Adultery Radiance of Vanitha, Daughter-in-Law and Instagram Influencer

[adams_masala]

She has bite marks on both breast’s and both ass cheeks! Let’s see.

[adams_masala]

This is going very hot. Both spend many day and nights in india. He is looking at the navel as if it is for the first time is surprising  He also opened up saying he eyed her even before the marriage. She will think if i had seen your cock before marriage, i would have married you instead of your useless son. She wants her man to handle her in more rough manner. Selvam has not done this yet. Slapping the butts, boobs pinching  biting and leaving lot of love bites on her body for her husband would make this more interesting.

No matter how many times you fuck Vanitha, her body looks like it’s something you are seeing for the first time and that’s how I admire that body.

[zulfique]

She has bite marks on both breast’s and both ass cheeks! Let’s see.

Let her husband see them and appreciate thinking it is due to some insect bite. 

[Aadhivaasi]

Slow and steady conquest of father in law.

The followers of insta notice the bite marks somehow and ask about it in the comments. Tell her husband is lucky. only she know her husband is dead to the world and her father in law is now her husband.

[xavierrxx]

i did not like the way selvam calling vanitha as ma and she calling as mama.

She is wearing his mangalsutra, therefore he is treat her like his wife and she as her husband.

she should tatoo selvam name in her private place in such a way that her ex husband did not understand.

Selvam should create some kinky moments for her and fuck her, finger her, press her, kiss her, link her when the ex husband is around.

With the same mouth after giving blow job to selvam and drinking the sperms, she should kiss Ashok and push the remnants into Ashok mouth.

In real life adultery, the woman starts hating the husband and children once she starts the affair. it is the reason there are many murders happening.

Waiting to see what is gonna happen here.

[xavierrxx]

In chapter 6, vanitha told ashok I love your cock da. Now.....tables turned and cock changed ... love lost.

[adams_masala]

In chapter 6, vanitha told ashok  I love your cock da. Now.....tables turned and cock changed ... love lost.

Makes my heart happy you are referring to old chapters with numbers.

[adams_masala]

For anyone curious about the thali (mangalsutra) changing ceremony please read Chapter 24: The Consumation

[xavierrxx]

For anyone curious about the thali (mangalsutra) changing ceremony please read Chapter 24: The Consumation

What happened to the mangalsutra tied by Ashok. Did she removed it in the same day night after she felt unhappy with Ashok for his performance and behavior and waiting so long to get a new one after 4 years. Did Ashok not notice this.

[adams_masala]

What happened to the mangalsutra tied by Ashok. Did she removed it in the same day night after she felt unhappy with Ashok for his performance and behavior and waiting so long to get a new one after 4 years. Did Ashok not notice this.

Yes she removed and wore Ashok thali before the next FaceTime call with Ashok. It’s in the chapter after 24th when they do their FaceTime call.

[masti.bhai]

Would love to see this Adonis steal Vanitha's heart by fucking her ass sumptuously. It's the ultimate surrender

[adams_masala]

Would love  to see this Adonis steal Vanitha's heart by fucking her ass sumptuously. It's the ultimate surrender

Yes!!! Only makes sense as Vanitha is his Aphrodite herself!

[adams_masala]

Would love  to see this Adonis steal Vanitha's heart by fucking her ass sumptuously. It's the ultimate surrender

Yes!!! Only makes sense as Vanitha is his Aphrodite herself!

[Thangaraasu]

Nothing to lose more for husband

[adams_masala]

He left the second ring on the left ass cheek. He watched it bloom, red and perfect, a small mouth-shaped halo above the cotton. He put his thumb on it. He pressed, gentle, and then he let his fingers drift down the soft curve, following the line of her body to where the panties wrapped the bottom of her ass.


Now her both ass cheeks bears his bite marks.

He stared at her red panties.

He hooked both thumbs under the waistband of her panties.

She stiffened. He felt the shock of it in her thighs, the small clench in her belly.

He waited. She did not pull away.

He drew the panties down, slow. He did it as if he was undressing a statue, not a woman, a thing so precious he would ruin it if he went too fast. The thin red lace rolled and caught on the bottom of her ass, and he eased it over, down, resting his thumbs on the inside of her thighs for balance.

He went to his knees as he worked the panties down her legs. He wanted to see it. He wanted to have the memory of this forever, the way the thin red cotton curved across the pale skin, the way it clung just a little, the way the gold chain dipped as she bent to let him take them off.

He kissed the back of her thigh, right where the skin was fairest, just above the crease. She trembled.

He drew the panties lower, down her thighs, over her knees, slow enough to make her feel every inch. He kissed the inside of her right knee as he passed. He let his tongue out and tasted her, once, the faint salt and something else, something he would have to learn the word for.

He looked up. She was still holding the back of the couch, her head down, her braid fallen forward. The panties were tangled around her knees. He kept going, rolling them down her calves, past her ankles. He had to bend lower, kneeling on the rug. He kissed the inside of her left calf. He pressed his cheek to her bare skin, just for a second.

He did not know why it mattered so much to do it slow. He wanted to remember every inch. He wanted her to remember it, too.

At the end, he slipped the panties off her feet. He held them in his hand, and he looked at the small triangle of red cotton and the thin lace band, and the wet patch at the center where her body had soaked the fabric through.

He put the panties to his nose, quick, and the scent of her went straight into him. He dropped them on the edge of the couch. He put his palms on her thighs, just above the knees, and opened her a little, and he looked.

He saw her for the first time since Chennai. He saw the fair of her thighs come together, the pale soft rise of her pussy, the gold waist chain dbangd across her hips, the black curls at her mound trimmed neat, the lips below vivid and glossy with her wetness.

She was dripping.

There was a clear line running down the inside of her left thigh, a thin shimmer. He did not touch it. He brought his face close and he watched the way it caught the light.

“Vanitha,” he said, his voice gone low. “You are wet.”

She did not answer. She was shaking.

He ran his palms up the backs of her thighs, slow, and he spread her an inch wider. He put his mouth to the inside of her right thigh and licked, tasting her, warm and salty. He kissed there, then again, then the left thigh, licking up the stripe of clear that had run down from her pussy.

She made a sound that was almost a sob, and he felt it in her whole body, the small shiver that ran from her hips to her knees.

He wanted to lick her, right there, right then, but he did not. He pulled back. He let his hands run up her thighs to the small of her back, then up her spine to her shoulders. He stood, towering over her, and turned her around by the waist, gentle.

She turned, still bent a little at the waist, her hands coming to rest on her breast, trying to cover them, as if he hadn’t seen them before. Her eyes were bright, wild, her lips parted.

She was naked except for the gold chain at her waist and the golden thali (mangalsutra) at her neck. Her breasts swayed, heavy and perfect, the nipples flushed deep pink and hard. She was breathing through her mouth, her whole body pink now, not just the cheeks of her ass.

He took her in. He stared. He let her see that he was staring.

She smiled, slow, a crooked smile that was all teeth and mischief.

[Thangaraasu]

Whenever she comes to selvam she should wear the thali tied by selvam only then he will treat her like wife. If she has Ashok thali, he will have guilt. First time in daylight. Since Ashok busy earning money for future, she surrendered to the man of her choice.

[Yesudoss]

Anyways Ashok has no time to explore his wife. So he doesn't deserve this woman. Good one.

[Yesudoss]

Is he going to take anal virginity of her. Her useless husband would not have seen anything below the waist. She should call selvam da and he call her di.

[adams_masala]

She just stood there, naked in the middle of his stare, and Selvam thought he would never get used to the sight of her.


It did not matter that he had known her for years and fucked her for endless nights in Chennai. He saw her like this and he could not believe it.

The curve of her breasts, the clean black braid, the gold chain at her hips, the glimmer of her clit in the middle of the black curls at her mound, the way her thighs shook just a little with how hard she was breathing. 

He reached to grab her waist.

She slipped under his arm like she was made of water and he caught nothing but the air, and she was already away, her bare feet smacking the cold tile, her hair flying behind.

She ran, full speed, across the living room, out past the TV and into the hallway. Her ass jiggling, her breasts bouncing.

“Not again, Vanitha… stop running… or you’ll make me….”

He chased.

He heard her laugh, the wild high laugh that only came out of her when she was running away from him or running at him, and then he saw the flash of her swinging braid disappear around the corner.

He caught up at the sliding glass door to the backyard.

She opened the sliding glass door and already slipped out, bare feet on the stone floor, her hands on the handle. She pulled it shut behind her. She stood for one second, facing him, her whole body on display in the morning sun, the gold chain and the thali and the small dark triangle of her pussy, her breasts up and out with the force of her breath.

She was grinning, teeth bared, eyes wild.

He went to the door. He tried to open it. The latch was on. She must have turned it, quick, with one hand.

She stood on the other side, holding the handle, and she stuck her tongue out at him, a full, childish tongue, and she winked.

“Come catch me, mama,” she said, loud enough for him to hear through the glass.

“It’s wet out here.” She grinned. “I want you to eat it in the sun.”

He pointed at her, warning. She shook her head, no, and he saw her set her feet to run again, her legs tense, waiting for the chase.

He undid the latch. He pulled hard. 
She squealed, dropped the handle, and took off, her feet barely touching the stone. 

He followed.

The backyard was long, lush, lined with thick hedges on both sides and a rectangle of bright blue pool in the middle.

The grass was still damp from the sprinklers.

She ran for the grass, not the pool, and he saw her slip once, the gold chain at her waist flashing as she caught her balance, and then she was up again, running across the lawn.

He cut left. He would catch her at the side fence. The sun caught her bare back. The gold of her mangalsutra glinted at her neck, her braid swinging side to side.

He chased her.

He caught her.

Hhe caught her at the waist, one arm around, lifting her clean off the ground for a second.

She shrieked, half laugh, half challenge, and her legs kicked in the air.

He pressed the full length of his body against her back, pinning her, and she squirmed in his grip, but she did not try to break free.

He bent and put his mouth to the back of her neck, just below the line of the thali (mangalsutra), and he drew in the scent of her hair and the faint sweat at her nape. He kissed her there, then bit, soft.

She arched against him.

He turned her in his arms and lifted her, both hands on her ass, carrying her the last ten feet to the large lounge bed in front of the pool.

He set her down on the edge of the lounge bed, and she fell back, laughing, her legs still half off the ground, her braid over the headrest.

He looked down at her.

She looked up.

She spread her legs for him, slow, and let her knees fall open to the overcast sky. In the diffused daylight, her exposed cunt appeared like a light pink orchid, glistening wet with her arousal, the outer lips slightly darker than the inner folds. 

The soft gray light from above cast no shadows, revealing every delicate ridge and contour of her pussy in perfect detail, the small hood at the top slightly retracted, exposing her swollen clit beneath.

Selvam stopped breathing.

He was on his knees on the grass between her feet and he could not make his lungs take air. His mouth had gone dry and wet at the same time, which did not make sense, which he did not have time to think about, because she had opened her legs for him in the open sun and he was three feet away and he was looking.
She was shy. 

He could see it. She was doing it anyway. That was the thing that went through him hot and fast and low. Her cheeks were red, not from the run now, the other kind of red, and she had her eyes on his face and she was holding them there on purpose, because if she looked down at what she was showing him she would close her knees again. 

He knew her. He knew the way she worked. She had put her knees open and she had decided and now she was watching his face to see if she had done the right thing.

His mouth watered.

The wet coming up under his tongue, the way his jaw ached at the hinge, the small swallow he had to do because he could not keep up with it.

He had seen her pussy in Chennai more times than he could count, but this felt different. She is bold and shy at the same time. She is in his son’s backyard.

He grabbed both of her knees and started to kiss her inner thighs.

“Mama… what are you doing?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, eyes flicking between his face and the blue midday sky.

He grinned up at her, kneeling on the warm flagstone, hands slipping under her thighs.

“I’m looking at you, ma. Don’t hide now. Let the sun see how beautiful you are.”

He dragged her to the edge of the lounge bed, so her pussy… bare and glistening… was right at the level of his face, exposed to the sunlight and his hungry gaze.

She bit her lip, squirming under his touch. “It’s so bright… ” She gasped as he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to the soft mound, his breath hot on her skin.

“But you said, no one could see us”

“Tr.. true..”

He opened his mouth against the soft fair skin of her inner thigh, high up, an inch from where she was already wet.

He did not kiss her this time. He breathed out, warm, and watched the small pale bumps rise across the cream of her.

Then he put his tongue flat on the skin and he licked, slow, a long wet stroke from the inside of her thigh up to the crease where her leg met her body.

She jumped.

He felt her whole body go tight under his hands. Her hips lifted a half inch off the lounge cushion. A small sound came out of her that was not a word.

“Mama…”

He did not answer. He turned his head and he did the same thing on the other side. The left thigh. The same long slow wet stroke from the inside of the fair skin up to the crease.

He tasted the thin line of her wetness that had run down earlier and he made a low sound in his throat when he tasted it.
She heard the sound. Her hand came down and into his hair.

“Mama, please...”

He opened his mouth one last time and he laid the flat of his tongue against her vaginal fold and he licked her, the first lick, one long slow wet drag from the bottom of her slit all the way up to the small hood at the top.

The taste hit him first.

It was cleaner than he remembered. Warm and a little salt and a thin sweetness under that, the way she had smelled through the red cotton panties, only now it was on his tongue and he could not pretend it was anything else.

He kept the tongue flat. He dragged it slow. He felt the small give of her outer lips parting under the weight of his tongue and the wetter warmer slide of the folds inside as his tongue passed over them, and he felt the small firm point at the top catch the edge of his tongue at the end of the stroke.

She screamed. It was not a loud scream. It was the other kind. A sharp broken sound bitten off at the back of her throat, and then her hand in his hair went tight, her fingers closing on a fistful of him, pulling him in against her instead of away.

Her hips came up off the cushion and chased his mouth a half inch toward his tongue before she caught herself and dropped back down onto the cushion.

“Mama,” she said, and her voice had gone high and thin. “Mama, chi... no...”

He did not stop. He did it again. The same long slow wet drag, bottom to top, flat tongue, unhurried, the way a man drank from a cup he did not want to finish. 

He felt her outer lips part easier this time. He felt the wet on his tongue come thicker. He felt her thighs shake on either side of his head.

“Mama, you... you cannot.. put your... there...”

She could not say the word. He had known she could not. He had known for weeks.

She was the girl who he has licked so many times, who could strip in front of him in a kitchen and run naked through a backyard in the California sun and still not say the Tamil word for what he was licking.

His chest went warm at the thought. His mouth went hungrier. He pulled his tongue back. He looked. Her pussy was open for him now, the outer lips drawn apart by the last two strokes, the inner folds a deeper pink than the rim, wet and shining in the midday light. 

Her clit hood caught the sun and threw a bright point of light up at his eye.

Her clit was pushing out from under the hood.

He could see the tip of it, small and dark and hard.

“Vanitha.”

“Mama...”

“Look at me.”

She did.

Her eyes came down off the sky. They were wet at the edges. Her lips were parted. Her hair was full of grass where she had fallen back onto the cushion.

The thali (mangalsutra) lay at the hollow of her cleavage and the gold waist chain cut across her belly and her nipples were still swollen from his mouth in the kitchen, and she was looking down the length of her own body at him kneeling between her thighs with her on his tongue.

“Mama, this is... chi... this is dirty...”

“Yes, ma.”

“Your mouth, mama. You cannot... there...”

“But I like it Vanitha.”

“my father-in-law... your mouth” He heard it. It went through him like a hand at the base of his spine.

She said it shy and small and horrified at herself and her hips lifted another half inch off the cushion while she said it.

He bent his head and he licked her again, slow, and she broke off the sentence in the middle.

“Ah.”

He did it again. And again.

Long slow flat strokes, one after the other, the whole length of her, bottom to top, bottom to top, and he let the tip of his tongue flick the small hard point at the top on each pass, light, a small teasing touch, not enough to finish her, only enough to make her thighs shake harder.

Her hand in his hair was not pulling now. It was pressing. She had opened her fingers and laid her whole palm on the back of his head and she was holding him against her, not hard, a small steady push, as if she had decided, shy or not, that his mouth was going to stay right where it was.

He smiled against her.

She could not see him smile.

She could feel it. He felt her jump when the corner of his mouth curved up against the wet of her.

“Mama, don’t...”

“Don’t what.”

“Don’t... smile there...”

He laughed, quiet, into her pussy, and she made a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob and her hand tightened on the back of his head.

He changed it. He had been flat. Now he went to the tip. He pointed his tongue and he traced the inner folds one at a time, slow, following the line of the right fold from the bottom of her slit to the top, then the left fold the same way, learning the shape of her with the tip the way he had learned the shape of her navel with his mouth a few minutes ago inside the house.

Her hips jumped on the first pass. On the second pass she made a small high sound. On the third pass she tried to close her thighs on his head. He did not let her. He brought his hands up from the backs of her thighs and laid his forearms across the tops of them and held her open.

Her thighs pressed against his forearms and could not close, and she whimpered, and her hips lifted.

“Mama, I cannot... if you go slow like that I cannot...”

“Yes you can, Vanitha.”

“Mama...” He went slower.

He traced the inner folds two more times each. He watched the small bumps rise on the fair skin of her inner thighs.

He watched a fresh shine of wet come up at the bottom of her slit and run a thin line down toward the cushion. He caught it with his tongue. He dragged it back up inside her.

The taste of her was different at the bottom, deeper, warmer, and he made the low sound in his throat again when he tasted it and she heard it and her thighs jumped under his forearms.

“Mama, what are you... you are... ahhhh...”

“I like the way you taste.” She covered her face with both hands. He saw it.

He lifted his head a half inch and he looked up the length of her and she had her palms flat over her eyes and her mouth was open behind them and she was shaking her head small and fast against the cushion.

“Don’t say that, mama...”

“Why.”

“You cannot say that...”

“I can, Vanitha. It is true. You taste so good, in your pussy”

“Chi...” She closed her eyes…

He bent back down. He put his mouth on her again and this time he did not lick.

He opened his lips and he closed them on the whole bottom of her slit and he kissed her, a full wet closed-mouth kiss, the way he had kissed her mouth a few minutes ago in the kitchen, and he held the kiss.

Her hips came off the cushion for real this time. She could not help it. He felt the lift of her pressing up into his mouth and he let her, he let her press, he moved his mouth with her and kept the seal and kissed her open.

“Hmmm ahhh.. hmmp...” He kissed her slit a second time. Higher. He kissed her third time, higher still. He kissed her a fourth time, right over the small hard point of her clit hot on it.

Her hand came off her face and back into his hair. 

“Mama.”

“Mm.”

“Mama, there.. there.. please...”

She could not say it. She was pointing with her body.

He drew on the hood the way he had drawn on her nipple in the kitchen, a long soft pull, and he felt the small hard point underneath swell against the flat of his tongue inside his mouth.

“Mama, mama, mama...”

“I have you.”

“What are you... what is that...”

He sucked again. He held the hood between his lips and he sucked slow and steady and he flicked the tip of his tongue against the small hard point behind the hood at the same time, quick, a small light flick.

Her hips came off the cushion again. This time he let them. He followed her with his mouth. He let her press up into him and he kept the seal and he sucked harder for a second and her hand in his hair went tight and she made a broken sound.

“Mama, if... if you keep... I... I... “

“Not yet.”

He let go of the hood. He pulled his mouth off her, slow, and he blew, soft, across the wet small point. She cried out. A real small cry.

“Mama, please...”

“Please what, ma.”

“Please...”

She could not say it. She said it with her hand in his hair. She said it with her hips lifting off the cushion. She said it with the small broken sound she made at the back of her throat.

He bent back down.

He did not go to the clit this time. He went lower. He put his tongue flat at the bottom of her slit, right at the opening of her vaginal hole below, and he dragged it up slow, and on the way up he pushed his tongue in, soft, a small shallow dip into the wet of her.

Her whole body jumped.

“Mama...”

He pulled out. He dragged the tongue up the rest of the way and he flicked the hood, quick, and he went back down to the bottom to her hole.

He did it again. Slower this time. He laid the flat of his tongue against the opening of her vagina and he pressed, and the tip of him sank a half inch inside her, and he held it there.

The wet inside of her was warmer than the outside. He had forgotten this. He had forgotten the way her body took him in, the small soft clasp of the walls of her against the tip of his tongue, the way the wet of her came up thicker the deeper he went. He pressed another half inch in.

“Mama, what... what are you...”

He did not answer.

He pointed his tongue. He made it hard. He pushed, slow, and he fucked the tip of his tongue into her, a small shallow thrust, once, then out, then in, then out.

Her hand in his hair went white at the knuckles.

“Mama.. naaku.. naaku vai vachu... naaku vechu keezha... you are... you are fucking me with your... ahhhh...”

She could not finish it. He heard the word almost come out of her mouth. Naaku. The Tamil word for tongue. She got halfway through it and her voice broke on the second syllable and she pressed her hand flat over her own mouth to stop herself.

He fucked her with his tongue again, deeper.

“Ahh... ahhh.. mama...”

He pulled his tongue out. He dragged it up the length of her, slow, and he flicked the clit once on the way, light, and he went back down.

In. Out. In. Out. He found a rhythm. Slow. Unhurried. He fucked her with the tip of his tongue at the pace he had licked her with, a long slow in-stroke followed by a long slow out-stroke, and he let her feel every small movement of the muscle of his tongue inside her.

Her thighs shook on his forearms. She was making small sounds now on every stroke. Not words. Breaths. Small high broken breaths, one for each push in of his tongue, a small fall on each pull out.

He pushed deeper.

He got his tongue as far into her as it would go and he curled the tip of it up and he dragged it against the front wall of her on the way out, the small soft ridged place just inside the opening, and her hips came off the cushion and her hand in his hair pulled so hard his eyes watered.

“MAMA.”

He did it again. The curl. The drag.

“Mama, mama, mama, there, there...”

He did it a third time and her back arched and her heels came off the ground and pressed into the cushion on either side of his head and her thighs clamped on his forearms and did not release this time.

He let them clamp. He kept his tongue in her. He curled it against the front wall again and again, a small steady in-curl-drag-out, in-curl-drag-out, and he watched her stomach under the gold chain go tight, tight, tight.

Her pussy was running. He could feel it on his chin. A fresh wet had come up from somewhere deep in her and was spilling out around his tongue and down the bottom of her slit and onto the cushion. He did not stop to lick it. He could not stop. The rhythm had taken him.

He kept fucking her with his tongue and he brought his right hand up off the top of her thigh and he slid his thumb up the outside of her slit and he found the small hard point of her clit under the hood and he pressed on it, flat, firm, no circle, no flick, just a steady warm pressure of his thumb.

Her whole body locked.

“Mama.”

She did not say it loud. She said it on a breath that broke in the middle. Her thighs clamped his forearms and her heels pressed the cushion and her hand in his hair pulled him so hard against her that his nose pressed into the soft curls at her mound.

He did not move his thumb.

He kept it flat on the small hard point under the hood. Steady. Warm. No circle. No flick.

She started cumming on his tongue, hips jerking, her hands clutching his hair.

“Mama, I… oh, I can’t… I’m…” Her breath came in soft, wild gasps.

“I need… oh god… I need your cock inside me… please, mama…”

He looked up, mouth shining with her, eyes dark and hungry. “You want it, Vanitha?”

She nodded, desperate, her voice a trembling whisper. 

“Yes, mama… I need you now… I want all of you.”

Selvam has been waiting for this moment for weeks like a raging bull… he gets up and takes of his shirt…

He stands up and takes off his linen shirt, peeling it off slow, the sun catching on the new smoothness of his chest…. bare, gleaming, every muscle and line on display.

The waxing had left his skin smooth, almost glowing, a dark bronze warmth against the midday light. He feels exposed, animal, alive.

Selvam’s eyes are fixed on Vanitha, raw hunger in every breath. There’s nothing left of the careful, patient man… only a man who has waited far too long, his restraint burned away by the taste of her still sweet on his lips.

Vanitha, shy but emboldened by his gaze, reaches for his linen shorts. Her hands tremble as she unties the drawstring, cheeks flushed, glancing up at him through loose strands of her braid. She slips the shorts down over his hips, her knuckles brushing the smooth, hard plane of his thighs.

The fabric falls away, leaving him bare…his cock hard and proud against the sunlight, every inch of him revealed.

He looks down at her, voice thick. “See what you do to me, Vanitha. Every time you run, every time you look at me like that…I can’t hold back anymore.”

She bites her lip, hungry and awed, drawing him close. 

Selvam stood above her, utterly naked, his cock jutting thick and dark at the level of her face… so close she could feel the heat of him, the raw, masculine urgency rolling off his skin.

His eyes… hungry, almost feral…never left her, and she realized in that wild, sunlit hush that she had never seen him like this before… not as her father-in-law, not even as her secret lover, but as a man who had been denied too long.

She felt small, cornered, and yet so achingly alive, the memory of her own laughter as she ran echoing back now as delicious fear

She had teased him, played her game, made him chase her around this house, and now the chase was over…now, her body shivered with the knowledge of what came next.

His cock was right in front of her, heavy and flushed, and she couldn’t look away.

She trembled with both dread and a deep, pulsing desire.

He was going to ravage her… there was nothing holding him back, not propriety, not patience, not even her own half-hearted protests.

She was scared.. scared of how much she wanted him, scared of whether her body could handle how hard he is about to fuck her.

[Yesudoss]

Ravage