"Sir... it hurts... please, slower," she begged, her voice muffled against the floor, yet she didn't fight harder. Ambition warred with sensation; becoming Mrs. Thakur meant enduring this, turning his lust into her leverage. "Haaahhhhh...."He laughed cruelly, leaning down to bite her shoulder, marking her skin with his teeth. "Hurts? Good. That's what sluts like you deserve. Cry for me, beg me to stop while your body betrays you." His thrusts grew rhythmic, each one burying him to the hilt, his balls slapping against her. "Ahhhh....." Abhimaan's body was a machine of desire—muscles corded and taut, cock iron-hard and unrelenting, every nerve alight with the thrill of dominance. The tightness squeezed him mercilessly, building pressure in his core that threatened to erupt. "More... degrade me more, sir," Aayat whimpered, surprising even herself as her hips began to rock back tentatively. The pain ebbed into a deep, throbbing fullness, her ass adjusting, sending sparks of forbidden bliss through her veins.