
Ranjeet grabs a fistful of her matted hair and pulls her face up until her swollen bloated lips are inches from his thick, veined shaft. He speaks slowly, each word a nail hammering into her ruined mind.
“Sunn meri besharam kutiya. Aaj tera final exam hai. Har position mein tu mera poora 12 inch lund apni throat ke andar legi rukegi nahi, chhodegi nahi. Tu gag karegi, choke karegi, aansu bahayegi, gardan phool jayegi, par tu khud aage badhkar mera lund nigalegi. Aur sabse zaroori baat, ek bhi boond mera maal, ek bhi boond tera ulti, ek bhi boond lund ki raseeli dhaar teri hothon ke bahar nahi girni chahiye. Agar ek bhi boond bahar giri, toh main tere mooh ko phir se pura bharunga aur saara training dobaara shuru karega. Samjhi, meri gandi throat rakhail?”









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