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Why did the fight of writers erupted...
I think this story is just going to be vague and boring as Dipa has started going all out. There is no secrecy nor a point that the characters are going to build up the atmosphere to seduce. Dipa shouldn't be a cheap whore. She should be helpful and a woman with dignity who also cares for her family! Just finish the story on a high note as it started. Call it a end!
Thank you to the original writer and the contributors.
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17-02-2025, 07:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 20-02-2025, 09:37 PM by Herbiee. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
Some slum dwellers miss her a lot. They are still wait for her kindness.So please stop fight and please let her go free.
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Dropped??
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(19-01-2025, 05:19 PM)voluptuoustales Wrote: Why did the fight of writers erupted...
I think this story is just going to be vague and boring as Dipa has started going all out. There is no secrecy nor a point that the characters are going to build up the atmosphere to seduce. Dipa shouldn't be a cheap whore. She should be helpful and a woman with dignity who also cares for her family! Just finish the story on a high note as it started. Call it a end!
Thank you to the original writer and the contributors.
Good Point and it really makes sense bro
இங்கே என் முதல் முயற்சி
மில்க் ஜான்ஸன் எழுதிய என்னங்க! உங்க அப்பா மோசம்! அவரால நான் 10 மாசம்! கதையில் என் அப்டேட் (Last 09 March 2025 Night)
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You should block the haters and keep writing your story. I can understand it's a fantasy but you are a good writer. They may be angry because os something else and they are just taking out their anger on your story. Just avoid them. They are plenty of people in this world like that. Let me also tell you did write a good story. Imagination is like a dream and reality is more absurd.
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Came across this story while searching casually for any stories. started reading casually first because the title caught my eye. but right now after finishing update no 5 if i don't say- I am not hooked up the i'll be lying. last but not the least this story should be declared as a classic. each and every update so far are on fire.
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Usman and Dipti relationship please.
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31-08-2025, 08:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 31-08-2025, 08:54 PM by ashuezy. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
The story continues with new characters. Based on feedback I will share more.
Saga 2 - Scene 1 - Baba ka powder
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A few days later, Dipa was lounging on the sofa, Tukun asleep in his cradle. She was wearing the yellow spaghetti strap tank top and shorts Sameer had bought for her. She was no longer ashamed of her body in her own home; she was beginning to revel in the freedom. Sameer was watching her, a familiar, hungry look in his eyes.
The doorbell rang. It was Ramla Aunty, but her usual cheerful demeanor was gone, replaced by a mask of deep worry.
Dipa: Ramla Masi? What’s wrong? You look so upset.
Ramla: Oh, madam! It is a terrible story. A tragedy in our slum.
Sameer: What kind of tragedy, Aunty?
Ramla: There are two brothers, Keshav and Murari. Very good boys. But Keshav… some enemy has put a curse on him. A terrible curse.
Dipa: A curse? What do you mean?
Ramla: He has lost his manhood, madam. Completely. The doctors can do nothing. He no longer eats. He no longer speaks. He just lies in his hut, waiting to die. His brother, Murari, is going mad with grief.
Dipa’s heart immediately went out to them. The familiar ache of pity began to bloom in her chest.
Sameer: That is truly horrible. A man without his manhood is… a ghost. Dipa, darling…
He looked at her, his eyes shining with a sudden, intense idea.
Sameer: Your noble work… the people in the slum, they talk about you like a goddess. They say your touch is healing.
Dipa: Sameer, what are you suggesting?
Sameer: Perhaps… perhaps you could visit this poor boy. Just to sit with him. To talk to him. Maybe your presence… your divine energy… could break this curse.
Ramla: Oh, Sameer Babu, do you really think so? That would be a miracle!
Dipa: But… what could I possibly do?
Sameer: Just be yourself, my love. A beautiful, kind-hearted woman. It is a man’s greatest medicine. Think of it, Dipa. You could save his life. It would be your greatest act of virtue yet.
That afternoon, Dipa went with Ramla to a part of the slum she hadn’t visited before. They arrived at a small, clean hut. Inside, a young man, Murari, greeted them with desperate, hopeful eyes. On a cot in the corner, another man, Keshav, lay still as a corpse, his face turned to the wall.
Murari: Madam, thank you for coming. You are our last hope.
Dipa: I don’t know what I can do, but I wanted to offer my support.
Murari: Your presence itself is a blessing. Please, sit. Let me offer you some prasad. I just came from the temple, praying for my brother.
Murari thought to himself, his heart pounding as he held out the cup. The stories are true. She comes if the suffering is great enough. But pity is not enough. We need more. The fakir sold me this powder… he said a few drops would make a man see heaven and a woman become a goddess. She will eat the prasad, a holy offering she cannot refuse. And then… then she won’t just be a kind woman. She will be whatever we need her to be. She will feel the power, and her own mind will command her to give us everything. Her milk, her body… her very soul. What a cruel trick;
He handed her the small, sweet, milky prasad in a clay cup. It seemed rude to refuse a religious offering. She eate it down quickly. It was surprisingly delicious.
Dipa: Your brother… has he been like this for long?
Murari: For two weeks. The light in his eyes is gone. The fakir said only the touch of a truly pure and generous woman, in human form, could awaken his soul. When Ramla Masi told me of you… I knew it was a sign from Gods.
As he spoke, the drab colors of the hut began to seem strangely vibrant. The light from the single bulb seemed to pulse gently. Dipa felt a warmth spread through her body, a sense of profound peace and connection to everything in the room.
Dipa: Ramla Masi, you can go now. Tukun will need you soon. Don't worry about me. I will stay here for a while.
Ramla: Okay, madam. As you wish.
Ramla left, closing the hut door behind her.
Dipa: Everything… is so… beautiful.
Murari: It is because you are here, madam. You bring the beauty with you.
She moved to the cot and sat beside the still figure. She reached out and placed her hand on Keshav’s shoulder.
Dipa: Keshav… can you hear me?
At her touch, he stirred. He turned slowly, his eyes finding hers. They were hollow, empty… but the sound of his voice was like a physical touch on her skin.
Keshav: Your… voice…
Dipa: You can speak!
Murari: It is a miracle! Madam, your power is working! Please, don’t stop!
Dipa felt a wave of dizzying power. She was feeling generous. She was healing him. The world around her was melting, swirling into patterns of light and sound. The only reality was her mission.
Dipa: Your sickness… it is because your body has forgotten pleasure. It has forgotten a woman’s touch.
She stood up, unpinning her sari with a fluid, graceful motion and letting the pallu fall. The patterns on the fabric seemed to dance and breathe. She unhooked her blouse, then her bra. Her breasts felt impossibly heavy, full of milk, the source of all life. They swung free, large and white and veined with blue, the nipples already hard and dark.
Murari gasped, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and pure, animal lust. Keshav, on the cot, pushed himself up onto one elbow, his dead eyes suddenly alight with a desperate fire.
Keshav: So… big…
Murari: Madam… they are… perfect.
Dipa: (smiling serenely) You need my milk. It is the nectar of life. It will cure you.
She leaned over Keshav, her nipple brushing his dry lips. He took it, his mouth surprisingly strong, latching on with a deep, hungry suckle. As he drank, she felt the energy flowing from her body into his. Milk was freely flowing from her nipples entering his mouth then onto his tongue and into his stomach. He was coming back to life. Murari was on his knees now, weeping with joy.
Murari: Your milk is bringing him back from the dead! Please, Memsahab, let me also drink from the sacred fountain! I need to share in this miracle!
Dipa: Of course, my child. There is enough for all who are suffering.
Murari scrambled to the other side of the cot, his face buried in her other breast. He latched on just as greedily as his brother. Now she had one at each breast, two hungry mouths drawing life from her. She felt like a tree, a river, a mountain—an eternal source.
Their hands came up to her breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh to make the milk flow faster. The sensation was electric, sending waves of pleasure through her drug-saturated body.
Keshav: (muffled) More… I feel the life returning… I feel like a man again…
Murari: It is so sweet, Memsahab! The sweetest thing I have ever tasted!
Dipa: Yes… drink, my children. Drink deep. Mere bachche aur piyo, bahut hai tum dono ke liye. My children, drink, there is plenty for both of you.
She caressed their heads, her fingers tangling in their hair, pressing their faces harder against her. She could feel the hard ridges of their erections pressing against her legs through their thin lungis. The drug in her system didn't register this as lust; it was a symptom of their recovery. Proof of her power. Her milk was not just feeding their bodies, it was restoring their manhood.
She smiled, a benevolent, holy smile, and reached down. Her hands found the hard bulges in their lungis. She squeezed them gently.
Dipa: You are becoming strong again. My power flows into you. The curse is broken.
Keshav: Your touch… your milk… I have never felt anything like this.
Murari: We want more, Memsahab. It is hard to drink like this. We are so weak.
Dipa: What do you need, my children? Tell your mother.
Murari: Please… if you could come on top of us… lie on the bed between us. Then we could drink properly. We could worship you as you deserve.
Dipa: Yes. Of course.
She stood and unfastened her sari, letting it pool on the floor. She stepped out of it, then her petticoat. She stood before them in just her panties, her huge, milk-slick breasts swaying. They stared, their mouths hanging open.
She lay down on the cot on her hands between them, her head propped on a pillow.
Dipa: Come, my children. It is time to finish your healing.
Keshav immediately took one nipple, his hands cupping the heavy globe. Murari took the other, his own hands mirroring his brother’s. They suckled with a renewed, frantic energy. She could feel their hard cocks pressing against her thighs, hot and insistent. She didn't mind. It was part of the ritual. Part of the cure.
She reached down again, away from their mouths, this time her hands finding the knots of their lungis. She untied them, letting the fabric fall away. Their erections sprang free, thick and hard and dark. She took one in each hand, stroking them.
Keshav: Your hands… they are magic…
Murari: Memsahab… you are making us whole again…
She felt like she was floating, a vessel of pure sensation and purpose. The sound of their wet mouths, the feeling of their hands on her breasts, the hard, pulsing weight of their cocks in her hands—it was all part of a single, perfect symphony of healing. They continued with their hands squeezing harder and harder, until she felt the last drops of milk leave her body. Her breasts were empty, soft, and exquisitely sensitive.
Their faces flushed, their eyes burning with a new kind of fire. They were no longer sick, cursed boys. They were men. Men she had created. Men she had healed.
And now, their healing required one final, sacred act.
To be continued..
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Saga 2 - Scene 2 - Baba ka powder
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Murari: Madam, you are saving him! But the fakir said… he said the final cure… is for his body to remember how to be a man.
Dipa understood. In her altered state, it was the most logical, most holy thing in the world.
Dipa: Yes. Of course. That is the final part of the ritual.
She reached down and slowly, gracefully, peeled her panties down her legs, her movements feeling profound and significant. As she lay naked on the cot, Keshav, who moments ago was a near-corpse, moved over her. His erection was thick and hard, a full 8 inches, the foreskin pulled back to reveal a dark, glistening head.
Dipa: The curse… it is breaking… I can feel it…
Keshav positioned himself between her legs. Her vagina was already slick and flooded, not just with the usual juices of arousal, but with a copious, frictionless wetness that seemed to be a product of the drug itself. Her muscles were completely relaxed, her body open and receptive. She felt no fear, only a deep sense of purpose. He entered her with a single, smooth push, his entire length sliding deep inside her. The sensation was not of being penetrated, but of being completed. It was a joining of energies, the final step in the circuit.
Keshav: Oh… madam… you are… so wet… so tight…
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that felt smooth and watery. Murari, watching from the side, had a wicked, triumphant smirk on his face—a truly harami expression. He saw his plan working perfectly.
Dipa: Yes… slowly… I can feel the sickness leaving you… your energy is returning…
Keshav: Your pussy… it feels like heaven…
His pace began to quicken, his thrusts growing deeper and harder. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the small hut, but to Dipa, it was a help she was giving. Her own wetness was increasing with every stroke, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around his cock. As he fucked her, Murari knelt beside the cot.
Murari: I must assist Memsahab! I must channel my energy to help my brother!
He took her free, dangling breast in his mouth and began to suckle, his hands roaming her body, squeezing her hips, her thighs. Dipa was in another dimension, her body a vessel for healing, the thrusts of the cock inside her and Murari's mouth on her breast, they were pure bliss for Dipa.
Murari: (whispering to his brother) See, Keshav? I told you that baba's powder would work! Look at her!
Keshav: (panting) She is gone, in another dimension, bhai! This is the best fucking of my life! She’s taking every inch!
Murari: I told you my plan was perfect. She believed every word. She thinks she’s healing you!
In her psychedelic haze, Dipa barely registered their words. They were like the buzzing of flies on a distant shore. She only felt the pleasure, the power, the profound sense of purpose. She was saving them. She was their Memsahab.
Murari: Keshav, let me come on top of her now. It is my turn to receive the Memsahab’s blessing.
Keshav pulled out his penis with a wet squelch and moved to the side of the cot. Murari immediately took his place, positioning his own thick, hard cock at her entrance.
Murari: Madam… Dipa… I have dreamed of this moment.
He pushed inside her, filling her completely.
Murari: Ahhh, yes… just as I imagined. Tighter than I dreamed.
He began to move, his rhythm hard and fast from the start.
Murari: I have watched you, you know. Sometimes, in the morning, I deliver goods near your house. I have seen you on your balcony, stretching in the sun. I have watched your huge boobs bouncing, and I have jerked off thinking about them. I told myself, one day, Murari, one day you will fuck that high-class Memsahab. You will bury your cock deep in her pussy.
He thrust deeper, pushing the air from her lungs.
Dipa: (gasping) Yes… more… heal him too…
Murari: Heal? Oh yes, I am being healed. I am fucking you so hard, Dipa. You feel so good. You taste so good. Your milk, your pussy… it’s all for me now. For us. We own you.
He grabbed her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he pounded into her. She felt no pain, only an intensification of the ecstatic, swirling energy that consumed her. He was a force of nature, a storm, and she was the earth receiving his rain.
After several minutes, he slowed his pace, his body still buried deep inside her. Keshav moved up to her head.
Keshav: Memsahab, you face is so beautiful I want to kiss you. Your lips… they look so soft.
Dipa: (dizzy, her voice a whisper) Yes… come close.
Keshav lowered his head, his mouth claiming hers. The kiss was not gentle. It was brutal, possessive. He forced his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her, tasting the prasad, tasting his victory.
Keshav: Mmmmmm… you taste amazing, such soft lips. Like sin. Let me drink your breath.
He sucked on her tongue, biting her lower lip, his hands tangling in her hair, holding her head still. He kissed her with a deep, consuming hunger, as if he could devour her very essence. Dipa responded with equal passion, her own tongue wrestling with his, her body arching up to meet Murari’s slow, deep thrusts from below. She was being possessed, consumed from both ends, a willing sacrifice on the altar of her own divine delusion.
To be continued..
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Saga 2 - Scene 3 - Baba ka powder
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Murari pulled his cock out of Dipa’s slick, flooded cunt with a wet, sucking sound. He lay beside her, panting, his body gleaming with sweat. The room was thick with the smells of sex, milk, and the sweet.
Murari: Ahhh… I need to rest, Memsahab. Your energy… it is too powerful. Fucking you is like fucking a lightning storm. A man needs to catch his breath.
Keshav, who had been kissing Dipa’s face and neck, moved over her. His own cock was still ramrod straight, glistening with her juices.
Keshav: Bhai! Maza aa gaya isko kiss karke. Her lips are so soft, it is nothing like I have ever tasted.
He was stroking his cock, the head dark and wet. He moved closer to Dipa’s face, positioning the tip of his erection right in front of her parted lips. The drug was still singing in her veins; the world was a beautiful, swirling kaleidoscope of color and sensation. His cock was a conduit of the masculine energy she was healing.
Keshav: Your mouth, Memsahab… it looks so hungry. It healed me with a kiss. Now, let it heal this.
He gently pressed the head of his cock against her lips. Dipa opened her mouth without hesitation, a willing receptacle. He pushed forward slowly, the thick shaft sliding past her teeth, filling her mouth. She closed her lips around him, her tongue beginning to lick and explore the rigid flesh.
Keshav: Ohhh, fuck… yes… just like that. Your mouth is so hot… so wet. It feels better than your pussy. I can feel you sucking the last of the sickness out of me.
He began to move his hips, fucking her mouth in a slow, deep rhythm. Dipa was in heaven. This was the true work. She was drawing the poison out, consuming it, transforming it with her divine power. She enjoyed it so much, a new, generous thought bloomed in her psychedelic haze. She reached out and patted Murari’s thigh.
Dipa: Murari… come. Don’t rest. There is more healing to be done. My mouth has room for two. Both of you must be made whole.
Murari stared in disbelief for a second, then a wide, wolfish grin spread across his face. He scrambled into position beside his brother, his own cock just as hard and ready. He pushed it into the side of her mouth.
Murari: Yes, Memsahab. Heal me too. Make us both strong in your fire.
She was now taking both of them, two thick cocks filling her mouth, her head moving from side to side, trying to pleasure them both. It was a struggle, but a blissful one.
Keshav: Bhai, I can’t hold it much longer. Her mouth… it’s pulling everything out of me. I’m going to cum!
Murari: Me too! She’s sucking my soul out through my dick! I’m about to explode!
They began to fuck her face more frantically, their groans filling the small hut. Dipa felt the energy building, the final moment of the ritual approaching.
Dipa: (muffled) Yes… good… release it. Ejaculate the curse into my mouth. I will swallow it. I will purify it. It is the only way to complete the healing. Give it all to me now!
Hearing her command, they lost all control. Keshav grabbed her hair, holding her head steady as he pounded his cock against the back of her throat.
Keshav: Take it, Memsahab! Take all my poison!
Murari: Yes, Memsahab! Drink our sins!
With a final, simultaneous roar, they both erupted, flooding her mouth with their hot, thick semen. It was an overwhelming torrent, but in her state, it was healing. She swallowed dutifully, a wave of profound accomplishment washing over her. The ritual was complete. The curse was broken. She had saved them.
They collapsed on either side of her, spent and panting. The psychedelic intensity in her mind began to recede, the swirling colors softening, the pulsing sounds fading into a gentle hum. The world was slowly coming back into focus. She was lying naked on a cot, sticky with sweat and semen, between two naked men.
Dipa: (her voice a little shaky, half-dizzy) Are you… are you feeling better now? Is the sickness gone?
Keshav: (smiling) Yes, Memsahab. You cured us. You are a true mother. We can never repay you.
Murari: My brother is alive again. He is a man again. It is all because of you.
She sat up, feeling a little weak. The room was just a drab, poor hut again. She felt a faint wave of nausea.
Dipa: I need… some water.
Murari quickly fetched a cup of water for her. She drank it, the cool liquid helping to clear her head. She looked at her sari and blouse, discarded in a heap on the floor.
Dipa: I should… I should clean up.
She stood on shaky legs and began to wipe herself down with the end of her sari. The brothers watched her, their eyes no longer filled with desperate need, but with a lazy, satisfied ownership. She didn't notice. She was still wrapped in the fading glow of her perceived miracle.
Dipa: You must take care of yourselves now. Eat well. Be good to each other.
Keshav: We will, Memsahab. We owe our lives to you.
She slowly put on her blouse, her bra, her petticoat. The familiar clothes felt strange, restrictive. She wrapped her sari around herself, her movements a little clumsy. She felt disconnected from her own body, as if she were watching a stranger get dressed.
Murari: Will you come back, Memsahab? To check on your children?
Dipa: (still in a daze) I… I don’t know. I have to go home. My son…
She walked to the door, her head still swimming slightly. She turned back to look at them. They were sitting up on the cot, two young, healthy men, their bodies lean and strong. She had done that. She had made them well. A sense of deep, profound satisfaction settled over her, overriding the faint, nagging feeling that something was very, very wrong. She smiled at them, a final, beatific smile, and stepped out into the harsh afternoon sun.
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@Admin, please unban my ashuezy account. I think it was automatically banned by some automatic algorithm.
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Saga 3 - Scene 1 - Rupa ki lalsa
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One week later, Dipa was directing Sameer’s driver as he unloaded cartons of food packets and stacks of blankets from the car's trunk. She had convinced Sameer that her "noble work" should continue, and he had happily funded this charity drive, eager for the stories she would bring back. She wore a simple, sleeveless blouse and a fine cotton sari, a soft brassiere and no panties beneath it. Her large, heavy breasts swayed with her every movement, their outlines clearly visible against the thin fabric.
A crowd of slum dwellers quickly formed around her, a sea of hands and hopeful faces.
Dipa: Please, please, one at a time. There is enough for everyone.
As she handed out the packets, she felt the press of the crowd. A hand brushed her hip and lingered. Someone’s fingers grazed her bare arm. A child, pushed forward by the crowd, stumbled against her, his face pressing into her soft breasts for a moment before his mother pulled him back. It was an invasion of her space, a hundred tiny, curious touches, but she felt no fear, only a strange, powerful thrill at being the center of so much raw, human need.
Suddenly, a woman with wild, desperate eyes pushed her way to the front. Her sari was old and torn at the shoulder, exposing the full, heavy side of one of her own ample breasts.
Woman: Madam! Madam, thank you! God bless you for this food!
Dipa: You are welcome. Please, take what you need.
Woman: Food can fill the belly, madam, but it cannot fill a woman’s womb. I… I have a much bigger problem. A sorrow that is killing me. Please, can I speak to you alone for a moment?
Dipa, her curiosity and pity piqued, nodded. The woman, whose name was Rupa, led her away from the chaotic distribution, into a quieter alley between two rows of huts.
Rupa: Madam, you are a mother. You have a beautiful son. You understand a woman’s greatest pain.
Dipa: What is it? How can I help?
Rupa: It is my husband, Harish. His first wife died without giving him a child. Now… now he is my husband, but he is broken. He is impotent, madam. He cannot give me a child. We have tried everything. The doctors, the prayers… nothing works.
Tears streamed down Rupa’s face, her story a torrent of practiced despair.
Dipa: I am so sorry. Such terrible sadness...
Rupa: But there is one hope. Somebody in the slum told us about a cure. He told us your story. My husband’s seed is asleep. It has forgotten its purpose. To reawaken it, he needs the touch of the healing mother, which is you, Memsahab, your pure healing energy, as a fertile and a lactating mother. Not for lust, madam! For life! The person said the life-giving energy in your milk could shock his body back into working, so that he can finally put a baby inside me.
Dipa stared at her, stunned. This was a new request, bizarre and deeply intimate.
Dipa: But… what you are asking… I am a married woman. I can’t just…
Rupa: (grabbing Dipa’s hands) Please, madam! I am begging you as a woman! I see you, a goddess of fertility, and I am barren. You have the power to help me become a mother! It is not a sin to create life! Please, just come and talk to him. My hut is right here.
The temptation was overwhelming. It was a weird, uncomfortable story, but the goal was so pure: helping another woman. This wasn't for a man's pleasure; it was for a future child. Her savior complex roared to life.
Dipa: Okay. I will come and talk to him.
Rupa’s hut was small. Inside, a man, Harish, sat on a cot, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Another man, his friend Gopal, sat on a stool beside him, offering silent support.
Rupa: Harish, look! The healing mother from the stories, she has come to help us!
Harish looked up at Dipa, his eyes full of a deep, profound shame.
Dipa: I heard about your problem. I want to help, if I can.
Harish: (his voice a whisper) There is no help for me. I am in deep depression.
Rupa: Don’t say that! Memsahab is here to cure you! Please, Memsahab, you have to wake him up. His soul is asleep. His manhood is asleep. You are the only one who can do it. Please.
Dipa looked from Rupa's pleading face to Harish's defeated one. The scenario felt familiar, a problem only she could solve. The air in the hut was thick with despair, a vacuum that her energy was meant to fill.
Dipa: A man’s spirit is tied to his body. If his body is asleep, how can his spirit be awake? Rupa, you are his wife. You must be the one to awaken him.
Rupa: I have tried, Memsahab! My touch does nothing! He does not see me as a woman anymore, only as a reminder of his failure. But you… you are a goddess. Your body is a temple of fertility. He needs to remember what a woman is. What a woman’s body can do.
Dipa took a deep breath. She was the expert here. She knew the language of the body.
Dipa: Okay. But I will not touch him. You will. I will only… guide you. I will show you what a man’s body needs to see, to feel, to remember.
She stood in the center of the small hut. Rupa and Gopal watched, transfixed. Dipa slowly, deliberately, reached up and unpinned the pallu of her sari, letting it fall from her shoulder.
Dipa: A man’s eyes must be opened first. He must see the promise of life.
She unhooked her blouse, her movements fluid and confident. She slid it off her shoulders. She wore only her soft cotton bra now, the thin fabric doing little to conceal the size and shape of her huge, heavy breasts, or the dark circles of her nipples.
Rupa: Oh, Memsahab… they are so… full. So heavy with milk.
Harish’s eyes, which had been fixed on the floor, lifted. He stared at her chest, a flicker of something—not desire, but a faint, distant curiosity—in their depths. Gopal shifted on his stool, his own breath catching in his throat.
Dipa: Now, Rupa. Go to him. Touch his face. Let him feel your hands.
Rupa went to the cot and gently caressed her husband's cheek. He didn't pull away.
Dipa: That is not enough. A woman’s power is not just in her hands. It is her voice and body. Take off your sari, Rupa. Let him feel your skin against his.
Rupa looked shocked, but then nodded, a look of grim determination on her face. She unwrapped her own sari, letting it fall. She was now in her blouse and petticoat.
Dipa: Now, lie beside him. Press your body against his. Whisper in his ear. Tell him what you want. Tell him about the child you dream of.
Rupa did as she was told, her body molding against his, her lips at his ear. Dipa watched, a feeling of immense power surging through her.
Dipa: He still does not respond. His body needs a stronger signal. It needs to remember its purpose.
Dipa reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her massive, bare breasts swung free, heavy and pendulous. The nipples were already hard, poking forward.
Harish: (a soft groan)
Dipa: He hears. He sees. But it is not enough. Rupa, your husband’s seed needs nourishment. It needs a source. It needs to be reminded of what it is for.
She looked at Rupa, a command in her eyes.
Dipa: Rupa come here.
Rupa stared, uncomprehending.
Dipa: My breast, Rupa. Take it in your hand. Show it to him.
Hesitantly, Rupa reached out. Her rough, calloused hand cupped Dipa’s soft, heavy breast. The contrast was startling.
Dipa: Now… squeeze it. Gently.
Rupa squeezed. A thin stream of white milk shot out from Dipa's nipple, landing on Harish's bare chest.
Harish: (gasps)
His eyes were wide now, fixed on the drop of milk on his skin.
Dipa: You see? Life calls to life. But it is not for him to drink. It is for you, Rupa. You must take this energy into yourself, so you can give it to him.
Rupa: Me? Memsahab, I…
Dipa: Drink. Drink my milk. Become the vessel for this cure.
Slowly, awestruck, Rupa leaned forward. She put her mouth to Dipa’s breast and began to suckle. Rupa drank from Dipa's nipples, Rupa's hands feeling the size of the entire breast. She was not only sucking, she was smelling the breast, hands gently moving, her eyes driectly looking into Dipa's eyes as she continued to suckle.
Dipa closed her eyes, a wave of dizzying ecstasy washing over her. She was not being violated; she was giving a sacrament. She was transferring her divine fertility to this barren woman, so that she could, in turn, heal her broken husband. It was the most profound, the most noble, the most erotic act of her life.
Rupa: Memsahab, I feel so happy that you are with me.
Dipa: Drink Rupa, you need my energy.
Rupa: Memsahab, you are a divine Mother.
Rupa drank like a hungry child and Dipa stroked her hair affectionately.
Dipa: You are all my hungry babies. A Mother never lets go of her children. A mother always cares for her children no matter the problem.
To be continued..
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(01-09-2025, 12:52 AM)ashuezy2 Wrote: @Admin, please unban my ashuezy account. I think it was automatically banned by some automatic algorithm.
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yes dear
ashuezy removed ban.
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Saga 3 - Scene 2 - Rupa ki lalsa
======================
Rupa suckled at Dipa’s breast with a desperate, noisy fervor, her eyes closed, her expression a mixture of desperation and awe. White milk, rich and sweet was plentiful, leaking from the corners of her mouth and trickling down her chin and onto Dipa’s soft belly.
Harish, sitting on the cot, watched every drop, his own mouth becoming dry as a desert. His throat working as he swallowed repeatedly, faint flush was creeping up his neck. His breathing, which had been shallow, was becoming deeper, more ragged. The sight of his own wife, another woman’s milk on her lips, her mouth latched onto a breast far larger and fuller than her own, was a powerful, confusing shock to his dormant system.
Gopal sat silently on his stool, his eyes wide, witnessing something beyond his comprehension.
Rupa: (pulling away from the nipple, her lips slick with milk) Memsahab… it is so sweet. I can feel the strength… the life… flowing into me.
She looked over at her husband. A slow, astonished smile spread across her face.
Rupa: (pulling away, her face flushed) Memsahab… he is watching… Looks like my husband is interested! His eyes… they are not dead anymore!
Dipa: (a serene, powerful smile) Of course, he is interested. Life calls to life. But watching is not enough. The cure must be taken directly. Bring him to me.
Rupa went to her husband and gently took his hand, pulling him from the cot. He followed her like a man in a trance, his gaze fixed on Dipa’s magnificent, bare breasts. He stood before her, his head bowed in shame, but his eyes kept flicking up to steal glances at her heavy, milk-veined flesh.
Dipa: To create and raise a child, both the mother and the father must be strong. You both need nourishment from the source. Come, suck my milk, both of you.
She stood before them, a goddess offering a sacrament. Harish looked at his wife, then at Dipa, then back at his wife. Rupa nodded encouragingly, her eyes shining.
Rupa: Do it, my love. For us. For our baby.
Slowly, hesitantly, Harish knelt before Dipa. At the same time, Rupa knelt on her other side. Dipa placed a hand on each of their heads, a gesture of benediction.
Dipa: Drink, my children. Drink and be healed.
Harish took one nipple in his mouth, his suckle tentative at first, then growing stronger, more desperate. Rupa took the other. Dipa stood between them, her head thrown back, a soft moan escaping her lips as she felt the twin pulls on her breasts. The milk flowed freely, a copious, warm stream. Harish and Rupa drank greedily, their hands coming up to clutch and knead her breasts. After a moment, Rupa pulled away from the nipple and turned to her husband.
Rupa: My love… taste it.
She pressed her milky lips to his, their tongues meeting as she shared the milk from her mouth with him. He drank from her, then turned back to Dipa’s breast with renewed vigor. They continued this strange communion, suckling from Dipa and then kissing, sharing the life-giving fluid between them, a bizarre, holy trinity.
Gopal watched from his stool, his body rigid with tension. This was beyond anything he had imagined. It was a pagan ritual, a scene of impossible debauchery disguised as a holy cure. His plan had worked better than he could have ever dreamed. He felt a profound, possessive thrill. This was his creation. She was his masterpiece.
He stood up and moved silently behind Dipa. She was lost in the ecstasy of the moment, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, feeling the dual pull on her nipples. Gopal wrapped his arms around her bare waist, pulling her back against his hard, stocky body. He buried his face in the curve of her hip, his mouth hot against her skin.
Dipa: (startled) Gopal… what are you doing?
Gopal: (his voice a low, triumphant whisper against her skin) I am feeling the power, Memsahab. The power that I brought here.
Dipa: You… brought here? What do you mean?
Gopal: It was me, Memsahab. I heard the stories about you. The healing mother with breasts full of life-giving milk. I knew you were the only one who could cure my friend. I told Rupa to go and look for you. I told her the story she should tell. It was my plan to bring you to this hut.
Dipa went still. Her mind, lost in thought of Harish and Rupa sucking her milk out of her body. She was too happy being the healing mother.
Gopal: You are not angry, Memsahab?
Dipa: (after a long pause, her voice strangely calm) No. I am not angry. If you planned this, then your need, your sorrow… it must be the greatest of all. You are the one who truly requires healing. Everyone here is my children and I must take care of each and everyone of you.
He hugged her tighter, emboldened by her acceptance.
Gopal: Yes, Memsahab. My need is the greatest. And now that they are cured… it is my turn to receive your blessing.
Just then, Rupa pulled away from Dipa’s breast, a gasp of pure joy on her lips.
Rupa: Memsahab! Look! It’s working! Oh, my husband, look! You have cured him!
She was pointing at Harish’s lungi. A thick, powerful erection was straining against the thin fabric, the first he’d had in over a year. Harish looked down at himself, his face a mask of utter astonishment and a dawning, potent pride.
Dipa looked at the proof of her power. The man was restored.
Dipa: Yes. The seed is awake.
She gently pushed Harish and Rupa away from her breasts.
Dipa: Now is the moment, Harish. The ritual must be completed. Please, take care of your wife. Show her that you are a man again. I am watching.
She stepped back, her arms crossed under her bare breasts leaking milk, resuming her role as the healing mother. Harish, his eyes blazing with a newfound fire, pulled Rupa onto the cot. He began kissing her with a desperate passion, his hands tearing at her clothes.
Gopal turned his attention back to Dipa. His own cock was now a painful, rigid bulge in his trousers.
Gopal: Memsahab… they are healed. But my… my own body is now in turmoil. Seeing your power… it has awakened a hunger in me. I feel… empty.
Dipa: You orchestrated this miracle, Gopal. You brought the cure here. It is only right that you also drink from the fountain.
She moved toward him, her large breasts swaying and leaking milk on the ground. Her nipples were red and raw, but still exquisitely sensitive.
Gopal: For me? Memsahab, you would…?
Dipa: Your need is the greatest. The one who seeks the cure most desperately deserves the largest portion. Come. Drink. Be filled.
He fell to his knees, his mouth closing over her breast. There was so much milk, he suckled on the nipple greedily, his tongue laving the wet flesh of the nipple, his hands gripping her ass. Dipa placed a hand on his head, her eyes turning back to the cot, where Harish was now naked, his body poised above his wife's, ready to complete the act she had commanded. She stood there, a silent, naked goddess, the mastermind of the entire affair feeding from her breast, while his pawns prepared to engage in the act of creation, all of them moving to the rhythm of her will.
Gopal: Memsahab… your taste… it is a medicine for the soul. I want to be filled with it.
He released her nipple, his mouth still open, and buried his face between her huge, soft breasts. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her skin, her sweat, and her milk filling his lungs. It was an intoxicating, animal smell of a fertile, powerful woman.
Gopal: Memsahab, please heal me from my desires, there are too many. I have seen you from afar, but I have never been so close to you. Your smell… it is driving me mad.
His hands, which had been gripping her hips, moved higher, his thick fingers tracing the curve of her waist, then moving to her back, pulling her tighter against him. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck, his lips hot and wet.
Gopal: Please, Memsahab. My desire is too strong. I must be beneath you. I must look up at my goddess as she saves me. Please, come on top of me. Ride me. Drive the sickness out of me with your power.
She nodded.
He moved from his knees, lying down on the dusty floor of the hut where she had stood moments before. His erection was thick and painfully hard, pointing straight up at the ceiling. Dipa stood over him, a towering, naked beauty, and then slowly, gracefully, lowered herself down. She took his cock in her hand, its heat a familiar, welcome weight. She guided the thick, wet head to her pussy entrance and then sank down, impaling herself on him with a long, wet sigh.
Dipa: Ummm… yes… just like this.
She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm, her hips rolling, her heavy breasts swaying just above his face.
Dipa: Suck my nipples while you fuck me. A child must not be denied his mother’s comfort.
He reached up, taking a nipple in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as she rode him. His other hand found her clit, rubbing and pinching, increasing the intensity.
Dipa: Ahhh… yes… harder… fuck me harder, my child. Take your cure. Take all of it.
Her pace quickened, her hips bucking and slamming down on him, her moans mixing with the sounds of Harish and Rupa on the cot. The small hut was filled with the sounds of a primal, desperate ecstasy.
Gopal: Memsahab… I am… I am coming! I can’t stop!
Dipa: Yes! Give it to me! Fill me with your restored life! Now!
With a final, massive thrust that lifted her off the floor, he roared, his body convulsing as he shot his load deep inside her womb. The force of his orgasm triggered her own. She screamed, a high, piercing sound of pure release, her inner muscles clenching around him as she climaxed. They collapsed together on the floor, a tangle of sweaty, spent limbs.
After a moment, Dipa stirred. She pushed herself up, her body aching but strangely energized.
She waited for 2 mins. She was Relaxing, feeling the vibrations in her body, the juices were flowing.
Then still in an intoxicating state She looked over at the cot. Harish was still on top of Rupa, his body moving in a steady rhythm, his mouth locked with hers. He was a man again. A complete man. But the ritual was not yet finished.
Dipa crawled over to the cot, her movements slow and deliberate.
Dipa: Harish…
He turned his head, his eyes glazed with pleasure, his penis still buried deep inside his wife. Dipa took her breast, now soft and empty but still exquisitely sensitive, and offered it to him.
Dipa: Here, Harish. Drink. Take the last of the energy. Release your seed inside Rupa. Make her pregnant. Complete the miracle.
Harish, his penis still buried deep inside his wife, turned his head towards the goddess who commanded him. Seeing Dipa’s magnificent, milk-beaded breast offered to him felt like a profound honor, the final blessing in his resurrection. He released his wife’s lips and latched onto Dipa’s nipple, his mouth sucking softly, reverently.
The combination of the tight, wet heat of his wife’s cunt and the sweet, life-giving taste of Dipa’s milk was an overwhelming sensory overload. He felt a jolt of pure, primal energy surge through him. His penis, already hard, swelled to an almost painful thickness inside Rupa.
Rupa: (gasping) Oh, my god… Harish… you are… so big inside me! It’s so intense!
Harish groaned against Dipa’s breast, his hips beginning to buck and thrust with a mind of their own. He was losing control, the feeling too powerful to contain after a year of deadness.
Harish: (shouting) Memsahab! Rupa! Bus, aur nahi control ho raha! I can’t control it anymore!
With a final, desperate roar, his body convulsed. Rupa screamed as she felt his release, a massive, hot flood that seemed to go on forever. It was the first time he had come inside her in over a year. The semen was super thick and yellow, a potent, concentrated release that filled her completely.
Rupa: (panting) OMG, that was… so intense… I am full… so full of you…
Dipa: Rupa, raise your legs. Keep them up. Let the sperm go deep inside, where it belongs. Harish, that was good. But to make Rupa pregnant, you will need to ejaculate a few more times. Come here. Let me make you hard again.
Harish pulled out of his wife, his cock now soft and spent. He crawled over to Dipa.
Dipa: Come, my child.
She took his soft penis in her hand and lowered her head, taking him into her mouth. She began to suck gently, her tongue swirling around the head, her lips creating a warm, wet vacuum. Harish was already feeling an intense blood flow return to his groin, and on top of Dipa’s expert sucking, he was feeling blissful.
Harish: Memsahab… your mouth… it’s… heaven. Give me two minutes…
He gently pushed her head away and stood up, walking a few steps away to catch his breath. Dipa immediately followed him. She came up behind him, pressing her heavy, bare breasts against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist, her hands finding his softening cock.
Dipa: You cannot rest yet. The work is not finished.
The feeling of her soft breasts on his back was too much for Harish. He moaned as he felt his penis stir and grow hard again in her hands. She turned him around and knelt before him, taking him into her mouth once more, sucking with a focused intensity until he was fully, painfully erect.
Dipa: (looking up at him) Now. Go back inside her. Release one more time.
Harish: Memsahab… can you… can you hug me from behind while I do it? I need your strength.
Dipa: Yes.
Harish went back to the cot. Rupa’s legs were still in the air, her cunt glistening with his seed. As he knelt between her thighs, Dipa moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her bare, soft breasts firmly against his back. He groaned as he slid his cock back inside his wife’s already vibrating, sperm-filled hole.
Rupa: Aahhh… yes… fill me again…
With Dipa’s breasts pressed against his back, her arms holding him, her power flowing into him, Harish began to thrust again. His horniness reaching an unbearable peak. He couldn’t hold it together for long. He roared once more, his body spasming as he shot a second, massive load deep inside Rupa.
Dipa: Well done, Harish. I hope you will soon be a father, ejaculate multiple times and the probability increases multiple times.
Harish: Thanks to the healing mother. I am now feeling good about myself.
Dipa leaned around him and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.
Harish: No more, Memsahab. I cannot take any more. I am… empty. Sorry.
Dipa smiled and began to untangle herself from them. She looked around the hut, her healing work completed. She picked up her discarded clothes and began to get dressed, a sense of serene accomplishment washing over her. Rupa lay on the cot, her legs still held high in the air as instructed.
Dipa: Yes, Rupa. Keep them up for fifteen minutes.
Harish, Gopal, and Rupa all looked at her with eyes full of awe and gratitude. They thanked their Memsahab, their goddess, their healing mother. Dipa simply nodded, her task here finished. She walked out of the hut into the bright, dusty afternoon to find the driver pacing anxiously by the car.
=Teaser for next=
Driver: Memsahab! I was looking for you for so long! Where were you?
Dipa: I was busy. Let's go back to the house now.
Driver: Yes, Memsahab. Sahab has been waiting for two hours now.
As Dipa was walking towards her car, she spots a strong young lean lad walking in front of her.
Dipa: Hello bachche, tumhara nam kya hai? What is your name ?
Kid: My name is Arun.
Dipa looked at his forearms, they were unusually strong.
Dipa also noticed something larger between his legs, an unusually longer than normal bulge? What? How is this possible?
Dipa couldn’t stop herself and just starting moving and pressing her hands all over his body to just confirm whether his strength and his bulge were real or just a mistake of her eye.
Dipa touched his shoulder and back and then his shorts and her thumb touched the edge of the bulge and then the whole hand.
Arun: Memsahab, aap kya kar rahi hai.
Dipa(thinking): Yes, this young guy has everything I need. Let me hire him as a helper. I will do whatever I want from him. He will be my slave.
Dipa: Beta, aap kya kartey ho.
Arun: Yaha peche ek resturant hai, waha kaam karta hu.
Dipa: Kitne rupay dete hai ek mahine ke?
Arun: 3000
Dipa: Mere ghar kaam karoge? paanch hazar doongi, khane ko bhi milega aur rehne ko bhi.
Arun: Theek hai, aap Jaisa kahen.
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Saga 4 - Scene 1 - Arun ka bulge
=======================
A clattering sound from the kitchen startled Dipa awake. It was early, barely 6 AM. The sky outside was still a deep, pre-dawn indigo. Sameer was fast asleep beside her. Tukun was quiet in his cradle. Confused and a little annoyed, Dipa slid out of bed, pulling on a silk robe over her naked body, and went to investigate.
Standing at her kitchen counter was a young man she’d never seen before. He was tall and leanly muscled, his back to her as he expertly chopped vegetables. He was wearing a simple pair of trousers and a vest that showed off his strong, well-defined arms.
Dipa: Excuse me? Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?
The young man turned, his eyes widening in surprise. He was handsome, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, with a sharp jaw and an earnest expression.
Young Man: Madam! Good morning. I am so sorry, I did not mean to wake you. I am Arun.
Dipa: Arun? I don't…
Then she remembered. The chaos of the charity drive yesterday. The sea of faces. And one young man, helping to organize the queue, his movements efficient, his body radiating a quiet strength. She had pulled him aside. The memory was hazy, a decision made in the powerful afterglow of her experience with Harish and Rupa.
Dipa: Ah, yes. Arun. I remember now. You’re starting today.
Arun: Yes, Madam. You told me to be here by six. I wanted to have breakfast ready for Sahab before he left for the office. I hope that is alright.
Dipa: It is. Thank you, Arun. That’s very thoughtful.
Just then, Sameer appeared in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stopped dead, his gaze fixing on the strange man standing in his kitchen.
Sameer: Dipa? Who the hell is this?
Dipa: Sameer, darling, good morning. This is Arun. He’s our new helper.
Sameer: Our new what? Helper? What are you talking about? Since when do we have a helper? And why is he a man?
Arun: (bowing his head slightly) Good morning, Sahab. I am sorry for the intrusion.
Dipa: Sameer, can we please speak in the living room? Arun, please continue with the breakfast.
She led a stunned Sameer to the sofa.
Sameer: Dipa, explain. Now. Who is that boy?
Dipa: He is our new helper, Sameer. For cooking and cleaning. He’ll be living with us, in the small room off the back porch.
Sameer: Living with us? You hired a live-in male helper and you didn’t think to mention it to me? To even ask me?
Dipa: It was a sudden opportunity. I saw him yesterday when I was distributing the food. He used to work in that little restaurant near the main road. They had to let him go. He is a very good boy, very strong and hardworking. I thought he would be perfect.
Sameer: Perfect for what? Dipa, I don’t understand this! You just… hired him? How much are you paying him?
Dipa: Ten thousand a month.
Sameer: Ten thousand! Dipa, that’s… we didn’t discuss this!
Dipa sighed, her expression shifting from calm authority to one of gentle, loving patience, the tone she knew he couldn't resist.
Dipa: Darling, please try to understand. My work… my noble work… it takes so much of my time and energy. Going to the slum, helping those poor people, giving them… nourishment. It drains me. I cannot do that holy work and also manage the entire house by myself. I was getting exhausted.
She saw the flicker in his eyes at the mention of her "work." His anger was already beginning to be replaced by the familiar stirrings of his fetish.
Dipa: I need help, Sameer. So I can continue to help them. So I can have more stories to tell you. I hired Arun to make things easier for us… for me. So I can continue to bring you happiness.
Sameer: But… a man, Dipa? Alone in the house with you all day? What will people say?
Dipa: What people? Ramla Masi is here most of the day. And what does it matter what they say? Arun is a helper. That’s all. Unless… are you worried about me, darling? Do you not trust me?
Sameer: Of course I trust you! It’s just… it’s… unusual.
Dipa: He is a good boy. And very respectful. And think of it, Sameer. We are doing another good deed. We are giving a job and a home to a poor boy who had nothing. Isn’t that a wonderful thing?
Her logic was flawless, perfectly tailored to his weaknesses. It was a noble act. It would facilitate more of the slum encounters that aroused him. And the thought of a young, strong man in his house, subservient to his wife, serving her all day… it was a new, thrillingly dangerous spice to add to his fantasy. He looked at his wife, at her calm, confident face. She had done this without him. She was in control. The thought was both infuriating and incredibly arousing.
Sameer: Okay, Dipa. Okay. For now. But we will talk about this more later.
Dipa: Of course, darling.
Just then, Arun came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray.
Arun: Madam, Sahab. Breakfast is ready. I have made aloo paratha and fresh coffee.
He placed the tray on the coffee table, his movements deferential and precise. Dipa looked at him, then at her husband. She remembered spotting Arun yesterday. She’d noticed the way his muscles moved under his thin shirt as he lifted heavy boxes. She’d noticed the quiet intensity in his eyes. And in a moment of divine, absolute clarity, she had decided she wanted him. She had offered him the job, the money, a room in her house, and he had accepted with tears of gratitude in his eyes. She had chosen him for his strength, for his diligence, and for the powerful, potent energy she sensed in him—an energy that promised a magnificent, fully erect nine-inch penis, a fact she had somehow known with absolute certainty the moment she laid eyes on him.
Dipa: Thank you, Arun. This looks wonderful. Please, serve your Sahab.
Arun placed a plate in front of Sameer. Sameer looked at the young, handsome man serving him breakfast in his own home, then looked at his beautiful, powerful wife who had orchestrated it all. He didn't know whether to be angry or thrilled. He took a bite of the paratha. It was delicious.
To be Continued..
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Saga 4 - Scene 2 - Arun ka bulge
=======================
Sameer: Well, I’m off to the office. Try not to… start any new charities without me today.
He gave Dipa a meaningful, hungry look and a quick kiss before heading out the door. The house fell quiet, save for the gentle clatter of plates from the kitchen and Tukun’s soft cooing from his cradle.
Dipa: Arun, you can leave the dishes for now. I’m sure there are other things to do.
Arun: It is no trouble, Madam. I will finish this quickly and then sweep and mop the floors.
His voice was polite, his demeanor perfectly professional. Dipa nodded and went into the bedroom, closing the door most of the way but leaving it slightly ajar. She lifted Tukun from his cradle and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling down the strap of her tank top to free a breast.
Tukun latched on, his little mouth working greedily. Dipa hummed a soft tune, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
In the living room, Arun finished cleaning the dining table. He moved through the house with a quiet efficiency, his broom whispering against the marble floor. As he worked his way toward the bedroom, he slowed. Through the crack in the door, he could see her. Madam Dipa. She was sitting on the bed, her back partially to him, feeding her son. All he could see was the soft curve of her bare shoulder and the top of the impossibly large, white breast her baby was feeding from. He stopped, mesmerized.
Just then, Tukun, having had his fill, pulled away from the nipple, letting out a small cry of protest as he did.
Dipa: Oh, you’re finished already, my little monster? No, no more for now.
She held the baby away from her chest for a moment to burp him. In that instant, Arun got a perfect, unobstructed view of her breast. It was magnificent—a huge, perfectly round globe of pale, milky flesh, veined with faint blue lines. And the nipple… it was the biggest he had ever seen, even in the dirty magazines the other restaurant boys passed around. It was long and thick, a deep, dusky brown, still wet and glistening with milk and baby saliva. Tukun, seeing his prize being withheld, began to cry and reach for it again, his tiny hand batting at the glorious flesh.
Dipa: No, Tukun baba. You are full.
A wave of intense, primal heat shot through Arun’s body. His cock, which had been semi-aroused since the moment he saw her that morning, throbbed and hardened into a painful, pulsating rod in his pants. It was the first time he had seen a woman’s nipple so close in real life. He felt a desperate urge to rush in, to push the baby aside and put his own mouth there. He took a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the broom handle. With a monumental effort of will, he turned away from the door and silently continued sweeping the rest of the house, the stunning image of her breast burned permanently into his mind.
That night, Dipa was jolted awake by a faint sound. A rhythmic, muffled thumping. It seemed to be coming from the main bathroom down the hall. Sameer was snoring softly beside her. Tukun was silent.
Curiosity overriding her caution, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. The house was dark, save for a sliver of light from under the bathroom door. She crept closer. The sound was clearer now. It was the sound of a hand slapping against wet flesh, accompanied by low, guttural groans.
Her heart began to pound. Arun.
She leaned in, pressing her eye to the tiny gap between the door and the frame. She could just barely peek inside. What she saw made her gasp.
Arun was standing in front of the wash basin, completely naked. He was even more impressively built than she had realized, his lean body a corded map of muscle. In his left hand, he was holding a photograph. Her photograph. The one from their wedding anniversary that sat on the living room mantelpiece. And in his right hand, he was holding his cock.
It was a monster. Even from her limited vantage point, she could see it was impossibly long and thick, far larger than Sameer’s, bigger even than the ones from her… her dreams. A full nine inches, at least, rigid and glistening. He was staring intently at her picture, his hips thrusting as he masturbated with a desperate, frantic rhythm.
Arun: (a low, ragged whisper) Dipa… Madam… oh, Dipa… so beautiful… your breasts… your milk… ahhh…
Dipa stood frozen, a voyeur in her own home. She was shocked, horrified… and intensely, undeniably aroused. She should have been angry, should have felt violated. Instead, a hot, liquid feeling pooled between her legs. The sight of his massive penis, the sound of him groaning her name, the knowledge of his raw, private lust for her—it was an intoxicating cocktail of fear and power.
She kept looking. She watched as his pace quickened, his groans becoming louder, his body tensing.
Arun: Oh, fuck… Madam… I’m… I’m going to cum!
With a final, guttural roar, he exploded. A huge amount of thick, white sperm shot from the end of his cock, splattering all over the inside of the white porcelain wash basin. He panted, his body trembling, then leaned over and began to calmly clean the head of his penis with a wet cloth.
Dipa backed away from the door, her own body trembling. She went straight back to her bed, her mind reeling. This boy is already lusting over me. The thought was terrifying. And thrilling. The image of his nine-inch long, fully erect penis was stuck in her mind, replaying over and over. She was suddenly, desperately excited in her own bed.
She slid a hand down her belly, over the silk of her shorts. She applied some saliva to her fingers, then pushed her hand down, inside her panties. Her fingers found her clit, already swollen and slick. She began to touch herself, her movements hesitant at first, then more confident as the memory of Arun’s raw display fueled her.
Her breath hitched, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She bit down on her knuckle to stifle the sound. Her hips began to move, a slow, desperate rhythm against her own hand. The pleasure was sharp, intense, building faster than she could have imagined. Her moans became louder, muffled by her hand. It was too much.
Dipa: (a choked whisper) Woah… that was… too much…
Her body convulsed, a silent, powerful climax shaking her from head to toe. She lay there, panting in the dark, her body slick with sweat.
Dipa: (to herself) Not back to sleep… I will see what I have to do in the morning.
To be Continued..
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Saga 4 - Scene 3 - Arun ka bulge
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Next morning.
The house was quiet when Dipa awoke. Sameer had already left for the office, his side of the bed cold. She could hear the faint, rhythmic sound of chopping coming from the kitchen. A slow smile spread across her face. Arun.
She slid out of bed and, instead of her usual modest maxi dress, she pulled on a short, silk robe, tying the sash loosely at her waist. She wore nothing underneath. She went to the kitchen. Arun was at the counter, his back to her, already preparing ingredients for lunch.
Dipa: Good morning, Arun. How are you?
He turned, startled, a blush immediately creeping up his neck as his eyes took in her state of undress. He quickly looked down at the floor.
Arun: Memsahab, good morning. I am okay.
Arun: Memsahab, chai banau? Should I make tea?
Dipa: Nahi, main chai apne aap banati hoon. No, I make my own tea.
He was making a simple breakfast of roti and sabzi for himself. Dipa moved to the counter beside him, her hip brushing against his as she passed. She reached up to a high shelf for the tea jar. As her arm extended, her robe fell open slightly, and the full, heavy side of her braless breast pressed directly against his triceps.
It was an impossibly soft, warm touch. Arun froze, every muscle in his body going rigid. What to do? Should I move away? Should I say something? He just took a single, jerky step to the side, putting a few inches of space between them. Dipa, noticing his flustered reaction, smiled to herself. She didn’t say anything.
Dipa: Main tumhare liye bhi chai bana rahi hoon. Mere haatho ki try karo. I’m making tea for you too. Try the one made by my hands.
Arun: (his voice a little shaky) Ji, Memsahab. Yes, Memsahab.
A few hours later.
Tukun was napping peacefully, and Ramla Masi was quietly doing the laundry in the utility area. Arun was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, eating his lunch from a simple steel plate. Dipa walked into the kitchen, a large, fluffy towel wrapped around her body.
Dipa: The water heater is taking so long today.
She saw him on the floor, his face tilted up toward her. She met his eyes for a moment, then, as if by accident, her hand loosened its grip on the towel. The towel fell around her ankles.
She let out a small, theatrical gasp and bent down to retrieve it. She didn't bend at the knees. She bent at the waist, a slow, deliberate movement that presented him with a perfect, overwhelming view down the front of her body. Her massive, heavy breasts, freed from gravity, swung forward, the large, dark brown areolas and thick, hard nipples pointing directly at his face. He might have even seen the full breasts, both nipples. He sat there, frozen, a piece of roti halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
She picked up the towel, her fingers grazing the floor, and slowly straightened up, wrapping it around herself again, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. Arun was still staring, his face pale.
Dipa: Arun, I am going for a bath now.
Arun: (swallowing hard) Ji, Memsahab. Mera lunch khatam ho gaya hai. Kuch kaam hai toh bataiye. Yes, Memsahab. My lunch is finished. If there is any work, please tell me.
Dipa: Ramla Masi is looking after Tukun. But… I am having a pain in my elbow. I won’t be able to rub soap on my back properly. So… come in and help me.
Arun’s mind went blank. Memsahab is calling me… into the bathroom… while she takes a bath? He stared at her, his heart hammering against his ribs, a storm of shock, excitement, and terror raging inside him. This was only his second day.
To be Continued..
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Saga 4 - Scene 4 - Arun ka bulge
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Two minutes later.
The sound of the running shower echoed from the bathroom. Dipa's voice, sweet and commanding, cut through the sound.
Dipa: Arun!
Arun, who had been standing frozen in the kitchen, jumped. He took a deep breath, his heart hammering.
Arun: Ji, Memsahab, aya… coming!
He walked to the bathroom door, his steps hesitant. He knocked lightly.
Arun: Memsahab?
Dipa: Come in.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the steamy room.
Dipa: Arun, close the door.
He obeyed, the click of the latch sounding unnaturally loud in the small space. Dipa was sitting on a low plastic stool, her back to him, the shower casting a gentle spray over her. She was wearing nothing but a pair of thin, white panties that were already soaked and semi-transparent. From his viewpoint, he could see her entire back, from the graceful curve of her neck, down the elegant line of her spine, to the very top of her ass crack, which was clearly visible just above the waistband of her wet panties.
Dipa: Arun, take that soap. Yes, the sandalwood one. And apply it on my back. Take some water as well.
Arun: Ji, Memsahab.
His hands were trembling as he picked up the bar of soap. He wet it under the tap and worked up a lather. He approached her, his breath catching in his throat. He gently placed his soapy hands on her smooth, wet back. He began to rub, the slickness of the soap and the impossible softness of her skin making his head spin.
Dipa: Now my shoulders. Rub them.
Arun’s hands moved up, massaging the soap into her elegant shoulders. He was too nervous to think, his mind a blank slate of pure sensation and overwhelming fear.
Dipa: Now my arms.
She raised her left arm, extending it to the side. As she did, she turned her body slightly. Arun, standing up to clean her arm, was suddenly presented with a stunning side view of her left breast. He could see its perfect, heavy roundness and the top half of her nipple. It was dark and fully erect, jutting forward, looking easily more than an inch long. He took a deep, shuddering breath and quickly focused on her arm, rubbing it with lather, his eyes fixed on her elbow. After he finished both arms, he stood back, his part of the deal done. But Dipa was not finished.
Dipa: Now Arun, come forward and apply the same soap on my legs. My elbow is still paining.
She turned on the stool to face him, but she kept her right hand held loosely across her chest, her elbow moving from side to side, a lazy, teasing gesture that strategically covered and uncovered her nipples. Arun kept looking, trying to catch a glimpse of what was being shown to him and what was not. As he stepped forward, his wet sandal slipped on the tiled floor. He stumbled, catching himself on the wall.
Dipa laughed, a low, throaty sound.
Dipa: Arun, relax. Come close.
The amount of trust she was showing him was astonishing. He knelt before her, his mind racing. Yeh Memsahab gazab ki hai, he thought. Koi nahi dekha aaj tak aisa. Mujhe kahi pyar na ho jaye… ya already ho gaya hai. (This Memsahab is amazing. I’ve never seen anyone like this. I hope I don’t fall in love… or maybe I already have.)
He started with her feet, his soapy hands rubbing her delicate ankles, then moving up her strong, shapely calf muscles. Dipa’s eyes were now fixated on him, a lazy, predatory smile on her face. She was imagining what he would do if she just gave him permission. She wanted to savor the moment, the delicious tension, here in her own house.
Dipa: Thighs ho gaye? Are the thighs done?
Arun: Ji, Memsahab.
Dipa: Ab mere stomach par lagao soap. Now apply soap on my stomach.
She smiled and leaned back slightly, giving him more space to work. Arun’s soapy fingers moved over her flat, wet belly, circling her navel. He was trying so hard not to move up, but as he reached her ribs, his fingers accidentally brushed against the soft, heavy underside of her breast. Dipa wished he had aimed a little higher.
She laughed and suddenly leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. Her huge, wet, soap-slick breasts swung forward and pressed fully against his chest. Arun flinched, shrinking back as if he’d been burned.
Arun: Memsahab! I… I should not be touching…
Dipa: (whispering) Arun, daro mat. Main permission de rahi hu. Karo na. Mere breasts ko touch kar sakte ho. Don't be scared. I am giving you permission. Do it. You can touch my breasts.
Arun: (pulling away, his voice panicked) Memsahab, yeh galat hai! Sahab bahut marenge! Memsahab, this is wrong! Sahab will beat me badly!
To be continued..
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