Papa’s Loan Girl

The Gujarat sun scorched the thin curtains of the small Ahmedabad house.

In her bedroom, Ritika sprawled on her bed. She scrolled her phone, oblivious to the chaos beyond her door.

In the living room, Maheshbhai slumped on a sagging sofa. Mr. Thakkar loomed opposite, gold chains glinting against his half-unbuttoned shirt, exuding arrogance.

Thakkar’s SUV idled outside, its rumble a constant threat. He slapped a stack of loan papers onto the chipped coffee table. His voice sliced through the stifling air.

“Three lakhs, Maheshbhai. Pay now, or I take this fucking house,” he sneered.

Maheshbhai’s voice quavered: “Thakkar-saab, please… one more month…”

“Month?” Thakkar’s laugh was cruel. “You’re a fucking loser. Sign, or you’re on the street with your little girl.”

Ritika’s fingers froze on her phone. Her father’s desperate pleas pierced the thin walls. Her heart pounded, her sharp mind racing.

She stood and faced the cracked mirror. Full boobs, curvy hips, smooth thighs that made men stare. She ripped off her top and shorts, swapping them for a black crop top so tight her nipples poked through, no bra. Micro shorts clung to her pussy, outlining every curve.

She mussed her hair, letting it fall wild, and swiped gloss across her lips until they shone. Grabbing a tea tray, she poured two cups, her movements deliberate. She strode into the living room, hips swaying, eyes locked on Thakkar.

“Tea, Papa?” she purred, voice dripping with intent, her gaze challenging Thakkar’s.

His eyes devoured her, raking over her boobs, bare midriff, and the shorts hugging her pussy. His smirk was filthy, gold chains shifting as he leaned forward, his presence predatory.

Ritika bent low to pour tea, slower than necessary. Her boobs nearly spilled from the top, nipples hard and straining against the fabric.

Maheshbhai choked, his face flushing with horror. “Ritika, go inside!”

She ignored him, setting a cup before Thakkar. Her fingers brushed his hand, lingering.

Her voice was steady, cutting. “Can I repay Papa’s debt with this?” Her hand slid to her shorts, fingers slipping inside, rubbing her pussy lightly, teasingly.

Maheshbhai’s jaw dropped, eyes wide with shock. Thakkar’s chuckle was low, dark, a sound that coiled around her. “Ritika, no!”

She stumbled, cheek burning red, hair falling over her face.

She straightened, eyes blazing, tears glinting but unshed. “I’m not letting you lose this house, Papa,” she snapped, voice fierce. “Your pathetic, broke ass can’t pay, so I’ll do what you can’t.”

Thakkar leaned forward. “Let her,” he told Maheshbhai, voice thick with amusement.

To Ritika, he said, “What’s your pussy worth, girl?”

“Everything my fucking failure of a father owes you,” she shot back, hips cocked, voice daring. “Fuck me like you own me, Thakkar. Make his debt my pussy’s price. Take it all.”

Thakkar unclasped his watch, setting it on the table. “One fuck,” he said. “Eleven more to go. Strip.”

Ritika peeled off her crop top, slow and deliberate. Her boobs bounced free, full and heavy, nipples pink and hardened in the warm air. Her shorts slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet, leaving her pussy bare, already glistening.

Maheshbhai turned away, his shoulders shaking, a choked sob escaping as he pressed his hands to his face.

Thakkar stood, towering over her. His hand shot out, groping her boobs, squeezing hard, thumbs flicking her nipples until she gasped.

He slapped her ass, the crack echoing, leaving a red handprint on her smooth skin.

His fingers plunged into her pussy, rough and deep, fucking her with them, curling inside her.

She moaned, her body trembling, thighs parting wider, tears in her eyes but her chin high.

“Fucking tight little pussy,” Thakkar growled. He shoved her onto the sofa, her ass hitting the cushions, legs splayed. “You want me to own you? I’ll fuck you until you’re begging.”

“Then fucking do it,” Ritika taunted. “Fuck my pussy like Papa’s debt is riding on it. He’s a weak, useless fuck who can’t pay you, so take every rupee’s worth from me.”

Maheshbhai’s whispers filled the room, barely audible. “I’m sorry… my child…” His voice broke, but the sounds couldn’t drown Thakkar’s low growl as he dropped his pants.

His cock sprang free, thick, veined, and rock-hard, the tip already slick.

He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back. “Suck my cock, you little slut,”

Ritika opened her mouth, and he thrust deep, fucking her mouth with ruthless force. Her throat constricted, gagging as his cock hit the back, drool spilling down her chin.

Her nails dug into his thighs, leaving red scratches, but she sucked hard, lips stretched tight, tongue swirling around his shaft.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she gasped. “Come on, Thakkar. Fuck my mouth like you’re collecting Papa’s three lakhs.”

He groaned, her words fueling his lust, and shoved his cock back in, deeper, fucking her throat until her face flushed red, her eyes watering but defiant.

Saliva dripped onto her boobs, glistening on her nipples, her gags loud and wet in the suffocating room.

He pulled out, a string of drool connecting her lips to his cock. He flipped her onto her back, spreading her legs wide, her pussy open and dripping. “You want it rough?” he snarled, rubbing his cock against her clit.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” Ritika hissed, her hips lifting to meet him. “My father’s a broke piece of shit. Fuck my pussy until his debt’s paid in full.”

He slammed his cock into her, raw and brutal, stretching her pussy with a force that made her cry out, pain and pleasure twisting together.

The sofa creaked under his thrusts, her boobs bouncing wildly, nipples hard as he fucked her, his hips slamming against her thighs, leaving bruises.

“Fucking tight debt whore,” Thakkar grunted, gripping her hips. “This pussy’s worth more than your father’s life.”

“Prove it,” Ritika moaned. “Fuck me harder, Thakkar. Show him what a failure he is.”

Her words drove him wild, his thrusts savage, each one deeper, her pussy clenching around his cock, wet and aching.

He yanked her hair, forcing her to arch her back, her boobs jiggling, nipples grazing his chest as he pounded her, the room filled with the slap of skin and her broken moans.

He pulled out, shoving her onto all fours, her ass high, pussy dripping onto the cushions. He spanked her, hard, the sound echoing, red handprints blooming on her skin.

His thumb teased her asshole, circling the tight ring, making her tense, her breath hitching.

“Scared?” he taunted, pressing harder, his cock rubbing against her pussy.

“Fuck my pussy, you bastard,” Ritika growled, pushing back against him. “Papa’s a fucking loser who left me to pay his debts. Take it all from me. Make me your whore.”

He laughed, and slammed his cock back into her pussy, fucking her with a ferocity that rocked her body, her boobs swaying, nipples scraping the rough sofa fabric.

Her cries grew louder, pain and unwanted pleasure mixing, her pussy stretched to its limit.

Thakkar dragged her to the floor, bending her over the coffee table.

Her boobs pressed against the chipped wood, nipples scraping painfully as he fucked her from behind.

He slapped her ass again, her skin burning, her pussy dripping down her thighs.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled, grabbing her hair, pulling her head back. “Your father’s watching his little girl get fucked for his mistakes.”

“Fuck me harder,” Ritika gasped, her voice a mix of defiance and desperation. “Papa’s a fucking failure who couldn’t save us. Show him I’m worth more than he’ll ever be.”

His thrusts relentless, the table shaking, papers scattering to the floor.

Maheshbhai’s sobs were a faint echo, his head bowed, hands still covering his face.

Thakkar pulled out, shoving her to her knees. “Suck my cock clean, debt slut.”

She took him deep, gagging, lips swollen, tasting her own pussy on his cock. Her tongue swirled, sucking hard, her eyes daring him to go further.

“More,” she mumbled. “Fuck my mouth like it’s your fucking money, Thakkar.”

He groaned, fucking her throat, his cock pulsing, her scalp burning as he pulled her hair tighter. Her gags were loud, wet, her face a mess of tears, drool, and defiance.

He yanked her up, pushing her back onto the sofa, spreading her legs wide.

He fucked her pussy slow now, deliberate, making her feel every inch of his cock, her walls clenching, her boobs bouncing with each thrust.

He pinched her nipples, twisting them until she cried out, the pain sharp, her pussy tightening around him.

“This pussy belongs to me now” he snarled, slapping her boobs, watching them jiggle, red marks blooming on her skin.

“Then use it,” Ritika moaned. “Papa couldn’t pay a dime, so fuck my pussy until you’re satisfied.”

He growled, speeding up, fucking her hard, her pussy sore but dripping, her cries filling the room.

He leaned down, biting her nipple, sucking it hard, leaving it red and throbbing.

Her body shook, overwhelmed, but her eyes stayed fierce, challenging him.

He pulled out, grabbing her boobs, rubbing his cock between them, fucking her cleavage, her skin slick with sweat and drool.

“Hold them tight,” he ordered, and she pressed her boobs together.

“Fuck my tits like they’re worth three lakhs,” she said, lips trembling but eyes burning.

His cock sliding faster, the friction burning her skin.

He cum, hot spurts hitting her boobs, neck, and face, dripping down her chin.

She licked what she could, her tongue darting out, tasting the bitter salt.

He wasn’t done. He shoved his cock back into her pussy, fucking her again, her body trembling, pussy raw and pulsing.

He slapped her thighs, spreading them wider, his fingers rubbing her clit roughly, making her moan louder, her body betraying her with a shudder.

“Fucking debt whore,” he said, grabbing her throat lightly, his thumb pressing just enough to make her gasp.

“Then take it all,” Ritika gasped, tears streaming.

Her words pushed him over the edge.

He fucked her harder, his cock slamming deep.

He pulled out, cumming again, hot cum shooting across her pussy, thighs, and stomach, dripping down her skin.

Thakkar stood, zipping up, his smirk triumphant. “That’s this month’s payment.” He tossed a cheque onto the table. “Eleven more fucks. Keep her pussy ready.”

He strode out, leaving the house suffocated in silence.

Ritika sat on the floor, legs splayed, pussy red and dripping, cum coating her boobs, face, thighs, and stomach.

Her body was bruised, her skin marked with handprints, her nipples throbbing. Her eyes were blank.

Maheshbhai knelt beside her. “Ritika… my child… I failed you…” His hands hovering, afraid to touch her.

She pushed him away gently, her voice barely a whisper. “Keep the door open when he comes to fuck me next month.”

She walked to her room, closing the door softly. She whispered to herself, “Only eleven more to go.”