Hello, this is Ayesha again, in the last part I told how once a devout Muslim, is now brothers Hamza's submissive whore and slut,
I lay sprawled on the chest of Hamza naked, my body still buzzing from the intense fuck he’d just given me. My limbs felt heavy, my mind foggy, as if I’d been drugged. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I was naked, my clothes discarded in a messy pile by the couch, a testament to the urgency of our earlier encounter. Hamza’s scent lingered on my skin—a mix of sweat, cologne, and something uniquely him. I closed my eyes, reliving the way he’d dominated me, his strong hands gripping my waist, his thick cock thrusting deep inside me. His lips sucking my boobs. I was his now, body and soul, a fact I’d accepted long ago.
But my moment of peace was short-lived. The sound of Hamza’s voice jolted me awake. “Ayesha, get up. I’ve got friends coming over. You’ll entertain them.” His tone was commanding, brooking no argument. I groaned, my body aching from our earlier session.
“Hamza, I’m tired,” I whined, my voice hoarse. “Please, not today.”
Hamza loomed over me, his muscular frame casting a shadow. His dark eyes narrowed, and I knew better than to push him. “You’re my slut, Ayesha. You do as I say. Get up and dance for them. Show them what a good whore you are.” His words stung, but they also ignited a familiar heat within me. I was his, and I would obey.
Reluctantly, I pushed myself up, my bare feet touching the cold floor. My body was still sensitive, my pussy throbbing from his rough treatment. I could feel his cum dripping down my thighs, a sticky reminder of what I’d become. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come.
The doorbell rang, and Hamza smirked. They’re here. “Don’t disappoint me. Wear a seductive dress. ” He smacked my ass hard and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stood in the middle of the room, my heart pounding. I was Ayesha, once a devout Muslim girl, now a shameless whore. How had I let it come to this? But there was no time for self-pity. I had a job to do.
The front door opened, and I heard laughter and loud voices. Hamza greeted his friends—nine young, handsome, here for a good time. My stomach churned with a mix of fear and anticipation. I recognized a few: Abdullah, the tall, quiet one; Ali, with his mischievous grin; Mosa, Esa, Taha, Ibrahim, Yosuf, Ayan, and Elum. They were all Hamza’s friends, and they all knew what I was.
Hamza herded them into the living room and called me from the room. As I entered, wearing a hijab, a small skirt, and a tight shirt, they immediately locked eyes on me, hungry and predatory. I felt exposed and vulnerable, but also strangely aroused. This was what I was made for now—to be used, to be desired.
“Gentlemen,” Hamza announced, his voice dripping with pride, “meet Ayesha. She’s going to put on a show for us.”
I took a step forward, my nerves giving way to a dark, twisted excitement. I was their entertainment, their plaything. I began to move, my body swaying to the beats played on the speaker. Slowly, I raised my arms above my head, my fingers tracing the curves of my breasts. My nipples hardened under their gaze, and I smiled, knowing I was turning them on.
I turned my back to them, bending over to touch my toes. My ass was on full display, and I heard whispers and groans behind me. I straightened up, facing them again, and began to strip. First, my hijab slid off my head, revealing my long, dark hair. Then, my tight shirt, baring my small, perky breasts. Finally, my skirt left me completely naked.
Their eyes devoured me, and I felt a surge of power. I was their fantasy, their dirty little secret. I continued to dance, my movements becoming more explicit. I ran my hands over my body, teasing my nipples, spreading my legs to give them a glimpse of my wet pussy.
The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with their lust. I could see their cocks straining against their pants, and I smirked. They wanted me, and I would give them what they craved.
Before I could finish my dance, they were on me. Hands grabbed at my body, pulling me in different directions. I was pushed to the floor, my back hitting the tiles with a thud. Panic flared briefly, but a wave of arousal quickly replaced it. This was what I’d been trained for, what I’d been reduced to.
Two of them—Abdullah and Ali, I think—pushed their way between my legs. Their cocks were hard and thick, and they didn’t waste time. One entered my pussy, stretching me open, while the other forced his way into my ass. The pain was immediate and sharp, but it only fueled my desire.
“Aaaah! Ooooh! yeah!” I cried out, my voice a mix of pain and pleasure. “Ya Allahhh! MADARCHOD!”
They didn’t stop. They thrust into me relentlessly, their cocks filling me. I felt torn and stretched beyond what I thought was possible, but I also felt alive. This was my purpose now—to be fucked, to be used.
Meanwhile, Mosa and Esa shoved their cocks into my mouth, holding my head in place as they fucked my face. I gagged, my eyes watering, but I took it. I was Hamzas whore, and I would do anything he wanted.
The room was filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, of moans and groans, of my cries. I was a mess, my body a playground for their pleasure. Hamza stood nearby, watching with a smirk, his cock in his hand as he stroked himself. He was enjoying the show, his creation.
The men were brutal, their thrusts hard and unforgiving. They slapped my tits, my ass, my thighs, leaving red marks on my skin. Each slap stung, but it only added to the intensity of the moment.
“Main randi hoon, Hamza ki!” I moaned, my voice broken. "Bhanchodon! Allahhh! Dard!”
They laughed, their voices cruel and mocking. “That’s right, whore,” one of them growled. “Humara bhi Land lo Randi.”
The pain and pleasure blurred together, my senses overwhelmed. I was lost in a haze of lust and degradation, my body a vessel for their release. They used me for hours, taking turns fucking my holes, their cocks never softening. I was a cum-covered mess, my pussy and ass stretched and sore, my mouth raw from their thrusts.
Finally, they finished one by one, spilling their loads inside me, on my face, on my body. I was left on the floor, a broken, used-up whore, my moans echoing through the room.
I saw his friends sitting back on the couch naked. One of them said. "Hamza, issay humaray samnay chodo!"
Hamza stepped forward, his cock still hard. “My turn,” he said, his voice cold.
He picked me up and fucked me brutally, slapping my body and cursing me in Urdu saying, "Bhenchod! Haramzadi! Randi!"
But I was beyond caring. I lay there, my body getting fucked by my favorite cock with the evidence of their brutality, my mind numb. I was Ayesha, Hamza’s whore, and this was my life now and I loved it.
As they left, laughing and joking, I continued to moan, my body still trembling. The marks of their slaps stood out vividly against my skin, a testament to my degradation. I was a whore, and I loved it.
Hamza picked me up after a particularly rough gangbang. He held me close and whispered his thanks, his warm breath against my ear sending shivers down my spine. And then, without warning, he kissed me. His lips were soft, but his grip was firm as he pulled me closer He thrusted his cock in me again. I cried out in pleasure. "Behan kay loray! kitna choday ga!" My body trembled with each thrust and cursing him.
After getting fucked for three hours, I said to Hamza, "Hamza, I loved the gangbang. I want it once a week."
After that, we started organizing weekly gangbangs at a local hostel. We charged 5000 rupees per person and made a killing – 125,000 rupees per week, to be exact. I was officially a slut and a whore, but I didn't care. I loved the feeling of power and control that came with it. I was in charge, and I was making a fortune.
But despite all the attention and money, Hamza's cock remained my favorite. I couldn't get enough of him, and I made sure to save him for last at every gangbang. He was my rock, my haven in a sea of debauchery.
But of course, all good things must come to an end. Our mother eventually found out about our little operation, and she was not pleased. She caught Hamza and me in the middle of a particularly wild gangbang, and let's just say she was not happy.
The next part is about how Mother became a whore.
