The carpet fibers scraped against her cheek as Mr. Verma's weight settled behind her, his cock still slick from her throat, dragging wet across the inside of her thigh. Neha's hands flattened against the worn weave, fingers curling, searching for something to hold as his grip found her hips.

"You've had practice on your knees," he said, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Let's see if you're any use on your back."

She tried to answer, to form some word of protest that would not sound like begging, but his hand shoved between her shoulder blades and pressed her flat. The breath left her in a rush, her face grinding into the carpet, the smell of dust and old incense filling her nose. Behind her, she heard the wet slide of his palm over his length, and then the blunt pressure of him against her entrance, unhurried, testing.

"No—" she started, but the word died as he pushed.

There was no warning, no slow invasion to accommodate. He drove into her in one brutal stroke, and Neha's body arched like a bow, a raw cry tearing from her throat as he split her open. She was wet—her body had betrayed her again, slick and ready from the hours of use—but he was monstrous, thicker than anything she had taken, and the stretch burned even through the slickness.

"There it is," Mr. Verma grunted, his hips pressing flush against her ass, his balls heavy against her clit. He stayed there a moment, buried to the root, letting her feel every inch of him inside her. "Tight. Hot. This is what he's been hiding."

Neha's fingers clawed at the carpet. Her saree had ridden up around her waist, the fine silk tearing at the seam as he shifted his weight. She could feel the fabric pulling, the cool air on her bare ass, and then his hand came down on her left cheek with a crack that echoed in the dim room.

She gasped, her whole body jerking forward, but his other hand was already in her hair, fisting the long black strands and yanking her head back.

"Count them," he ordered. His voice was calm, almost conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "You'll count every one or I'll start over."