My heart is pounding so hard I think it might burst through my ribs. I can feel each individual heartbeat as a separate, violent impact against my chest wall. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each one harder than the last, each one threatening to tear me apart from the inside.

His eyes raked over me, slow and filthy, undressing me with a hunger that made my skin crawl.

“I… I needed to tell you something,” I manage, my voice trembling. “Mujhe yeh rishta… yeh shaadi—main yeh nahi chahti.”

(I don’t want this proposal… this marriage.)

For a split second, something dark flickers behind his eyes.

“Bas,” he says softly, dangerously. “Sun liya.”

(Enough. I’ve heard you.)

His hands are on me instantly-grabbing, claiming, possessing. One hand grips my waist while the other comes up and cups my breast through my kameez with a force that's just shy of painful.

The touch is shocking. Invasive. Completely dominating.

My breath catches in my throat. I try to step back, but my back immediately hits the wall.

There's nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape. I'm trapped between him and the wall, between his body and cold stone, between what's happening and what I wish could happen instead.

His eyes rake over me, slow and filthy, undressing me with a hunger so intense it's almost feral. The way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm not a person but a thing. An object. Property.

"Mmm," he groans, his hand kneading my breast roughly through the fabric.

"Chodiye hume... Yeh kya kar rahe hain app..."

(Leave me alone... What the hell are you doing...)

His fingers traced and kneaded through my fabric. "Kabse teri chuchiya mujhe bula rahi thi... Saali itni muliayam kaise hain be yeh..."

(I've been aching for your tits... How are they so soft, you brat...)

"Jald hi Meri gaaye bangei tu.... Tera dhoodh dhuhunga main Meera."

(Soon you'll be my cow... I'll milk your milk, Meera.)

His voice is thick-thick with arousal, thick with possession, thick with the absolute certainty that he owns me, that my body belongs to him, that I have no say in what happens next.

His words is deliberately crude, deliberately designed to shock and humiliate. It works. The vulgarity of it makes my face burn with shame so intense it feels like I'm combusting from the inside.

My hands want to push him away, but they won't obey my commands. They hang at my sides like useless appendages. My body is betraying me or maybe I am just too scared to do anything. It's responding to his touch despite my mind's horror, despite my heart's terror, despite everything I know is wrong about this moment.

I try to step back, but I'm already against the wall. There's nowhere left to go. My shoulder blades press against the rough plaster, and the friction burns my skin even through my kameez.

"Aaaah..hmmp"

His thumb flicks at my nipple through the fabric, and the sensation is shocking-part pleasure, part pain, completely unwanted. I feel my nipple harden under his touch, and the betrayal of it makes me want to scream.

"Please.. stop..I don't like this" I closed my eyes in shame.

"Chhi, Meera... itni badi ho gayi, par abhi bhi sharmati hain?" he mocked, twisting roughly. "Tera hone wala pati hu, mujhse kaisi sharam..Chune de mujhe. Tu hai hi iske liye."

(Shy still, Meera? I am your soon to be husband...let me touch you.. You were born for this.).

I whimpered, "Chod do mujhe-ahh"

(Leave me-ahh)

His fingers pinched mercilessly. "Chup. Tumhare muh se sirf 'haan ji' sunna chahta hoon. Samjhi? Chal... bata, kabi chuche chuswaye hain tune? Bata!"

(Quiet. I only want to hear 'Yes ji' from your mouth. Understood? Tell me, have you ever let someone suck your tits? Tell me!)

I shook my head not trusting my voice.

He shoved me down to sit on the bed, standing over me, unbuttoning my kameez until my breasts spilled free.

I tried to turn away, to cover myself, but he caught my wrists in one fist and held me wide open.

"Nahi," he whisper growled. "Don't you dare cover yourself. Tum meri hone wali biwi ho. Mujhe tumhe dekha ka haq hai. Har angle se. Har second."

(No. Don't you dare cover yourself. You're my wife-to-be. I have the right to see you from every angle, every second.)

I felt his calloused palm on my bare skin, circling, tracing around my areola like he was branding me.

"Ahhh—" Pleasure shot from my tip of breast where his hands touched and shot directly to my lower body. It pulled a small cry from my throat that I immediately tried to suppress.

"Dekh, Meera... kitni sundar hai teri bubuu. Badee, naram... chusne layak. Sabse pehle yeh mera haq hai. Main har ek shaam yahi karunga-inhe dabaunga, inhe chaatunga."

(Look, Meera... how beautiful your breasts are. Big, soft, made for sucking. First and foremost, this is my right. Every night, I will squeeze them, I will lick them.)

His rasping voice neared frenzy. "Yeh jo nipples hain... yeh sirf mere muh ke liye hain. Aur pyaas se tadap raha hoon main. Main chahta hoon mera naam lete hue tu apni bubuu mujhe chusaye... Jaise tu sirf meri cheez hai. Meri kutiya."

(These nipples are only for my mouth. I'm starving for them. I want you to feed your boobs to me while saying my name... like you belong to me alone. My bitch.)

His words are designed to degrade, and they do. They make me feel like my body is only valuable for his pleasure.

They make me feel like my entire existence is reduced to this-to my physical form, to his sexual gratification, to nothing more than a vessel for his desires.

Heat rises in my cheeks-shame so intense it feels physical, like acid burning through my skin from the inside out.

He leaned in, lips grazing the tip of my nipple, his tongue hot and wet. The sensation sent an electric shock through my entire body, and despite everything, I felt my back arch slightly

"Bol, Meera. Kiski chuchchee hai yeh?"

(Say it-whose breasts are these?)

"Ahhhhh—" A gasp escaped me involuntarily, unbidden, a sound in my body.

"I... I..." My voice came out in stutters, in broken fragments. "Please... I can't—"

I closed my eyes, tears blurring everything.

"BOL!" He bit my nipples hard, the pain sharp and bright.

"AHHHHH!" I cried out—a real cry, involuntary and raw—as pain shot through my entire body. The sound echoed in the small room, filling it completely.

My mind screamed "mine, mine, mine... Not of dirt bastard like you"-but my cowardly voice betrayed me, failing me utterly.

"Aapki," I gasped. "Aapki hai... sab kuch aapka hai."(Yours... all yours)

The words taste like poison in my mouth. Like surrender. Like the complete erasure of myself. Like I'm admitting that I don't exist anymore, that I'm only an extension of him, that every part of me belongs to him.

"Tumhari chuchi ke bina meri raat adhuri hai."

(My night is incomplete without your boobs.)

He grins cruel and victorious and takes my other nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to leave marks there too as his nails scratch my bitten nipples and pulls like he is trying to pull something out of it.

"Mmmmph" The sound I made was muffled, caught between a moan and a cry of pain. My back arched despite myself, my body responding to his mouth and hands in ways I couldn't control.

The sound echoing in the tiny room is lewd, wet, obscene. It's the sound of possession.

It's the sound of violation.

It's the sound of my life ending.

I try to push him away, but he doesn't budge.

"Ohhhhh..ahh" A gasp escaped me as his teeth pulled lightly my nips,  the sensation sent conflicting signals through my nervous system. Pleasure and pain. Wanted and unwanted. Desire and revulsion all mixed together until I couldn't tell them apart anymore.

My back arched involuntarily—a reflex I had no control over. The movement pushed my breast deeper into his mouth, and the sensation made me want to scream and cry simultaneously.

"Mmmmp.....ughh" Small sounds escaped from my throat as his tongue worked against my sensitive skin, circling, teasing, claiming.