Rohan kept his word for the entire month. Every time Aanvi stripped and offered herself, he used only her ass or her mouth, never once touching the dripping slit between her legs. He fucked her on the kitchen table while Mahesh snored in the next room, bent her over the washing machine, and chained her to the balcony railing after midnight. Each time he finished inside her tight virgin ass hole he pulled out, wiped his cock on her tongue, and left without granting her the one thing she now craved most.
Aanvi’s mind frayed. She began texting Rohan at odd hours, sending pictures of her spread ass, begging him to finally use her cunt. When he ignored the messages she started leaving voice notes, voice shaking as she described how empty her pussy felt, how she would do anything—anything—if he would just fuck it once. Rohan saved every recording.
By the end of week four she was a wreck. She stopped wearing panties altogether so the constant slickness would remind her of what she was missing. One humid evening she crawled across the living-room floor while Mahesh showered, pressed her forehead to Rohan’s shoe, and whispered the words she had sworn she would never say.
“Please, Sir… use my pussy. I’ll do anything. I’ll lick your asshole, drink your piss, let you brand me—just please fuck my cunt. I’m going crazy.”
Rohan smiled, already planning how to twist the knife deeper.
“On your back, legs spread, hands behind your knees. If you want my cock in that worthless hole you’ll earn it. Twenty cane strokes across your pussy. Not a single sound. If you stay quiet I’ll fuck you there. If you make noise I’ll keep using only your ass.”
Aanvi nodded frantically. Rohan fetched the thin rattan cane and tapped her puffy outer lips once, twice, measuring. The first five strokes landed with measured cruelty, striping the tender flesh but not yet breaking her silence. She bit her lip until it bled. By stroke eight her thighs were shaking; by ten a thin wail escaped her throat, quickly swallowed. At thirteen the cane cracked dead-center across her swollen clit. The pain detonated through her pelvis and a raw, animal scream tore out of her.
Rohan stopped, expression almost bored.
“Too loud. Ass only, as promised.”
He flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her hips high, and reached for the clover clamps. The wicked little jaws had serrated edges that bit like teeth. He clamped them onto her long, thick nipples, letting the chain between them swing. Then he threaded that same chain through the ring on her nose hook. When he pulled the hook upward her nose stretched wide and her breasts lifted cruelly, nipples stretched to grotesque points, the metal teeth sinking deeper with every tug.
“Look at yourself, ” he ordered, angling her so the full-length mirror reflected the obscene tableau. “Nose wide open like a filthy pig, tits yanked up like cow udders. This is what you are.”
He spat on her already stretched asshole and drove his cock in to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Every time he withdrew he gave the nose-hook chain a savage yank; every time he slammed back in he pulled harder, using the tension like reins. Aanvi’s beautiful nose flared grotesquely with each pull, the cartilage straining, while her nipples were sawed by the clover teeth. The mirror showed every detail: nostrils stretched wide, eyes watering, drool sliding down her chin as Rohan used her face as a handle to wreck her ass.
He fucked her for ass for quite some time varying the angle so the head of his cock battered her prostate-sensitive spot inside her rectum, never once granting her pussy the slightest brush. When he finally came he stayed buried, pumping thick ropes deep into her guts, then slowly withdrew.
“Clean it.”
Aanvi turned, took his shit-smeared, cum-coated cock into her mouth without hesitation, licking and sucking until every trace of her own ass and his seed was gone. Rohan patted her head like a dog.
“Good little broken cow. Maybe next month I’ll consider that pussy again—if you keep improving.”
rn
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