I stood there in the tiny storeroom, my back pressed hard against the wall, my salwar and panty tangled around my ankles. Rohit’s thick, hot lund was already half-buried inside my dripping chut. My son Aryan was playing with his toys in the bedroom just a few steps away — I could hear his innocent voice calling out for me.

“Rohit… nahi… please… nikaal lo abhi,” I sobbed desperately, tears streaming down my face. “Mera beta bahar khel raha hai… agar woh andar aa gaya toh… aaahhh… main mar jaungi sharm se… yeh ghar hai mera… main maa hoon… please mat chodna mujhe…”