He just sucked harder and tried to take as much of my breast as possible into his mouth, his lips stretching wide around the soft flesh.

His other hand—the one that had been pinching my other nipple—suddenly stopped pulling and moved away.

I thought for a moment that maybe it was over. Maybe he was going to stop. Maybe—

SMACK

His massive palm connected with my breast with a force that knocked the air completely out of my lungs.

"AHHHHHHH—" A scream escaped me—a real scream, raw and involuntary. The pain was immediate, sharp, cutting through my entire body like lightning.

SMACK

Another blow landed on the other breast, his hand striking with deliberate force, with calculated precision. The impact sent my entire body jolting forward, and his mouth—still attached to my other breast—bit down slightly at the sudden movement.

"NAHIII—NAHIII—" I gasped, my voice breaking. "NAHI... AHHHHH... MUMMY!"

(NO—NO—Please... MOTHER!)

The word "Mummy" escaped my lips involuntarily—a desperate cry, a call for help that I knew would never come.

They can hear me.

My entire body went rigid with horror.

They were all there. My mother, my father, my brother—all sitting in that tiny courtyard, probably drinking tea, probably making small talk with his mother, completely unaware of what was happening in this room.

"Poopph......" His lips left my nipple.

I was crying now, tears streaming down my face, my entire body convulsing with shock,shame and pain.

SMACK

My mouth opened to scream again, but I clamped my hand over it, stifling the sound. The effort of holding back my screams, of suppressing my cries, was almost as painful as his blows.

SMACK

SMACK

Two more blows in rapid succession on my both breast now. His palms—so massive, so powerful—crashed against my breasts with devastating force. Each impact sent shockwaves through my entire body.

My breasts bounced with each strike, the flesh rippling, reddening, bruising before my eyes.

Another blow, and this time I couldn't suppress the sound completely. A small whimper escaped—not loud enough to alert anyone, but loud enough to terrify me.

They can't know. They can't know.

His eyes were wide—wild with arousal, with possession, with pure sadistic pleasure at watching my pain. His tongue licked his lips as he watched my breasts bounce and redden with each strike, as he watched the marks bloom across my skin like flowers of possession.

"Arrey, dekho," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Dekho teri chuchiyan kitni sundar tarike se uchak rahi hain. Har ek thappad ke saath bounce, bounce, bounce. Ab se in chuchiyon par sirf mera hak hai. Sirf mera. Mere khilone."

(Look. Look how beautifully your tits are bouncing. With every slap, bounce, bounce, bounce. From now on, only I have rights to these tits. My playthings.)

"Nahi... please... nahi..." I whimpered, my voice barely audible now, like my body was being broken into pieces.

"Chup," he commanded, his voice dripping with crude arousal. "Dekh apne bubbu ko. Dekh kitne red ho gaye mere haathon se. Yeh color... yeh bilkul jachta hai re tere pe"

(Shut up. Look at your tits. Look how red they've become from my hands. This color... it's absolutely perfect on you)

SMACK

Another blow, and this time I felt something shift inside me. Not physically—psychologically. Something fundamental fractured.

His hand came up again, and I flinched—actually flinched in anticipation of the blow.

SMACK

But this time it was lighter. This time his hand gently caressed the reddened, bruised skin. The contrast between the violence and the tenderness was so jarring, so confusing, that I made a small sound of confusion mixed with pain

"Mmph?"

He leaned down and licked one of the bruises, his tongue tracing the reddened skin. His tongue was hot against my skin, and I felt myself flinch involuntarily—a small jerking movement that I couldn't control.

"Mmmmm," he groaned against my skin, his breath hot and suffocating.

"Teri chuchiyan bilkul nasili hain. I could suck on these all fucking day. Aur ab jab yeh ayse rangili hain, marked hain, when they're tender and sensitive—bilkul alag swaad hai. Maine kabhi ayse chuchi nahi dekhi hain."

(Your tits are completely addictive. I could suck on these all fucking day. And now that they're coloured marked, when they're tender and sensitive—they taste completely different. I haven't seen boobs like yours.)

He pulled back just enough so his mouth still clung to my nipple, the string of saliva stretching thin but unbroken between his lips and my reddened, bruised skin. His dark eyes locked onto mine, smoldering with possession and twisted hunger. The eye contact was suffocating—it forced me to watch him claim me, forced me to witness my own violation.

"Chodna hain tujhe, Meera," he spits, his voice dripping with crude vulgarity and absolute contempt.

(I need to fuck you Meera)

The saliva from his mouth landed directly on my sensitive nipple, and he dragged his tongue slowly across it, trying to spear my nipple inward with the aggressive pressure of his tongue.

"Teri Bur marni hain mujhe.. shikar karna hain uska" he growled, his voice taking on an almost feral quality.

(I wanna fuck your pussy... Hunt her down)

"Ahhhhhhh—" A longer moan escaped me as his mouth moved to my other breast, as the sensations overwhelmed me completely.

The sting from his slaps turned molten, becoming a spreading warmth as my body betrayed me, soaking wet down there, juices flowing despite the terror.

"Bol degi Naa.. apni bur degi nahh mere land ko...mere shikari ko"

(Say will u let me take it...will you give your pussy to my cock.. to my hunter)

My breath came in shallow gasps, "Hhhhh... hhhhh... hhhhh..."

When he's satisfied, he releases me and steps back. My body is heaving, my breathing is shallow and rapid.

I'm dizzy from the intensity of the moment, from the complete loss of control, from the absolute, utter powerlessness of my situation.

The world seems to tilt around me. The walls close in. The air becomes thin and hard to breathe.

"Hhhhh..." Small breathing sounds escape me—the sound of someone trying to hold themselves together, trying not to break completely.

We hear voices outside-Mummy and Papa talking. His mother laughed at something Papa said, her laugh sharp and brittle.

"Get dressed," he commands quietly.

I nodded numbly, unable to speak, unable to process, unable to do anything but obey.

He adjusts his clothes calmly, like he hasn't just violated me.

As I dressed, pulling the kameez back on over the bruises, the pain intensified. The fabric rubbed against the raw, reddened skin, and every movement was agony.

I feel like I'm watching someone else get dressed, like I'm floating above my body, watching this happen to someone else.

When I'm dressed, he opens the door and steps out, perfectly composed, as if nothing has happened

His mother looks at us and smirks.

She absolutely knew.

"Baat ho gayi?" she asked sweetly

she asked sweetly, her eyes moving between us, seeing the redness in my face, the way I couldn't meet anyone's eyes, the bruises already visible at the neckline of my kameez. (Done talking?)

"Haan, Maa," Devraj said, perfectly composed. "Bahut achhi baat hui. Meera aur main ek doosre ko aur bhi achhe se samajh gaye. Mujhe pata chal gya ki woh kaunsi cheezen hain jo mujhe pasand aayengi."

(Yes, Mom. Very good talk. Meera and I understand each other even better now. I've learned what things I'll like.)

The double meaning in his words hung in the air like a threat. Everyone understood what he meant.

His mother smiled. Papa looked away. Mummy stared at her hands.I couldn't look at anyone.

My body was burning with shame and humiliation. I could feel the marks on my breasts, throbbing with pain.

I could still feel his saliva on my skin. I could feel the evidence of his violation written across my entire body.

Before he left, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

His breath was hot against my skin, and I felt myself flinch involuntarily.

"Saat din," he whispered, his voice dropping to something almost tender, which was infinitely worse than anger. "Saat din mein tum meri hogi. Completely. Bilkul meri."

(Seven days. In seven days, you'll be mine. Completely. Absolutely mine.)

His hand came up and gently-so gently it was almost loving-brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead.

The tenderness of the gesture was suffocating, was suffocating, was a complete contradiction to the violence of what had just happened in that room.

He leaned in closer, and I felt the warmth of his body against my back, felt the solid wall of his chest pressing against my shoulders.Then he did something that made my blood run cold.

"Meri Meera," he whispered against my forehead.

(My Meera.)

He pulled back, smiled at my parents like he'd just said something sweet, and followed his mother out.

After they left, the house was silent except for my mother's quiet crying. Papa sat with his head in his hands. Mohan, who'd been hiding in the back room, came out and asked why everyone was sad.

No one answered him.

I touched the heavy gold around my neck and felt like it was a collar. A chain. A mark of ownership.

Seven days.

In seven days, I would be his wife. His property. His to use however he wanted, whenever he wanted.And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

And when I looked at those marks on my body, I realized with creeping horror that this was just the beginning. That what he'd shown me in that small room was just a preview of what my life would become.

I was going to belong to him in ways I couldn't even imagine yet.