Aparna stood before Abir, her statuesque figure unveiled as she shed her black lace set, revealing long, toned legs, full breasts with dark, erect nipples, and a glistening pussy framed by a neatly trimmed patch. Her sultry siren aura filled the room, her eyes glinting with a demanding edge as she approached him, her voice smooth yet commanding. "Now it's my turn," she purred, her body radiating heat as she pressed herself against him.
Abir, his muscles still taut from Ayesha's encounter, felt a surge of adrenaline. He gripped her hips, pulling her to the center of the room, and entered her with a brutal thrust, the wet heat of her pussy enveloping his cock. Within seconds, Aparna's moans turned sharp, her voice laced with defiance. "Fuck, Abir, harder, you lazy bastard! Give me more, you weak prick!" she cursed, her tone a mix of challenge and pleasure, her breasts bouncing with each stroke.
Abir's rage ignited, his thrusts deepening with bone-crushing force, the carpet fibers digging into her knees, her scream—"Yes, asshole, yes! Don't stop, you shithead!"—echoing as she demanded more, her first breaking point hitting, her juices soaking the floor, the salty tang of her sweat filling the air.
He pinned her against a pillar, ramming his shaft with savage depth, her moans—"Harder, you fucking coward! Fuck me, you bastard!"—her second breaking point a trembling wail, her breasts pressed against the wood, the rough texture scraping her skin.
Abir hoisted her onto the dining table's edge, thrusting with grinding brutality, her cries—"It hurts, it hurts, but it feels good, you damn jerk! More, you son of a bitch!"—her third breaking point a hoarse scream, her breasts jiggling, the table wobbling, the musky scent of her arousal intensifying.
He bent her over a chair, hammering into her with relentless fury, her shouts—"Don't you fucking stop, you fucker! Deeper, you useless swine!"—her fourth breaking point a guttural roar, her breasts swaying, the chair creaking under the force.
Abir dragged her to the window ledge, bending her against the cool glass, his cock plunging with apocalyptic force, her moans—"More, more, you goddamn asshole! Fuck me harder!"—her fifth breaking point a desperate cry, her breasts flattened, the glass fogging with her breath.
Aparna's defiance fueled Abir's rage, her refusal to beg stoking his fury. He cursed back, his voice a growl. "Take it, you filthy slut!" he snarled, his brutality escalating.
He threw her to the carpet, twisting her onto her side, thrusting with savage speed, her screams—"It hurts, yes, don't stop, you fucking prick! More, you bastard!"—her sixth breaking point a fractured wail, her breasts bouncing, the floor vibrating.
Abir lifted her to a ceiling beam, wrapping her legs around him, ramming with thunderous force, her cries—"Harder, you damn fool! Don't you dare stop, you shit!"—her seventh breaking point a piercing shriek, her breasts heaving, the beam creaking.
He pulled her to the sofa's edge, grinding into her with relentless depth, her moans—"Ahhh, yes, you fucking asshole! More, you coward!"—her eighth breaking point a hoarse scream, her breasts jiggling, the leather squeaking.
Abir mounted her on the carpet again, pounding with earth-shattering fury, her final shout—"It hurts, but don't stop, you goddamn bastard! Fuck me, you jerk!"—fading into silence as her ninth breaking point overwhelmed her. She collapsed onto the floor, almost lifeless, her body quivering, her breath shallow, the room heavy with the pungent odor of her exertion.
Abir stepped back, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat and her juices. He grabbed a glass of water from the table, the cool liquid trickling down his throat, a stark relief against the heat of the room. As he set the glass down, Monika approached, her sly smile returning. "I'm going to fuck you hard, Abir. Try not to die," she said, her voice low and menacing, her eyes glinting with a fierce determination.