Nisha was sitting on the sofa, reading the magazine. It was 10:30. When I stepped in, she looked at me and smiled.“How many?”, she asked.“What?�...�, I asked, clueless.“How many fucked you?”, She asked further.“How do you know”, I exclaimed, surprised.She pointed at the floor. As I turned around, I saw a long line of cum behind me. I looked down and cum was dripping out of my pussy like a tap has been left open. 5 guys had fucked me and that as well several times. My pussy was brimming with. My pain fuelled my anger at what I'd had to endure. My blood boiled with hate for the judges, my father, for Janice, and especially for the men who operated the whipping machine. Perhaps it was towards my father that most of my hate was directed; he could have used his influence to get me off with just a reprimand, but deliberately did nothing and seemed to gloat when he heard my sentence. "Given half a chance, I'll cut his balls off," I told myself, but knowing it would only land me in more. More

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