When desire becomes domination.
Two weeks had passed.
Two weeks of restless nights.
Two weeks of wet sheets, bitten lips, and a name whispered into the dark: Rob.
But the silence made her crave more.
Not just him… another.
Two cocks. Two hands. No control.
One night, naked in front of the mirror, her thighs still sticky from her own fingers, she whispered,
“If there’s a second man… let him be someone who doesn’t ask. Let him take.”
That night, at exactly 11:11 PM, her phone buzzed.
Rob: Room 407. Friday. Bring your trust. And your throat.
Friday. Rain. Red dress. No bra. Just heels and hunger.
Ritika walked in. Rob was there, shirtless, sipping whiskey, gaze unblinking.
But it wasn’t just him.
She turned.
Imran.
Rob’s driver. Ex-army.
Standing tall by the window, black shirt rolled up, forearms veined, jaw clenched.
Her breath caught.
“You said you wanted more,” Rob said.
“I said someone I trust,” she whispered.
“I trust him with your screams.”
They said nothing more.
Imran stepped toward her, eyes scanning like a sniper — not for beauty, but for weakness.
He didn’t undress her. He ripped the dress from her body. One harsh tug — red fabric torn, nipples pebbled in cold air.
She gasped — but he didn’t let her speak.
Rob gripped her chin from behind, whispering into her ear:
“You wanted to be taken. Remember that.”
Her hands were pinned above her head, wrists tied to the headboard with Rob’s leather belt.
Imran knelt between her legs.
He didn’t warm her up.
He feasted.
Tongue deep, lips rough, beard scratching her thighs. Her body twisted but there was nowhere to go.
Rob watched from behind, stroking himself slowly.
“You’re dripping like a slut, Ritika,” Rob murmured.
“Taste yourself,” Imran growled — and shoved two fingers into her mouth.
She moaned — full, gagged, soaked.
Imran stood, undid his pants — no words. Just a heavy cock, thick and dark, slapping against her thigh.
Rob kissed her, tongue deep, while Imran slammed into her with no warning.
Her scream tore the air.
But they didn’t stop.
Rob sat on her chest, his cock hard and leaking.
“Open your mouth, baby. You begged for this.”
She did.
He slid in.
Now she was filled — mouth and pussy — no escape, no rhythm, just relentless pressure.
Imran’s hands bruised her hips.
Rob’s cock gagged her.
Her eyes watered. Her throat convulsed.
But she didn’t stop.
Her toes curled. Her body trembled.
And then—
Her orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, shameful, screaming against Rob’s length in her mouth.
They flipped her over.
Face down, ass up.
She tried to crawl — but Imran caught her hair.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled.
“You asked for two men. Now take us like you mean it.”
Rob spread her cheeks. Her body already trembling.
“You ever been fucked here?” he asked, rubbing her tight backdoor.
She shook her head, tears already forming.
“Good.”
He pressed — slow, cruel, stretching her inch by inch.
She screamed.
Imran shoved his cock into her mouth again to silence her.
Pain and pleasure collided.
She shook. She sobbed. But her hips pushed back.
Rob was in — all the way.
Her body quaked.
One cock in her ass.
One in her throat.
No air. No break. No way out.
She came again. Harder. Violently.
Legs spasming. Mouth drooling. Nose running.
They didn’t stop.
They used her — took turns.
Imran in her pussy. Rob in her ass.
Then switch.
Her holes sore. Her moans animalistic.
At one point, she whispered,
“Please… I can’t… I’ll break…”
Imran slapped her ass.
“Then break. You wanted this.”
They came together — Rob in her mouth.
Imran in her pussy.
Hot. Deep. Claiming every inch.
She collapsed. Face down. Spread open. Ruined.
She woke up sore.
Throat raw. Thighs bruised.
Mirror fogged.
On the mirror, written in bold:
“You’re not done.
Next Friday. Blindfolded.”
– R & I
She touched between her legs. Still wet. Still aching.
She smiled.
“This time… they get ropes too
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