Nine months of relentless defilement had reshaped Priya completely. The baby girl—named Ananya by Arjun in a fit of naive paternal pride—arrived screaming into the world on a humid August night in 2025. Labor had been long and brutal; Priya endured it mostly alone in the delivery room while Arjun paced the corridor, texting relatives. Rajesh waited outside too, but his eyes held a different hunger when the nurse finally wheeled mother and child out. He caught Priya’s gaze over the bundle in her arms and mouthed one silent word: “Mine.”

Ananya had Priya’s dark eyes and full lips, but the nose—strong, slightly hooked—was unmistakably Rajesh’s. Priya knew it the moment she saw her. The secret thrilled her more than any orgasm ever had. She was nursing a living testament to her whoredom, and the knowledge made her cunt clench even as stitches pulled painfully between her legs.