The next morning, Nisha’s body was a battlefield of agony. Every piercing throbbed like red-hot needles buried deep in her flesh. Her tits felt like they were going to explode — swollen, heavy, veins bulging, milk already leaking in thin white streams down her belly even before she got out of bed. Her pussy and ass burned from last night’s brutal pounding, the rings in her clit and nipples pulsing with ice-cold fire. But she had no choice. She dragged herself through house chores, biting her lip bloody to stop from moaning in pain every time she bent over. Milk kept dripping into her blouse, soaking the fabric dark. Rahul and Charu acted normal, like nothing had happened. She sat silently in the car, thighs pressed tight, trying not to cry as the butt plug from last night shifted inside her with every bump on the road.

At college, Rahul leaned in close during the first lecture and whispered, “Terrace. Lunch break. Don’t be late, randi. My friends have new toys for that leaking whore body of yours.” Nisha’s heart sank, but she nodded weakly. The pain was unbearable, yet her broken slut mind already knew she would obey.