[Umavictor32]

Chapter 29: The Nightmare Before the Meeting (Continue)

Saroja smiled. "Good girl. Now open your mouth."

Chithra opened her mouth. Saroja hitched up her saree, pulled aside her own undergarment, and squatted over Chithra's face.

The first stream of urine hit her lips before she understood what was happening. It was hot and sharp, splashing over her chin and teeth, filling her mouth, running up her nose. She gagged, choked, tried to turn away, but Saroja grabbed her hair and held her in place.

"Drink it," she said. "Every drop."



Chithra drank. She swallowed the hot, bitter liquid, her throat working frantically—glug, glug—even as it spilled over her cheeks and into her ears. The men laughed and cheered, their voices echoing off the walls. She closed her eyes and drank until Saroja stood up, shaking the last drops onto her face.

"Now you're clean," Saroja said. "A pure, brainless, characterless whore."

Chithra coughed, spat, and moaned.

"Aaaaaahh—aaaahhh—please—"


---
Saroja stepped back. She raised one hand, and the room went silent.

"Now," she said, "we begin the real event."

The men moved as a unit. One sat behind Chithra and pulled her into his lap, her back against his chest. Another knelt between her legs. A third stood at her head, untying his lungi and letting it fall. His cock was already out, dark and heavy, the head glistening with precum, and it swung in front of Chithra's face.

"Open," he said.

She shook her head. The man behind her grabbed her jaw and squeezed until her mouth fell open. Then the cock was there, pushing past her lips, filling her mouth with the taste of salt and skin and faint urine. She gagged as it hit the back of her throat—glrk—and the man held her nose.

"Suck," he said. "Use your tongue. Show me you can be useful."

She sucked. It was messy, sloppy, her head bobbing as best it could with the collar tight around her neck. Spit ran down her chin. The man moaned, gripping her hair, thrusting into her mouth with wet, gurgling strokes.

"Suck like a Dravidian whore," he panted. "Eat my cock like it's your last meal."

Slrsh. Glk. Glrk.

At the same time, the man between her legs positioned himself. He was the moustache man, and his cock was enormous—thick and veined, curving slightly to the left, with a blunt, purple head. He spat into his hand and slicked himself, then pressed the tip against Chithra's cunt.

"You're so wet," he groaned. "So fucking wet for me."

He pushed in.

Chithra shrieked against the cock in her mouth. The sound was muffled, a raw mmm-mmm-mmm that vibrated through the room. Her cunt stretched around him, tight and hot, and she felt every inch as he drove deeper. The needles in her lips shifted, a sharp burst of pain, and her hips bucked.

"Hhhhh—aaaaah—ammmma—"

"She's screaming through your cock," the man behind her laughed. "The whore's trying to talk."

"Let her. It's better when they try."

The moustache man didn't slow. He fucked her in deep, powerful strokes, his belly slapping against her thighs—plap, plap, plap—his balls swinging against her ass. The bed creaked under them. The other men stood around the edges, their own cocks out now, stroking themselves as they watched.


But Chithra's ass was still untouched.

Saroja circled the writhing bodies, her eyes fixed on that tight, puckered ring. "Not yet," she said. "Save the ass. That's the final door. Once it opens, there is no going back."

The fuck went on.

The man in her mouth came first. He pulled out and stroked himself hard, his face twisted, and then he shot across Chithra's face—rope after rope of thick white cum. Splurt. Splrrrk. Sp-l-l-l-urt. It hit her forehead, her closed eyes, her open mouth, her hair. Chithra coughed and spat, but more landed on her tongue, and the man laughed as she swallowed.




"Good whore. Clean it up."

She licked her lips. The cum was thick and salty, and she felt it sliding down her throat.

"Thank you," she whispered. She didn't know why she said it. The words just came.

The moustache man heard. "Thank you? Oh, you're done, woman." He grabbed her hips and drove in so hard she saw white—plap, plap, plap—her tits bouncing, the ropes still tight around them, milk leaking down her belly. "What do you say now? Huh? What do you say?"

"Aaahhh—uffff—thank you—thank you—"

"Thank you what?"

"Thank you for fucking me—thank you for using my cunt—"

He laughed, and the room laughed with him.

He came inside her with a roar, his cock pulsing deep, flooding her with heat—sploosh—and Chithra felt it, the thick rush of cum filling her, some distant part of her brain remembering another time, another man, another bed. She thought of Muthu. For one brief, terrible moment, she thought of him, and then the moment was gone.

---

Saroja reached between Chithra's legs and scooped up a handful of the creamy mess now leaking from her cunt. She held it up to the light.

"Take that," she said to the man behind Chithra. "Use it."

He understood. He shifted Chithra forward, then guided the blunt head of his cock to her asshole. The tip was wet with her own juices, but the hole was still impossibly tight, the muscle clenching and fluttering.

"You kept this safe for Muthu," Saroja repeated softly. "Now it's ours."

"Are you ready?" the man behind her asked, and the men laughed.

"She's not. That's the point."

He pushed.

Chithra's whole body went rigid. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes wide, fingers clawing at the sheets. The head of his cock stretched her asshole, burning, tearing, and she convulsed.

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"Ahhhh—ahhhhhh—ayyo—AMMMA—"

"Listen to her," Saroja whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. "The great Madurai girl. The mother. The wife. Now hear how a woman sounds when her ass is being opened for the first time."

The man pushed deeper, and the ring of muscle gave with a wet, gristly pop—shllrk—and Chithra wailed. It was a sound she had never made before, a raw, broken thing that echoed off the walls. The other men covered their ears and laughed. One of them pushed his cock back into her mouth to quiet her, and she gagged around it, her sobs vibrating through her chest.

"Now she knows," Saroja said. "Now she sees. An ass-fucked woman is different. Her walk changes. Her talk changes. Her very soul changes."

"Fuck, she's tight," the man behind her grunted. He was moving now, slow, deep strokes, each one forcing more moans from Chithra's ruined throat. "Squeezing my cock like a fist."

"Her cunt's still open," someone said. "Should we—"

"Yes," Saroja said. "Triple."

The third man climbed onto the bed and positioned himself between Chithra's spread thighs. Her cunt was still red and swollen, the cum from the last man oozing out, but there was room. He pushed his hips forward, and Chithra stiffened as a second cock entered her cunt.

It was too much. It was impossible. But her body gave way, and the man sank into her until he was buried to the hilt. Two cocks inside her now, one in her cunt, one in her ass, both moving, both filling her. And a third in her mouth.

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She was being fucked from every side. She was being split open, used, destroyed, and she couldn't stop any of it. Her body moved on its own, her hips rocking, her mouth sucking, her ass clenching. She was moaning around the cock in her throat, tears and drool and cum mixing on her face, snot bubbling from her nose...

"Look at her," Saroja said, spreading her arms wide like a ringmaster. "This is what you get when a decent woman and a gang of honest men meet. She is no longer Muthu's property. She is no longer anyone's property. She is a hole. Three holes. That's all."

The rhythm quickened. The men began to move together, a brutal, wordless coordination, their hips slapping against her in a steady, obscene drumbeat. Plap, plap, plap. The cot shrieked. The walls seemed to press in. Somewhere, a dog barked.

Chithra surfaced from the noise for one moment. Her eyes rolled, found Saroja, and she heard herself say something—a moan, a plea, a name—and then she was gone again, pulled back under by the pistoning cocks and the pain and the heat.

"Brainless," Saroja whispered. "Characterless. Worthless. Shameless. She'll wake up tomorrow and remember none of it. And that is the greatest gift we can give her."

She leaned forward, her lips nearly touching Chithra's ear.

"It is not the ass-fuck that kills a woman's pride. It is the knowledge that she will still come back for more."

---

And then—

"Madam?"

The voice came from very far away. It was light, soft, almost apologetic, and it cut through the noise like a blade.



"Madam, wake up."

Chithra's eyes flew open.

She was not in the room. She was in a car—Muthu's car, the black SUV that had carried her through Chennai for the past two weeks. The leather seat was warm and sticky against her back. Her saree was stuck to her skin with sweat. Her mouth tasted like copper and old tea.

The car had stopped.

"Madam, we have reached Saroja's home," the driver said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. He was a slight man with a thin moustache, his uniform neat and slightly too large for him. He looked concerned. "Are you okay, madam?"

Chithra blinked. She brought her hands up to her neck. Nothing there. No collar. No rope. No needles. Just her own damp skin and the gold chain of a new mangalsutra Muthu had given her.

She touched her face. The skin was burned, but not with cum. With sweat. Only sweat.

"Was I—" Her voice came out cracked, dry. "Was I asleep long?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes, madam. You were saying something in your dream." He hesitated. "Something about... amma. I didn't want to wake you."

Chithra stared at the window. The neighborhood outside was one she recognized—a narrow lane, high walls, a gate with a broken light. Saroja's house. This was real. The other thing—the room, the men, the collar—had been something else.

A dream. It had been a dream.

She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat slowly return to normal. The smell of dog and arrack and semen was gone from the air, replaced by the faint scent of the driver's beedi and the dust of the road.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just... a bad dream."

The driver nodded uncertainly. "Shall I open the gate, madam?"

She looked at the house again. Red walls. A small temple tree in the courtyard. The sound of her own breathing, still ragged......It had only been a dream.It had only been a dream...

Chithra took a deep breath, then reached for the door handle.

"Okay," she said. "Let's go."

The driver opened the gate, and the car rolled forward into the darkness of Saroja's courtyard.



(To be continued )

Important notes : pictures taken in this story was taken from internet and was not created by me...