Vijay's calloused hands flip you onto your back with a thud, your knees hitting the counter's edge as Sandip wrenches your legs apart—ankles nearly touching your ears—exposing your glistening, well-used pussy to the humid kitchen air. Uncle's oiled thumb drags down your slit with a wet sound, his grin widening at the way your hole winks around nothing. "Dekho, Saandip... itna pani gir raha hai jaise monsoon ki pehli baarish," he chuckles, pressing two spit-slick fingers into your cunt while Vijay's gold chain swings forward, the pendant cold against your inner thigh. Sandip spits onto your clit with deliberate cruelty, rubbing it in rough circles as Uncle's other hand pins your wrists above your head. "Bas ab thoda aur," Uncle growls, his paan-stained teeth grazing your neck when you arch, "hum sab ka muh meetha karne ka time aaya hai."