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Actress Sex Story Actress Short Sex Story Fantasy

Nazriya Nazim




I was a good Muslim wife, devoted to my husband and our conservative community. But deep down, I harbored forbidden desires, fantasies that went against everything I believed in. Little did I know that a chance encounter with a Hindu police officer would lead me down a path of no return.

It all started when I was caught shoplifting a skimpy dress from a boutique. I couldn’t resist the allure of the silky fabric and revealing cut. It was so unlike anything I normally wore. As I tried to leave the store, the alarms blared, and I was apprehended by a stern-faced officer named Raghu.




He took me to the police station, his eyes roaming over my modest abaya with an intensity that made me shiver. I expected him to be harsh, to lecture me about morality and sin. But instead, he spoke softly, his voice laced with something dark and seductive. He just warned me and told to leave. From then onward i started to have love for him..




We started meeting often and then our relationship moved to next level. He usually tells me he likes to treat a woman in a rough manner like treating a plaything. Even i enjoyed such things but i never got that from my husband.

Raghu took me into a back room of police station, locking the door behind us. He ordered me to strip, to bare myself before him. I obeyed, my fingers shaking as I removed my clothes, exposing my dark skin to his hungry gaze.

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He touched me then, his hands rough and demanding. He squeezed my breasts, pinched my nipples until I cried out. He slapped my ass, leaving red handprints on my flesh. And through it all, I felt a shameful arousal building inside me.


upload an image

“Beg for it,” he growled, his erection pressing against my thigh. “Beg me to fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Please,” I whimpered, my pride crumbling. “Please fuck me, officer. Use me. I’m your whore.”
He started fucking like i was born for it...



He shoved me to my knees, forcing his cock into my mouth. I gagged and choked as he fucked my face, my tears mingling with my saliva. But even as I struggled, I felt a sick pleasure, a perverse enjoyment in being used so roughly.From that day forward, I became Raghu’s plaything. He would call me to the station at all hours. He also used me in every way imaginable, fucking my mouth, my pussy, my ass.


picture share

He also use to make me wear sexy dress in front of him and i really enjoyed it.




At times i even wears raghu's lungi during our sex as raghu likes me seeing so...



I knew it was wrong, that I was betraying my husband and my faith. But I couldn’t stop. Raghu had awakened a hunger in me, a need to be dominated and degraded. I craved the pain and humiliation, the feeling of being utterly powerless.But like all things, it couldn’t last forever. One day, Raghu’s wife found out about our affair. She confronted me in the street, her eyes wild with rage and betrayal. She screamed at me, calling me a whore and a homewrecker. And then she spat in my face.



I was thrown out of my house, disowned by my family and shunned by my community. My husband divorced me, taking my children and leaving me with nothing. I was ruined, my reputation destroyed. I thought of committing suicide... And that’s when Aishwarya Rajesh found me.




She was a former housewife who had become a prostitute and then a brothel owner. She took me in, offering me a place to stay.. She told me about her relation with Ramesh her husband and her relationship with Tamannaah and sreeleela..


upload images online




Later aishwarya asked me to join her so that i can earn money... I asked aishwarya why she got angry when sreeleela asked the same and why she is offering the same job to me.. Aishwarya said sreeleela was interested only in sex... But you are interested in sex and money. You had a good life with your husband but you destroyed it for your interest on sex and money. So if you are interested, you can join me... You will get both of them... Though initially i felt bad later i understood what she said was valid... I agreed to work witu her...Under her tutelage, I learned to take pleasure in pain, to crave the rough touch of men who used me for their own satisfaction. I became a willing participant in the debauchery of the brothel, servicing clients of all kinds.



And though I knew I had lost everything, I felt a strange sense of freedom. I was no longer bound by the strictures of my faith or the expectations of my community. I was simply Nazriya, the whore who had once been a good Muslim wife.



As I lay in bed after a long night of work, my body aching and my mind numb, I couldn’t help but think of Raghu. He had been the one to introduce me to this life, to show me the depths of my own depravity. And though he had betrayed me in the end, I couldn’t hate him.

Because deep down, I knew that I had chosen this path. I had chosen to steal that dress, to submit to Raghu’s dominance. I had chosen to become the whore that I was now.

And as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that there was no going back. This was my life now, and I would embrace it with all the passion and depravity that it demanded. I was Nazriya, the fallen Muslim wife, and I would never be anything else again.



THE END
 
raj1984 said:
Nazriya Nazim




I was a good Muslim wife, devoted to my husband and our conservative community. But deep down, I harbored forbidden desires, fantasies that went against everything I believed in. Little did I know that a chance encounter with a Hindu police officer would lead me down a path of no return.

It all started when I was caught shoplifting a skimpy dress from a boutique. I couldn’t resist the allure of the silky fabric and revealing cut. It was so unlike anything I normally wore. As I tried to leave the store, the alarms blared, and I was apprehended by a stern-faced officer named Raghu.




He took me to the police station, his eyes roaming over my modest abaya with an intensity that made me shiver. I expected him to be harsh, to lecture me about morality and sin. But instead, he spoke softly, his voice laced with something dark and seductive. He just warned me and told to leave. From then onward i started to have love for him..




We started meeting often and then our relationship moved to next level. He usually tells me he likes to treat a woman in a rough manner like treating a plaything. Even i enjoyed such things but i never got that from my husband.

Raghu took me into a back room of police station, locking the door behind us. He ordered me to strip, to bare myself before him. I obeyed, my fingers shaking as I removed my clothes, exposing my dark skin to his hungry gaze.

anonymous pictures website

He touched me then, his hands rough and demanding. He squeezed my breasts, pinched my nipples until I cried out. He slapped my ass, leaving red handprints on my flesh. And through it all, I felt a shameful arousal building inside me.


upload an image

“Beg for it,” he growled, his erection pressing against my thigh. “Beg me to fuck you like the whore you are.”

“Please,” I whimpered, my pride crumbling. “Please fuck me, officer. Use me. I’m your whore.”
He started fucking like i was born for it...



He shoved me to my knees, forcing his cock into my mouth. I gagged and choked as he fucked my face, my tears mingling with my saliva. But even as I struggled, I felt a sick pleasure, a perverse enjoyment in being used so roughly.From that day forward, I became Raghu’s plaything. He would call me to the station at all hours. He also used me in every way imaginable, fucking my mouth, my pussy, my ass.


picture share

He also use to make me wear sexy dress in front of him and i really enjoyed it.




At times i even wears raghu's lungi during our sex as raghu likes me seeing so...



I knew it was wrong, that I was betraying my husband and my faith. But I couldn’t stop. Raghu had awakened a hunger in me, a need to be dominated and degraded. I craved the pain and humiliation, the feeling of being utterly powerless.But like all things, it couldn’t last forever. One day, Raghu’s wife found out about our affair. She confronted me in the street, her eyes wild with rage and betrayal. She screamed at me, calling me a whore and a homewrecker. And then she spat in my face.



I was thrown out of my house, disowned by my family and shunned by my community. My husband divorced me, taking my children and leaving me with nothing. I was ruined, my reputation destroyed. I thought of committing suicide... And that’s when Aishwarya Rajesh found me.




She was a former housewife who had become a prostitute and then a brothel owner. She took me in, offering me a place to stay.. She told me about her relation with Ramesh her husband and her relationship with Tamannaah and sreeleela..


upload images online




Later aishwarya asked me to join her so that i can earn money... I asked aishwarya why she got angry when sreeleela asked the same and why she is offering the same job to me.. Aishwarya said sreeleela was interested only in sex... But you are interested in sex and money. You had a good life with your husband but you destroyed it for your interest on sex and money. So if you are interested, you can join me... You will get both of them... Though initially i felt bad later i understood what she said was valid... I agreed to work witu her...Under her tutelage, I learned to take pleasure in pain, to crave the rough touch of men who used me for their own satisfaction. I became a willing participant in the debauchery of the brothel, servicing clients of all kinds.



And though I knew I had lost everything, I felt a strange sense of freedom. I was no longer bound by the strictures of my faith or the expectations of my community. I was simply Nazriya, the whore who had once been a good Muslim wife.



As I lay in bed after a long night of work, my body aching and my mind numb, I couldn’t help but think of Raghu. He had been the one to introduce me to this life, to show me the depths of my own depravity. And though he had betrayed me in the end, I couldn’t hate him.

Because deep down, I knew that I had chosen this path. I had chosen to steal that dress, to submit to Raghu’s dominance. I had chosen to become the whore that I was now.

And as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that there was no going back. This was my life now, and I would embrace it with all the passion and depravity that it demanded. I was Nazriya, the fallen Muslim wife, and I would never be anything else again.



THE END
Click to expand...
Great one bro
 
Peace RP said:
Finally nivetha destroy 😍😍😍 but if you make her pig or cow it will be more interesting 😍😍😍 btw its good 👍
Click to expand...
Dear readers 😂😂

Even if i try to change my track, readers like @Peace RP are forcing me to go back to my regular routine.. I am sorry i am helpless... Next story will have what you expect... It will be a big story comparing to what i gave till now
 
POOJA HEGDE



The first time I walked into the classroom, I could feel their eyes on me. Young, curious, and hungry. I was their professor, and at 24, barely older than them. I wore my saree with pride, neatly pleated, the pallu draped over my shoulder like armor. I was Pooja , a woman of discipline, tradition, and dignity. Or so I thought.

I began the lecture, my voice steady, my words sharp. I caught a few smirks, some whispers. A group in the back—five of them—were particularly restless. I ignored them. I was here to teach, not to entertain. But by the third lecture, I could no longer ignore their brazen stares, their hushed laughter. They called me "Madam," but it felt more like a taunt than a title.


It started with a note. Folded neatly, passed to me by a timid girl who avoided my gaze. "Madam, they said to give this to you." My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. "What’s under your saree, Madam? We’re dying to know." I crumpled it, my face burning. How dare they? But I said nothing. I couldn’t. I was their professor, and I had to maintain my composure.

The next week, it escalated. They waited for me after class, cornering me in the hallway. "Madam, don’t be so serious all the time. Don’t you ever have fun?" one of them, Arjun, said, his voice dripping with mockery. I tried to walk past them, but they blocked my path. Their laughter was sharp, cutting through my resolve.


Then it happened. One of them—I didn’t see who—grabbed my pallu, yanking it free. I gasped as the fabric unraveled, exposing my blouse. Their laughter grew louder, more vicious. "Look at her! So proper, so innocent," they sneered. I tried to cover myself, but they surrounded me, their hands everywhere, tearing at my saree. "Let’s see what you’re hiding, Madam."



I screamed, but no one came. Their hands were rough, invasive. They didn’t stop. When they were done, I was on the floor, my saree in tatters, my dignity shattered. They left me there, laughing as they walked away. "Next time, Madam, don’t be so stubborn."

The days that followed were a blur. I couldn’t face my class. I locked myself in my office, replaying the humiliation over and over. Then the calls started. Unknown numbers, taunting messages. "We’re not done with you, Madam."

One night, I found a package on my doorstep. No return address. Inside was a bottle of pills and a note. "Take one. You’ll feel better."


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I stared at it, my hands shaking. I should have thrown it away. I should have called the police. But I didn’t. I was desperate for an escape, for something to numb the pain. I took one pill. Then another. The feeling was immediate—a warm, euphoric haze that drowned out the memories. I felt free. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe. But it wasn’t enough. The next night, I took two. Then three.

They found me in my office, slumped over my desk, my mind foggy, my body heavy. Arjun was there, his face inches from mine. "See, Madam? You just needed to relax." He held out another pill. I took it without hesitation. Their laughter echoed in my ears as the haze consumed me.

The degradation was gradual. They brought me more pills, more bottles. I became dependent, craving the escape they offered. They stopped calling me "Madam." Now it was "Pooja," or worse—"slut," "whore," "bitch." I didn’t protest. I couldn’t. I was too far gone.

One night, they took me to a party. The music was loud, the air thick with smoke and alcohol. I was dressed in a cheap, revealing outfit they’d picked out for me—nothing like the saree I once wore with pride.




They handed me a drink. I drank it without question. The room spun, the faces around me blurred. Hands touched me, pulled at me. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. Arjun was there, his breath hot against my ear. "You’re ours now, Pooja. Say it." My voice was barely a whisper. "I’m yours." He grinned, his hand gripping my thigh. "Louder." "I’m yours," I repeated, my voice trembling.

Later, they took me to a room. I don’t remember how many there were. Six? Seven? Their hands were everywhere, their voices harsh, demanding. "Beg for it, slut." I did. "Please," I whimpered, my voice raw, broken. They laughed, their hands tightening, their movements rougher.

I woke up alone, my body bruised, my mind numb. I crawled to the mirror, staring at the reflection. The woman staring back at me wasn’t Pooja . She was hollow, shattered. I reached for the pills, my hands shaking as I swallowed one, then another. The haze returned, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

They found me on the street, my clothes torn, my eyes vacant. "Look at her," they sneered, "our little slut." I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight. I was too far gone.

Arjun grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Say it again, Pooja. Say you’re our slut." My voice was barely a whisper. "I’m your slut." He laughed, his grip tightening. "Louder." "I’m your slut," I repeated, my voice trembling. "I’m your whore. I’m your bitch."




They laughed, their hands pulling at me, their voices sharp and cruel. "Good girl, Pooja."

I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.Arjun’s grip on my hair was unrelenting, his fingers twisted painfully in the tangled strands as he dragged me deeper into the alley. The cold, rough ground scraped against my knees, but the sting was nothing compared to the humiliation burning in my chest. My saree, once a symbol of my dignity, was now a tattered mess, barely clinging to my body. How had I fallen this far?



The walls of the alley loomed around us, closing in like a cage. The dim light from a flickering streetlamp cast eerie shadows on the ground, and I could hear the muffled laughter of the others following behind. Arjun stopped abruptly, yanking my head back so hard I gasped. His sneering face loomed over me, his eyes dark with a twisted kind of satisfaction.



“Kneel, slut,” he commanded, his voice low and menacing.


I obeyed without a word, my body moving almost on its own. My knees hit the ground, the cold seeping through my thin clothing. Arjun stood over me, his presence overwhelming, his sneer widening as he unzipped his pants. The sound of the zipper echoed in the silence, and my breath caught in my throat.


He pulled out his cock, already hard and throbbing, and I couldn’t help but stare. It was thick, the veins pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the tip glistened with pre-cum. I felt a strange mix of fear and something else, something I didn’t want to acknowledge.


“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice sharp.


I hesitated for just a moment, but the grip on my hair tightened painfully, forcing me to comply. My lips parted, and he didn’t wait. He pushed himself into my mouth, the saltiness of his pre-cum hitting my tongue immediately. I gagged, my throat protesting the intrusion, but he didn’t stop

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“Suck it, whore,” he growled, his voice filled with a cruel kind of pleasure.

I tried to obey, my lips wrapping around him as I moved my tongue hesitantly. The taste of him was overwhelming, and I could feel the weight of him pressing against the back of my throat. My eyes watered, but I kept going, desperate to please him. Desperate to avoid the pain.




The others were watching, their laughter echoing in the alley. I could hear their voices, sharp and mocking, but I couldn’t make out the words. My world had narrowed down to this moment, to the taste of him in my mouth, to the grip of his hand in my hair.


“That’s it,” he said, his voice low and satisfied. “Take it all, slut.”


I tried to breathe through my nose, but it was hard. He was so deep, so unrelenting. My throat burned, and my jaw ached, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. His grip tightened, and he began to thrust into my mouth, his pace quickening.


“Faster,” he demanded, his voice harsh.


I tried to keep up, my tongue moving desperately against him. My mind was a haze, my thoughts scattered. All I could focus on was the feeling of him in my mouth, the taste of him, the sound of his breathing growing heavier.


Then, suddenly, he pulled out, his cock sliding out of my mouth with a wet sound. I gasped for air, my chest heaving, but he didn’t give me a moment to recover. He grabbed my hair again, yanking my head back so hard tears sprung to my eyes.


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“Do you like it, Pooja?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. “Do you like being our little slut?”


I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was raw, my voice gone. But my silence only seemed to amuse him. He laughed, a low, cruel sound that sent a shiver down my spine.


“Answer me,” he demanded, his voice sharp.


“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Yes, I like it.”


He laughed again, and the others joined in, their laughter echoing in the alley. Their voices were sharp, mocking, and I felt the heat of humiliation burn in my chest. But I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.

Arjun’s grip tightened, and he pushed me down onto my hands and knees. The ground was cold and rough against my skin, but I didn’t move. I could hear him behind me, his breathing heavy, and I knew what was coming.


“You’re going to take it all, slut,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Every fucking inch.”


I felt him press against me, and I tensed, my body instinctively trying to resist. But his hands gripped my hips, holding me in place. He pushed into me, the pain sharp and immediate. I cried out, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, his thrusts relentless, his grip on my hips bruising.


The others were still watching, their laughter a constant, cruel soundtrack. I could hear their voices, their words sharp and mocking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. My world was reduced to the pain, to the feeling of him inside me, to the humiliation burning in my chest.


“That’s it, take it,” he growled, his voice filled with a twisted kind of pleasure. “You’re nothing but a slut, Pooja. Nothing but a whore.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. My body moved with his thrusts, my mind a haze of pain and humiliation. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.


“Say it,” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Say you’re our slut.”


“I’m your slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m your whore. I’m your bitch.”


He laughed, a low, cruel sound, and his thrusts grew harder, faster. I could feel the pain, the humiliation, the shame, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Good girl, Pooja,” he said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl.”


Then, I felt it. A warmth spreading through me, a sensation I didn’t want to acknowledge. My body tensed, and I could feel it building, the heat, the pleasure, the shame. I tried to fight it, to push it away, but I couldn’t. It was too much, too overwhelming.


“Come for me, slut.” His voice was low, commanding, and I couldn’t resist. My body betrayed me, and I felt it, the wave of pleasure crashing over me, the shame burning in my chest. I cried out, my body trembling, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, his thrusts relentless, his grip on my hips tightening.


“That’s it,” he growled, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “You’re nothing but a slut, Pooja. Nothing but a whore.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. My body moved with his thrusts, my mind a haze of pain and humiliation. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Say you’re our slut.”


“I’m your slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m your whore. I’m your bitch.”


He laughed, a low, cruel sound, and his thrusts grew harder, faster. I could feel the pain, the humiliation, the shame, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Good girl, Pooja,” he said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl. You’re going to take everything, aren’t you?”


I nodded, my voice gone. He laughed again, and I could feel it, the warmth spreading through me, the sensation I didn’t want to acknowledge. My body tensed, and I could feel it building, the heat, the pleasure, the shame.


“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Take it all, slut. Every fucking drop.”




I felt him release inside me, the warmth spreading through me. The shame burned in my chest, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it


Arjun pulled out, his grip on my hips loosening. I collapsed onto the ground, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The others were still watching, their laughter a constant, cruel soundtrack. I could hear their voices, their words sharp and mocking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. My world was reduced to the pain, to the humiliation, to the shame.


“Good girl, Pooja,” Arjun said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl.”


I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My body was spent, my mind a haze of pain and humiliation. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.

“Now, who’s next?” Arjun asked, his voice filled with a cruel kind of pleasure. “Who wants to have a turn with our little slut?”


The others laughed, their voices sharp and mocking, and I felt the heat of humiliation burn in my chest. But I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“I’ll go next,” one of them said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of excitement. “I’ve been waiting for my turn with the professor."


I closed my eyes, the tears streaming down my face. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.

“Do you want it, Pooja?” Arjun asked, his voice filled with a cruel kind of pleasure. “Do you want to be our slut?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Yes, I want it. I want to be your slut.”


He laughed, a low, cruel sound, and I knew it wasn’t over. It would never be over. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Good girl, Pooja,” Arjun said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl.”

The others laughed, their voices sharp and mocking, and I felt the heat of humiliation burn in my chest. But I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“I’m your slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m your whore. I’m your bitch.”

They laughed, and I knew it wasn’t over. It would never be over. I was theirs now, and I knew it...


They pounced on me like a pack of wild animals, . "Damn, you're so fucking sexy," one of the new boys groaned, groping my heavy breasts. "I can't wait to fuck this slutty cunt." Arjun friends growled



The other new boy dropped to his knees and buried his face between my legs, licking my wet slit and sucking my clit. I threw my head back and moaned, feeling his tongue pleasure my most intimate spots. The other boys were all over me, hands and mouths roaming my mature body.

One shoved his cock into my mouth, making me gag on his thick shaft. Another slid his cock up my ass, making me scream at the sudden intrusion. I was being double penetrated, my pussy and ass stretched around their hard cocks. The others teased my tits and fucked my face, all of them grunting and cursing.




They fucked me in every position imaginable - bent over, riding, on my knees, against the wall. The hut was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and our moans of pleasure. "Take it, you dirty whore," they would say. "This is what you were made for, to be used by young cocks."




I was in heaven, lost in a world of pure pleasure. Being used as a gang bang fuck toy was my ultimate fantasy come true. My pussy and ass were being pounded over and over, the boys taking turns in my holes. They would pull out and jerk their cocks, shooting thick ropes of cum all over my body.

By the time they were done, I was covered in jizz, my hair matted with it, dripping down my face and tits. My holes were gaping and raw, cum leaking out of them. I could barely move, I was so thoroughly fucked.

The boys got dressed, smirking at the sight of me sprawled on the dirty floor, looking like a cum dump. "Thanks for the fun, auntie," the leader said with a wink. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Definitely," I breathed, already planning what slutty outfit I could wear. "I'll be here. With more of your friends?"

They just laughed and left, leaving me to clean up their mess. I slowly got dressed, cum still dripping from my used holes. I had these young boys now, and I would never let them go. They were my perfect gang bang fantasy come to life, and I would do anything to keep fucking them, as often as possible



AFTER 1 YEAR

Myself Pooja stood in front of the mirror, my reflection staring back at me with hollow eyes. Once, I was Pooja , a shy, introvert girl college professor who found comfort in the graceful folds of my saree. My measurements were a source of quiet pride—34-26-36, a testament to my disciplined lifestyle. But now, the woman in the mirror was a stranger. My once-toned body had ballooned to a grotesque 40D-30-40, my breasts straining against the silk of my saree, my hips spilling over the fabric like dough. I resigned my job as i feel i am not fit for it.



My skin, once clear and radiant, was now sallow, marked by the telltale signs of neglect and excess. I traced a finger over the dark circles under my eyes, remnants of sleepless nights spent chasing a high that never truly satisfied. The drugs had started as an escape, a way to numb the pain of a life that felt increasingly suffocating. But they had become my master, demanding more and more until I was nothing but a hollow shell, my once-sharp mind fogged by a constant haze. And then there was the sex. What had begun as a desperate attempt to feel something, anything, had spiraled into a voracious addiction. I craved it like I craved the drugs, a desperate need to fill the emptiness that gnawed at me from within. I had become a creature of pure appetite, my once-shy nature replaced by a shameless hunger that knew no bounds. I remembered the first time I had felt the change. It was subtle at first, a slight softening of my waistline, a fullness in my breasts that I had initially attributed to water retention. But then the cravings started, an insatiable hunger that drove me to devour anything and everything in sight. Food, drugs, sex – they all blurred together in a frenzied quest for satisfaction. My sarees, once my armor, now felt like a cruel joke. The elegant drapes that had once accentuated my figure now clung desperately to my expanded form, the fabric straining to contain my bloated body. I had tried to ignore the transformation, telling myself it was temporary, that I could regain control. But the truth was stark and undeniable: I was no longer Pooja . I was a monster, a grotesque parody of the woman I once was. The worst part was the loss of myself. The shy, introverted girl who loved the feel of silk against her skin was gone, replaced by a ravenous beast driven by base desires. I had become a cow, a mindless creature existing only to consume and be consumed.



The drugs and sex had stripped me of my humanity, leaving behind a hollow shell, a vessel for my insatiable appetites. I turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of myself any longer. The room felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in around me. I needed to escape, to find something, anything, to fill the void that threatened to consume me whole. My fingers trembled as I reached for the small pouch hidden in my drawer. The drugs called to me, promising temporary relief from the torment of my existence. I knew it was a lie, that the high would only lead to a deeper low, but the craving was too strong to resist. As I prepared the dose, a faint memory flickered in my mind, a fleeting image of the woman I used to be. She was smiling, her eyes sparkling with a joy I could no longer comprehend. Tears stung my eyes as I banished the thought, focusing on the needle in my hand. The familiar rush of euphoria washed over me, momentarily silencing the voices in my head. But even as the drugs took hold, I knew it wouldn't last. The emptiness would return, stronger than ever, demanding to be filled. And I would oblige, because that was all I was now – a vessel for my addictions, a cow slut lost in a world of excess and degradation.





The thought should have horrified me, but instead, it felt like a strange kind of acceptance. This was my reality now, a reality I had created through my own weakness and desperation. The high began to fade, leaving me with a familiar ache, a longing for something more. I knew what I needed, what I craved. I needed to feel desired, to be used, to lose myself in the primal act of sex. I rose unsteadily, my body heavy and sluggish. The saree felt like a straitjacket, constricting my movements. I needed to be free, to shed the last remnants of my former self. With trembling hands, I began to unravel the intricate folds of the fabric, letting it pool around my feet. I was naked now, my bloated body exposed to the harsh light of the room. But I felt no shame, only a strange sense of liberation. I was ready. Ready to be taken, to be used, to be filled. The drugs had numbed my inhibitions, leaving only a raw, animalistic need. I craved the touch of another, the roughness of hands on my flesh, the hardness of a cock thrusting into my willing body. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room. I didn't need to see his face to know what he wanted. He wanted me, just as I wanted him. I dont know who is he but i want his cock....





I spread my legs, offering myself to him, my body a testament to my degradation. He didn't hesitate, his hands grasping my hips, pulling me towards him. As he entered me, a wave of pleasure washed over me, momentarily drowning out the emptiness. But even as I moaned in ecstasy, I knew it wouldn't last. The void would return, demanding to be filled again and again, until there was nothing left of me but a hollow shell, a cow slut existing only for the next fix, the next orgasm.





The thought should have terrified me, but as his thrusts grew more urgent, I felt a strange sense of peace. This was my life now, a never-ending cycle of excess and degradation. And in that moment, I realized I was no longer fighting it. I had embraced my transformation, becoming the very thing I had once feared – a creature of pure appetite, a cow slut lost in a world of her own making.

THE END
 
Timcallisto said:
Bruh these drugged/low people fucking actresses is boring bro.. idk why there are stories on these.. instead you can make someone else fuck them right?
Click to expand...
I have changed my writting style with priya bhavani shankar story, nazriya story... But when people who read my story constantly like @Peace RP what to do
 
raj1984 said:
Need ur suggestion on this story guys... Because this type i never tried earlier as this is romance story from my end
Click to expand...
@raj1984
it is good one but extending a little longer and showing their intimacy bonding in more erotic way along with romance theme could have made it more kickier than the present one

Where in the present one it is little plain in middle where their cravings part is shown so plainly
 
raj1984 said:
POOJA HEGDE



The first time I walked into the classroom, I could feel their eyes on me. Young, curious, and hungry. I was their professor, and at 24, barely older than them. I wore my saree with pride, neatly pleated, the pallu draped over my shoulder like armor. I was Pooja , a woman of discipline, tradition, and dignity. Or so I thought.

I began the lecture, my voice steady, my words sharp. I caught a few smirks, some whispers. A group in the back—five of them—were particularly restless. I ignored them. I was here to teach, not to entertain. But by the third lecture, I could no longer ignore their brazen stares, their hushed laughter. They called me "Madam," but it felt more like a taunt than a title.


It started with a note. Folded neatly, passed to me by a timid girl who avoided my gaze. "Madam, they said to give this to you." My fingers trembled as I unfolded it. "What’s under your saree, Madam? We’re dying to know." I crumpled it, my face burning. How dare they? But I said nothing. I couldn’t. I was their professor, and I had to maintain my composure.

The next week, it escalated. They waited for me after class, cornering me in the hallway. "Madam, don’t be so serious all the time. Don’t you ever have fun?" one of them, Arjun, said, his voice dripping with mockery. I tried to walk past them, but they blocked my path. Their laughter was sharp, cutting through my resolve.


Then it happened. One of them—I didn’t see who—grabbed my pallu, yanking it free. I gasped as the fabric unraveled, exposing my blouse. Their laughter grew louder, more vicious. "Look at her! So proper, so innocent," they sneered. I tried to cover myself, but they surrounded me, their hands everywhere, tearing at my saree. "Let’s see what you’re hiding, Madam."



I screamed, but no one came. Their hands were rough, invasive. They didn’t stop. When they were done, I was on the floor, my saree in tatters, my dignity shattered. They left me there, laughing as they walked away. "Next time, Madam, don’t be so stubborn."

The days that followed were a blur. I couldn’t face my class. I locked myself in my office, replaying the humiliation over and over. Then the calls started. Unknown numbers, taunting messages. "We’re not done with you, Madam."

One night, I found a package on my doorstep. No return address. Inside was a bottle of pills and a note. "Take one. You’ll feel better."


picture upload site


I stared at it, my hands shaking. I should have thrown it away. I should have called the police. But I didn’t. I was desperate for an escape, for something to numb the pain. I took one pill. Then another. The feeling was immediate—a warm, euphoric haze that drowned out the memories. I felt free. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe. But it wasn’t enough. The next night, I took two. Then three.

They found me in my office, slumped over my desk, my mind foggy, my body heavy. Arjun was there, his face inches from mine. "See, Madam? You just needed to relax." He held out another pill. I took it without hesitation. Their laughter echoed in my ears as the haze consumed me.

The degradation was gradual. They brought me more pills, more bottles. I became dependent, craving the escape they offered. They stopped calling me "Madam." Now it was "Pooja," or worse—"slut," "whore," "bitch." I didn’t protest. I couldn’t. I was too far gone.

One night, they took me to a party. The music was loud, the air thick with smoke and alcohol. I was dressed in a cheap, revealing outfit they’d picked out for me—nothing like the saree I once wore with pride.




They handed me a drink. I drank it without question. The room spun, the faces around me blurred. Hands touched me, pulled at me. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. Arjun was there, his breath hot against my ear. "You’re ours now, Pooja. Say it." My voice was barely a whisper. "I’m yours." He grinned, his hand gripping my thigh. "Louder." "I’m yours," I repeated, my voice trembling.

Later, they took me to a room. I don’t remember how many there were. Six? Seven? Their hands were everywhere, their voices harsh, demanding. "Beg for it, slut." I did. "Please," I whimpered, my voice raw, broken. They laughed, their hands tightening, their movements rougher.

I woke up alone, my body bruised, my mind numb. I crawled to the mirror, staring at the reflection. The woman staring back at me wasn’t Pooja . She was hollow, shattered. I reached for the pills, my hands shaking as I swallowed one, then another. The haze returned, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

They found me on the street, my clothes torn, my eyes vacant. "Look at her," they sneered, "our little slut." I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight. I was too far gone.

Arjun grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Say it again, Pooja. Say you’re our slut." My voice was barely a whisper. "I’m your slut." He laughed, his grip tightening. "Louder." "I’m your slut," I repeated, my voice trembling. "I’m your whore. I’m your bitch."




They laughed, their hands pulling at me, their voices sharp and cruel. "Good girl, Pooja."

I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.Arjun’s grip on my hair was unrelenting, his fingers twisted painfully in the tangled strands as he dragged me deeper into the alley. The cold, rough ground scraped against my knees, but the sting was nothing compared to the humiliation burning in my chest. My saree, once a symbol of my dignity, was now a tattered mess, barely clinging to my body. How had I fallen this far?



The walls of the alley loomed around us, closing in like a cage. The dim light from a flickering streetlamp cast eerie shadows on the ground, and I could hear the muffled laughter of the others following behind. Arjun stopped abruptly, yanking my head back so hard I gasped. His sneering face loomed over me, his eyes dark with a twisted kind of satisfaction.



“Kneel, slut,” he commanded, his voice low and menacing.


I obeyed without a word, my body moving almost on its own. My knees hit the ground, the cold seeping through my thin clothing. Arjun stood over me, his presence overwhelming, his sneer widening as he unzipped his pants. The sound of the zipper echoed in the silence, and my breath caught in my throat.


He pulled out his cock, already hard and throbbing, and I couldn’t help but stare. It was thick, the veins pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the tip glistened with pre-cum. I felt a strange mix of fear and something else, something I didn’t want to acknowledge.


“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice sharp.


I hesitated for just a moment, but the grip on my hair tightened painfully, forcing me to comply. My lips parted, and he didn’t wait. He pushed himself into my mouth, the saltiness of his pre-cum hitting my tongue immediately. I gagged, my throat protesting the intrusion, but he didn’t stop

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“Suck it, whore,” he growled, his voice filled with a cruel kind of pleasure.

I tried to obey, my lips wrapping around him as I moved my tongue hesitantly. The taste of him was overwhelming, and I could feel the weight of him pressing against the back of my throat. My eyes watered, but I kept going, desperate to please him. Desperate to avoid the pain.




The others were watching, their laughter echoing in the alley. I could hear their voices, sharp and mocking, but I couldn’t make out the words. My world had narrowed down to this moment, to the taste of him in my mouth, to the grip of his hand in my hair.


“That’s it,” he said, his voice low and satisfied. “Take it all, slut.”


I tried to breathe through my nose, but it was hard. He was so deep, so unrelenting. My throat burned, and my jaw ached, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. His grip tightened, and he began to thrust into my mouth, his pace quickening.


“Faster,” he demanded, his voice harsh.


I tried to keep up, my tongue moving desperately against him. My mind was a haze, my thoughts scattered. All I could focus on was the feeling of him in my mouth, the taste of him, the sound of his breathing growing heavier.


Then, suddenly, he pulled out, his cock sliding out of my mouth with a wet sound. I gasped for air, my chest heaving, but he didn’t give me a moment to recover. He grabbed my hair again, yanking my head back so hard tears sprung to my eyes.


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“Do you like it, Pooja?” he asked, his voice dripping with mockery. “Do you like being our little slut?”


I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was raw, my voice gone. But my silence only seemed to amuse him. He laughed, a low, cruel sound that sent a shiver down my spine.


“Answer me,” he demanded, his voice sharp.


“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Yes, I like it.”


He laughed again, and the others joined in, their laughter echoing in the alley. Their voices were sharp, mocking, and I felt the heat of humiliation burn in my chest. But I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.

Arjun’s grip tightened, and he pushed me down onto my hands and knees. The ground was cold and rough against my skin, but I didn’t move. I could hear him behind me, his breathing heavy, and I knew what was coming.


“You’re going to take it all, slut,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Every fucking inch.”


I felt him press against me, and I tensed, my body instinctively trying to resist. But his hands gripped my hips, holding me in place. He pushed into me, the pain sharp and immediate. I cried out, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, his thrusts relentless, his grip on my hips bruising.


The others were still watching, their laughter a constant, cruel soundtrack. I could hear their voices, their words sharp and mocking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. My world was reduced to the pain, to the feeling of him inside me, to the humiliation burning in my chest.


“That’s it, take it,” he growled, his voice filled with a twisted kind of pleasure. “You’re nothing but a slut, Pooja. Nothing but a whore.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. My body moved with his thrusts, my mind a haze of pain and humiliation. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.


“Say it,” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Say you’re our slut.”


“I’m your slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m your whore. I’m your bitch.”


He laughed, a low, cruel sound, and his thrusts grew harder, faster. I could feel the pain, the humiliation, the shame, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Good girl, Pooja,” he said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl.”


Then, I felt it. A warmth spreading through me, a sensation I didn’t want to acknowledge. My body tensed, and I could feel it building, the heat, the pleasure, the shame. I tried to fight it, to push it away, but I couldn’t. It was too much, too overwhelming.


“Come for me, slut.” His voice was low, commanding, and I couldn’t resist. My body betrayed me, and I felt it, the wave of pleasure crashing over me, the shame burning in my chest. I cried out, my body trembling, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, his thrusts relentless, his grip on my hips tightening.


“That’s it,” he growled, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “You’re nothing but a slut, Pooja. Nothing but a whore.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. My body moved with his thrusts, my mind a haze of pain and humiliation. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice sharp. “Say you’re our slut.”


“I’m your slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m your whore. I’m your bitch.”


He laughed, a low, cruel sound, and his thrusts grew harder, faster. I could feel the pain, the humiliation, the shame, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Good girl, Pooja,” he said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl. You’re going to take everything, aren’t you?”


I nodded, my voice gone. He laughed again, and I could feel it, the warmth spreading through me, the sensation I didn’t want to acknowledge. My body tensed, and I could feel it building, the heat, the pleasure, the shame.


“That’s it,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “Take it all, slut. Every fucking drop.”




I felt him release inside me, the warmth spreading through me. The shame burned in my chest, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it


Arjun pulled out, his grip on my hips loosening. I collapsed onto the ground, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The others were still watching, their laughter a constant, cruel soundtrack. I could hear their voices, their words sharp and mocking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. My world was reduced to the pain, to the humiliation, to the shame.


“Good girl, Pooja,” Arjun said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl.”


I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My body was spent, my mind a haze of pain and humiliation. I could feel the tears streaming down my face, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.

“Now, who’s next?” Arjun asked, his voice filled with a cruel kind of pleasure. “Who wants to have a turn with our little slut?”


The others laughed, their voices sharp and mocking, and I felt the heat of humiliation burn in my chest. But I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“I’ll go next,” one of them said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of excitement. “I’ve been waiting for my turn with the professor."


I closed my eyes, the tears streaming down my face. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.

“Do you want it, Pooja?” Arjun asked, his voice filled with a cruel kind of pleasure. “Do you want to be our slut?”

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Yes, I want it. I want to be your slut.”


He laughed, a low, cruel sound, and I knew it wasn’t over. It would never be over. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“Good girl, Pooja,” Arjun said, his voice filled with a twisted kind of satisfaction. “Good girl.”

The others laughed, their voices sharp and mocking, and I felt the heat of humiliation burn in my chest. But I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. I was theirs now, and I knew it.


“I’m your slut,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m your whore. I’m your bitch.”

They laughed, and I knew it wasn’t over. It would never be over. I was theirs now, and I knew it...


They pounced on me like a pack of wild animals, . "Damn, you're so fucking sexy," one of the new boys groaned, groping my heavy breasts. "I can't wait to fuck this slutty cunt." Arjun friends growled



The other new boy dropped to his knees and buried his face between my legs, licking my wet slit and sucking my clit. I threw my head back and moaned, feeling his tongue pleasure my most intimate spots. The other boys were all over me, hands and mouths roaming my mature body.

One shoved his cock into my mouth, making me gag on his thick shaft. Another slid his cock up my ass, making me scream at the sudden intrusion. I was being double penetrated, my pussy and ass stretched around their hard cocks. The others teased my tits and fucked my face, all of them grunting and cursing.




They fucked me in every position imaginable - bent over, riding, on my knees, against the wall. The hut was filled with the sounds of skin slapping and our moans of pleasure. "Take it, you dirty whore," they would say. "This is what you were made for, to be used by young cocks."




I was in heaven, lost in a world of pure pleasure. Being used as a gang bang fuck toy was my ultimate fantasy come true. My pussy and ass were being pounded over and over, the boys taking turns in my holes. They would pull out and jerk their cocks, shooting thick ropes of cum all over my body.

By the time they were done, I was covered in jizz, my hair matted with it, dripping down my face and tits. My holes were gaping and raw, cum leaking out of them. I could barely move, I was so thoroughly fucked.

The boys got dressed, smirking at the sight of me sprawled on the dirty floor, looking like a cum dump. "Thanks for the fun, auntie," the leader said with a wink. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Definitely," I breathed, already planning what slutty outfit I could wear. "I'll be here. With more of your friends?"

They just laughed and left, leaving me to clean up their mess. I slowly got dressed, cum still dripping from my used holes. I had these young boys now, and I would never let them go. They were my perfect gang bang fantasy come to life, and I would do anything to keep fucking them, as often as possible



AFTER 1 YEAR

Myself Pooja stood in front of the mirror, my reflection staring back at me with hollow eyes. Once, I was Pooja , a shy, introvert girl college professor who found comfort in the graceful folds of my saree. My measurements were a source of quiet pride—34-26-36, a testament to my disciplined lifestyle. But now, the woman in the mirror was a stranger. My once-toned body had ballooned to a grotesque 40D-30-40, my breasts straining against the silk of my saree, my hips spilling over the fabric like dough. I resigned my job as i feel i am not fit for it.



My skin, once clear and radiant, was now sallow, marked by the telltale signs of neglect and excess. I traced a finger over the dark circles under my eyes, remnants of sleepless nights spent chasing a high that never truly satisfied. The drugs had started as an escape, a way to numb the pain of a life that felt increasingly suffocating. But they had become my master, demanding more and more until I was nothing but a hollow shell, my once-sharp mind fogged by a constant haze. And then there was the sex. What had begun as a desperate attempt to feel something, anything, had spiraled into a voracious addiction. I craved it like I craved the drugs, a desperate need to fill the emptiness that gnawed at me from within. I had become a creature of pure appetite, my once-shy nature replaced by a shameless hunger that knew no bounds. I remembered the first time I had felt the change. It was subtle at first, a slight softening of my waistline, a fullness in my breasts that I had initially attributed to water retention. But then the cravings started, an insatiable hunger that drove me to devour anything and everything in sight. Food, drugs, sex – they all blurred together in a frenzied quest for satisfaction. My sarees, once my armor, now felt like a cruel joke. The elegant drapes that had once accentuated my figure now clung desperately to my expanded form, the fabric straining to contain my bloated body. I had tried to ignore the transformation, telling myself it was temporary, that I could regain control. But the truth was stark and undeniable: I was no longer Pooja . I was a monster, a grotesque parody of the woman I once was. The worst part was the loss of myself. The shy, introverted girl who loved the feel of silk against her skin was gone, replaced by a ravenous beast driven by base desires. I had become a cow, a mindless creature existing only to consume and be consumed.



The drugs and sex had stripped me of my humanity, leaving behind a hollow shell, a vessel for my insatiable appetites. I turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of myself any longer. The room felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in around me. I needed to escape, to find something, anything, to fill the void that threatened to consume me whole. My fingers trembled as I reached for the small pouch hidden in my drawer. The drugs called to me, promising temporary relief from the torment of my existence. I knew it was a lie, that the high would only lead to a deeper low, but the craving was too strong to resist. As I prepared the dose, a faint memory flickered in my mind, a fleeting image of the woman I used to be. She was smiling, her eyes sparkling with a joy I could no longer comprehend. Tears stung my eyes as I banished the thought, focusing on the needle in my hand. The familiar rush of euphoria washed over me, momentarily silencing the voices in my head. But even as the drugs took hold, I knew it wouldn't last. The emptiness would return, stronger than ever, demanding to be filled. And I would oblige, because that was all I was now – a vessel for my addictions, a cow slut lost in a world of excess and degradation.





The thought should have horrified me, but instead, it felt like a strange kind of acceptance. This was my reality now, a reality I had created through my own weakness and desperation. The high began to fade, leaving me with a familiar ache, a longing for something more. I knew what I needed, what I craved. I needed to feel desired, to be used, to lose myself in the primal act of sex. I rose unsteadily, my body heavy and sluggish. The saree felt like a straitjacket, constricting my movements. I needed to be free, to shed the last remnants of my former self. With trembling hands, I began to unravel the intricate folds of the fabric, letting it pool around my feet. I was naked now, my bloated body exposed to the harsh light of the room. But I felt no shame, only a strange sense of liberation. I was ready. Ready to be taken, to be used, to be filled. The drugs had numbed my inhibitions, leaving only a raw, animalistic need. I craved the touch of another, the roughness of hands on my flesh, the hardness of a cock thrusting into my willing body. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room. I didn't need to see his face to know what he wanted. He wanted me, just as I wanted him. I dont know who is he but i want his cock....





I spread my legs, offering myself to him, my body a testament to my degradation. He didn't hesitate, his hands grasping my hips, pulling me towards him. As he entered me, a wave of pleasure washed over me, momentarily drowning out the emptiness. But even as I moaned in ecstasy, I knew it wouldn't last. The void would return, demanding to be filled again and again, until there was nothing left of me but a hollow shell, a cow slut existing only for the next fix, the next orgasm.





The thought should have terrified me, but as his thrusts grew more urgent, I felt a strange sense of peace. This was my life now, a never-ending cycle of excess and degradation. And in that moment, I realized I was no longer fighting it. I had embraced my transformation, becoming the very thing I had once feared – a creature of pure appetite, a cow slut lost in a world of her own making.

THE END
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It was awesome no one will write like this
And thank you bro for considering my requests... Always waiting for your stories like this 😍😍😍
 
raghavans21595 said:
@raj1984
it is good one but extending a little longer and showing their intimacy bonding in more erotic way along with romance theme could have made it more kickier than the present one

Where in the present one it is little plain in middle where their cravings part is shown so plainly
Click to expand...
😂😂😂 new to romance bro... Ok i will correct my mistakes and give a better one😂😂🙏.. Thanks for ur update
 
Sreemukhi



The video call was set for 9 PM, and I, Sreemukhi, was more than ready. Raj, the director, had a reputation for pushing boundaries, and this audition was no different. He wanted raw, unfiltered passion, and I was determined to give it to him.

As the call connected, I saw Raj's face light up, his eyes scanning my body with unabashed desire. "Fuck, Sreemukhi," he murmured, "You look stunning." I smiled, biting my lip suggestively. "I'm here to impress, Raj," I replied, my voice dripping with seduction.

I began to strip, slowly, teasingly. My hands trailed down my body, caressing my curves as I moved. Raj's breath hitched, his eyes glued to my every move. "Open your pussy for me, Sreemukhi," he commanded, his voice husky. I complied, spreading my legs wide, giving him a full view of my wetness.




"Fuck, you're so wet," Raj groaned, his hand moving to his crotch. I could see the outline of his hard dick through his pants, and it sent a thrill through me. "I want to see your ass, Sreemukhi," he demanded next. I turned around, bending over slightly, giving him a full view of my ass.




I could hear Raj's sharp intake of breath, and it fueled my performance. I started to dance, my body moving sensually to the silent rhythm. Raj's eyes never left me, his hand moving faster now. "Use your dildo, Sreemukhi," he ordered, his voice strained.

I picked up my dildo, teasing my pussy with it before slowly pushing it in. I moaned, the sensation sending shivers down my spine. Raj's hand was a blur now, his breathing heavy. "Finger yourself, Sreemukhi," he commanded, his voice barely a whisper.

I complied, my fingers moving in rhythm with the dildo. My moans grew louder, my body writhing in pleasure. Raj's eyes were dark with desire, his hand moving furiously now. "I'm going to squirt, Raj," I warned, my voice breathy.

Raj groaned, his hand moving faster. "Fuck, Sreemukhi, I'm going to cum," he grunted, his body tensing. I could see his dick throbbing, and it sent me over the edge. I came, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm. Raj came with me, his body shuddering with pleasure.







As we both came down from our highs, Raj looked at me, his eyes still dark with desire. "Fuck, Sreemukhi," he said, his voice hoarse, "You're perfect for the role." I smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over me. This audition was unlike any other, but it was definitely one I would remember.

The call ended, leaving me in a post-orgasmic bliss. I knew this role would be a challenge, but I was ready. Raj wanted raw, unfiltered passion, and I was more than willing to give it to him. This was just the beginning, and I couldn't wait to see where this role would take me.




After 1 month

Sreemukhi put a message in her social media...

" The girl in the video is not me... It was AI... But whole world knew what was true and what was fake...

THE END
 
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@raj1984

Try to write a story on shruti hassan and Nikitha vimal

Like both being room mates since college
And now working on same company
And trying to seduce their manager for better promotion in a IT company and also like a love trap
Make the manager as a innocent naive boy
With this two sexy womens taking the leads with making the innocent manager feel love and lust towards them and in the name of giving promotion
He does two things make both pregnant and also give office promotion
 
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