Chapter 7: Local Kirana Shop Gangbang

The bachelor party in Versova had destroyed me in ways I didn’t think were possible. For three full days after that night I could barely leave my bed. My asshole throbbed constantly — a ruined, puffy mess that still leaked faint traces of the 22 creampies whenever I moved. I hadn’t dared remove the last remnants; every time I sat or walked, the squelching reminder of 14 men using me like a public toilet sent shameful waves of heat through my body. Arjun had come over once and laughed at the state of me, fucking me gently for once before leaving. Priya Di had demanded photos of my wrecked hole and ordered me to keep the plug in longer as punishment for being such a greedy slut.

By Thursday evening the ache had dulled into a constant needy throb. I needed something closer to home, something risky and degrading to feed the addiction. I slipped into a loose salwar kameez — sky blue, modest from outside but with nothing underneath except a black lace bra and thong. Light makeup, wig tucked under a dupatta, and I walked down to the local kirana shop just two buildings away in Andheri East.

Uncle Desai (45, short, pot-bellied, perpetually sweaty) had owned the shop for years. He always stared a little too long whenever I bought groceries as Rohan. Tonight, as Ria underneath the modest clothes, I felt bold.

I entered the small, cramped shop around 9:15 PM. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The air was thick with the smell of spices, detergent, and Desai’s cheap beedi smoke. He was alone behind the counter, but I noticed a few regular customers lingering near the back.

“Uncle, do you have that special paneer?” I asked softly, letting my dupatta slip just enough to show a hint of makeup.

Desai’s eyes narrowed. He recognized something. He stepped around the counter, locked the front door with a loud click, and flipped the “Closed” sign. “Arre ... tu wohi hai na? Society ki chhupi randi. Sharma uncle ne bataya tha.”