The house was a mausoleum of sleeping hypocrites and I was its hungry ghost. Arjun's cum was still a cooling, sticky trickle between my ass cheeks as I limped back to the marital bedroom. Every step sent a sharp, exquisite ache through my violated hole, a sore, stretched reminder of my devar's brutal gift. My cunt, however, was a different story. It throbbed. It wept. It screamed in silent, desperate fury. That savage, soul-shattering anal orgasm had been a lightning strike, but the ground it struck was still parched. The emptiness between my legs was a physical agony, a hollow, clenching void that the thickest cock had not filled. I had been sodomized into oblivion, squirted like a fountain, and yet my greedy, insatiable cunt was still begging, still drooling, still clawing at my sanity.
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