[Vishal Ramana]

Super. Now kunal will fuck her for one hour and Isha will make rohan lick and drink the dripping Cathy

[Hotgiri]

Yes let Kunal fuck her

[sakurasan]

Chapter 18 The Gloves — Part 1

As soon as Rohan stepped out, Isha locked the door behind him and called room service.

“Good evening. I want a birthday cake for this room.”

“Yes, madam. We have vanilla sponge, black forest, and chocolate fudge. Which would you like?”

“Chocolate fudge. Two small ones, if you can.”

“Of course. Shall I send them up now?”

“No. I will call you.”

She laid the wine silk dress across the bed, smoothing the fabric over the petals. Her arms were already waxed from the parlour, but with the high slit running up the thigh, her legs had to be hairless too.

She stripped down and left her clothes on the chair. Naked, she took the razor from her kit and stepped into the bathroom. She rested one foot on the wide rim of the tub, lathered up, and ran the blade along her calves and thighs until both legs were smooth.

Then she looked down between her thighs. She had kept herself shaved clean, but over the last six days, a short layer of dark hair had grown back across her mound. All the hearts in the room gave her an idea. She lathered around the center, taking the razor to shave the sides and the crease smooth to the skin. In even passes, she shaped the short growth into a small, neat heart on her mound, tapering the point down toward her lips. She rinsed the foam away.

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror and wiped the mist off the glass. The dark shape stood out clear against her pale skin. She imagined Rohan’s face if he saw it, his eyes going wide, his hands going clumsy. The thought sent a sudden heat between her thighs, and she grew wet under her own fingers.

Would he even see it tonight? In the car he had promised to be a good boy. She traced the trimmed point down toward her slit and looked at herself in the glass. She would let the night decide how good he stayed.

She walked back into the bedroom.

The dress waiting on the bed was daring. The neckline plunged low, the slit ran high up her thigh, and the wine silk clung to every curve of her hips. Tonight was Rohan’s birthday, and she wanted him breathless the moment she walked into the hall.

From a pouch in her bag, she took the stick-on cups and seamless nude thong Savita had given her when altering the dress. Anything else would leave lines under cloth this tight.

She pressed the cups against her breasts, lifting them into the swell she wanted. They held firm, leaving her shoulders bare and the deep cut of her back clean. Then she pulled on the thong. The cloth sat flush against her skin, cut high enough at the hips that even if the slit swung open, no line would show.

She stepped into the dress, pulled the side zipper shut, and smoothed the fabric down. Not a single ridge showed through. With every step she took, the slit parted along her bare leg.

She picked up the phone and told room service to bring the cake up.

Outside, the evening wind off the hills had turned cold. Rohan walked through the garden and made his way into the lobby, where guests were already drifting toward the banquet hall. At the entrance he gave his name, and a steward led him to their two-seater table by the edge of the dance floor.

He had come early, and the hall was filling slowly. A few pairs were already dancing as the band played, moving upright with small steps, the way he had seen in classic films. With each song, more couples stepped down to join them.

A waiter brought him a glass of wine. Rohan took a sip and watched the floor.




There were fewer women dancing than men. Along the wall, men without partners waited in a line, watching the couples turn.

Between songs, a man stepped out from the wall and touched another dancer’s shoulder. The first man bowed to his partner and left the floor. The lady stayed where she was. The new partner took her gloved hand, the music began again, and they moved into the turn.

Rohan watched a second tap, and then a third. Most ladies agreed, but the choice remained theirs. Once, when a man stepped forward to cut in, the woman gave a slight shake of her head. The man bowed and returned to the wall, leaving the couple to dance another song together.

Upstairs, the knock came. She took the box at the door and hid it in the cupboard behind the extra pillows. She picked up her gloves and went down to find him.




By then the hall was almost full. Couples filled the dance floor, and most of the tables around it were taken.

Rohan raised his glass to take another sip, then stopped.

Isha had just walked in.

Her dark hair fell loose across her bare shoulders. The wine dress clung to her waist and the swell of her hips, catching the chandelier light above. In front, the neckline plunged low, showing the rise of her breasts and the pale hollow between them. She held the white gloves loose in one hand.

She stepped down toward the tables. With each stride, the long slit parted, showing her smooth leg all the way to the upper thigh.




A waiter carrying a silver tray stopped in the aisle. Along the edge of the dance floor, men waiting by the wall turned their heads to follow her walk.

Rohan could not pull his eyes away. He had seen the shoot photos. He had zoomed into the frames on his phone late at night. But a picture had edges, and a screen was flat. Seeing her in the flesh was completely different. The sway of her hips, the soft shift of her breasts with each step, the easy tilt of her chin, it hit him with a force that made his breath catch.

This was not a locked studio. She was out in the open, in a hall full of strangers. Every man near the floor was watching the woman who was about to marry him.

Isha looked across the tables, scanning the ringside tier. Her eyes swept past the dancers, searching the room until she spotted him.

Her gaze locked on his face, and a slow smile curved her lips. She paid no attention to the heads turning around her and walked straight toward his table.

Rohan pushed his chair back and stood up. His mouth had gone dry.

Just as she pulled her chair in, a waiter set a glass of wine before her. He told them dinner was ready whenever they wished to begin, bowed, and stepped away.

Isha laid her gloves on the white cloth. Rohan sat back down, his eyes still fixed on her, hardly blinking.

A warm flutter rose low in her belly. That stunned look on his face was something she could live on forever. She raised a hand and waved her fingers before his eyes.

“Hello,” she teased. “Earth to Rohan.”

He blinked, letting out a breath. “Sorry. You are stunning.”

“I can see it on your face.”

Rohan took a sip of his wine to wet his throat. She looked at his glass, then at hers.

“Since when do we drink,” she asked.

“Come on. It is just wine. Take a sip.”

“Only because the birthday boy asked.”

She lifted the glass and took a sip. The tart fruit rolled over her tongue, leaving a dry warmth down her throat. Across the small table, they kept their eyes on each other, taking sips until both glasses were empty. The unfamiliar alcohol sent a pleasant, loose warmth through her veins. Every few moments her gaze drifted to the recessed floor, watching the gowns swirl to the strings.

Rohan set his empty glass down.

“Shall we dance,” he asked.

She looked at the floor, then back at him. “Have you ever danced like this?”

“Never. What about you?”

“I am good at phugdi,” she said with a small laugh. “This looks very different.”

“Then you know how to move. Let us just copy the others.”

A song ended with a slow sweep of the violins. On the floor, couples paused and bowed to each other.

Rohan picked up his gloves. Isha picked up hers. They drew the white cotton over their fingers, smoothed the cuffs at their wrists, and stepped down toward the floor.

Other couples took their places around them.

The band began a steady, low waltz. Rohan took her left hand in his right, their gloved fingers interlocking. He placed his other hand at the curve of her hip. The silk was smooth and tight under his gloved palm, his fingers wrapping around to the dip of bare skin where the back plunged low. Isha set her free hand on his shoulder.

For the first few steps they watched an older couple nearby, copying their feet. One step to the side, then a turn. Rohan kept his eyes on his shoes, his jaw tense.

“Look up,” she whispered.

He looked at her face. A teasing smile sat on her mouth.




As they moved, she realized the rhythm was easy to follow, not nearly as complicated as it had looked from the table. She stepped in closer until the tips of her shoes almost touched his.

She rested her cheek against his chest.

Through his shirt and the wool of his tuxedo jacket, she felt the steady thud of his heart. Her breath warmed the silk of his tie. Looking down, Rohan had an open view down the plunge of her neckline. Her breasts rose with every breath, pressed so close to his chest that he felt their warmth through his clothes. The fresh scent of her hair rose to his nose.

The violins finished on a held chord. Isha stayed tucked against his lapel, her fingers locked tight in his glove. Neither of them loosened their hold.

The band started the next piece. The tempo lifted, the strings moving with a quicker bounce.

Couples began to glide across the floor in wider turns. Rohan moved with them, his steps easier now that he knew where to place his feet. As they turned, the high slit of her dress parted. Her bare thigh brushed against his trouser leg with each pivot, bare skin pressing dark wool.

Isha shifted her hand from his shoulder to the center of his chest. Her palm pressed flat against his shirt, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs.

“You dance well,” she said.

“I am only following you.”

“Liar.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright under the chandelier lights. He looked at her face, then down at the curve of her lips. Surrounded by turning strangers, the room felt as if it had narrowed to the space between their bodies.

The musicians wasted no time before starting the third piece. The rhythm quickened sharply. Around them, couples began spinning in fast, sweeping circles.

They tried to match the faster turns. Her dress swirled around her ankles, the slit flying open with each swing.

On a sharp pivot, Rohan misjudged his footing. The toe of his shoe caught her heel. He lost his balance and stumbled forward.

Isha gasped, hooking both arms around his neck. Rohan’s hands clamped hard around her waist to keep them from falling.

Their bodies collided flush together in the middle of the floor. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and her hips pressed tight to his thighs. He felt the curve of her stomach through the silk, and the heat of her bare leg between his knees.

Isha buried her face in the crook of his neck and let out a breathless laugh.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Lost my feet.”

“Hold me tighter,” she told him.

He pulled her closer, his gloves pressing the small of her back. She guided his first step, finding the beat again, and they slipped back into the turn. She kept her forehead under his chin until the song finished on a long, ringing note.

As the music stopped, they stepped back to catch their breath, creating space between them.

A silver-haired British man in his fifties stepped forward from the wall. He reached out and tapped Rohan’s shoulder.

Remembering what he had watched from the table, Rohan bowed to Isha and stepped aside to give way.

Isha froze. She had been upstairs getting ready while the dance started, and had no idea about the custom. Her eyes went wide, looking at Rohan, scared.

Rohan met her gaze. With a nod, his eyes told her it was all right. He backed away and took a place among the men waiting along the wall.

Isha looked around the floor. On every side, other men were cutting in, and women were taking their hands without fuss. Not wanting to be the odd one out, she stayed in her place.

The British gentleman bowed with old-fashioned courtesy. “May I, miss?” he asked in a mild voice.

Isha placed her gloved hand in his.

Her fear vanished as soon as they began to move. He kept an arm’s length of space between them, his posture upright. His hand rested light against her side, never pressing or pulling her closer. He stepped with steady precision, guiding her turns like an uncle leading a niece at a family function. Isha relaxed, matching his steps with an easy rhythm. The earlier stiffness left her ankles, and her body warmed to the floor.




From the wall, Rohan watched them across the room. The British gentleman’s steady turns had carried Isha toward the center of the hall, far from where Rohan stood. Only a few feet from her, a lean Indian man in a dark tailored suit was commanding the floor. He moved with effortless rhythm, hitting every beat with sharp footwork, other couples following his line.

The violins wound down, and the British gentleman brought Isha to a neat stop. He stepped back and offered a small bow. “Thank you, young lady.”

Isha dipped her head with a warm smile.

From the far end of the room, Rohan pushed off from the wall, stepping forward to reclaim her hand for the next song.

The distance was too great. The lean man was already right beside her. He released his partner, pivoted on his heel, and stepped directly in front of Isha with a bold grin. He extended a gloved hand. “May I?”

Isha saw Rohan starting across the hall, then looked at the lean man’s outstretched glove. The wine and the quick turns had shaken off her nerves, humming warm in her veins. She placed her fingers in his palm.

The band struck up a fast swing, the brass section blaring with energetic horns while the drums kicked into a driving beat.

Rohan stopped at the edge of the floor. A thick, swelling heat took his chest, holding him where he stood.

[Hotgiri]

Awasome update, keep posting regularly

Hi Lucifer - please add gif to this update

[Urupudathavan]

Sorry to say that this update is boring

[sakurasan]

Sorry to say that this update is boring

Sorry bro. In that case , you may have to skip next few chapters. It is going to be like this only

[Hotgiri]

It’s awasome update and build up of something awasome, please keep posting regularly

Lucifer- pls add gif as earlier

[sakurasan]

It’s awasome update and build up of something awasome, please keep posting regularly

Lucifer- pls add gif as earlier

Thanks for the support bro. 

Lucifer will add gifs when a scene needs that only. It will suit only sex scenes

[Hotgiri]

Keep posted regularly, I am daily chacking the story for updates

[Hotgiri]

Hi Lucifer- this writer need help to add gif in his story, could you please help him if possible
https://xossipy.com/thread-75658.html

[sakurasan]

Chapter 18 The Gloves — Part 2

The lean man pulled Isha right into the rhythm. His gloved hand caught the small of her bare back, pressing her close as he launched into a rapid series of turns. Isha matched him stride for stride. Her hips swayed with the sharp count of the horns, her heels snapping against the polished wood.

Every turn whipped the skirt outward. The slit opened high up her left side, exposing her bare thigh under the chandeliers. Men lining the wall turned their heads to watch her legs.

Rohan watched his fiancée moving in another man’s arms. He saw the confidence in her posture, her head thrown back, her upturned dark eyes flashing with delight. The lean man was bold with his hold. When the trumpets spiked, he shifted his hand from her waist to her ribs, his fingers resting just below the swell of her breast. He spun her out to the length of his arm, then reeled her back so fast her chest brushed his lapels.

Isha felt the man’s grip at her ribs, firm against her side. The rush of wind from the spin cooled the sweat along her neck. The speed of his lead took her breath away. She had no need to guess a step; his hands directed where to throw her weight.

In the middle of the floor, the lean man planted his feet. He slid one gloved arm deep under her left thigh, right through the parted slit, and hooked her leg up onto his hip. Isha gripped his shoulder and leaned back into the hold. Her bare thigh lay along his tuxedo. The silk fell away from her hips and clung tight across her belly and breasts. He turned with her weight on that hip. She felt his glove under her thigh and the heat of his body against the inside of her leg. Her standing heel barely met the wood.




A couple near them cheered.

Rohan felt his mouth go dry, a heavy thrum settling deep in his groin as he watched the man hold her bare thigh on his hip. Turning her like that for the ballroom to see sent a jolt through his veins that made his knees feel light. She was his, yet here she was, in the center of the room for everyone to see.

The man let her leg down off his hip and swept her straight into a deep back drop. He went down on one knee, supporting her spine inches above the parquet. Isha arched over his forearm, his arm taking her weight, the silk tight across her breasts, her throat bare.

As she hung over his arm, Isha’s eyes found Rohan through the crowd.

She looked straight at him. Her face was flushed with laughter, and her gaze stayed locked on his. She did not look away. In that suspended second, with another man’s arm under her back and his chest hovering over hers, her smile was only for Rohan.

The lean man hauled her back to her feet in one fluid lift, spinning her twice before the final drum roll hit.

People along the wall clapped. The lean man kept hold of her fingers, his chest heaving, his grin showing he wanted another round.

Rohan did not wait. He crossed the floor before anyone else could move. He reached them before the applause died down and tapped the lean man’s shoulder.

The lean man turned, his brow rising as he saw Rohan. A flicker of reluctance crossed his face, his fingers releasing Isha’s glove with obvious regret. He gave Rohan a wry nod, bowed to Isha, and backed away into the crowd.

Isha let out a breath, her cheeks glowing red. She looked at Rohan, her eyes bright and laughing.

The tempo did not jump. The band eased into a slow waltz, the cello carrying a long melody.

Rohan gathered her close, his right hand settling on the bare skin at the dip of her back. Isha rested both hands against his lapels, leaning into his chest. Her body was hot through the silk, her breath warm against his jaw. They moved in an easy turn, her head resting beneath his chin. After the wild spins with the stranger, the familiar hold was steady ground.

When the last chord trailed off, she stayed against his chest for a beat.

“I am starving,” she murmured.

Rohan chuckled, pressing his chin to her hair. “Then let us eat.”

He offered his arm. Isha curled her gloved hand through his elbow, and they walked off the floor to their ringside table.

A waiter pulled her chair out. Isha sat down. Rohan took his seat across from her. They peeled off their white gloves and laid them beside the silver cutlery.

The waiter brought soup, warm bread rolls, and platters of chicken and roasted vegetables. He poured fresh wine into their glasses, set a water pitcher between them, and stepped away.

Isha was hungry. She broke a roll, dipped her spoon into the broth, and ate with relish. Under the white tablecloth, she had slipped her feet out of her heels. Her bare foot found Rohan’s shin, her toes resting warm against the skin above his sock.




Rohan took his fork and ate, watching her across the candle. The food was good, but his throat was still warm from the sight of her on the floor.

Between bites, they watched the room. Isha broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in the broth. “This is much better than the college canteen,” she remarked.

“Anything is better than the canteen,” Rohan answered, taking a bite of chicken. “You like the wine?”

“It is nice. It makes the long day feel far away.” Her toes pressed against his calf, kneading the muscle under his trouser leg. “You look very handsome in that tux.”

“You are the one turning every head in the room.”

“Smooth talker,” she teased, watching him across the candle. “Eat your dinner.”

They finished their plates at an easy pace. The waiter cleared the platters and left them with the wine.

Around the arena, tables were emptying. The hotel dimmed the chandeliers, leaving amber light over the floor. The band took a slower turn. The trumpets and loud drums stopped. The pianist played long, low chords, and the violins drew out quiet notes. Couples on the floor moved closer, holding each other tight and swaying in place.

Rohan set his glass down. “Let us head up to the room,” he said.

Isha looked at the floor, then at him. “Already? The night is young.”

“It is late,” he said. “We have been on our feet since morning.”

“The wine woke me up,” she told him, her sole rubbing up the side of his knee. “I am not tired at all. I want to be back on the floor.”

“Isha.”

“It is only slow songs now, Rohan. Just one.”

She slipped into her heels and stood up. Rohan picked up their gloves. They pulled the cotton on, stepped down to the floor, and he drew her close.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, his palms pressing the bare skin at her back. Isha let her weight settle against him. She looped her arms around his neck, her fingers curling behind his collar, and rested her cheek against his throat.

With the music dragging out slow notes, Rohan took her full weight against his chest, swaying them in place. He felt the heavy warmth of her breasts flattening into his front, and the sink of her hips against his thighs with each slow pivot. The slit hung open, her bare leg resting against his trousers, almost as if he were carrying her as they swayed.

The song finished on a held chord. Rohan loosened his hold, shifting his hands to her waist to guide her toward the stairs.

“Upstairs now?” he asked.

Isha kept her arms around his neck, looking up with a teasing smile. “One more. Please. Just one.”

Rohan gave in with a soft laugh. “Just one.”

He pulled her back in. She leaned into him again, resting her forehead under his jaw while they swayed under the amber lights until the final note died away.

As they stepped back to catch their breath, a tap came on Rohan’s shoulder.

A well-built man had stepped in, offering his gloved hand. Rohan moved to give way, but Isha’s fingers tightened on his glove, holding him fast. Seeing the man wait, Rohan worked his fingers free from hers and stepped back to the wall.

Isha did not know she could refuse. With the man waiting and guests watching from the tables, she placed her hand in his. Her eyes followed Rohan to the wall. She looked at him as if he had given her away.

Rohan met her gaze and gave a small, helpless nod. He stayed where he was.

The band continued with another slow song. The man took her waist and drew her close until her front met his. Their steps were small, carrying them across the floor toward the far corner.

Isha kept her eyes locked on Rohan. She felt the man’s chest against her breasts and his glove steady at her waist. The slow steps kept her in that contact.

When a turn finally pulled her gaze toward the steps, the man looked down her neckline.

Rohan saw that look from the wall. Isha’s eyes were on the steps.

Having just carried her in his arms, Rohan knew the exact weight and warmth resting against that man's chest. He knew how soft her breasts felt pressed against a shirt, and the heat of her bare thigh against wool. He was tense and horny.

The song ended on a drawn-out note.

The man kept her pressed to his chest through the few seconds between songs, his arm across her back, her face turned toward the wall. The men along the wall saw his broad shoulders and how tight he held her. They stayed where they were.

Rohan wanted to cut in. The want made his legs feel heavy. He looked at Isha’s face for a sign. It was blank. Before he could decide, the man started moving her into the next song.

The music turned slower with her still against his chest, and he pulled her in tighter. He crushed her breasts against him. His hand moved down from her waist and gripped the top of her ass, holding her flush to his front. She felt uncomfortable the moment his hand took her there. This was her first time at a dance like this, and she did not know if she should do something about it. She stepped into the turn and brought them back across the floor, toward Rohan. On the next turn his thigh came through the open slit and pressed the inside of her bare leg, and his gloved fingers shifted onto that skin.

Rohan was close enough now that she could read his face.

From the wall, Rohan saw the man’s hand on her ass and the man’s leg between her bare thighs, the white glove against her skin. Rohan’s mouth tightened. His hands closed into fists at his sides. He took one step onto the floor to go to her. Her eyes were already on him, and she was still in the man’s arms. He stopped.

Over the man’s arm, Isha found Rohan’s face. He was clenching his jaw. For the first time, he looked possessive for her. That look made her happy, and she stopped thinking about what the other man was doing. Her eyes stayed on Rohan.



After the second song, she drew her hand back from the man’s glove.

“Thank you,” she said.

She left him in the corner of the floor and walked to the wall. She reached out, took Rohan by the wrist, and looked into his face.

“The room,” she said.

[Lucifer8797]

Let both the men who danced with her take her to room when rohan sleep and rohan should find isha in room with them when he wake up from sleep midnight…

[sakurasan]

Chapter 18 The Gloves — Part 3

They left the hall and took the lift up in silence. At the end of the quiet corridor, they stopped outside the honeymoon suite door.

Rohan took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

They stepped inside. The room was warm and still, the rose petals untouched on the bed under the hanging cupids.

Isha kicked off her heels and went straight into the bathroom.

By the time she came back out, Rohan had already changed. His rental tuxedo lay folded on the chair, with his white dress shirt thrown across the back. Through the glass door, she saw him standing out on the balcony in shorts and a t-shirt, leaning his forearms on the stone railing and looking out over the dark valley.

With the room to herself, Isha unzipped the side of her dress. She stepped out of the silk and laid it across the luggage bench. She peeled off the stick-on cups and put them back into her pouch, leaving herself in only the seamless nude thong.

She looked at her packed suitcase, then glanced at the chair. Rohan’s white formal shirt hung over the wood.

She walked over and picked it up. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and buttoned two buttons in the middle, leaving the collar and upper chest open. The hem fell past her hips, barely covering the high-cut curve of the nude thong, leaving her long legs bare.

She unlocked the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony.

The cold hill wind hit her at once. A shiver ran across her skin, and her nipples tightened into sharp points, pushing visibly against the white cotton.

Rohan turned around at the sound of the sliding glass.

His breath caught. He stared at her, his eyes taking in her bare legs, the white shirt barely reaching her hips, and her erect nipples straining the fabric.

Two wicker lounge chairs sat by the stone balustrade, facing the black drop of the valley. Rohan sat down in one, his bare knees cold in the night air.

Isha walked past him and sank into the other chair, curling her legs onto the cushion. The white shirt fell loose over her thighs.

“You brought that huge bag and you put on my dirty shirt,” he said, his voice low.

Isha lifted the collar to her nose and inhaled. “It smells like you,” she murmured.

She shifted back against the wicker and swung both legs across the space between their chairs, resting her calves across his thighs. With her legs stretched out, the hem of the shirt rode up past her hips. Her bare feet were cold against his skin.

“Press my feet,” she ordered, curling her toes against his shorts. “They hurt from all that dancing.”

Rohan took her feet into his hands. His thumbs pressed into the tight curve of her arches, working the sore muscles while her heels rested in his palms. “You would not quit the dance floor.”




Isha leaned back against the wicker, her lips curving into a teasing smile.

“I wanted to dance with you,” she said, curling her toes against his chest.

As he worked her arches, his gaze drifted past her ankles along her bare legs, and his breath caught. With her thighs parted across his lap, he had an open view between them. He had never heard of a nude thong. To his eyes, she wore nothing under his shirt. Yet between her thighs there was no hair or slit, only smooth, unbroken flesh that matched her skin. He forced his eyes back to her feet, his thumbs pressing on instinct, his mind spinning without the courage to ask.

She saw where his eyes had drifted. She acted as if she had not noticed. He would not be able to keep up his good-boy act for long.

“You were lazy,” she said. “You passed your work to other men.”

“I did not pass anything,” he said.

He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the ball of her foot, kissing the skin while his thumbs worked her toes.

A warm shiver ran up her leg. He had never kissed her feet before. No man did that unless he worshiped a woman, placing her above his own pride. She knew in that second how deeply he loved her. The thought tightened her throat. She could have reached down and pulled him into her arms, but she refused to acknowledge it in words. She was not going to let him off so easily.

She let out a breath, her toes curling against his lips, and kept her voice on the dance floor.

“You just backed away to the wall.”

“It was only dancing,” he reasoned, his hands sliding up to cup her ankles, his thumbs rubbing the tight cords behind her heels. He leaned down and kissed the bone of her ankle. “And they have rules to avoid direct contact.”

Isha arched an eyebrow, laughing softly. “They kissed me.”

“They only kissed your hand. That too over gloves,” Rohan said quickly, his palms smoothing up the sides of her calves to work out the stiffness. “That is standard manners in that kind of crowd.”

“Indeed. But what if?”

“It is a posh crowd. No one imposes on anyone,” Rohan said. His hands glided higher, kneading the soft curve of her calves, his throat tightening as his palms neared her knees. “It is like travelling in a crowded bus. People are close, bodies bump into each other, but nobody thinks anything of it.”

Isha stared at him, then burst into a laugh.

In her head, she knew no bus in Pune felt like that. The last man was barely dancing. He had gripped the top of her ass tight, crushed her breasts against his chest, and held her like that. She had seen Rohan ready to take that man on. Now he was acting like it was nothing. She let him think she believed him. Aloud, she only shook her head.

“A bus?” She laughed. “You will say anything to defend your laziness.”

His hands moved past her knees, smoothing along the skin of her thighs to the crease of her hips. His thumb brushed a thin ridge of cloth. He paused, tracing the seamless edge. It matched her skin so closely it had fooled his eyes. She was wearing panties after all.

“Ok. I agree everyone cut in,” he said.

“That is what I have been saying,” she said. “But you could have come in after one song.”

“That dancer fellow was right beside you, and fast.”

“What about that big guy. The song had a gap.”

“I was looking at someone else.”

“Liar. Your eyes were on me the whole time.”

She pulled her legs from his lap. Instead of staying in her chair, she slid across the small gap between them, stepped onto the cold tiles, and curled right into his lounge. She crowded into the wicker beside him, tucking her legs against his hip. Her bare thigh pressed flush along his shorts, her skin radiating heat against his, her face only inches from his cheek.

“If you had looked at anyone else, then you would have known.”

“All eyes were on you only.”

“All eyes are fine. What about yours.”

Rohan looked at her nipples pushing against his shirt. He pinched them both at once.

“Mine were on these.”

She remembered her plan. She looked at her phone. It was ten minutes to midnight.

“Wait here,” she said. “Come inside only when I say. No looking back.”

She went inside and pulled the curtain shut across the glass door.

Just as the clock was about to hit midnight, she called out, “Come in.”

Rohan stepped inside and stopped in surprise, his cock going hard in an instant. Isha lay on the bed in only her panties. Two small chocolate fudge cakes rested on top of her bare breasts, with a lit candle burning in the center of each. The dark cream held to her skin. Rohan walked to the side of the bed. As the clock hit twelve, she sang, “Happy birthday.”

[Hotgiri]

Awasome update, eagerly awaiting what will happen next

[Lucifer8797]

Wow awesome…

[prm.patil024]

lovely scripting

[sakurasan]

Chapter 19 Closing Eyes — Part 1

Isha lay on the bed in only her panties, the two fudge cakes on her bare breasts, and watched Rohan.

He stood at the side of the mattress. The flames stood straight in the cream. His eyes were wide on her chest. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

She looked at him. He was in a trance, and she thought, I am going to break this good boy tonight.

Rohan came close. His knees met the edge of the bed, and the heat of the two flames reached his mouth. He had never seen a grown woman's breasts live. All his knowledge of them had come from porn. His heart and his cock pulsed in the same beat. Just behind this fudge lay the breasts of his girl. The breasts he had seen in his dream every night were finally going to be live.

“Baby,” she said, “you can stare the full night.”

“Thanks.”

“What thanks. Blow the candles before the fire alarm triggers.”

“Sorry.”

He laughed once, bent over the cakes, and blew. “Happy birthday, good boy,” she said again. “Make a bad wish.” The flames went out.

She took the candles out of the fudge. She raised herself a little, and the cakes rose on her chest.

“Now feast your treat.”

Rohan sat on the bed at her left side. He bent to her left breast and put his mouth on the fudge, over the hole the candle had left. That was where her nipple had to be. He licked slowly into the hole. The cream was thick, and it smeared his nose and both cheeks as his face worked in the cake.

“Eat it fully,” she said. “If you dirty the bed, you are going to pay.”

“I can see the towel below you.”

“I know you will be clumsy.”

“You will see now how clean I eat my plate.”

He licked faster. The candle hole was a small well of fudge, and he dug at the bottom of it. Her nipple came up in the center. The areola spread around it, and past that a ring of bare skin, still walled in by the dark cream. He kept his tongue in the well until the nipple stood free, tipped with fudge, the areola bare, her skin pale at the rim, and the rest of that breast still under the cake.

“You can't free just one girl,” she said. “The other is crying.”

“Rescue coming.”

He swung a leg over her and straddled her hips. His cock lay between them under the shorts, and she felt the hardness. She could not tell his size through the shorts. She was happy. Her plan was working.

He lowered his face to her right breast and bit into the fudge. His teeth went through the cream and closed on her skin.

“You are becoming a tiger,” she said.

“Yes. I am going to eat the cake and what is below too.”

He bit again. The print of his teeth stood on her right breast, fudge caught in the mark. The sting hit her at once. It ached, and she wanted the next bite. She lifted that breast into his mouth.

The softness under his teeth made him bite harder. He felt the mark form, her skin giving and then holding the shape of his teeth. His cock pressed into her hips with the bite. He set a second mark beside the first, closer to the cake, where her nipple was still hidden. Chocolate and the taste of her skin were in his mouth. He wanted to eat down through the fudge until that nipple was in his teeth too.

She looked at the marks. They ached at the edge of the fudge, and the ache pleased her. The hardness stayed pressed between them. Heat came through his shorts, and then she felt him pulsing. She pushed her right breast against his mouth for the next mark.

He bit where the cake still covered her right nipple. The fudge broke, the nipple came up, and the skin around it showed. He raised his head. He could see both nipples now, and the skin around them. Both stood an inch out from her skin. He looked from the left to the right, and he felt proud.

“Do they always stand like this?”

“No. Only when some animals rub on me.”

“How many animals got them like this?”

“Four.”

“Only four?”

“Tonight's four.”

“That means it was like this all evening,” he said.

She felt shy to admit it.

“How is the taste?” she asked. “Did I choose the right cake for you?”

“It is too good.”

He bent to the side of her right breast. His tongue traced the curve, and the fudge loaded thick on it. His cheek rubbed the breast as his face turned. He felt how soft it was under that rub. He came up, kissed her on the lips, and pushed his tongue into her mouth. The cake was sweet and heavy between them. She licked it off his tongue. Her mouth was warm around it. She let his tongue go.

He turned to the side of her left breast. His tongue traced that curve and gathered another load, and his cheek rubbed across her as he worked. The breast shifted under his cheek. Fudge from his face smeared her skin. He came up and fed her again. She sucked the cream from his tongue. He felt the pull of her mouth until the tongue was clean, and then she released him.

Cake still sat on the outer side of her right breast. He set his cheek there. His tongue traced under the remaining fudge, and his cheek rubbed over a tooth mark while the tongue filled. The mark was warm against his cheek. He kissed her and gave her that tongue. She sealed her lips around it and sucked it in. Her mouth drew the tongue deeper, past the cake, and she sucked along it. He felt her lips tight and the pull taking him in. She kept sucking.

He went back to the side of her left breast and loaded his tongue a fourth time. His cheek pressed into her breast while his tongue traced the last thick cream. He slid that tongue into her mouth. She sucked it in again, and she thought, this is a cock. She chewed. The tongue was soft. Her teeth met through it, and the chew landed as a bite. The fudge spread between them. The bite was sharp, and her mouth stayed hot around it. She held him there. Then she opened her teeth.

“You bit me.”

“I thought it was something else,” she said.

“That is my tongue.”

“Sorry. Is it paining?”

“Not as paining as this,” he said.

His mouth dropped onto her chest. He bit her right breast, a small sharp bite, then another beside it, then another, fast, across the curve and over the marks he had already left. He caught the nipple in his teeth, let it go, and bit the skin under it. He moved to the left breast and the bites kept coming, around that nipple, down the side, and over the top. Fudge smeared his teeth. Each bite was shallow and quick, and the next one landed before the sting of the last had faded. She caught his hair. Both nipples stood among the bites, and he took each one in a quick nip and went on.

He sealed his mouth on her right breast and sucked. The pull was hard. He took the left and sucked that harder. She felt how wild he was. He was more forceful than Kunal.

She wondered how a man who acted like a saint could be this wild in bed. It made her more excited. The pain of the bites reached her as pleasure. She was happy. He was marking her as his. She did not tell him. If she told him, he would stop at once.

“Now I know why you always want many kids,” she said.

He lifted his mouth off her breast. “What is that?”

“I think you will drink all my milk and not give any to the kids.”

“That is a really interesting idea.”

He put his mouth back on her and sucked, as if he were already trying it.

Her body was shivering. She did not say she could not hold his weight. He knew. He got off her and lay on the bed at her right side.

“You said you would clean the plate. There is still cake between my breasts.”

“I kept it for this.”

He scooped the fudge from between her breasts onto his fingers. He set a finger on her belly button and drew the first letter of his name around it, with her belly button in the center. She took the cream from his fingers and drew the first letter of her name across his. He changed a curve. She pushed his hand and drew her line thicker. They both stayed on it, fingers in the fudge, her stomach under their hands, until the two letters had become one symbol. Others could see the letters in it only if one of them pointed them out.




“We should put this at the entrance of our home,” she said.

“Very good idea. Let me draw it on paper.”

“No need. Pick up my phone.”

Her phone was on the table, already pointed at the bed. He picked it up. The screen showed it was recording.

“Were you recording?”

“That’s my gift for you.”

He was happy. She was giving him the video. He could watch it every night. He aimed the phone at the symbol on her belly and took a picture. His hand stopped there. He did not lift the camera to her breasts.

“Don’t feel shy, birthday boy. Click me full.”

“Thank god for today.”

He stood on the bed and shot down at her. She lay on her back and posed for him, arms above her head, the mark on her belly, her breasts in the frame. He took picture after picture. Then he lay down beside her, and they looked at them.

“I will send it to you tomorrow,” she said.

“I am putting it as a poster in my room.”

“Idiot. What if others see.”

“They will feel envy of me.”

“Shameless. Then I am not sending it to you.”

“I was kidding. I will never show it to anyone.”

“Good.”

He put the phone aside and licked her belly clean. His tongue dug into her belly button. She jerked under it, ticklish, and he came up.

“See. The plate is clean.”

He tried to stand. She caught his hand.

“Not so fast.”

She scooped the cream off both his cheeks and rubbed it on her knees. He bent and licked it off. She traced a finger up her thighs, and his tongue followed her finger. She rubbed the rest on the skin just below her panty, where her thighs joined.

She thought of him as a fish, and she was leading him to her pussy. If he moved her panty, he wanted to fuck her, and she was going to make him the bad boy she wanted.

He licked the cream from that join. The smell of her pussy met him there. His nose pressed the panty over her, and his chin pushed up into the cloth from below, so his face was on her pussy through the panty while his tongue cleaned the skin under it. Each lick brought his chin harder against her, and the smell stayed in every breath.

His face was wedged at her crotch. The musk of her pussy had him. If he stayed even a moment, he would fuck her. He stood up.

“I am calling dibs on the bathroom.”

He washed his face.

She had been sure, and she had been that close. The game was not over. She cleaned the bed and went to the bathroom. He was already done.

“All yours, milady.”

He came out. She started the shower. She had seen him hard in his shorts when he went to the bathroom. She thought she would finish fast and go catch her fish.

Rohan lay on his stomach, and the day ran through his mind. He knew she would be perfectly willing if he fucked her. His heart and his mind were pulling two ways.

His heart said their love was strong. A big cock could not threaten it. He was five inches, an ordinary size, and that was normal for making love. He had read journal after journal that said so. He had even read studies of women whose husbands had bigger cocks and who cheated all the same, and studies that said a smaller husband left a woman comfortable. Those pages had settled him. Get naked, his heart said. When she comes out, she will take the rest.

His mind said, should we take this risk. What if the porn sites are true. What if her body prefers Kunal to him. He could give up anything in his life except her. He could not imagine a future without her. Control your cock until you tie the knot. Be selfish for one thing in your life.

The mind won. He lay as he was and started to thrust against the bed. The dance floor was in his head, and her breasts. He came in five minutes and drifted to sleep in that same position.

The fudge had left her breasts, her belly, and her thighs buttery and sticky. They would not come clean. She soaped them and soaped them again. The shower ran long.

When she came out, he was already snoring, mild and steady. She put on a panty and lay next to him. She pulled his sleeping face to her breasts and whispered, “Today you won the battle, good boy. But the war is not over yet.”

They slept the night like that, his face between her breasts, holding each other.

[Hotgiri]

Awasome update

Lucifer please add gif to this update if possible

[prm.patil]

great going..

[sakurasan]

Any idea when we can upload images again