The next morning, I woke on the cot, my body was stiff, and my mind was heavy. Every time I closed my eyes, shame still lingered in my mouth. I could still feel the girl’s skin and Vikram’s fingers in my pussy.
I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest. The door opened. Lakshmi stood there, “Sir wants to see you. Freshen up.”
Saying that Lakshmi left the room. I got freshened up and took a shower. When I went downstairs, the house felt quiet. I found Laxmi in the drawing room, staring out toward the yard.
“What’s happening here?” I asked.
She walked toward the yard, and I was following her. She said, “Priya is leaving. Watch.”
“Who’s Priya?” I asked.
“The dog girl! Her name was Priya. Now it’s nothing.” Lakshmi replied.
Through the glass, I saw Vikram. He was standing by his black SUV. Priya was kneeling at his feet, semi-naked, now clean, but had fresh bruises on her back. Her eyes were dead.
“Stand,” Vikram said.
She stood, her legs wobbling like a newborn calf’s. He unclipped the leash from her collar. His driver was already loading her luggage in the car.
“Why did she end up like this, Laxmi? What could she have possibly done to deserve this?” I asked this same question to Lakshmi, which was left unanswered yesterday.
Lakshmi held up a phone and played a video. It was a screen recording of an old social media thread. Priya, looking arrogant in the video, was mocking a local protest against the culling of stray dogs. She had called them “street filth” and “traitors to human safety.”
“Sir loves dogs more than anything else,” Laxmi said, “And this girl. She campaigned for their removal. So, Sir showed her what a real traitor feels like.”
“But why is she so obedient?” I asked while watching Vikram reach out and spank Priya’s butt one last time. “She’s a grown woman. Why didn’t she run?”
“Sir hacked her life,” Laxmi said. “He found the cracks. I guess in a pub, she has been caught kissing another man in a surveillance camera, but I am not sure, ma’am. So, He made her choose the leash or the destruction.”
We were at the door of the yard when Vikram opened the car boot and commanded Priya, “Get in the trunk.”
She walked into the boot space without a word. He closed the trunk. To the driver, he said, “Drive her to the bus station. Dump her near the shelter. Let her find her way home.”
The driver nodded, and the car drove away. Priya was gone. I stood frozen. Vikram turned back toward the house, and his gaze turned to me.
“You see, Meera? That pet thought she was above animals. Now she knows she is one.
Anyway, it’s good for her, dogs are more loyal than humans, you know. Haha”
He smiled and spoke. “Go. Have breakfast.” He sat at the dining table and began his breakfast.
Behind me, the door was open. Before going inside, I glanced sideways. Through the window, I saw her, the neighbour.
She was the same lady I had noticed earlier. She stood at her own gate, staring at our house.
Our eyes met for a second. She didn’t look away. Then she turned and vanished inside.
When I went inside, Vikram was watching the news while making breakfast. I stayed there for a moment and then walked upstairs. Vikram called me, “Hey Meera. Come here.”
I turned back and walked to him. I stood before him, and he was looking entirely relaxed. I felt a flicker of hope, maybe today he would be the analyst, the man who was going to save my career.
But as I reached for him, he said, “Remove your pants.”
I froze. “Huh?”
He commanded me, “Undo your pants.” His voice was as casual as if he were asking for the salt.
My fingers trembled for a moment at my waistband. I fumbled with my jeans button. It took three tries to undo it. And then I pulled the zipper down.
Then he told, “Panty too,” Vikram said. “Pull them down to your knees.”
Humiliation was burning on my cheeks. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slid them down. My pussy was exposed again. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Lakshmi stood by the sink, her back toward us, but I felt her listening.
Vikram leaned forward. He didn’t touch my skin. He ran a single finger through my pubic hair, twirling the thick curls. “Look at this jungle. So thick. So messy. Like a forest no one has trimmed,” he said, laughing.
He stood, buttoning his jacket. “I have a meeting. Be back by evening. When I return, I expect this mess to be gone. Shaved clean.”
I nodded to Vikram. “Lakshmi,” he called. “Make her presentable. I want her smooth.”
In shame, I ran to my room, tripping over my pants on my knees. Vikram also walked out. My mind kept screaming. ‘This is not you. This is not you, Meera.’ But my body felt uncomfortably warm.
An hour later, Lakshmi came to my room. I was sitting on the edge of the cot, my pants were still down to my knees. Lakshmi pointed to a low stool. “Sit.”
I stood up, pulled my pants out of my legs, and sat. Legs spread, exposed. She brought a bowl of steaming water, a sharp razor, and soap.
She lathered the soap in her hands, then knelt before me. “Hold still,” she said.
Her fingers applied the foam to my pubic hair. The soap was warm. She didn’t just slap it on; she spread it slowly, her fingers sliding between the folds of pussy, and somehow that felt dangerously intimate. I gasped, my back arched slightly.
“Why does he… do this?” I asked her in a low voice.
Lakshmi didn’t look up. She spread the foam over my groin; her fingers were sliding over pussy. I gasped.
“To own you,” she said. With that said, she picked up the razor. The first scrape was cold, sharp. I felt each hair being sliced off. The razor moved lower, skimming my inner thighs. I bit my lip.
“Why do you stay here?” I asked again, trying to distract myself from the sensation of the blade moving near my clit. “A woman like you… You could leave. What’s your secret that keeps you here?”
She paused and said, wiping the razor on a cloth. “I owe him.”
“Owe?” I said.
She paused, wiping the white foam and dark hair onto a cloth. “I owe him my life. My son was dying. He kept him alive. He was ten that time. Now he’s twenty. Safe. Fed.”
She resumed shaving, the blade gliding over my now-smooth skin. “But, Sir, doesn’t do charity. He collects debts. And I pay mine with blood and my breath.”
I shivered. ” And you… You thank him for it?”
“Always.” She met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw something terrifying, a devotion. “He is my god. My pain is my prayer. Over the years, the pain has changed. I crave it now.”
She paused for a second and then continued, “My pussy aches for his touch, for his discipline, but he denies me. He never uses me that way. And in that denial, my flesh worships him even more.”
She spread my pussy fold with her fingers, shaving some last hairs near my clit. The blade nicked me. A tiny sting and I was yelping.
“Sorry,” she said, but her face didn’t change. “Almost done.”
She wiped me clean with a damp towel. The skin was raw, tender. She touched it, ran a final finger over the smooth surface. “Smooth. Sir will be pleased.”
She stood. “Keep it open. Let it air-dry.”
She left. I sat on the stool, legs spread, and the cool air was hitting my nakedness. I touched my pussy tentatively.
A fresh wave of humiliation washed over me, but my disloyal body throbbed with arousal. The mirror was fogged, but I could see the outline of my body, transformed. I looked like a child. I felt like a slave.
I spent the afternoon in my room. I thought of Vikram’s finger in my pubic hair, Lakshmi’s razor on my most intimate place, the way Laxmi spoke of her “prayer.”
The door opened in the evening. Vikram stood there, holding his phone. “Come,” he said.
I followed him to the living room. He sat on the sofa, legs spread. His eyes were flat. I nodded.
He said, “Kneel. Hands behind your back. Head down.”
I dropped to my knees without thinking. He continued, “Hands behind your back. Head down.”
I obeyed. The position stretched my thighs. “Stay,” he said. “I have a call.”
He put his phone on speaker. I heard a man’s voice, deep, authoritative. Vikram spoke softly, discussing “the Delhi project,” “the minister,” “cleaning the mess.”
I knelt, forgotten. My knees ached. My back began screaming. Sweat was trickling down my spine.
Ten minutes passed. Twenty. I didn’t dare move. The room was silent except for Vikram’s murmurs and my own ragged breathing. Vikram’s eyes locked on mine at some point.
I remember the conversation. He asked, “What glitch?”
“A timestamp mismatch. It’s minor, but they’re questioning the original sign-offs. They might call Meera for a statement.” The man responded to the phone call.
Vikram’s jaw tightened. “Will see. She isn’t going anywhere. Keep me posted.”
He hung up. “You hear?” he said softly. “Your past is breathing down your neck. And you’re lucky I’m the one holding the handle.”
He walked over to me. “Turn around.”
I turned; my heart was pounding. He unzipped his pants. I heard the rasp of his zipper, then his hot breath hit the back of my neck.
“Bend over,” he whispered. ” Bend over. Hands on the sofa. Spread your legs as wide as they go.”
I obeyed, my shaved buttocks exposed to him. Then I felt his erect dick press against the crack of my ass. It felt like a thick, hard rod. He didn’t enter me, he just rubbed the head against my skin, teased the entrance of pussy.
Instead, he reached around and suddenly slipped two fingers into my mouth. “Suck,” he commanded.
I closed my lips around his fingers. He thrust them deep. “Deeper,” he said. “Take them all.”
His fingers moved in and out, mimicking what his cock wanted to do. “Good,” he breathed. “Now, stay still.”
He removed his fingers, slick with my saliva. He held them under my nose. “Smell what you are.” I inhaled.
When I was smelling, I felt something cold and round press against my asshole. It was a butt plug. I felt something cold and round press against my asshole; a plug. Vikram pushed it in slowly.
I gasped at the invasion, but it was smooth, almost easy. The stretch of asshole was minimal. No sharp pain. It felt like any other plug.
But then Vikram’s fingers moved at the base. I heard a faint hiss. The plug began to expand, like air escaping a tyre, but in reverse. The pressure inside me shifted. The plug wasn’t staying.
small, it was growing.
“Oh god,” I moaned around his fingers.
I gripped around it, confused. The plug was expanding, stretching my inner walls from the inside out. Each tiny inflation added a new layer of pressure, a relentless stretch that made my toes curl.
The sensation blurred the line between pain and a shameful pleasure. My ass involuntarily rocked, trying to escape the pressure, but there was no escape. It was still expanding, a slow, cruel bloating that made me feel filled beyond capacity.
Tears pricked my eyes, not just from the physical stretch, but from the humiliation of it. He was watching me, seeing my body betray me, accepting this violation.
When he finally pulled it out with a slow, dragging motion, the sudden vacuum made my inner muscles spasm. The sudden emptiness was a shock. My muscles were throbbing.
After a moment, he guided his dick between my thighs and began rubbing against my shaved vulva. That friction was electric, maddening. He moved back and forth, never entering, just teasing.
“Now,” he said. “Count my strokes. Out loud.”
He thrust forward. “One.” The head of his cock bumped against my clit.
“Two.” He pulled back.
“Three.” He pressed harder.
I counted; my voice was shaking. Each thrust was a tease. By the time I reached twenty or a few more maybe, I was shaking, my thighs were trembling with the effort of holding the pose.
“Thirty,” I gasped.
He stopped. “You’re enjoying this. Your pussy is screaming for me.” It was true, the anticipation made me urge. Inner me was in conflict, thinking about how my body responds to his touch. He reached under me, found my clit. It was swollen, aching and all wet. He pinched it hard. I cried out, a high, sharp sound of protest and pleasure.
He pulled away his hand. I heard his belt buckle clink. He doubled the leather strap; the tail was hanging loose.
“Count Meera again,” he said. “This time, for the belt. If you miss one, we start over.”
Thwack! The leather landed across my buttocks. The sting was immediate.
“One,” I whispered.
Thwack!
“Two.”
He didn’t hit hard enough to draw blood, just enough to burn. Each blow landed on the same spot. And to my horror, I felt my body responding to the pain. The sting was waking up my nerves, turning the humiliation into a fire.
“Your skin is turning pink,” he said, voice clinical. “Like a ripe fruit. I could bite it.”
Thwack!
“Three.”
Tears leaked from my eyes, dripping onto the sofa.
“Please,” I sobbed.
“Please, what?”
“Please, Sir. More.” I didn’t say more to please him. But unknowingly, I really craved for more. The deliberate pain in temptation started exciting me.
He stopped. I straightened and turned my face to him. His pants were open; his dick was thick and dark. He stroked it slowly while his eyes were on my face.
“On your knees,” he commanded again.
I dropped. “Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.” He said.
I obeyed. He stepped forward, the head of his cock hovering over my lips.
I stuck my tongue out, and my eyes were closed. I felt his hand on the back of my head, pulling me forward. I tasted some salt, the pre-cum and the muscular rod. He pushed the dick in just an inch, then pulled out.
“Don’t move,” he said.
I stayed frozen, tongue out, mouth open. I could hear him breathing. I could feel the wetness all over my legs, and my buttocks were burning from the belt.
After a long moment, he spoke. “You see? You want it so badly, your pussy is drooling. But you don’t get it. Not until I say.”
He stepped back. “Stand up.”
I struggled to my feet, legs shaking. He walked around me. He zipped his pants. “Go to your room. I’m done with you for today.”
I closed the door behind me, ran to my room and lay on the cot. Sleep wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Vikram’s eyes.
I felt his fingers in my holes. I heard his voice, ‘Are you wet, Meera? ‘ The question kept echoing. And I was thinking, ‘Am I really liking it? This humiliation, this submission.’ I was in a total dilemma, as liking such humiliation is the exact opposite of my personality, which I know.
I was scared, and I squeezed my thighs together. ‘This is madness, I thought. ‘He’s breaking me. But a darker thought was, ‘What if I break?’
To be continued.
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