still on her elbows, and yanked the ruined edge of the panty aside with two fingers, face tight with pure irritation.
“Are you serious? There’s an open screw sticking out of this desk.” Her voice was irritated “It’s already cut my panties and dug into me. Who leaves screws like this exposed?”
Ranga’s low laugh filled the cabin.
“This is a construction site, Monica. It’s built for labour and files, not for soft asses or quick sex”
Ranga stepped between her knees. His hands closed around the narrow sides of the panties. Instead of sliding them down he simply pulled. The thin fabric stretched, then tore with a short, sharp sound. He tore again, ripping the scrap clear of her hips, and tossed the ruined piece onto the floor beside her discarded kurti.
Monica’s eyes widened as the fabric gave way with that sharp rip.
“Hey—those weren’t yours to destroy!” She stared at her torn panties in his hand, then at the bare skin he’d just exposed, voice sharp with surprise and irritation. “You couldn’t just pull them down like a normal person? You had to rip them off the second you touched them?” Monica flinched at the sound.
“Stop crying for your panties … and spread your legs properly” Ranga ordered ... He looked down at her exposed cunt — already slightly parted from the position, the soft outer lips visible, a faint sheen of moisture at the centre despite everything. “And this is what I want first.”
Before she could answer he dropped to a crouch, hooked his hands under her thighs, and dragged her closer to the edge of the table so her ass almost hung off the wood. Then he put his mouth on her.
The first contact was flat and deliberate — the broad of his thick tongue dragging slowly from the lowest point of her opening all the way up over her clit. Monica’s whole body jerked. A startled, angry sound left her throat.
“Ranga—fuck—”
He didn’t lift his head. He licked her again, slower, pressing firmer, parting her with the tongue so he could taste deeper. The wet sound was sudden and obscene in the quiet cabin. Monica’s head tipped back. One of her hands shot down and tried to push at his scalp.
“You don’t need to—do that. Just get on with it.”
Ranga pulled back only far enough to speak, lips already shiny.
“I decide what I do with you sweetie. Stay still.”
He went back down. This time he focused on her clit — tight, circling strokes, then a slow suck that made her thighs try to close around his head. He pushed them open again with his hands and kept going. Monica’s breathing turned uneven. The bra felt too tight. The rough wood scbangd lightly against her shoulder blades every time she moved.
“This is not—part of the deal,” she managed, voice already losing its edge.
“Everything is part of the deal,” he said against her, the words vibrating into her. Then his tongue pushed inside her, thick and insistent, fucking her with it in short, deep strokes while his nose pressed against her clit.
Monica’s elbows nearly gave out. A helpless, frustrated sound escaped her.
.
“Ranga No..Aah ..You’re doing this to humiliate me.”
“I’m doing this because your cunt is already wet and I want it wetter before I fuck it.” He lifted his head just enough to look at her over the plane of her stomach. “You can keep talking. It doesn’t change anything.”
He returned to her clit and sucked harder. Monica’s hips tried to lift off the table. One of her bare heels braced against the edge of the desk. The red-stamped file sat inches from her waist, slightly crumpled where she had shoved it.
Outside, the site remained silent under the sun. Inside, the only sounds were the wet, rhythmic work of Ranga’s mouth and Monica’s increasingly broken attempts to stay in control of her own voice.
“Ranga… stop licking and just—do what you came for.”
He ignored her. He licked her open, thorough, almost methodical, as if he had all the time in the world. Monica’s head dropped back. Her fingers curled against the rough wood. The last pieces of her resistance were dissolving under the steady, filthy attention of his mouth, and both of them knew it.
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