The breakthrough Vikram had, he worked on it really hard. Now, it was the day my case was heard by the Joint Commission and was expected to give a final verdict.
I was sitting on the edge of the cot, holding a mobile. My phone buzzed, a message from my lawyer. “Case officially closed. You’re free, Miss!”
I immediately called him, and the first thing I heard was, “You are the same.” I could not reply; I was overwhelmed.
“The report from Vikram… it was undeniable. The Ministry has withdrawn the charges. They’re calling it an ‘administrative error.’ Your accounts are being unfrozen as we speak. You can walk back into your office on Monday.” He continued.
I should have felt happiness. I should have been planning how to look the Minister in the eye and make him blink.
But I felt nothing but a hollow. And there, the door was pushed aside. Vikram stepped in. No tie. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His eyes were dark, tired, but focused only on me.
He locked the door. My smile froze. He didn’t speak. He just watched me, like a predator that had finally cornered its prey. I stood, backing toward the wall. He wasn’t there to talk. He was there to collect the final payment of the contract. My phone fell on the floor.
He was approaching me. I backed away instinctively, and I hit the wall. Vikram crossed the room in slow strides. He reached out to me and buried his hand in my hair, his fingers tangled in the roots. With a brutal, sudden jerk, he yanked my head back.
My neck arched, which forced my eyes to meet his. His face was a mask of sheer dominance. Before I could even gasp, his mouth was on mine. His tongue forced its way in. He bit my lower lip with a deliberate cruelty; the taste of my own blood bloomed in my mouth.
I was standing still. My hands were not on him. I was stunned, letting him play. And it wasn’t a kiss. It felt like an assault. He shifted his grip on my hair. His nails raked on my scalp as he dragged my head downward.
I stumbled, my balance gone, and I dropped to my knees. His drag was a bone-cracking thud. He stood over me, unbuckled his belt. He held my neck, dragging me. Then he unzipped, and his cock sprang free. Thick, angry, wet at the tip.
He didn’t wait for me to move. He grabbed my chin, his thumb and forefinger were pressing into my jaw, and forced my mouth to open. I leaned in. Took his dick into my mouth. He made a grip at the back of my head, his fingers locked into my hair, and he began to thrust. Deep. Hard.
Every stroke hit the back of my throat, which made my eyes water instantly, and my lungs burn. I was gagging, my body was shaking with the effort to breathe, but he was relentless.
He wanted to feel my throat. My eyeliner began to run; black streaks were mixing with the tears on my cheeks. I was a senior government officer. I was on my knees, choking on the man who had saved me to destroy me.
He was holding my head still. No escape. Thrusting the dick in, out. Slow. Relentlessly. My lungs burned. I couldn’t breathe. A taste of his pre-cum hit my taste buds.
He pulled out dick with a wet, suctioning sound. A string of saliva and pre-cum stuck to his foreskin. I was there, swaying, my mouth still open. He didn’t give me a moment to recover. He hauled me up by my hair; my feet were barely touching the ground as he dragged me toward the bed.
The transition of position was so fast that I felt unsteady. He threw me. I hit the mattress and bounced. I felt like my limbs were spread out like a discarded doll.
Before I could even roll over, he was on top of me. He didn’t bother with my clothes. He pushed my grey shirt up to my neck and pinned my wrists above my head with one hand.
He spread my legs with his knees. He didn’t use a condom. He didn’t care about my comfort. He pushed into pussy in one long, steady, cruel thrust. I felt my inner walls stretch to the breaking point. A high, broken sound came out of a moan. “Ahh!”
He began to move. Long, slow but strong thuds that were grounding his abdomen against my thighs. Every thrust was a statement of ownership. He was excavating me. He filled me so completely that I felt the pressure in my very stomach.
He reached down and squeezed my boobs with a bruising force. His fingers dug in until I knew I would have marks for weeks. I looked up at him, my vision was blurred. I was broken, humiliated. And yet, beneath the pain, there was a shameful spark of paradise. The Verdict Machine was dead.
He leaned down; his teeth bit my ear. “You’re a hole,” he said in his ear. “My hole!”
Saying this, he flipped me over with a violent drive. My face was buried into the pillow. He entered the pussy again from behind, his hand was finding my throat, squeezing it.
The rhythm was faster now, a punishing, relentless thudding that was echoing in a quiet room. Each strike of his body against mine felt, “Damn…”. I was no longer a person. I was a toy. I was a tool. I was a piece of meat.
And I realised for the first time in thirteen years, I was exactly where I wanted to be. I was already mesmerised by what I was experiencing. I was at the peak of my pleasure.
And then just like that, I saw Vikram rush in for the first time. I felt wet in my pussy; it was his cum. He finished. His grip loosened. He fell on me. Still, he had the look, the control, and I was satisfied, mesmerised. Enjoying heavenly moments.
Minutes later, the weight of Vikram’s body was still pressing me into the mattress. I should have been planning my escape now that my name was clear. But I turned my head slightly, my hair matted against my cheek.
I looked at him, the man who just tore me, and I smiled. The case was over. I was free. And here I was, under him, being fucked like a toy. A mad laugh bubbled up. I couldn’t stop it.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
He didn’t respond with words. He grabbed my hair and flipped me over so violently I felt my neck crack. Before I could breathe, his palm collided with my cheek. A massive, stinging slap that explodes my vision into white sparks.
He didn’t give me a second to recover. He dragged me off the bed by my ankles, and my body was hitting the floor with a dull thud. The “breakthrough” was over. Now, there was only the hunt.
He tugged me. My wrists were gathered in his grip as he dragged me toward the living room. My bare skin scraped on hallway tiles. Red welts marked on my thighs. But he didn’t slow.
He took a silk sash from the lounge chair and bound my wrists behind my back. Then he used a second cord tie my neck to my own ankles. He looped it to my bound wrists behind my back.
The rope pulled tight. I was folded in half. Every time I tried to shift my weight to ease the cramp in my thighs, the cord around my neck tightened, choking me. He stood behind me. His shadow fell over my back. I was expecting his cock. Instead, I felt heat.
A sudden, hot stream hit my back. It smelled sour. He came on front; he was pissing on me. The warm liquid ran down my body. I squeezed my eyes shut. When he finished, he didn’t wait. He kicked my legs wider. Entered his dick in pussy from behind. While I was still wet with his piss.
The smell was filling the room. He pounded into me. Hard. Wet. Thudding sounds. His balls were slapping my ass. My face was pressed to the floor. I could smell the marble, the piss, my own sweat. The stretch was too much. The humiliation broke me, and I was ashamed of it.
I felt a sudden gush. Hot. My own fluids sprayed out. Mixed with the pool of piss on the floor. It was a waterfall between my legs. I couldn’t stop it. I was shaking. Vikram stopped instantly. He grabbed my hair. Pushed my face down. Slammed my boobs against the cold marble. “Clean it.”
I didn’t hesitate. The Verdict Machine was dead. I lowered my head. My own water and his piss. I used my tongue. Lapped the warm, bitter liquid off. Slurped it up. I licked until the floor was clean. I was a senior official. I was licking the floor like a dog.
Only then did he pull me up. He resumed. His thrusts were more violent now. He moved me to the stairs. The wooden edges were sharp. He forced my body across them. My spine pressed into the corners. He stood above me. Pressed dick in pussy from a steep angle.
His cock hit a new spot. I cried out. My head hung toward the lobby. My hair brushed the floor. He was hammering into my pussy. Each thrust slammed my back against the wood.
Finally, he dragged me back to the centre of the room. I was ruined by then. My body was soaked, yellowed. My hair was a matted-on skin from piss. My pussy was swollen, raw, and leaking. He stood me up. My legs wouldn’t hold. I collapsed to my knees. My forehead rested on the floor.
So, he entered me one last time while I was collapsed. His hands gripped my throat. I felt his final release. Heavy pulses I was feeling inside pussy. A hot flood into pussy.
He pulled out. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I fell onto my side. My mind was blank. The office, the case, all gone. There was only the shadow of the man standing over me.
He untied the cord from my neck. Left my hands bound. He didn’t speak. I heard his footsteps. Steady. Calm. A man who had finished his work and left. I lay there. Totally drained.
The sun came up. I woke on the marble floor of the living room. The air was smelling of the dried tang of urine. I was naked, and I had some cramps. My hands were still bound behind me.
I heard the soft clink of bangles. Laxmi was standing over me. She didn’t look shocked. She knelt beside me. “Sir is finished with you; you are leaving in an hour,” she said.
I was still lying, she reached for me, she brushed my thighs before moving to the mess into my pussy. She dipped two fingers into me, where Vikram’s cum still leaked.
She gathered the liquid and then, with a look of pure, religious hunger, she brought them to her own lips. She savoured the taste. Her eyes were closed as if she were receiving a blessing. I watched her, and I didn’t feel disgust. I felt the same dark, magnetic pull.
I wanted what she had. I leaned my head down, and my tongue found the traces of Vikram’s cum on my own skin. It was a communion of slaves. We looked at each other then, and we smiled. It was a secret smile that no one in the world of officers would ever understand.
When I went into the bathroom, I stood before the mirror. My face was a map of violence. My lips were cracked and swollen, my eyes were puffy, and a deep purple bruise was on my neck.
My body was covered in marks, belt welts, finger bruises, and the raw, red skin from the floor. I smelled like a public toilet. And yet, I felt a sense of completion. The Verdict Machine was not just dead; she had been burned.
After an hour, the taxi was at the gate. I sat in the back seat. As we pulled away, I looked up at the neighbour’s mansion. The lady was there, standing there. She didn’t wave, but she watched the car until it turned the corner.
She knew. She had seen the breaking, and she was already waiting for the next one to arrive. I looked back at the house. Laxmi was standing by the door.
Vikram didn’t come to the window. He didn’t have to. He was already inside me, a permanent stain on my soul that no shower could ever wash away.
I was going back to a life where I was a queen, but every inch of my body was screaming to be a toy. I was free, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay. To hear Vikram’s calm voice say “KNEEL!!”
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