12:05 AM — 3 hours 25 minutes

He said: "Say that again."

His hips blurred.

PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!

"AAANGHH~!! DON’T STOP— DON’T STOP— RAVEN— MY PUSSY IS THROBBING—"

"Louder."

"HNGH~— I — RAVEN — I SHOULDN’T—"

PHAAACKK!

"IAAAANGHH~!!"

"Louder."

"MY PUSSY IS THROBBING FOR YOUR COCK—" The words arriving with the raw, demolished, uncurated honesty of a woman who had been past the managing point for forty-five minutes. "AAANGHH~!! I SAID IT— RAVEN— I SAID IT—"

"Again."

"MY MARRIED PUSSY—" The laugh that arrived with it — the wet, broken, heehehiiik laugh of someone whose shame had dissolved into something unrecognizable — "THROBBING— MY MARRIED BODY IS THROBBING FOR YOU— AAANGHH~!! SHIIIIK— RAVEN— WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME—"

He slammed into her ass without warning.

"SHIIIIIK— AAAAAAANGHHHH~♡♡ MY ASS— MY ASS AGAIN— HNGHH— SO DEEP— YOU’RE IN MY GUTS— AAAHH~—"

Her voice.

Cracking.

Into the broken, fractured, hysterical register of a woman who had been crying and laughing for so long that both had merged into a single frequency.

"Haa... haaa..." Shaking. "...Hot... hngh... so exciting...♡ My husband is on the floor watching... and I’m cumming harder than I ever thought I could... I’m such a dirty, immoral slut... SHIIIIK— YES— STRETCH YOUR SLUT WIFE— BREAK ME— HEEHEE... HEEHEHIIIK...!!"

The broken, wet giggle.

Running alongside the tears.

Running alongside the moans.

All three arriving from the same mouth at the same time.

"Oook... oot..." The wet, fractured syllables of a woman whose mouth had stopped waiting for her brain to form complete sentences. "...lo... love... you... ook... master...♡"

Suresh made a sound from the floor.

A single, dense, muffled sound.

He closed his eyes.

12:18 AM — 3 hours 38 minutes

He pulled out of her ass and pressed his cock against her lips.

She opened.

Immediately.

The specific, trained, devoted immediacy of a body that had reorganized its reflexes over the course of the last two and a half hours.

"Gluuuurk— gluuuurk—" The wet, gagging sound of her throat receiving him. "—chuuuuwup—♡"

Her hands.

Reaching back.

Spreading her own ass cheeks.

The full, almond-brown, wide softness of them pulled apart — both ruined, glistening entrances presented to the room, to the open door, to Suresh below — while her mouth worked on his cock.

She pulled off with a wet, dense pop.

Strings of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft.

She looked at Suresh.

The expression on her face was the expression that had replaced her face over the course of the last two and a half hours — the open, wet, demolished, honestly arrived-at expression of a woman who was no longer managing what she showed.

"Look, husband," she said.

Her voice.

Rough. Small. Honest.

"Look how your wife is begging."

The tears running while she said it.

Not tears of shame.

The specific, overwhelmed tears of a body that was processing too much sensation to contain it through normal exits.

"Snnniiiiff~" She inhaled, shaking. "Haa... haaa... his cock tastes like my ass and my pussy together... I should be disgusted... AAANGHH~!!"

He grabbed her head.

Back down.

"Gluuuurk— MMPH~— chuuuuwup—♡" Her throat working. Her hands still spreading herself. "—chup... chup...♡"

She pulled off again.

"Master’s cock tastes better than anything I have ever eaten in this house tonight," she said, to Suresh, conversationally, with the specific, fractured honesty of a woman who had stopped editing. "Heehet... heehehiiik..."

The wet laugh.

"I’m sucking the cock that just came from my ass... I’m such a nasty, immoral, married slut... HEEHEE... HEEHEHIIIK...!! Oook... oot... looove you... Maaasssteeer...♡"

12:35 AM — 3 hours 55 minutes

The full nelson again.

Facing Suresh.

Her body bouncing on his cock — the full, generous, almond-warm weight of her rising and dropping with each thrust — her breasts swinging forward and back with the heavy, dark-nippled motion of something that had been in continuous motion for three hours.

They were leaking.

The pink insignia had taken hold.

The warm, magical flush of the slave mark glowing over her mound, the specific, biological signal of it traveling upward — and her nipples, responding, the thin, warm beads of milk forming at the dark tips and running in slow lines down the swell of her breasts.

She looked down at them.

"Hngh~—" The sound of someone receiving new information. "...My... my boobs..."

She touched one nipple.

The bead of milk on her finger.

She looked at it.

"RAVEN— MY BOOBS ARE LEAKING— I’M NOT EVEN PREGNANT— WHY ARE MY BOOBS—"

"Insignia," he said.

"WHAT— AAANGHH~!! MY TITS ARE LEAKING FOR YOU— SHIIIIK— HAAAAA—"

She looked at Suresh.

At the sharp, wet, devastated eyes of the man below her.

"Look, husband," she said again.

The same words.

Different voice. The voice had changed — the managing voice, the careful voice, the voice of Preet Mehta who had grown up in a family with opinions about embroidery — was gone. What was left was the voice that had been underneath it the whole time.

"My body is leaking for him," she said. "My milk is for him. My holes are for him. AAANGHH~!! Heehet... heehehiiik... my married body is making milk for the man who is ruining my wedding night... and I... HNGHH~... I LOVE IT—"

PAH! PAH! PAH! PAAAH!

"IAAAANGHH~!! MY WOMB— MY ASS— BOTH HOLES ARE YOURS— I’M CUMMING— I’M A MARRIED WOMAN AND I’M SQUIRTING— HEEHEE... HEEHEHIIIK... MASTER— I LOVE YOUR COCK— I HATE MY HUSBAND’S— I CAN’T EVEN REMEMBER— RAVEN— OOOK— OOOOT— LOOOVE YOOOU MAAASSSTEEER—♡♡"

The squirt.

Arcing downward.

Landing on Suresh.

Again.

His eyes were open again.

He had stopped closing them.

Not because he had made peace with it.

Because he had run out of the energy required to close them.

1:07 AM — 4 hours 27 minutes

He threw her down.

Doggy.

Her face in the ruined flower petals — the jasmine and roses that the aunties had arranged — her ass presented, both entrances gaping, both marked with the comprehensive evidence of three hours of use.

He entered her pussy.

Long.

Deep.

The single, slow, grinding stroke of a man who had been doing this for three hours and had no reason to hurry.

She made a sound that was not a moan and not a word and not a laugh.

The sound of a woman whose vocabulary had been replaced.

"Haaa... haaa..." Shaking. "...Master’s cock is going home...♡"

The words.

Arriving.

"Every time he pulls out I feel empty now... every time he pushes in I feel like myself..." The wet, fractured, honest internal monologue coming out of her mouth without permission. "...What did he do to me..."

PAH! PAH! PAAAH!

"AAANGHH~!! MY PUSSY IS RUINED— IT WILL NEVER BE TIGHTER— IT’S HIS SHAPE NOW— RAVEN— MY BODY KNOWS YOUR SHAPE—"

She reached down.

Both hands finding her own pussy lips, spreading them, showing Suresh from his position on the floor the full, honest, glistening state of them.

"Look, husband," she said. Third time. The words had become a ritual. "Look how pretty my insides are now."

"MMMPH~—"

He made a sound.

Not protest.

The muffled, specific, devastated sound of a man who had found the bottom of something and discovered it was lower than he had known the bottom could be.

"All pink and full of his seed..." She was still looking. Still holding herself open. "...This used to be yours... now it’s only for real men... SHIIIIK— AAAAAAANGHHHH~♡"

"I’M CUMMING AGAIN— MY ASS IS CUMMING— I’M AN ANAL WHORE— A MARRIED ASS SLUT— I LOVE IT— I LOVE BEING USED— HEEHEEHEEHIK—!!"