Men cheer. Close. Leering. Whispering filth. "Dekho randi ka paani gir raha hai!" someone shouts. Wetness drips down your thighs. Mixed with spit. With shame. Uncle Rajโs grip tightens in your hair. Fucks your throat deeper. Faster. Gagging you relentlessly. The wrestlerโs hips hammer. Driving you against the pillar. Grunting. Animalistic. Your world narrows to invasion. Pain. Overwhelming sensation. Degradation carved into your skin. The wedding lights blur. Music fades. Only the slap of flesh. The grunts. The tearing humiliation remains.
A hand grabs your chin. Wrenches you off Uncle Rajโs cock. Spit strings snap. You gasp. Air burns. Before you recover, Amit Chacha shoves his cock into your mouth. Smaller. Angrier. Thrusts shallow. Brutal. "Chus saali!" he snarls. Fingers pinch your nostrils shut. Cutting air. Panic flares. You choke. Struggle weakly. Eyes bulge. He releases. Lets you breathe ragged gulps. Shoves back in. Deeper. Violating your throat. Behind you, the wrestler groans. Hips stutter. Hot seed floods your cunt. Thick. Copious. Dripping onto marble. He pulls out. Leaves you gaping. Empty. Trembling. "Next!" Ansh yells. Laughing. Pointing at your exposed slit. "Jaldi bhardo iski choot!"







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