Incest Alpha male who controls there women

[Tajkundan]

The air in the gym was thick with the scent of iron and the rhythmic grunt of exertion. Tilak and I, Subhash, moved in a synchronized dance we’d perfected since our days in Dehradun. As I pushed through a final set of heavy bench presses, Tilak stood over me, his massive hands spotting the bar, his own chest heaving from his previous set.

We were more than friends; we were an extension of one another. In our shared room, modesty didn't exist. We’d grown up seeing each other’s bodies evolve from scrawny collegeboys into the massive, muscular frames we now carried—broad shoulders, thick thighs, and chests that strained against any fabric. We took pride in our shared progress, often critiquing each other’s form or comparing the hardness of our muscles with a casual, brotherly touch that never felt out of place. We shared everything: secrets, victories, and even our deepest hungers.

The bond between us wasn’t just forged in the gym; it was tempered in the dark, cramped dorms of our Dehradun boarding college. Even back then, we were bigger than the other boys, two young bulls growing into frames that felt too large for our beds. There was no shame between us. We’d sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a single mattress, the blue light of a smuggled phone illuminating a porn scene, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

It became a ritual. We’d reach for each other, our hands wrapping around each other’s growing heat. I’d pump Tilak’s length, marveling at the raw power even then, while his massive hand gripped my thick, trunk-like shaft, jerking me with a rhythmic intensity that left us both shaking. We’d blow our loads together, a shared explosion of brotherhood and biology, wiping the mess away with a laugh before falling asleep, limbs tangled.

We grew up showering together after practice, navigating the awkwardness of puberty until it gave way to a casual, naked confidence. We knew each other’s measurements as well as our own—especially the heavy, thick weight between our legs that marked us both as outliers.

While my own length was substantial, my thickness was what set me apart—a heavy, trunk-like girth that felt like solid muscle. Tilak, however, was a force of nature. He carried even more size, but it was his energy that shifted when the lights went low. He was a predator, a man who craved control, drawn to the seasoned curves of older women and the sharp, stinging rhythm of a well-placed palm

The bond between us wasn’t just forged in the gym; it was tempered in the dark, cramped dorms of our Dehradun boarding college. Even back then, we were bigger than the other boys, two young bulls growing into frames that felt too large for our beds. There was no shame between us. We’d sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a single mattress, the blue light of a smuggled phone illuminating a porn scene, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

It became a ritual. We’d reach for each other, our hands wrapping around each other’s growing heat. I’d pump Tilak’s length, marveling at the raw power even then, while his massive hand gripped my thick, trunk-like shaft, jerking me with a rhythmic intensity that left us both shaking. We’d blow our loads together, a shared explosion of brotherhood and biology, wiping the mess away with a laugh before falling asleep, limbs tangled

The Housewife and the Double Team

As we got older and our bodies turned into the hulking masses of muscle they were now, Tilak’s dominant streak led him to the local gym’s MILFs. He’d lured in Mrs. Sharma, a woman with a classic hourglass frame—wide hips and a heavy chest that begged to be handled. But Tilak never kept his prizes to himself.

He brought her back to our shared space one humid afternoon. She was a seasoned woman, but her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the two of us standing there, shirtless, our pectorals twitching and our massive cocks already straining against our gym shorts.

"She’s a screamer, Subhash," Tilak growled, his hand already tangled in her hair, forcing her onto the bed. "Let’s show her what a real workout looks like."

The night was a blur of sweat and filth. We stripped her bare, her mature, soft curves a perfect contrast to our hard, granite-like frames. Tilak took command of her top half, his monstrous cock sliding down her throat as he slapped her face with his heavy balls, his eyes dark with that BDSM edge he loved. I moved behind her, my thick, trunk-like member slick with her juices.

I entered her back door without a drop of mercy. She let out a muffled shriek into Tilak’s groin as my girth stretched her puckered hole to its absolute limit. We had her pinned—a true double-plugging. Tilak rammed into her mouth while I hammered into her ass, our movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine.

"Look at her, Subhash," Tilak grunted, his voice a guttural roar as he watched my thick shaft disappear into her. "She’s being split open by the two of us."

We DP’d her for hours, swapping ends, letting her taste the difference between my heavy thickness and his dominating length. By the time we were done, she was a quivering mess, covered in layers of our thick, hot seed.

The shared bond between us was a fortress of muscle and secrets, but even within those walls, Tilak carried a shadow I could sense but never touch. While we pushed each other to physical extremes, Tilak’s intensity—that dark, predatory need to dominate and his fixation on older, hourglass women—was rooted in a ghost from his childhood.

The Hidden Scar

Years before Dehradun, a young Tilak had stood in the shadows of his own home, watching through a cracked door as his mother—a woman of lush, devastating curves—surrendered to men who looked nothing like the soft, academic man she had married. She craved the raw power of muscle, the scent of iron and sweat. Tilak had watched her back arch, her screams of pleasure filling the hallways as she was handled by men with the kind of hulking physiques he and I would eventually build.

He looked in the mirror even then and saw a stranger. He didn't have his father's features; he had the frame of a titan in the making. He grew up knowing he was the product of a secret, a seed planted by one of his mother's muscular conquests. It was why he worshipped the gym—he was building himself into the image of the men who had claimed his mother. It was why he needed to dominate; he refused to be the man watching from the door. He was the one who would hold the whip now.

The Evening of Revelation

The courtyard was a blur of emerald silk and jasmine. Priya, Tilak’s sister, moved with a provocative grace that made my blood simmer. Nearby, I watched Tilak’s gaze linger on my sister, Anjali. There was no jealousy between us—only a mirrored intensity.

Later that night, in the privacy of our room, the air was heavy with more than just humidity. We were both stripped down to our briefs, the cooling fans whirring overhead as we relaxed after the day's heat. I watched Tilak rub a hand over his massive pectoral muscle, his eyes distant.

"You're looking at Anjali differently, brother," I said, my voice low.

Tilak didn't flinch. He looked at me, his eyes dark and honest. "And you haven't taken your eyes off Priya. Her sari was practically painted on her today."

I leaned back, the honesty between us acting as a catalyst. "It’s more than just looking, Tilak. I want her. I want to know the weight of her in my arms."

Tilak nodded slowly, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Then we are in the same storm. Because I want to see how Anjali’s curves feel against these muscles we've worked so hard for."

The Library Encounter

A few days later, the rain was a torrential roar on the roof. I found Priya in the library, the dim light casting long shadows over her emerald sari. The moment I entered, the air became electric.

"Subhash," she whispered, her voice a velvet caress.

I didn't hesitate. I walked toward her, my large frame dwarfing her delicate form. I reached out, my calloused fingers—roughened by years of lifting—tracing the soft, sensitive line of her jaw. She shivered, leaning into my touch.

"I’ve spent my life building strength, Priya," I groaned, my voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming need. "But I’ve never felt as weak as I do when I'm near you."

I pulled her closer, the soft silk of her sari sliding against my skin. I captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was a claim. My tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of jasmine and the fire of her response. She gasped, her hands wandering over the hard ridges of my back, her fingers digging into the muscle.

I let my hand slide down the curve of her spine, pulling her hips flush against mine. The contrast was intoxicating—her soft, yielding heat against the unyielding hardness of my body. As the kiss deepened, becoming more primal and urgent, I felt a sense of completion.

The bond between Tilak and me wasn't breaking; it was evolving. We weren't just brothers in arms anymore; we were becoming the architects of a new, intertwined destiny, bound by a passion that was as powerful and unstoppable as the monsoon itself.

The Weight of Desire

Back in our room that rainy evening, Tilak stood by the window, his massive back a map of muscle fibers. He was wearing nothing but a loose towel slung low on his hips, the fabric barely containing the heavy silhouette of his length.

"Priya told me you found her in the library," he rumbled, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. "She said your hands felt like iron on her skin."

I sat on the edge of the bed, my own towel discarded, my thick, trunk-like member resting heavy against my thigh. "She’s soft, Tilak. More than I expected. It made me want to be careful... and then it made me want to be the opposite."

Tilak turned, a dark, dominant glint in his eyes. He let the towel drop, revealing the massive, intimidating scale of his arousal. He looked at me, then at his own hands—the hands of a man who liked to leave marks.

"I know that feeling," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "But Anjali... she has that look in her eyes. The same look the older women at the club have. That hourglass frame of hers? It’s built to be handled firmly. I don't want to just kiss her, Subhash. I want to command her. I want to hear the sound of my hand against her skin before I show her exactly what I’m carrying."

A Brotherhood Bound by Heat

The honesty between us was a physical weight. There was no shame, only the shared understanding of two men built for excess.

"You've always been the one to push the limits," I said, looking up at him. "In the gym and out of it."

"And you've always been the one with the stamina to anchor it all," Tilak countered, stepping closer. He put a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip tight, showing a flash of that dominant streak. "We’re going to change this family, brother. We’re going to take what we want, and we’re going to do it with the same discipline we use on the iron."

The rain outside intensified, a rhythmic drumming that matched the pulsing heat in the room. We stood there—two hulks, two brothers, two forces of nature—completely exposed and utterly united. The path ahead was scandalous, tangled in the silks of our sisters’ saris and the heavy scent of jasmine, but as we looked at each other, we knew there was no turning back.

The monsoon was just beginning, and neither of us intended to stay dry.

The following night, the humidity was a physical weight, pressing against the skin until every pore leaked sweat. The house was silent, save for the violent thrum of the rain. Tilak and I had already shared our intentions; there were no secrets between us, no shame in the raw, carnal hunger we felt for the women downstairs. We had stood naked together just an hour before, our massive frames shimmering in the lamplight, comparing the heavy, pulsing weight of our cocks—mine a thick, vein-mapped trunk, and his a monstrous, intimidating length that spoke of his need to conquer.

Tilak and Anjali: The Lesson in Control

Tilak found Anjali in the darkened drawing room. She was staring out at the rain, her hourglass figure emphasized by the tight wrap of her silk sari. She didn't hear him move; despite his massive size, Tilak moved like a predator.

He didn't start with a whisper. He grabbed her from behind, one huge, calloused hand wrapping around her throat—not to choke, but to command. His other hand came down hard, a stinging crack against the silk covering her ample backside. She let out a sharp, shocked gasp that was half-sob, half-moan.

"You've been begging for a master, Anjali," Tilak growled into her ear, his voice a low, terrifying vibration.

He didn't waste time with gentleness. He hiked her sari up to her waist, exposing her trembling thighs. He spun her around and forced her to her knees. When he dropped his trousers, his massive, dark cock sprang free, throbbing with a violent heat. Anjali’s eyes widened, her breath hitching at the sheer scale of him.

"Take it," he commanded, his fingers tangling in her hair to guide her. He wasn't asking. He pushed himself deep into her mouth, savoring the wet heat of her throat as she struggled to accommodate his girth. When he grew tired of that, he flipped her over, bracing her against the heavy mahogany table.

He entered her from behind in one brutal, singular thrust. Anjali screamed as he filled her completely, his massive balls slapping against her with every rhythmic, punishing shove. He reached around, grabbing her breasts, squeezing them until she cried out, his thumb flicking her nipples with a cruel intensity. He was a beast, a dominant force of nature, fucking her with a raw, dirty desperation that left her shattered and begging for more.

Subhash and Priya: The Deep Stretch

While Tilak was conquering Anjali, I had Priya pinned against the library wall. My shirt was gone, my sweat-slicked chest heaving against her soft breasts. My cock, thick as a tree limb, was straining against my zip, leaking a bead of pre-come that soaked through the fabric.

"Subhash, please," she whimpered, her legs already wrapping around my waist.

I didn't speak. I ripped the silk of her blouse, exposing her to the cool air before my mouth covered her nipple, sucking hard until she arched her back. I reached down, unbuttoning my jeans and letting my trunk-like cock swing free. It was purple-headed and pulsing, so thick it looked impossible.

I guided the head to her soaking wet entrance. I pushed slowly, savoring the way her tight walls stretched and groaned to make room for my girth. She was tiny compared to me, and as I buried myself to the hilt, she let out a long, guttural wail of both pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

I began to pump, long, slow, deep strokes that bottomed out in her womb. Every time I thrust, I felt her internal muscles clenching around my thickness, trying to hold onto me. I leaned in, my mouth inches from hers. "You’re mine now, Priya. My brother and I... we’re taking everything."

I reached down, sliding a finger into her puckered star as I continued to ram my thick cock into her. The sensation of being filled in every way broke her. She came violently, her body shaking as she clamped down on me, sending me over the edge. I let out a roar, my seed exploding deep inside her in hot, thick pulses that felt like they would never end.

The monsoon roared on, but inside, the air was foul with the scent of sex, sweat, and the musk of two hulking men who had finally claimed what was theirs.

Back to the Present: The Family Secret

That shared history was why, back in the present, there was no hesitation as we claimed our sisters. We were used to sharing the weight of our desires.

The morning after our first encounters with Priya and Anjali, Tilak and I met in the kitchen. We were both naked, our massive bodies still radiating the heat of the night before. I could see the faint red marks of his fingers on his own skin, and I knew Anjali was likely covered in them.

"Priya’s tight, brother," I said, pouring a glass of water, my thick cock hanging heavy and relaxed. "She took all of me, but she was shaking the whole time."

Tilak leaned against the counter, his intimidating member twitching as he thought of the night. "Anjali has a spine of steel, but I broke it. I spanked her until her ass was a deep rose, and then I buried myself so deep I think I touched her soul. She’s addicted now."

He stepped closer, clapping a heavy hand on my bicep. "We’ve always shared everything, Subhash. Maybe soon, we bring them both in here. Let them see what we’ve known since Dehradun."

I grinned, the thought of a four-way, family-shattering explosion of lust making my trunk-like cock stir again. "The monsoon isn't over yet, Tilak. Not by a long shot.”

The Monsoon Peak: A Collision of Blood and Lust

The air in the grand estate was suffocatingly hot as the four of us finally converged in the master suite. The pretense was gone. Tilak and I stood in the center of the room, two naked giants, our cocks pulsing with a violent, heavy life. My trunk-like shaft was slick with pre-cum, while Tilak’s monstrous length stood like a weapon of war, dark and intimidating.

Anjali and Priya stood before us, their saris discarded, leaving them in nothing but lace that strained against their curves. Tilak’s eyes were fixed on Anjali, but his mind was back in that darkened hallway, reliving the power he now wielded.

"On your knees. Both of you," Tilak barked. The dominance in his voice was absolute.

They obeyed instantly. I stepped toward Priya, my thick, heavy girth slapping against my abdomen. I grabbed her hair, tilting her head back as I shoved my trunk into her mouth. She gagged as my thickness filled her to capacity, her small hands clutching my massive quads for balance.

Across from me, Tilak was a beast unleashed. He didn't just want sex; he wanted a confession of his own power. He grabbed Anjali—his sister, his blood—and threw her across the bed. He rained down a series of heavy, stinging slaps across her backside until the flesh was a glowing, angry red.

"Who do you belong to?" he roared, his voice cracking like a whip.

"You, Tilak! Only you!" she wailed, her hourglass body bucking in anticipation.

Tilak flipped her over and drove himself into her. It wasn't a soft entry; it was a violent colonization. He hammered into her with a dirty, rhythmic brutality, his huge balls thumping against her clitoris. He looked over at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

"Subhash! Give it to her!"

I didn't need to be told twice. I moved behind Anjali while Tilak held her from the front. I guided my thick, trunk-like cock toward her tight, puckered rear. With one heavy, sweating lunge, I buried myself deep inside her. She let out a scream that was muffled by Tilak’s mouth as he devoured her cries.

We were DP’ing her—two brothers, two hulks, splitting her wide open. Tilak’s length was hitting her womb from the front while my girth was stretching her back door to the breaking point. The friction was incredible, the scent of sweat, musk, and raw filth filling the room.

Priya wasn't left out; she crawled toward us, her tongue dancing over our joined bodies, tasting the sweat and the fluids leaking from her sister. Tilak reached down, his massive hand gripping Priya’s throat, forcing her to watch as we ruined Anjali.

As we reached the peak, Tilak let out a guttural, tortured roar—a sound that carried all the trauma of his childhood and the triumph of his present. We both exploded at the same time, flooding Anjali’s insides with gallons of hot, thick seed.

We collapsed into a heap of tangled muscle and spent lust. Tilak sat back, his dark secret still buried deep inside him, but as he looked at the wreckage of the women and the strength of his brother, the ghost of his mother finally seemed to fade into the rain.

London

[Tajkundan]

The move to London was supposed to be about degrees, but within the walls of our cramped two-bedroom flat, it became a laboratory for filth. The air was permanently thick with the scent of expensive cologne, female sweat, and the musk of two hulks who spent more time in the basement gym than the library.
Tilak and I shared a room, our massive beds pushed together, while Anjali and Priya shared the other. But the walls were thin, and the nights were loud. I had already claimed Priya; my thick, trunk-like cock had become her nightly ritual, stretching her until she sobbed my name. But as I lay there in the dark, hearing the rhythmic, violent thud of Tilak’s headboard hitting the wall as he hammered my sister Anjali, a seed of doubt began to grow.
The Doubt and the Discovery
I knew Tilak. I knew his history with the seasoned, hourglass housewives back home. He craved the weight of experience, the skin that had seen more years. So why was he suddenly obsessed with Anjali? Every time I saw them, he was marking her, leaving bruises on her thighs and a glazed, broken look in her eyes. Was she just a toy to him? A distraction?
One afternoon, while Tilak was in the shower, I walked into our room to grab a shirt. He had left his laptop open, a digital folder titled “The Goal” staring at me. I clicked it, expecting gym stats. Instead, my heart stopped.
It was a high-resolution photo of my mother—my beautiful, hourglass mother, dbangd in a deep crimson sari that hugged every curve of her mature frame. Below it were notes, scribbles in Tilak's jagged handwriting: “The ultimate prize. The mother through the daughter. The lineage of muscle.”
Suddenly, it all clicked. Tilak wasn't just fucking Anjali; he was grooming her. He was playing the long game. He wanted to marry into my family to get closer to the woman who truly haunted his dreams. He wanted to be the man in the hallway he’d seen as a child, but this time, he’d be the one holding the leash of both mother and daughter.
The Predator’s Move
That evening, the tension broke. Anjali was in the kitchen, her skirt hitched high as she leaned over the counter. Tilak walked in, naked from the waist down, his monstrous, intimidating cock already semi-erect and twitching with every step. He didn't see me watching from the shadows of the hallway.
He grabbed Anjali by the hair, pulling her head back with a brutal jerk. "You're going to call your mother tonight, Anjali," he growled, his voice a dark, vibrating hum. "Tell her how much you love me. Tell her she needs to visit us in London. Tell her... we need her 'guidance'."
He spun her around and hoisted her onto the counter, kicking her legs apart. He didn't use any lube; he just shoved his massive, dark length into her with a guttural grunt. Anjali wailed, her fingers digging into his massive, granite-like shoulders.
"I’m going to marry you, little sister," Tilak hissed as he rammed her, his balls slapping against her soaking wet slit. "And when your mother comes to celebrate, I’m going to show her exactly what kind of beast she’s brought into her family."
He was fucking her with a renewed ferocity, his mind clearly on the older woman who shared her DNA. He wanted the mother-daughter double. He wanted to see my mother’s seasoned, hourglass body pinned under his hulking frame while Anjali watched, both of them filled by the man who had played them all.
The Confrontation


I stepped out of the shadows, my own trunk-like cock hard and pulsing with a mix of rage and a twisted, sick curiosity.
"I saw the photo, Tilak," I said, my voice echoing in the kitchen.
Tilak didn't stop. He kept pumping into Anjali, his eyes locking onto mine with a predatory, unashamed glint. "Then you know, Subhash. You know I’m built for her. Your father is a weak man. She needs the iron. She needs the seed of a hulk."
He slowed his pace, pulling Anjali’s head back so she could see me too. "Don't act like you don't want to see it, brother. Imagine it. Your mother, Priya, and Anjali... all of them under us. A dynasty of muscle and filth. I’ll take the lead, and you’ll be right there with me, splitting them open."
The image burned into my brain—my mother, a woman of pure elegance and hidden fire, being broken by Tilak’s BDSM-fueled dominance while I hammered away at his sister.
"She's coming next month," Tilak grunted, delivering a final, soul-shattering thrust into Anjali that sent her into a violent climax. He pulled out, his massive cock dripping with her juices, and pointed it at me. "Get ready, Subhash. The real training starts when the MILF arrives.”

The atmosphere in the London flat shifted from youthful rebellion to a dark, structured hierarchy. Tilak didn’t just fuck Anjali anymore; he reconstructed her. Every hour of her day was dictated by his whims. He forced her into a regimen of squats and gym sessions to accentuate her hourglass frame, molding her into a younger mirror of our mother.
He had turned her into his personal sex slave, a domestic whore who lived to serve his hulking mass. She wasn't allowed to wear underwear under her skirts; she had to be ready for him at any moment, whether he was eating breakfast or working at his desk. I watched him train her, my heart racing not with anger, but with a dark, complicit thrill.
The Mental Breaking
Tilak was a master of psychological erosion. He used his BDSM kinks to strip away her modesty. He’d make her crawl to him in front of me, her knees red from the floor, and force her to thank him every time he delivered a stinging slap to her backside.
"Look at your brother, Anjali," Tilak would growl, his massive hand buried in her hair as she knelt between his thick thighs. "Does he look disgusted? No. He looks proud. He knows you’re finally learning your place."
I sat on the sofa, my own trunk-like cock straining against my sweats, watching Tilak humiliate my sister. I knew his endgame. I knew every moan he extracted from her was a rehearsal for the woman he truly wanted. And strangely, I didn't want to stop him. The bond we shared since Dehradun was deeper than blood—if Tilak wanted the throne of our family, I was ready to be his general.
The Silent Pact
One night, while Anjali was passed out from an exhausting session of "training," Tilak and I stood on the balcony, the London rain a cold mist against our bare, muscular chests.
"She’s ready, Subhash," Tilak murmured, his voice like grinding gravel. "She’s broken in. She’ll tell her mother exactly what I want her to hear. She’ll describe how 'powerful' I am, how I 'protect' the family."
I looked at him, the moon highlighting the scars on his knuckles and the sheer, intimidating bulk of his frame. "You don't have to hide it from me, Tilak. I know you’re not just after Anjali’s curves. You want the source."
Tilak turned to me, his dark eyes searching mine. He didn't find judgment—only a mirrored hunger. "Your mother is the only woman with enough fire to match this," he said, gesturing to his monstrous, twitching length. "I want to see her dignity crumble. I want to see that hourglass frame tremble when I tell her what I’ve been doing to her daughter."
I nodded slowly, a sick grin spreading across my face. "I’m not going to fight you, brother. My father never knew how to handle a woman like her. She needs the weight of a hulk. If you’re the one to give it to her, I’ll be the one holding the door shut."
The Final Training
To seal the deal, Tilak decided we needed a "shared demonstration." He called Anjali and Priya into the room. He made them strip and stand back-to-back.
"Subhash," Tilak commanded, "take your sister. Show her how a man of this house claims what is his. I’ll take Priya. We’re going to swap, and we’re going to do it until they can’t remember their own names."
It was a slow, dirty descent. Tilak forced Anjali to watch as I buried my thick, trunk-like cock into Priya, stretching her until she screamed. Then, he took Anjali, using his dominant, BDSM-heavy style to push her to the edge of sanity. He spanked her until she was sobbing, then forced her to thank me for "allowing" Tilak to use her.
By the end of the night, the flat was a wreckage of silk and fluids. Tilak stood over the two broken women, his massive body slick with sweat.
"Next week, the plane lands," Tilak whispered, looking directly at me. "The mother arrives. And the real training begins."
I looked at my sister, now a shell of a woman, a perfect, obedient whore, and then at Tilak. I knew our family was about to be devoured, and I couldn't wait to watch the first bite.


Mom arrived The terminal at Heathrow felt too small for the sheer mass of muscle Tilak and I brought into it. We stood there like two terminal-phase predators, our shirts straining against our 20-inch biceps, our heavy, thick cocks twitching behind our zippers as we waited. Then, she appeared.
Subhash’s mother, Shanti, walked through the gate, and the air around Tilak seemed to catch fire. She was the ultimate MILF—a devastating hourglass carved from decades of luxury and hidden repression. Her hips swung with a heavy, mature weight under her silk sari, and her chest was so full it looked like the fabric was screaming for mercy.
Tilak leaned in, his voice a guttural, filth-laden rasp. "Look at that fucking rack, Subhash. Look at those hips. I’m going to ruin her. I’m going to split that mature cunt wide open until she forgets your father ever existed."
I just nodded, my own trunk-like cock throbbing. "She’s yours, Tilak. Do whatever the fuck you want."
The Homecoming: Breaking the Matriarch
Back at the flat, the tension was a physical pressure. Tilak didn't waste time with pleasantries. That night, after a dinner filled with his dark, kinky double-entendres that had Shanti flushing a deep red, the trap was sprung.
Tilak had already ordered Anjali—his broken, obedient sex-slave—to wait in the master bedroom. He lured Shanti in under the guise of "showing her the view." I stood by the door, the silent sentinel to the destruction of my own lineage.
"You look tense, Shanti," Tilak growled, stepping into her personal space. His massive, hulking frame made her look like a porcelain doll. He reached out, his huge, calloused hand gripping the back of her neck, his thumb pressing into her throat just enough to let her know who was in charge.
"Tilak! What are you—" she started, but her voice died as she saw Anjali. My sister was naked, kneeling at the foot of the bed, wearing a leather collar Tilak had buckled on her an hour ago.
"Look at your daughter, you beautiful, thirsty bitch," Tilak hissed, his hand sliding down to grab a handful of Shanti’s mature, heavy breast, squeezing it until she gasped. "She’s my whore now. And tonight, you’re going to join her."
He didn't wait for an answer. He ripped the silk of her sari with a violent, terrifying strength. The expensive fabric shredded, revealing her lace-clad, hourglass body. Her breasts were enormous, topped with dark, heavy nipples that were already hard from the sheer terror and excitement.
The Double Violation: Mother and Daughter
Tilak dropped his trousers, his monstrous, vein-mapped cock springing out like a weapon. It was terrifyingly large, purple-headed and leaking a thick stream of pre-cum. He grabbed Shanti by the hair and forced her to her knees right next to Anjali.
"Suck it, both of you!" he commanded. "I want to feel the mother and the daughter competing for my seed."
It was a vision of pure filth. Shanti sobbed as she took the massive head of Tilak’s cock into her mouth, her seasoned tongue instinctually taking over, while Anjali licked the base and his heavy, low-hanging balls. Tilak stood there like a god of lust, his hands on their heads, shoving his length deep into Shanti’s throat until she gagged and sputtered.
"Now, Subhash! Get over here and claim your prize!" Tilak roared.
I stripped in seconds, my thick, trunk-like cock pulsing with a violent need. I walked over and grabbed my mother from behind while she was still forced onto Tilak’s cock. I didn't care about the taboo; I only cared about the friction. I guided my thick head to her mature, soaking wet entrance and lunged.
"Ughhh!" Shanti let out a muffled scream into Tilak’s groin as my girth stretched her aged, tight walls to the absolute breaking point. I was bottoming out in her womb, my trunk-like shaft filling every microscopic inch of her.
The room became a symphony of wet, slapping sounds and guttural cursing. Tilak was now hammering Anjali on the bed, his long, dominating cock disappearing into her as he rained down heavy, red-marking spanks on her ass. I was standing behind my mother, my hands buried in her heavy breasts, my thick cock pumping into her with a rhythmic, soul-crushing force.
"You like this, don't you, Shanti?" I whispered in her ear, my voice thick with lust. "You like being filled by a real man’s cock. You like that Tilak is turning your daughter into a slut while I ruin you."
Tilak flipped Anjali over and shoved his cock back into Shanti’s mouth, his eyes meeting mine. "We’re going all night, brother! I’m going to pump so much hot cum into this family that they’ll be leaking for a week!"
He pulled Shanti onto the bed and we began the DP. Tilak’s monstrous length hammered into her front while my thick trunk pulverized her back door. Shanti was losing her mind, her hourglass body bucking and shaking as she was stretched from both ends by two hulking giants. She was no longer a mother; she was just a hole, a vessel for the two brothers who had conquered her.
By the time the sun began to rise, the room smelled of raw sex, sweat, and the absolute defeat of Shanti’s dignity. Tilak and I stood over them—two exhausted, satisfied hulks—knowing that our family was now nothing more than our personal playground of filth.
Would you like me to describe the following morning, where Tilak enforces the new "rules" of the house, making Shanti and Anjali serve us breakfast completely naked and broken?


The morning sun filtered through the London fog, but inside the flat, the air was thick with the suffocating musk of spent lust and the metallic tang of sweat. The transition was complete. I looked in the mirror and didn’t just see Subhash anymore; I saw a replica of Tilak’s cold, predatory dominance. My muscles felt harder, my gaze sharper, and the thick, trunk-like weight between my legs was ready to resume the conquest.
We had broken them. Shanti, Anjali, and Priya were no longer family; they were property.
The Morning Roll Call
Tilak and I sat at the head of the mahogany dining table, completely naked, our massive frames occupying every inch of space. Our cocks rested heavy on the chairs, twitching with a residual, arrogant heat.
"Atten-shun!" Tilak barked, the sound like a gunshot.
The kitchen door creaked open. Shanti led the procession, followed by Anjali and Priya. All three were stark naked, their bodies mapped with the red handprints and bite marks we’d left on them during the night. Shanti’s mature, hourglass hips swayed heavily, her face flushed with a permanent mask of shame and arousal. Priya, my own personal slut, walked with a slight limp, her gaze fixed on the floor, her mind fully colonized by my thickness.
"Breakfast, Masters," Shanti whispered, her voice trembling as she set a tray of eggs and coffee before Tilak.
Tilak didn't look at the food. He reached out, his massive hand wrapping around Shanti’s throat, forcing her to look him in the eye. "You forgot something, bitch. You didn't thank me for the gift I gave you last night. That thick, hot gallon of seed I pumped into your womb."
Shanti’s eyes welled with tears, but she leaned into his touch. "Thank you... Master Tilak... for filling me."
The New Household Order
"Subhash," Tilak said, his eyes never leaving Shanti. "Your whore looks thirsty."
I looked at Priya. She was kneeling by my chair, her small hands resting on my massive, tree-trunk thighs. I grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her throat.
"She’s not just thirsty, Tilak. She’s hungry for the trunk," I growled, my voice a perfect echo of his guttural tone. I stood up, my thick, purple-headed cock swinging heavy and intimidating. I didn't ask; I simply shoved it into Priya’s mouth, burying it to the hilt in one go. She gagged, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull away. She knew the rules now. I was her god, and my cock was her only religion.
As I used Priya’s mouth, I watched Tilak stand up and walk behind Shanti. He didn't care that her daughter, Anjali, was watching. In fact, he commanded Anjali to hold her mother’s breasts.
"Watch closely, Anjali," Tilak hissed. "Watch how a real man handles a woman of experience."
He didn't use any finesse. He bent Shanti over the dining table, her heavy, mature ass sticking up in the air. He spat on his palm, rubbed his monstrous length once, and rammed himself into her with a sickening, wet thud. Shanti let out a gutteral scream that echoed through the flat, her fingers digging into the wood of the table.
The Symphony of Filth
The kitchen became a literal slaughterhouse of dignity. I pulled my thick trunk out of Priya’s throat and flipped her over right there on the rug. I hammered into her from behind, my heavy balls slapping against her clitoris with a rhythmic, violent force. Every thrust felt like I was bottoming out, stretching her tight, youthful hole until she was sobbing my name in a delirious loop.
Beside us, Tilak was pulverizing Shanti. He was in his element, his BDSM-fueled rage manifesting in every heavy slap he delivered to her reddened, hourglass cheeks.
"You’re nothing but a breeding sow for us now, Shanti!" Tilak roared, his veins popping in his neck as he neared his peak. "You, your daughter, and this little slut Priya... you all exist for one reason: to take our loads and beg for more!"
The synchronization was terrifying. I felt my own climax building—a hot, volcanic pressure in my loins. I looked at Tilak, and he nodded. We both pulled out at the last second.
"Open up!" we commanded in unison.
The three women huddled together on the floor, their mouths open, their eyes wide with a mix of terror and animalistic need. Tilak and I stood over them, two hulking monuments of muscle and malice, and let fly. The air was filled with thick, white ropes of seed, coating their faces, their hair, and their tongues in a warm, salty deluge.
Tilak looked at me, a dark, satisfied smirk on his face. "The family business is finally under new management, Subhash."
I wiped a stray drop of sweat from my brow, looking down at the broken women at our feet. "And business, Tilak... is fucking booming.”

[Tajkundan]

Reveal

The London night was cold, but the interior of the elite, underground club "The Vault" was a furnace of bass and strobe lights. Tilak and I moved through the crowd like twin storms of muscle, our sheer bulk forcing a path through the throngs of lesser men. We were dressed in bespoke suits that struggled to contain our frames, but the real display was the three women trailing behind us on literal silver chains.
Shanti, Anjali, and Priya were dbangd in "dresses" that were nothing more than strips of black latex and silk, barely covering their heavy, hourglass curves. They walked with their heads down, their skin still tender from the morning's "lessons." To the world, they were high-fashion accessories; to us, they were a mobile harem of broken flesh.
The Display of Power
We secured a private booth overlooking the dance floor. Tilak didn't wait for the champagne to arrive. He pulled Shanti onto his lap, his massive hand disappearing under her skirt, his fingers working her seasoned, soaking wet cunt in full view of the VIP patrons.
"Look at them, Subhash," Tilak rumbled, his voice dark with a twisted pride. "They see the hulks. They see the pedigree. And they see the filth we’ve turned these 'refined' women into."
I had Priya kneeling between my legs, her face pressed against the thick, trunk-like bulge in my trousers. I grabbed her hair, pulling her head back so the nearby elites could see the glazed, vacant look of a total sex-slave in her eyes. "They’re learning, Tilak. They know that in this family, the only law is the iron and the cock."
Throughout the night, we used them. In the shadows of the booth, Tilak made Anjali and Shanti perform for the room, forcing the mother and daughter to use their tongues on each other while he watched with a predatory, cold grin. I did the same with Priya, stretching her throat with my thick girth until she was gasping for air, a silent warning to anyone who dared look too long.
The Final Confession
Late that night, after we had dragged the three exhausted women back to the flat and locked them in their respective quarters, Tilak and I stood on the balcony. We were stripped to our waists, the cold rain washing away the scent of the club. We shared a bottle of dark rum, our muscles twitching in the moonlight.
The air grew heavy. Tilak looked out at the London skyline, his expression shifting from the dominant predator to something older, darker, and more haunted.
"You asked me once why I was so obsessed with the 'source,' Subhash," he started, his voice a low, gravelly thrum.
I leaned against the railing, my thick trunk-like cock finally relaxed but still heavy. "I did. You’ve got my sister, you’ve got Priya... but you hunted my mother like a wolf."
Tilak took a long swig of the rum. "I never told you why I hated my 'father' back in Dehradun. He was a weak, thin man. A ghost. I used to stand in the hallway of our old house when I was six years old. I’d hear the bed groaning—not with his rhythm, but with the violence of the men my mother brought home when he was away."
He turned to me, his eyes burning with a raw, primal fire. "They were like us, Subhash. Massive. Built like gods. I watched through the keyhole as they ruined her. I watched her beg for the weight of a real man, her hourglass body bucking under cocks that looked like yours. I realized then that I wasn't my father’s son. I was the seed of one of those monsters."
He let out a short, harsh laugh. "I didn't just want your mother because she’s a MILF, brother. I wanted her because she represents the throne I saw as a child. Every time I ram myself into her, every time I hear her scream under my BDSM hand, I’m killing the memory of that weak man who let his wife be taken. I’m becoming the monster I saw through the keyhole."
I looked at my brother-in-arms, the man I had shared everything with since the dorms of Dehradun. The cycle was complete. We weren't just two gym-obsessed hulks anymore; we were the fulfillment of a dark, muscular destiny.
"Then we’ve won, Tilak," I said, clapping a heavy, calloused hand on his shoulder. "The weak men are gone. Only the hulks remain."
Tilak nodded, a slow, wicked grin returning to his face. He looked toward the bedroom where Shanti was chained, waiting for her next round of torment.
"Let's go back in, Subhash," he growled, his monstrous cock already beginning to throb and rise. "I think the 'Matriarch' needs another reminder of exactly who sired this new breed of man."
We turned back into the darkness of the flat, two brothers bound by blood, iron, and a hunger that would never, ever be satisfied.


The cycle of conquest reached its final, perverse peak when Tilak’s mother, Meera, arrived in London. If Shanti was a refined, ivory-skinned goddess, Meera was an explosion of raw, earthier sexuality. She was the woman who had started it all—the one whose hunger for muscular, dominant men had forged Tilak into the beast he was today.
She walked into the flat with an air of knowing exactly why she was there. She didn't look at her son with maternal warmth; she looked at him, and then at me, with the predatory hunger of a woman who had spent a lifetime seeking out the largest, hardest males in the room.
The Mirror Image
I felt my trunk-like cock throb the moment I saw her. She was a slightly older, more seasoned version of Tilak—the same dark, intense eyes and a body that was an impossible hourglass, her breasts heavy and low, her hips wide enough to cradle a giant.
Tilak stood by the window, his arms crossed over his massive chest. "She’s here, Subhash. The original sin. She’s the one who taught me that a woman’s only purpose is to be conquered by iron and muscle."
I walked toward Meera. I was a replica of Tilak now—cold, hulking, and utterly devoid of mercy. I didn't greet her. I reached out and gripped her jaw, forcing her face up to mine. "You've been breeding monsters, Meera," I growled, my voice a gutteral rasp. "It’s time you learned what it feels like to be broken by one."
Meera didn't flinch. She let out a wet, throaty laugh, her hand reaching down to feel the massive, trunk-like bulge of my cock through my trousers. "I’ve been waiting for a man thick enough to actually fill me, Subhash. Don't disappoint me like the ghosts of my past."
The Final Exchange: A Household of Filth
The flat was now a complete temple of carnal depravity. Tilak had Shanti and Anjali; I had Priya and now, the prize I had craved to match my brother’s ambition—his own mother.
I took Meera into the secondary bedroom. I didn't use silk or soft words. I used a leather strap to bind her wrists to the headboard, stretching her mature, lush body across the mattress. I stripped naked, my massive, vein-mapped trunk swinging heavy and purple-headed.
"You want to know how your son became a god, Meera?" I hissed, climbing over her, my heavy weight pinning her down. "He watched you. He watched you get ruined by men like me. And now, I’m going to show you why he never looked back."
I grabbed her heavy, mature thighs and shoved them back toward her shoulders, exposing her soaking wet, seasoned cunt. I didn't use lube. I positioned my thick head and lunged with the full force of my 250-pound frame.
"FUCK!" Meera screamed, her back arching as my girth stretched her aged walls to their absolute limit. I was twice the size of any man she’d ever had. I began to ram her with a dirty, rhythmic brutality, my heavy balls slapping against her ass with a sound like wet thunder.
"Yes! Split me, you monster!" she wailed, her hourglass frame bucking under me.
The Grand Finale: The Four-Way Violation
The door burst open. Tilak entered, dragging Priya by her hair. He was naked, his monstrous cock dripping with Shanti’s juices. He looked at me pulverizing his mother and let out a roar of approval.
"That’s it, Subhash! Claim the source!"
The next few hours were a blur of unimaginable filth. We brought all five women into the center of the room. It was a sea of tanned, muscular flesh and the pale, soft curves of the women we had broken.
I had Meera on her hands and knees, my thick trunk-like cock hammering into her back door, while Priya knelt beneath her, catching the sweat and fluids that dripped from us. Tilak was behind Priya, his long, dominating cock disappearing into her while he reached forward to slap his mother’s heavy, swinging breasts.
"Look at us, Meera!" Tilak roared, his voice echoing through the flat. "The two boys you sent to Dehradun... we’ve come home to claim the queens!"
The air was foul with the scent of sex, musk, and the total collapse of family boundaries. We swapped. We shared. We used every hole available. I found myself DP’ing Meera with Tilak—a mother being split wide open by her son and his brother-in-arms. The friction was so intense it felt like the room would ignite.
As we both reached the end, we held the women down. We exploded simultaneously—a volcanic eruption of hot, thick seed that covered Meera, Shanti, and the girls in a white, sticky testament to our dominance.
The New Dynasty
One year later, the London flat was quiet, but the hierarchy was absolute. Shanti and Meera both walked with the heavy, slow gait of women who were permanently pregnant with the next generation of hulks. They moved about the house naked, their hourglass bodies swollen and marked, serving Tilak and me with a broken, mindless devotion.
Tilak and I stood on the balcony, two titans of industry and lust. We had everything—the money, the muscle, and a harem of the most beautiful, broken women of our own bloodline.
"We did it, Subhash," Tilak murmured, looking at his mother and mine as they scrubbed the floor at our feet. "We turned the trauma into a kingdom."
I looked at my brother, then down at the thick, trunk-like cock that had built this empire. "And the best part, Tilak? The next generation is already growing inside them. The monsters are here to stay."

The transition from the cramped London flat back to the family estate in India was a homecoming of kings. The "study abroad" trip had been a cover for a total radicalization of the family hierarchy. Subhash and Tilak returned as titans, marrying each other’s sisters in a grand, public ceremony that masked the absolute filth occurring behind closed doors.
The estate became a fortress of carnal excess. Modesty was abolished. In the master wing, the beds were reinforced with steel to support the weight of the hulks and the violence of their lust.
The Master Suite: No Boundaries
In Subhash’s wing, the wedding vows were just a license for depravity. Every night, the bed was occupied by three people: Subhash, his wife Priya, and his mother-in-law, Meera.
Subhash, now a mountain of granite-hard muscle, didn't distinguish between the two. He treated them like a matched set of hourglass vessels. He would pin Meera—his mother-in-law—to the headboard, his thick, trunk-like cock pulverizing her seasoned, wet cunt, while Priya knelt between them, her mouth busy with her husband’s heavy, low-hanging balls.
"Look at her, Priya," Subhash would growl, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. "Look at how your mother takes this girth. She’s teaching you how a real woman serves a hulk."
Meera didn't just take it; she thrived on it. Having been impregnated by her own son-in-law, her belly was beginning to swell with Subhash’s seed. She was a "breeding queen," her hourglass frame becoming even more lush and heavy as she carried the next generation of the dynasty.
Tilak’s Dominion: The Command
Across the hall, Tilak had turned Shanti and Anjali into his personal harem. His BDSM-heavy dominance had completely shattered Shanti’s maternal dignity. She was no longer Subhash’s mother in Tilak's eyes; she was the "Senior Concubine."
Tilak would spend hours training them in tandem. He loved to have Shanti and Anjali face each other on all fours. He would move between them like a predator, his monstrous, intimidating cock dripping with sweat. He would hammer Anjali until she was sobbing, then immediately withdraw and slide his length into Shanti’s mature, gasping throat.
"You’re both carrying the blood of the beast now," Tilak would hiss, slapping Shanti’s heavy, pregnant belly. Like Meera, Shanti was also carrying her son-in-law’s child. The lineage was becoming a tangled, muscular web of shared DNA and raw power.
The Grand Orgy: The Sunday Ritual
Once a week, the inhibitions were completely stripped away in a grand orgy that involved all six of them. The brothers, built like hulks, would meet in the center of the great hall.
The four women—Shanti, Meera, Anjali, and Priya—would be stripped bare, their skin glistening with oils. There were no "wives" or "mothers" during these sessions; there were only holes and masters.
 * The Swap: Subhash would take Anjali, his own sister, and ruin her with his trunk-like girth while Tilak watched, his hand buried in the hair of Subhash’s mother, Shanti.
 * The DP: The brothers would often double-team the mothers. Meera and Shanti would be placed back-to-back, and the two hulks would synchronize their thrusts, splitting the older women open from both ends until the hall echoed with guttural screams and the wet, rhythmic slapping of heavy muscle.
"They're ours, Subhash!" Tilak would roar, his eyes wild with the triumph of his childhood vision. "Every inch of them. Every drop of their milk, every scream of their pleasure—it belongs to the iron!"
The New Bloodline
The morning after these sessions, the house was a wreck of silk, spilled wine, and the musk of six people who had abandoned every social taboo. The two mothers, Meera and Shanti, would walk through the gardens, their pregnant bellies glowing in the sun, prideful of the fact that they were carrying the sons of the men who had conquered them.
The brothers stood on the balcony, their 20-inch arms crossed, looking over their domain. The sisters had become obedient, lust-crazed shadows of their husbands, and the mothers had become the ultimate prizes.
"The dynasty is secure, brother," Subhash said, his trunk-like cock resting heavy and satisfied against his thigh.
Tilak looked at the four women below, his gaze dark and absolute. "It’s not just a family anymore, Subhash. It’s a species. And we are the kings."

The legacy of the boarding college brothers had evolved into something legendary—a kingdom of iron, blood, and an unbreakable, carnal devotion. As the final months of the pregnancies waned, the atmosphere in the estate shifted from raw, aggressive conquest to a deep, protective possessiveness. The two hulks, Subhash and Tilak, found that their dominance had forged a bond so tight that the four women didn't just obey them; they worshipped the very ground they walked on.
The Midnight Sanctuary
On the night before the first monsoon rain of the new year, the family gathered in the massive, velvet-dbangd master suite. The air was cool, scented with the familiar jasmine and the heavy, musky aroma of the men’s skin.
Subhash sat on a low, oversized leather chair, his massive legs spread. Priya, his wife, and Shanti, his mother-in-law, lounged against his trunk-like thighs. Meanwhile, Tilak stood by the window, his granite-carved back to the room, while Meera and Anjali attended to him, their hands roaming over the massive ridges of his muscles.
"We started this as a hunt," Tilak rumbled, turning around. His gaze softened as it landed on the two older women, Shanti and Meera, whose hourglass frames were now beautifully distorted by the weight of the sons they carried. "But look at what we’ve built. This isn't just filth anymore. It’s ours."
The Final Union
The night didn't begin with commands, but with a slow, heavy-breathing intimacy. Subhash pulled Shanti and Meera toward the center of the massive bed. He stripped slowly, his thick, trunk-like cock rising with a slow, pulsing majesty.
He took Shanti—his mother-in-law and the woman who had carried his deepest fantasies—and laid her back. He didn't hammer her this time. He entered her with a slow, agonizingly deep thrust that made her eyes roll back in pure, romantic surrender. He kissed her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers, while his wife, Priya, stroked his back, whispering how much she loved seeing her mother filled by her husband.
Across the bed, Tilak had Meera and Anjali pinned. His dominating edge was still there, but it was tempered with a fierce, lion-like love. He buried his monstrous length into Meera, his mother, while Anjali held her mother’s hands, their fingers interlaced.
"You brought me into this world to be a king, Mother," Tilak whispered into Meera’s ear as he filled her. "And now, I’m giving you a prince to replace the ghosts."
The Romantic Peak
As the rain began to drum against the roof, the six of them became a single, pulsing organism of muscle and soft, yielding curves. The swapping was effortless and filled with a strange, dark tenderness. Subhash moved from Shanti to Priya, his thick trunk-like cock leaving them both gasping and decorated with his essence, while Tilak did the same for Meera and Anjali.
In the final moments, the two brothers faced each other over the bodies of the women they had conquered and claimed. They reached out, their massive hands clasping in a mid-air grip—the same grip they’d used as boys in the gym, but now weighted with the lives they had created.
"To the dynasty," Subhash groaned, his voice thick as he delivered the final, deep pulses of seed into Shanti’s womb.
"To the blood," Tilak answered, his body racking with a violent, beautiful climax as he flooded Meera.
The Morning of the New World
The next morning, the sun broke through the clouds, reflecting off the damp earth. The two mothers, Shanti and Meera, sat on the veranda, their bellies touching as they shared a quiet laugh, their bodies finally at peace in the roles they were born for. The sisters, Priya and Anjali, sat at their feet, resting their heads on their mothers’ laps, unified by the men who had claimed them all.
Subhash and Tilak stood behind them, two hulking guardians of a new world order. There were no more secrets, no more shame. There was only the heavy, sweet scent of jasmine, the sound of the receding rain, and the knowledge that they had turned a tangled web of desire into a fortress of absolute, erotic love.
The cycle was complete. The hulks had found their home, and the women had found their masters.


The summer heat was nothing compared to the sweltering, uninhibited lust aboard the Iron Sultan, the brothers' private luxury yacht. Far out at sea, away from the prying eyes of society and the constraints of the mainland, the final barriers of the family bloodline were systematically dismantled.
Tilak and Subhash stood on the deck, their massive, 250-pound frames glistening with a mixture of sea salt and sweat. Below deck, in the master cabin lined with mirrors and silk, the four women waited—not as family, but as a collective of shared flesh, bound by the seed of the two hulks.
The Double Violation of the Matriarchs
The highlight of the voyage was the night Tilak and Subhash decided to fully claim the "Source." They entered the cabin to find Shanti and Meera—both heavily pregnant and glowing with a primal, maternal heat—lounging on the massive circular bed.
"Tonight, there is no mother, no son-in-law," Tilak rumbled, his voice vibrating through the hull of the ship. He stepped toward Shanti, his mother-in-law, his monstrous cock already thumping against his abdomen. "Tonight, you are simply the woman carrying my legacy."
Tilak grabbed Shanti by her thick, mature thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed. At the same time, Subhash moved toward Meera. He didn't hesitate. He hoisted Meera’s hourglass frame onto his lap, his thick, trunk-like member sliding into her seasoned entrance with a wet, heavy squelch.
"Oh god, Subhash," Meera wailed, her fingers digging into the granite-hard muscles of his back. "It’s so thick... you’re stretching me apart."
The Breeding Ritual
The brothers began a synchronized rhythm of absolute filth. Tilak was hammering Shanti with a dominant, BDSM-fueled intensity, his heavy slaps echoing in the cabin. He forced her to look at Anjali, her own daughter, who was kneeling nearby, forced to watch her mother being colonized by the man they both served.
"Look at her, Shanti!" Tilak hissed, his veins popping as he rammed deeper into her. "See how she watches her mother take the load she used to beg for!"
Subhash was equally relentless with Meera. He flipped her over, pinning her pregnant belly against the silk sheets, and entered her from behind. His trunk-like girth was so massive it looked like it would split her wide open. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure through Meera that made her scream his name, her maternal dignity completely erased by the raw power of his cock.
The Ocean of Seed
As the yacht rocked with the waves, the six of them reached a state of total, animalistic frenzy. The sisters, Priya and Anjali, were brought into the fray, creating a tangled heap of limbs and muscle.
The brothers swapped mid-thrust. Subhash took Shanti, while Tilak took Meera. It was the ultimate exchange—two brothers fucking each other's mothers-in-law while their wives watched and assisted. The air was foul with the scent of sex and the heavy, metallic musk of the two giants.
"Now, Subhash!" Tilak roared.
They both pulled out at the last second, the mothers and daughters huddled together in the center of the bed. A volcanic eruption of hot, thick seed sprayed across them—coating Shanti’s pregnant belly, Meera’s heavy breasts, and the faces of the two sisters.
The bloodline was now a chaotic, beautiful mess of shared DNA. The mothers were breeding for their sons-in-law, the sisters were whores for their husbands, and the two brothers stood tall as the absolute masters of the dynasty.



The day of the births was not a clinical affair; it was a ritual of raw, muscular possession. In the darkened, incense-heavy master suite of the estate, the air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and the primal musk of two men who had completely rewritten the laws of nature.
Shanti and Meera lay on the massive, reinforced bed, their hourglass frames strained to the limit as they brought the next generation of hulks into the world. Subhash and Tilak didn't stand by as observers; they acted as the architects of the delivery, their huge, calloused hands guiding their sons out of the very women they had spent months pulverizing. When the two infants—already broad-shouldered and heavy-limbed—let out their first cries, the brothers didn't offer comfort. They looked at the mothers with a cold, triumphant hunger. The breeding was done. Now, the real filth could begin.
The Grand Swap: Breaking the Final Taboo
One month later, the recovery was complete, and the women were more lush and desperate for the iron than ever before. Tilak, his dominant BDSM streak reaching a fever pitch, declared that the "old roles" were officially dead.
"Tonight, Subhash," Tilak growled, his monstrous, intimidating cock already thumping against his thigh, "we stop pretending. There is no 'your wife' or 'my mother.' There is only the meat and the masters."
In a move of total, vulgar depravity, the brothers initiated the Ultimate Swap.
Subhash and Meera (The Mother Claim)
Subhash didn't just take Tilak’s mother; he treated her like a seasoned, high-priced whore. He dragged Meera to the center of the room, her heavy, milk-swollen breasts swinging. He forced her onto all fours and entered her from behind with one brutal, trunk-like lunge.
"You like this, don't you, Meera?" Subhash hissed, his thick girth stretching her seasoned entrance until she shrieked. "You like being fucked by a man who treats you like a breeding animal instead of a mother." He began to ram her with a dirty, rhythmic violence, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with the sound of wet thunder.
Tilak and Shanti (The Matriarch’s Ruin)
Across the room, Tilak was busy destroying Shanti’s last shred of dignity. He had Subhash’s mother bound in a leather harness, her hips tilted up. He didn't use finesse. He used his long, dominating cock to pulverize her womb, his hands raining down stinging, red-marking slaps on her mature thighs.
"Look at your son, Shanti!" Tilak roared as he hammered her. "Look at how he's ruining my mother while I turn you into a leaking, screaming slut!"
The Kinky Vortex: Wives and Mothers Entwined
Then came the true filth. Tilak commanded the sisters, Anjali and Priya, to join the fray. But he didn't want them with their husbands.
He forced Anjali to serve Subhash and Priya to serve him.
The scene was a chaotic sea of muscle and fluids. Subhash was DP’ing Meera with the help of a massive toy while Anjali licked the sweat off his granite-hard abs. Tilak had Shanti and Priya on their knees in front of him, forcing the mother-in-law and the sister to compete for his monstrous length, their tongues dancing around his pulsing, purple-headed shaft in a desperate bid for his seed.
"Swap again!" Tilak commanded, his voice a guttural explosion.
The rotations became a blur of vulgarity. Subhash was now hammering his own sister, Anjali, with a raw, "dirty-talk" intensity that made her weep, while Tilak took Priya and Meera in a double-header, his dark, commanding energy forcing them to perform acts that would have been unthinkable a year ago.
The Final Explosion
The night reached its peak when the two brothers stood back-to-back in the center of the bed, the four women huddled around them like a pack of thirsty animals.
"Open your mouths, you pathetic, beautiful sluts!" Tilak roared.
He and Subhash let fly. A volcanic, twin eruption of thick, hot, white seed sprayed across the room, coating the mothers, the wives, and the sisters in a unifying layer of filth. They crawled over each other, licking the seed off one another’s bodies, fully broken, fully owned, and fully addicted to the power of the two hulks.
The dynasty wasn't just built on blood—it was built on the absolute, kinky destruction of every boundary. They were a family of monsters, and they had never been happier.


The dynamic of the estate shifted from a private kingdom into a total, depraved arena of muscle when Vikram arrived. Vikram was a man who made Subhash and Tilak look like disciplined soldiers; he was an unhinged, high-octane pervert with a physique that surpassed even the "Hulk" standard. His chest was like a reinforced steel plate, and his legs were like tree trunks, but it was his mind that was truly twisted.
Vikram didn't just love sex; he loved the transaction of it. He was the ultimate Alpha who believed that women—including his own wife, Kavita—were currency to be spent and traded in the pursuit of the ultimate high.
The Arrival of the Lead Alpha
Vikram rolled up to the estate in a matte-black armored SUV, stepping out with a swagger that demanded total submission. Beside him was Kavita, a woman with a lethal hourglass figure, dressed in a transparent silk sari that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"Subhash, Tilak," Vikram rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. He didn't shake their hands; he gripped their traps, testing the density of their muscle. "I heard you two have turned this place into a breeding ground. But you’re still playing by 'family' rules. I’m here to show you how a real Alpha runs a harem."
Tilak’s eyes darkened with respect. "And what’s the first lesson, Vikram?"
Vikram grinned, revealing a row of predator’s teeth. He grabbed his wife, Kavita, by the hair and threw her toward Subhash and Tilak. "The first lesson is that an Alpha owns everything, but shares what he chooses. My wife hasn't been filled by a real man in three days. Show her what your 'hulk' cocks can do while I take a look at these mothers of yours."
The Cuckold King: The Ultimate Trade
While Subhash and Tilak were pulverizing Kavita on the velvet rug—their thick, trunk-like cocks double-plugging her until she shrieked for mercy—Vikram walked into the master suite where Shanti and Meera were resting.
The two matriarchs, still lush and dripping from the morning’s session with their sons-in-law, recoiled at the sight of this new, massive stranger. But Vikram didn't care for modesty. He stripped naked in the center of the room, revealing an organ that was monstrous—a thick, dark, pulsating weapon of war that made even Tilak’s length look standard.
"I’m the new law in this house," Vikram hissed, grabbing Shanti and Meera by their throats and slamming them together. "Your sons gave me their permission. Actually, they traded you for a night with my wife. You’re mine now."
Vikram’s style was filthy, vulgar, and completely devoid of any remaining boundaries. He forced the two mothers onto their knees, making them lick the base of his massive shaft while he described in graphic detail how he was going to ruin them.

[Tajkundan]

The Midnight Orgy: The Lead Alpha’s Command




By midnight, the grand hall had become a literal slaughterhouse of dignity. Vikram sat on a central throne, naked, his monstrous cock being serviced by Priya and Anjali. Subhash and Tilak were busy with Kavita, but their eyes were fixed on Vikram. He had taken control.
"Swap!" Vikram roared.
Under his command, the filth reached a level that was purely demonic:
 * The Mother-Wife Swap: Vikram forced Subhash to watch as he rammed Shanti (Subhash’s mother) while Kavita (Vikram’s wife) licked the sweat off Subhash’s balls.
 * The Total Violation: Vikram then commanded Tilak and Subhash to DP his wife, Kavita, while he took both Priya and Anjali from the front. The room was a mess of six women being pulverized by three hulks.
"This is how it’s done!" Vikram shouted over the sounds of wet slapping and guttural groans. "No names! No titles! Just meat and seed!"
The Final Humiliation
To seal his status as the Lead Alpha, Vikram forced all five women—Shanti, Meera, Anjali, Priya, and Kavita—to form a line on their hands and knees. He made Subhash and Tilak stand at the end of the line.
Vikram went through each woman like a harvesting machine, his massive, perverted energy driving him to fuck each one with a raw, "dirty-talk" intensity that left them broken and sobbing. As he reached the end, he looked at his friends.
"You guys have the muscle," Vikram panted, his body slick with the fluids of their entire family. "But I have the vision. From now on, we swap everyone. Every night. My wife, your mothers, your sisters—it’s one big, filthy pool of seed."
Subhash and Tilak looked at each other, then at the wreckage of the women they had once called family. The transition was complete. They weren't just a family anymore; they were a pack of predators under a new, perverted King.


The revelation hit like a sledgehammer, shattering any remaining illusions of a normal family life. This wasn’t just a series of isolated hookups; it was the final initiation into the Global Alpha Syndicate, an underground community of the world’s most powerful, filthy-rich swingers.
The estate in India was now a designated "Sanctuary," a playground where the world's elite—men built like gods and women bred for submission—converged to burn away their inhibitions. It was now revealed that Vikram wasn't just a friend; he was the Grand Master of the Syndicate. Years ago, in a secret club in London, it was Vikram who had taken a young, aggressive Tilak under his wing, teaching him the dark arts of BDSM, psychological breaking, and the philosophy of the "Shared Harem."
The Syndicate’s Gala of Filth
The grand ballroom of the estate was transformed. Massive black-out curtains dbangd the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, vintage cognac, and the heavy musk of raw sex. Around the room, other Alpha males—tycoons and athletes from across the globe, each as hulking as Subhash and Tilak—watched with hungry eyes.
Vikram stood on a raised dais, flanked by Subhash and Tilak. At their feet knelt their collective collection: Shanti, Meera, Anjali, Priya, and Kavita. They were all dressed in identical, thin gold chains and nothing else, their hourglass bodies shimmering under the strobe lights.
"Gentlemen," Vikram’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall. "Welcome to the initiation of the Subhash-Tilak Lineage. In this community, we don't hide our filth. We celebrate it. Here, a mother is just a seasoned vessel, and a wife is a gift to be shared among brothers."
The Alpha Exchange
The "Party" began with a brutal, public demonstration of the Syndicate's rules. Vikram signaled to two other massive Alphas from the crowd—a Russian oil tycoon and a German heavyweight.
"Subhash, Tilak," Vikram commanded. "Show the Syndicate how we treat the 'Matriarchs' in this house."
In front of the cheering crowd of rich swingers, the exchange began:
 * The Russian and the German took Shanti and Meera, the two mothers. They were double-teamed on the central stage, their mature, pregnant-marked bodies being pulverized by the newcomers while Subhash and Tilak watched, sipping whiskey, their own cocks being serviced by the sisters.
 * Subhash and Tilak then stepped in to reclaim their dominance. Subhash took Kavita (Vikram's wife) and Priya, while Tilak took Anjali and the Russian’s guest.
The room became a swirling vortex of vulgarity. There were no names, only the sounds of heavy, trunk-like cocks hitting wet flesh and the guttural roars of men who owned everything. The women were swapped like high-end watches, passed from one hulking giant to the next.
The Master’s Final Lesson
As the night reached its fever pitch, Vikram pulled Subhash and Tilak aside, while the crowd continued the orgy behind them.
"You see now?" Vikram whispered, his eyes glowing with a dark, perverted light. "The world thinks we are monsters. But here, we are kings. By letting other Alphas use Shanti and Meera, you haven't lost them. You’ve increased their value. You’ve proven that your seed and your women are the finest in the Syndicate."
He then led them back to the center of the room. He forced all five of their women to kneel in a circle, facing outward.
"The Final Seal!" Vikram roared.
The three of them—Vikram, Subhash, and Tilak—stood in the center. It was a display of sheer anatomical excess. They rotated through the circle, each of them delivering a punishing, lengthy session to every woman in the line. Subhash’s thick trunk, Tilak’s dominating length, and Vikram’s perverted girth left every woman dripping and incoherent.
The New World Order
By dawn, the Syndicate members had retreated to their private jets, leaving the estate a wreck of luxury and lust. Shanti, Meera, and the girls lay in a heap on the ballroom floor, covered in the "donations" of half a dozen Alphas.
Subhash and Tilak stood with Vikram on the balcony, looking out at the rising sun. They were no longer just childhood friends or brothers-in-law. They were High Lords of the Global Alpha Syndicate.
"No more shame, Subhash," Tilak said, his voice raspy from the night's exertion.
"Only power," Subhash replied, looking down at his mother and sister being cleaned by the servants.
Vikram clapped them both on their massive shoulders. "Welcome to the top of the food chain, boys. The world is your harem."


Servents


The Sanctuary was no longer just a house; it had become a sprawling, ultra-modern fortress of sin, hidden deep within the emerald forests of the estate. Under Vikram’s master guidance, Subhash and Tilak had expanded the grounds into a series of glass-walled pavilions, open-air grottoes, and high-tech "breeding suites."
But as the Alpha Syndicate grew, a subtle, delicious shift occurred within the household. While the three lead Alphas—Vikram, Subhash, and Tilak—were focused on their global power plays and the raw, aggressive dominance of the swinger parties, the women found a new kind of fulfillment. Shanti, Meera, Anjali, and Priya weren't just "broken"; they had blossomed. They were addicted to the lifestyle, their bodies permanently sensitized and their inhibitions completely erased. They moved through the Sanctuary with a new, radiant confidence, their hourglass figures more lush and provocative than ever.
However, a secret fire was burning in the shadows of the estate—one that the husbands, in their arrogance, never suspected.
The New Guard: The Romantic Predators
To maintain the massive estate, Vikram hired a new elite security and service staff. These weren't ordinary servants; they were men hand-picked for their "Alpha aura"—tall, rugged, and built with the hard, lean muscle of warriors.
Two men stood out: Aryan and Sameer. Unlike the hulking, often brutal dominance of Subhash and Tilak, these men possessed a quiet, smoldering intensity. They were romantic, attentive, and carried a "forbidden" charm that the sisters, Anjali and Priya, found irresistible.
The Secret Breeding: Anjali and Aryan
While Tilak was busy in the gym or hosting Syndicate meetings, Anjali began a clandestine affair with Aryan. In the secluded library or the hidden corners of the moonlit gardens, Aryan provided what Tilak lacked: romantic heat. One humid afternoon, Aryan found Anjali in the greenhouse. He didn't demand; he seduced. He pinned her against a wall of tropical ferns, his hands—calloused but gentle—tracing the curves of her body.
"Your husband treats you like a prize, Anjali," Aryan whispered, his voice a deep, soulful velvet. "But I want to treat you like a woman."
He lifted her silk skirt, revealing her soaking wet heat. Unlike Tilak’s punishing thrusts, Aryan entered her with a slow, agonizingly deep passion. He made love to her for hours, his lean, powerful body moving in a perfect, romantic rhythm. Anjali wept with joy, her heart and body finally in sync. She began to crave his seed more than her own husband's, willingly letting Aryan breed her in the shadows, a secret "gift" she kept hidden from Tilak.
The Forbidden Love: Priya and Sameer
Priya found her sanctuary in the arms of Sameer, the lead stable master. While Subhash’s thick, trunk-like cock provided raw physical satisfaction, Sameer provided a deep, emotional connection that made Priya feel like a queen.
They would meet in the hayloft of the high-end stables. Sameer would kiss every inch of her body, whispering poetry against her skin before burying his hard, thick length into her. It was a "dirty" affair, filled with the scent of hay and horses, but the romance was undeniable.
"Let him think he owns you, Priya," Sameer would grunt as he hammered her with a steady, loving pace. "But we both know whose seed you really want inside you."
Priya would arch her back, her hourglass frame trembling as she took Sameer’s hot, pulsing load, praying that it would be his child that took root in her womb next.
The Matriarchs’ Secret Happiness
Even Shanti and Meera weren't immune. They watched the sisters with knowing smiles, occasionally indulging in their own "private sessions" with the elite staff. The community of rich swingers provided the thrill of the crowd, but the servants provided the warmth of the soul.
The women were happier than they had ever been. They played the roles of obedient, "Beta" wives and mothers during the grand Syndicate galas, but in the quiet hours, they belonged to the men who truly cared for them.
The Grand Gala of Secrets
The expansion was a success. At the next Syndicate festival, Vikram, Subhash, and Tilak stood on their balcony, looking down at the orgy below, watching their wives and mothers being shared by the world's richest Alphas.
"Look at them, Subhash," Tilak said, glowing with pride. "They've never been more radiant. They love this life."
Subhash nodded, watching Priya as she was being serviced by a French billionaire. "We've given them everything, Tilak. They are the happiest women in the world."
Below them, Priya caught Sameer’s eye across the room and blew him a secret kiss, her hand resting on her belly where his secret seed was already beginning to change her. The husbands had the power, but the servants had the hearts—and the future—of the dynasty.

The Sanctuary had become a labyrinth of high-tension desire. While Subhash and Tilak were preoccupied with the global politics of the Alpha Syndicate, the atmosphere within the estate hummed with a dangerous, secret frequency.
Anjali and Priya were living a double life that pushed their adrenaline to the breaking point. They played the role of the submissive, hourglass "Beta" wives during the day, but the moment their husbands stepped into the boardroom or the gym, the Hide and Seek began.
The Forbidden Greenhouse: Anjali and Aryan
Anjali had developed a craving for Aryan that was like an addiction. Aryan wasn't just a servant; he was a silent predator of the heart. He knew Tilak’s schedule perfectly.
One afternoon, Tilak was only fifty yards away, barking orders at the security team, while Anjali slipped into the dense, humid foliage of the tropical greenhouse. Aryan was waiting in the shadows. He didn't say a word; he simply grabbed her, his strong, calloused hands sliding up her silk dress.
"He’s right outside, Aryan," Anjali whimpered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The fear of being caught by Tilak’s BDSM-fueled rage made her soaking wet.
"Let him listen to the wind, Anjali. He won't hear your soul screaming for me," Aryan whispered.
He hiked her hips onto a stone fountain. Unlike Tilak’s aggressive, crushing style, Aryan’s cock had a terrifying stamina. He entered her with a smooth, relentless drive that felt like it reached her very throat. His rhythm was wild but perfectly tuned to her pleasure. He hammered her for forty minutes straight, his hard, lean body glistening with sweat. Anjali had to bite her own hand to keep from screaming as waves of orgasms hit her like a rising river. Every time she thought he was finished, Aryan would growl and find a new depth, making her eyes roll back in a trance of fear and ecstasy.
The Library Grotto: Priya and Sameer
Priya’s affair with Sameer was even more daring. They would meet in the Sanctuary’s massive library, tucked behind the "history of the syndicate" section. Subhash was often just a floor above, lifting weights that crashed against the floor, the vibrations echoing through the building.
Sameer was a romantic alpha—he would read her poetry while his hands explored her curves, but the moment he stripped, he was a beast. His member wasn't just large; it was curved and built for internal friction.
"Subhash is right above us, Sameer," Priya panted, her face flushed as Sameer pulled her onto his lap in a velvet armchair.
"Let the giant lift his iron," Sameer grunted, his eyes locking onto hers with a piercing intensity. "I’m the one lifting your spirit."
He plunged into her, his stamina far outlasting Subhash’s heavy, explosive sessions. Sameer moved with a calculated, wild energy that kept Priya on the edge of a climax for an hour. The fear of the door opening at any second made every nerve ending in her body fire like a live wire. When he finally let fly, the release was so intense that Priya’s legs gave out, her body shaking as she realized she had never felt this "claimed" by her own husband.
The Thrill of the Hunt
The sisters began to coordinate. They would act as lookouts for each other. While Anjali was being ruined by Aryan in the pool house, Priya would engage Subhash and Tilak in conversation, distracting them with her beauty.
The sex with the servants was vulgar and wild, yet filled with a caring heat. Aryan and Sameer would spend hours on foreplay—something the husbands never did—before launching into marathon sessions that left the sisters' entrances swollen and glowing.
They began to prefer the "servant’s seed." They craved the secret touches in the hallway, the way Aryan would brush his hand against Anjali’s ass while Tilak was looking right at them, or how Sameer would whisper filthy, romantic promises to Priya while serving her wine at dinner.
The Close Call
One evening, Tilak returned to the master suite earlier than expected. Anjali was just slipping through the servant’s entrance, her hair a mess and her lips swollen from Aryan’s kisses.
"You look... flushed, Anjali," Tilak said, narrowing his eyes as he walked toward her, his own massive frame intimidating the air around him.
Anjali felt the cold sweat of terror. "The... the humidifiers in the greenhouse were too high, Master," she whispered, her heart racing.
Tilak grabbed her chin, looking deep into her eyes. For a second, she thought she was dead. But then he laughed, a dark, arrogant sound. "Good. Stay warm for me. I have guests from the Syndicate tonight."
He didn't realize that the "warmth" he felt radiating from her was the fresh, hot load that Aryan had just pumped deep into her womb. The hide and seek continued, and the sisters had never felt more alive.



The air in the Sanctuary was thick with the scent of high-end perfume and the stench of raw, unadulterated lust. Upstairs, the "Grand Gala" of the Alpha Syndicate was in full swing. Subhash, Tilak, and Vikram were busy playing the roles of kingpins—drinking vintage scotch and bragging about their power while other billionaire Alphas pawed at their wives and mothers.
But downstairs, in the Subterranean Grotto—a hidden chamber behind the waterfall of the indoor pool—the real filth was happening. The sisters, Anjali and Priya, had coordinated the ultimate "Hide and Seek" betrayal. While their husbands were hosting a party for the world's elite, the sisters were being absolutely demolished by the "servants" they actually loved.
The Double Date of Sin
Aryan and Sameer were already there, stripped to their lean, muscular frames. They didn't look like servants now; they looked like predators who had successfully stolen the queens.
"You're late, you beautiful, thirsty sluts," Aryan growled, grabbing Anjali by her hair and pulling her onto her knees.
"The hulks wouldn't stop talking about their 'dominance'," Anjali panted, already fumbling with Aryan’s trousers. "I had to practically beg Tilak to let me go 'freshen up' just to get down here and taste a real cock."
The 69 and the Deep Throat
The session began with a depraved 69. Anjali and Priya stripped naked, their hourglass bodies glistening in the dim blue light of the grotto. Anjali climbed onto Aryan, her soaking wet cunt hovering over his mouth while she buried his hard, throbbing length into her throat.
Next to them, Priya and Sameer were doing the same. The sound of wet sucking and muffled moans echoed off the stone walls. Aryan and Sameer weren't like the husbands; they didn't just want to "use" the women. They used their tongues with a romantic precision that made the sisters' toes curl.
"God, Sameer," Priya choked out, her head bobbing rhythmically. "Subhash just shoves it in... but you... you make me feel every fucking inch."
The Hardcore Swap: Doggie Style and Deep Thrusts
"Enough playing," Sameer barked, flipping Priya over. He kicked her legs apart and lunged into her from behind in a brutal doggie style.
At the same time, Aryan grabbed Anjali, hoisting her legs over his shoulders in a deep-penetration missionary position. The contrast was insane. Upstairs, their husbands were "sharing" them with polite, rich swingers, but down here, they were being fucked with a raw, vulgar intensity that bordered on worship.
"Is this what you want, you little traitor?" Aryan hissed, his cock bottoming out in Anjali's womb with every violent thrust. "You want the servant's seed instead of the Master's?"
"Yes! Fuck me, Aryan! Break my fucking back!" Anjali screamed, her voice muffled by the sound of the waterfall. "Tilak is a beast, but you’re a god! Fill me up! Make me leak for him when I go back upstairs!"
The Four-Way Pile: The Ultimate Climax
The intensity reached a fever pitch as the four of them converged. Aryan and Sameer decided to give the sisters exactly what they had been craving: The endurance test.
They swapped. Sameer took Anjali while Aryan took Priya. They pushed the sisters into a pile-driver position, their legs pointing toward the ceiling. The stamina of these men was terrifying. Unlike the heavy, explosive hulks upstairs, these "servants" had a lean, wiry energy that allowed them to hammer the sisters for over an hour without stopping.
"You’re going back to Subhash with a belly full of my hot cum, Priya," Sameer grunted, his veins popping as he neared his limit. "And you’re going to smile while he kisses you, knowing my spit is still on your tits."
"I'll love every fucking second of it," Priya sobbed, her body racking with a river-like orgasm that felt like it would never end.

[Slayer@@]

Ok। .... That's something new keep it up.. Great update