Vibha was twenty-four, a walking wet dream with caramel skin that glowed under the streetlights of Panipat’s back alleys. Her tits were heavy 36Ds, that strained against every top she wore, and her ass was a thick, juicy bubble that jiggled with every step. She had long black hair that reached her waist, full lips painted slut-red, and eyes that screamed “use me.” For the last two years she had lived by one rule only: she was free use. No questions, no limits, no safe words. Any man on the street who wanted her holes could take them, anytime, anywhere. She didn’t charge. She didn’t say no. She was the city’s public cum-dump, and she fucking loved it.

Tonight she was dressed like the cheap whore she was. A tiny white crop top that barely covered her nipples, no bra, and a black micro-skirt that rode up so high her shaved pussy lips peeked out when she walked. No panties. Platform heels that made her ass pop even more. She strutted down the narrow gali behind the old bus stand, hips swaying, tits bouncing, already dripping just from the cool night air on her exposed cunt.