Sandra POV

Sandra sprawled there, half on her side, thighs still parted wide like her body didn’t remember how to close them anymore. Her red hair clung to her cheek in sweat-tangled strands — a crown streaked with drying cum that smelled like him. She could feel it — warm, tacky, pooling where her thigh met her hip. And she didn’t wipe it away. She savored it. Rolled her hips just enough to feel it smear deeper.

She thought about all the commands Andy gave her — the whispers while she slept, the edge sessions that turned into confessions, the porn loops he left running on the bedroom TV like bedtime stories. But the truth? She’d wanted it. Long before his mouth ever said “good girl,” she’d wanted to feel like this: open, messy, so full she couldn’t close her legs without it leaking onto the sheets for him to smell the next morning.

She remembered how it started — that sweet, shy thing in neat sarees, cheap lipstick that never smudged. She’d flinched at a dirty video. She’d turned away when she saw a girl drooling with her throat stuffed. And now? God — now she studied it. She replayed Andy’s hidden folders — those nasty “Tax Returns” that were nothing but facials, throat-fucks, ten men taking turns on one girl’s holes until she begged to drown. She used to wonder why he liked it. Now she needed it.

She craved the taste — salty, thick, that warm slip that clung to her tongue and made her jaw ache in the best way. She loved the texture — the way it stuck in her throat so she’d swallow twice just to drag it down deeper. Hours later she’d run her tongue over her teeth, humming when she found the faint ghost of him still there.

And the smell — God, the smell. She used to gag when he’d pull out and paint her belly. Now she smeared it across her tits, her neck, behind her ears like perfume. Let it dry there. Wake up sticky, glowing, and proud.

She thought about her hair — once prim and pinned, now a tangled red mane that looked perfect when glued to her temple with fresh cum. Her skin — flushed, softer now because he fed her every night, straight from the source. Her tits — rounder, always pressed together like warm napkins for every drop that missed her tongue. Her mouth — once so polite, now a sloppy, stretched hole that stayed open until her jaw ached, just to see his eyes go dark when he lost control.

And what she wanted now? Fuck, she wanted it all. A full circle — ten men, ten cocks, every inch of her ruined just right. She pictured herself on her knees, back arched, the CUMSLUT choker half-hidden under ropes of fresh cum — grinning up through the drips. Three cocks feeding her face — one down her throat, two slapping her cheeks, leaking over her eyes until mascara bled perfect black rivers. Four more just out of reach, fists pumping — their loads her dessert, her hands milking them so nothing hit the floor without her tongue finding it first. Her holes? God, they’d never be empty again. Two cocks buried deep in her ass, stretching her until she felt it for days — or maybe two in her pussy, one in her ass, swapping them just to feel every filthy combination. She’d keep her mouth wide the whole time — drooling, gagging, moaning, begging for the next. No hole untouched. No inch wasted. Feeding her like a human cum-bucket buffet. She’d thank each one, lick it off the floor if they missed. Hold her mouth open until her jaw locked up — smiling through the mess because it made her feel more alive than any lecture she’d ever given.

Sandra dragged two fingers through the warm swirl on her hip, lifted it to her lips, sucked it slow — moaning when she tasted the ghost of him still clinging there.

She knew it now:

This wasn’t just Andy’s secret fantasy.

It was hers too — the monster she’d always wanted to set free.

His good girl. His filthy pet. His perfect pornstar cumslut wife.

And next time?

Next time she wanted him to bring friends.

Because her mouth was hungry, her holes were ready, and that greedy little monster under her saree was never going back to sleep.