Chanda was already chained — wrists high above her head in thick metal cuffs, ankles spread wide and locked to the floor rings. Her torn red saree blouse hung in shreds, exposing her massive, milk-heavy chuche that swayed with every terrified breath. Thin streams of warm doodh already leaked from her dark, puffy nipples, dripping down her trembling stomach onto the cold stone floor.
Four towering figures surrounded her in the flickering candlelight:
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