She gets fucked

Sravya stood in the entrance with the grocery bag still in her hand. The copy of her was on the couch, dress pushed up, my cock buried inside the tight heat the room had made, tears shining on the copy’s face. The phone on the table kept recording. The bull stood to one side, broad and quiet, watching. The bag hit the floor. Sravya’s mouth opened. The scream that came out was short and raw.

The bull moved first. He crossed the room, caught her by the upper arm, and pulled her inside before she could back onto the porch. She fought—hands shoving, voice breaking into his name and mine—but he was stronger. He kicked the door shut with his heel and turned her so she faced the couch. The copy vanished the moment his eyes flicked toward it. Sravya saw the empty space where her own face had been and made a smaller sound.

“Tie him,” the bull said.

I tried to stand. He shoved me back into the chair and used two of the thin belts from the dresses the room kept giving us. Wrists behind the back of the chair, ankles to the front legs. The knots were tight. Sravya stood shaking, eyes moving from the empty couch to me to the bull.

“Tell her,” he said.

I told her. The room at the end of the hall. The warning on the wall. The money that could not leave. The food. The first time I had asked for a version of her that was youthful and untouched and how the room had given it. How I had pushed into that copy while she slept on the couch, how tight she had been, how she had cried when she woke and how I had finished inside her and sent her away before the real Sravya came home. I told her about Nishta’s copy on her knees, gagging, tears running while I fucked her throat and recorded it. Sakshi bent over the table, sobbing when I forced the length in. Navya and Prachi taking turns, their voices breaking, the videos still on the phone. The bull’s cock in all of them. Sravya’s face went pale, then tight with disgust. She called me something low and ugly and lunged for the door.

The bull caught her again. He bent her forward over the table in one motion, shoved the dress she was wearing up over her hips, and worked two fingers into her while she twisted and said no. She was wet. He told her so, voice flat. She cursed him and kept begging him to stop. He freed his cock—thick, already hard—and pushed into her from behind in one long thrust. She cried out, the sound half protest and half shock. He fucked her hard, hips snapping, one hand in her hair, the other pinning her wrists to the wood. She begged him to stop. She begged him not to. The words tangled and lost their shape. He did not slow. I watched her face change—disgust, then the reluctant roll of her hips when he reached under and rubbed her clit, then the broken moan when she came, thighs shaking, still saying no while her body pushed back onto him. He finished inside her with a low grunt and pulled out. She stayed bent over the table, breathing hard, tears on the wood, dress ruined.

“Watch,” the bull said.

Nishta’s copy appeared on her knees in front of me. She took my cock into her mouth without being told, lips stretching, tongue flat. The bull held Sravya’s head so she had to see. Nishta sucked deep, gagging on the second thrust, spit running down her chin, eyes watering while I stayed hard from the sight of Sravya still bent over the table. Sravya begged him to make it stop. He showed her the phone instead. Video after video—Nishta crying around his cock, Sakshi sobbing while he fucked her doggy against the counter, Navya and Prachi taking both of us, the copy of Sravya herself from that morning, tears on her face while I moved inside her. Sravya watched, disgusted, shaking, and still wet when he pushed her to her knees beside the copy.

He made her suck him while Nishta kept working on me. Sravya gagged at first, hands pushing at his thighs, then her mouth softened. She took him deeper. He fucked her throat in short, rough strokes until tears ran and she moaned around him. He pulled her off, bent her over the couch, and took her again from behind. She begged. She came, louder this time, voice cracking. He recorded it with my phone and made her watch the new video while Nishta rode me in the chair, tight and crying, grinding down until I finished inside the copy. Sravya’s disgust did not leave her face. Her body kept answering him anyway.

He did not stop. He showed her every recording while he fucked her on the table, on the couch, against the wall. Doggy, deep, one hand in her hair, the other spreading her so I could see. She begged him to let her go. She begged him to keep going. The words lost their edges. By the third time he finished inside her she was shaking and quieter, eyes on the phone, the disgust still there and something else moving under it. She looked at the bull. She did not look at me. She did not ask him to stop.

The bull glanced at me, still tied, still hard, Nishta’s copy gone. Then he looked at Sravya.

“Again,” he said.

She bent forward over the table without being told this time, reached back, and guided him in. The room was quiet. The hunger that had lived under my skin for weeks finally had a shape large enough to hold the three of us, and Sravya’s voice, when she came, no longer sounded like she wanted it to end.