[girrich9486]

While Nisha slept deeply in the locked room—body still marked, limbs heavy with exhaustion—the main gates of the island compound opened for a new arrival.
Tony stood waiting in the open courtyard, arms folded, a thin smile already on his face. The man who stepped out of the black vehicle moved with controlled purpose. His eyes were cold, but beneath the surface burned something darker and long-nursed.
Tony stepped forward and clasped his shoulder.
“Thank you,” Tony said, voice low and genuine. “You are the main reason my bitch Nisha is here. You tricked her so nicely. Without you she would never have walked into the trap.”
He spread his hands.
“Now… what do you want? Ask any wish. Money? Gold? Sites? Property? Anything. I will give it.”
The man looked at him without blinking.
“No, sir. I don’t want anything.”
His voice was flat, almost quiet.
“I only want revenge on Nisha. That slut. I want to give her pain… and pleasure.”
He laughed once—short, sharp, ugly.
Tony’s eyebrows rose. Then recognition settled into open amusement.
The man was Raghu.
Raghu continued, the words coming harder now.
“Because of her, my wife was gangbanged. I met with an accident. I lost everything that mattered. So I will take it back from her body. Every scream. Every tear. Every forced orgasm.”
At that moment Minister Pandey walked out from the main building, still rolling his shoulders after rest. He caught the last part of the conversation. Tony turned to him and repeated Raghu’s request. Both men looked at each other, then at Raghu, and broke into low, dark laughter.
Tony waved a hand toward the inner compound.
“Go on, Raghu. Whatever you want to do to Nisha… you can do. Today is yours. Enjoy her. Break her. Make her your randi.”
The three men laughed together—Tony, Pandey, and Raghu—the sound carrying a shared, vicious satisfaction that echoed across the courtyard.




Next morning.
Nisha was taken from her bed while still half-asleep. A black cloth was tied tightly over her eyes. Strong hands guided her through corridors she could not see. When the cloth was finally adjusted and her arms were lifted, she felt cool steel close around her wrists and pull them high above her head. Her body was stretched upward until she stood on the balls of her feet, almost suspended. The position left her completely open and displayed.
She wore only a thin black bra and matching panty. The fabric clung to her full breasts and the soft curve of her sex. Her bare stomach, the silver ring in her navel, the long line of her legs—everything was exposed under the lights she could feel but not see. She looked beautiful and helpless at the same time: the strict officer reduced to a bound, barely-clothed figure hanging in the centre of the room.
Confusion and dread mixed in her chest. She did not know who was watching. She did not know who would touch her next.
A door opened.
The sound was soft but clear. Nisha turned her blindfolded face toward it, listening hard.
Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate. The scent of cigarette smoke reached her first. Then the heat of a body stopped very close.





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Footsteps approached—slow, deliberate. The scent of cigarette smoke reached her first. Then the heat of a body stopped very close.
Raghu stood in front of her, cigarette between his lips, eyes moving over every inch of the woman who had once been his superior, his friend, the person he blamed for the destruction of his life. He walked a slow circle around her suspended form, studying the way the bra struggled to contain her breasts, the way the panty sat low on her hips, the faint marks still visible on her skin from previous days.
He stopped behind her, then in front again, close enough that she felt his breath when he exhaled smoke to the side.
Nisha’s voice came out tight.
“Who… who’s there?”
Raghu did not answer.
He simply reached out and ran one finger slowly down the centre of her chest, over the bra, across her stomach, and stopped at the silver navel ring. He gave it a light, testing tug.
Nisha’s breath caught.
Still silent, Raghu stepped even closer, the heat of his body now unmistakable, and looked at the blindfolded, bound, half-naked officer with the pure, patient lust of a man who had waited a long time for this exact moment.



Raghu stepped in close until the heat of his body wrapped around her.
The cigarette was gone. Only the faint scent of smoke clung to his clothes. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Nisha’s. She stiffened at once, a confused, muffled sound vibrating against his lips.
“Hmmm—who—”
He ignored the protest and kissed her deeper, tongue sliding past her teeth, tasting her slowly, thoroughly, as if he had all the time in the world. One hand rose to cup the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair, holding her exactly where he wanted while he took everything he wanted from her mouth. When he finally pulled back, a thin strand of saliva connected their lips for a second before it broke.
He leaned to her ear. His voice was low, deliberately softened, almost a whisper so that the familiar tone would not give him away.
“You’re so beautiful…”
Nisha’s blindfolded head turned toward the sound, searching.
“Who… who are you? Tell me—”
No answer came.
He moved behind her. The low platform beneath her bound form dipped as he sat. Both hands slid around her waist from behind, palms flat and warm on the soft skin of her stomach. They travelled upward with deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the faint ridges of her ribs, until they reached the underside of her full breasts still trapped inside the thin black bra. He cupped them firmly, lifting the heavy weight, squeezing, thumbs brushing the nipples through the fabric in slow circles until they hardened into tight peaks.
Nisha’s body gave a small, involuntary shiver. A soft, confused sound left her throat. The pattern of the touch—strong hands from behind, the exact pressure, the way he rolled her nipples between finger and thumb—felt strangely familiar, like something that had happened once in a different house, in a different life. But the blindfold, the days of exhaustion, and the constant overload of sensation kept the recognition just out of reach. She only moaned, low and unwilling, as the dual stimulation continued.












His hands left her breasts, travelled down her sides, over the curve of her hips, and hooked into the waistband of her panty. He drew the thin fabric down her legs with unhurried care and tossed it aside. Cool air kissed her bare cunt. She was already wet; the previous days had left her body in a constant state of half-arousal that needed almost no encouragement.
Raghu knelt in front of her.
The first touch of his tongue was light—just the tip tracing the outer lips, barely there. Nisha’s hips jerked.
“Shhhh—”