The first man's cock was still against her lips, hard and waiting, and Neha's mouth was already open around it when Auntie Shobha's voice cut through the dark like a blade.

"Enough waiting." The old woman's voice was flat, unhurried, the voice of someone who had already decided everything. "Two in her mouth. Two in her ass. Two in her cunt." A pause, and Neha heard the satisfaction in it. "Fill her like the randi she is."

The room moved at once. Hands fisted in her hair—three of them, four—yanking her head back, and she choked around the cock in her throat as she was dragged off it, gasping, spit stringing from her lips. Fingers dug into her hips, her ankles, her wrists, and she was lifted bodily off the mattress, turned in the air like a thing with no weight at all, and dropped onto her hands and knees in the center of the sagging bed.

The mattress dipped and groaned under the weight of six men closing in.

"No—" she started, but the word died in her throat as a hand closed on the back of her neck and shoved her face down into the sheets. Her ass was in the air, spread wide, and she felt the cool air on her wet cunt, on her asshole, both of them still slick and loose from the men who had already used her.

"Hold her open," someone said—the third man, the one who had promised she would thank him.

Rough hands gripped her ass cheeks and pulled them apart. She felt fingers at her cunt, two of them, spreading her; felt a thumb press against her asshole, circling, testing, and she whimpered into the sheets.

"She's still wet," the second man said. "Still open. The old woman was right—she's made for this."

Neha's face burned. She wanted to say no, wanted to close her legs, wanted to be anywhere else, but her body had already betrayed her—her cunt was still dripping from the last man's cum, her ass still loose and aching, and when the thumb pressed deeper into her asshole, she felt her hips push back of their own accord.

"Look at that," the first man said, and she heard the smile in his voice. "She's pushing back. She wants it."

"They all do," the third man said. "They just need to be shown what they are."

The belt was on the bed beside her—she could see it in the sliver of hallway light, the polished leather catching the glow, and she knew it was going to be used on her. She could feel it in the air, the promise of it, and something in her stomach clenched—fear, or hunger, or both.

"Two in her mouth," Auntie Shobha repeated, and the red dot of her phone hovered closer, watching. "Two in her ass. Two in her cunt. I want to see all six of you in her at once. I want to hear her scream."

Hands grabbed her hair again—both sides this time, two men fisting her long black hair and pulling her head up off the sheets. Her mouth was open, gasping, and the first man stepped in front of her, his cock hard and slick with her spit, and he didn't ask. He just pushed it past her lips, and she gagged as it hit the back of her throat.

"That's it," he grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."

She heard the second man move behind her, felt his hands on her hips, and then the thick head of his cock was pressing against her cunt, pushing in, and she was so wet and so loose that he slid in to the hilt in one smooth thrust. She cried out around the cock in her mouth, a muffled, broken sound, and the third man's hands were on her ass, spreading her, and she felt the blunt pressure of his cock at her asshole.

"No—" she tried to say, but it came out as a gurgle around the first man's cock.

"Yes," the third man said, and he pushed.

Her asshole was already stretched from earlier, still slick with cum and spit, but the third man was bigger than the second, and she felt the burn, the stretch, the impossible fullness as he forced his way inside her. She screamed—a raw, muffled sound that vibrated around the cock in her mouth—and the first man groaned and thrust deeper, his balls slapping against her chin.

"That's it," he said. "Scream for us. Scream around my cock."

She was full. So full. Two cocks in her mouth, one in her cunt, one in her ass, and she could feel the other two men moving in, their hands on her hips, her thighs, waiting for their turn. The first man pulled out of her mouth just enough to let her breathe, and she gasped, a wet, ragged sound, and then he pushed back in, deeper, and she choked.

"Two in her mouth," Auntie Shobha said, and the red dot moved closer still. "I said two."

The second man—no, the fourth man, the one who had been waiting—stepped up beside the first, his cock hard and thick, and he grabbed her hair and pulled her head sideways. Her lips were stretched around the first man's cock, and the fourth man pressed his own against the corner of her mouth, pushing, forcing his way in beside it.

She couldn't breathe. Two cocks in her mouth, stretching her lips to the point of pain, pressing against each other inside her, and she felt the first man's cock pulse against her tongue and the fourth man's cock slide deeper, and she was drowning in them, choking, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"That's it," the fourth man grunted. "Take it. Take both of us."

Behind her, the fifth man moved in. She felt his hands on her hips, pulling the second man's cock out of her cunt for just a moment, and then his own replaced it—thicker, longer, and she felt the stretch, the burn, the impossible fullness as he pushed in to the hilt. She tried to scream, but there was no room for sound, nothing but the gurgle of her throat around the two cocks in her mouth.

"And the last one," Auntie Shobha said, almost gently. "Two in her ass, beti. I said two."

The sixth man's hands were on her ass—rough, calloused hands that spread her cheeks wide, and she felt the third man's cock pull out of her asshole, leaving it empty and aching for just a moment, and then the sixth man was there, his cock pressing against her, and he pushed.

She was so full. Two cocks in her mouth, one in her cunt, and now two in her ass—the third man had pushed back in beside the sixth, and they were both inside her, stretching her asshole to the point of tearing, and she felt the burn, the stretch, the impossible fullness of it, and she screamed around the cocks in her throat.

"That's it," the third man groaned. "That's it—she's clenching around us—"

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. There was nothing in the world but the cocks in her body, the hands gripping her hair and her hips and her ass, the weight of six men on her, around her, inside her. The first man's cock was so deep in her throat she could feel it in her chest, and the fourth man's cock was pressing against her cheek from the inside, and she was drowning, choking, and the tears were streaming down her face and she couldn't stop them.

"Look at her," Auntie Shobha said, and the red dot hovered close, recording every tear, every choke, every gasp. "Look at the sanskari wife now. Look at what she is."

Something broke open inside her. It was the same thing that had broken open in Chapter 40, when the strangers had first touched her—that dark, hungry thing that wanted this, that pushed her hips back to take them deeper, that made her cunt clench around the cock inside her even as she choked on the two in her mouth. She hated it. She wanted it. She was drowning in it.

The sixth man's hand came down on her ass—a hard, flat slap that made her jerk and cry out around the cocks in her mouth, and then another, and another, and she felt her ass cheek sting and burn and the men groan at the way she clenched around them.

"That's it," the third man said. "Spank her. Make her feel it."

The sixth man's palm landed again, harder this time, and Neha's whole body bucked forward, driving the cocks in her throat deeper. The first man groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair, and she felt his cock pulse against her tongue. The fourth man's hand found her jaw, holding her open, and she heard the wet, obscene sound of their thrusts, two cocks sliding in and out of her mouth in a rhythm they had found together without a word.

Behind her, the fifth man's hips slapped against her ass, his balls swinging against her clit with every thrust, and she felt the sixth man's cock slide deeper into her asshole, stretching her further, filling a space she hadn't known she had. The third man's hand came down on her other ass cheek, a mirror of the sixth's, and she cried out, a muffled, gurgling sound that vibrated around the two cocks in her throat. The men groaned at the sensation, and the fifth man's hand closed on her hip, pulling her back harder onto his cock.

"She's close," the second man said from somewhere beside the bed, and she heard the amusement in his voice. "Look at her. She's clenching like she's about to come."

Neha's face burned. She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but her body was already betraying her—her cunt was gripping the fifth man's cock in rhythmic pulses, her asshole clenching around the third and sixth men, and she could feel the heat building low in her belly, the familiar, shameful pressure that she had learned to hate and crave in equal measure. She tried to hold it back, tried to think of anything else—of Vikram's face, of her mother's voice, of the temple bells she had heard every morning of her childhood—but the cocks in her body were relentless, and the hands on her skin were everywhere, and the red dot was watching, and she was drowning.

"Let it go," the first man said, his voice a low growl around the base of his cock. "Let it go, randi. Come for us. Come for the camera."

She shook her head as much as she could with two cocks in her throat, a small, desperate denial, and the fourth man laughed—a low, dark sound that she felt in her chest. His hand left her jaw and came down on her cheek, a hard, flat slap that made her eyes water and her cunt clench, and she heard the fifth man groan as she tightened around him.

"You heard him," the fourth man said. "Come. Now."

And something in her broke. The dark, hungry thing that had been building inside her all night, the thing that had pushed her hips back and made her cunt clench and made her say the words she had never thought she would say, surged up and took her. Her whole body convulsed, her back arching, her hips grinding back against the cocks in her cunt and her ass, and she came screaming around the two cocks in her throat—a raw, broken, muffled sound that was barely human, that was the sound of a woman being unmade. Her cunt clenched around the fifth man's cock in wave after wave, her asshole spasming around the third and sixth men, and she felt her own wetness gushing down her thighs, soaking the sheets beneath her.

"That's it," the third man groaned, his hands gripping her ass so hard she knew there would be bruises. "That's it—she's coming—she's coming around us—"

She was still convulsing when the first man's hand closed on her throat. His fingers found the hollow of her neck and squeezed, not hard enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her gasp, to make her throat tighten around the two cocks still buried in her mouth. She felt the fourth man's cock slide deeper, felt the first man's cock pulse against her tongue, and she was drowning again, the orgasm still rippling through her body as the hand on her throat tightened and the cocks in her mouth drove deeper, and the red dot hovered close, recording every tear, every choke, every convulsion of her broken body.