24-03-2025, 11:35 PM
Arjun slumped back in the lounge chair, his breath still ragged, Ruby kneeling before him, her mascara-streaked face glowing with those happy tears, her ghagra crumpled around her thighs, her bare breasts heaving from the reverse deepthroat. The lounge’s glass wall framed the tarmac’s chaos—planes taxying, their silver hulls glinting in the Mumbai sun, a faint roar seeping through the soundproof panes. The air hung heavy with their musk, her sweat, and the jasmine diffuser’s lingering sweetness, the rug beneath her knees plush and stained with a faint drip of his cum she hadn’t caught.
He reached into his duffel, pulling out a slim checkbook—a habit he kept despite the digital age, the leather cover worn from use. “Wedding gift,” he said, voice rough but warm, scribbling a number with a quick flick of his pen. He tore it off, handing it to her, the paper crisp between his fingers. “Don’t spend it all on ghagras.”
Ruby took it, her hands still trembling from their encounter, her eyes flicking to his softening cock, still glistening from her mouth, far more enticing to her than the check. She glanced down, expecting a token amount—maybe a lakh or two—but the zeros hit her like a slap: fifty lakhs. Fifty fucking lakhs. Her breath caught, her chest tightening, tears welling fresh as she stared, stunned. “Master…” she whispered, voice cracking, her fingers clutching the paper like it might vanish. She was still in shock, emotions swirling—gratitude, disbelief, a pang of loss—as Arjun stood, stretching, and ambled toward the washroom, leaving the door wide open.
The click of his shoes on the marble snapped her back. She scrambled up, her ghagra rustling, her boobs still out, nipples red and tender from his pinches, and darted after him. He stood at the commode, pants unzipped, pissing with a lazy arc, the sound a soft splash against the porcelain. Ruby dropped to her knees beside it, the cold tile biting her skin, her wide smile breaking through the shock. “Master, sorry,” she said, voice thick with submission, her hands reaching for him. “I was careless—forgot my duty.” Before he could react, she took his pissing dick in her mouth, the warm stream hitting her tongue, her lips closing around him with a reverent grin. She swallowed quick, a faint gag as the taste—sharp, salty—mixed with the lingering flavor of his cum, her crooked teeth brushing him as she sucked, her eyes locked on his with pure devotion.
Arjun groaned, half-laughing, shaking his head as he finished, her mouth still on him, cleaning him with that snake-like tongue. She pulled back, panting, her chin wet, mascara fully smeared now, a black halo framing her beaming face. “Don’t forget, Master,” she said, her voice a playful plea, her hands resting on his thighs. “You’ve got birth rights to my body—always will. Wedding or not.”
He smirked, zipping up, his hand ruffling her hair like she was a pet. “Noted, Ruby. Enjoy the tub—and that check.” He stepped out, leaving her there, her ghagra pooling around her as she climbed into the sleek bathtub, the hot water valve hissing as she turned it on. Steam rose, curling around her bare skin, her breasts bobbing as she sank in, the check clutched tight in one hand, her eyes still on the door he’d left through.
The lounge staff reappeared moments later—two men in crisp uniforms, rolling in a mobile check-in cart, their faces neutral as if they hadn’t heard her gagging minutes ago. “Sir, your flight’s ready,” one said, bowing slightly, scanning his passport and boarding pass right there in the lobby. Arjun nodded, grabbing his duffel, his cement-colored pants and white shirt still casual, unrumpled despite the chaos Ruby had wrought. “Let’s go,” he said, voice steady, and they escorted him out, bypassing the terminal’s crowds.
He boarded the private jet—a sleek Gulfstream, its interior all cream leather and polished wood, the family crest subtle on the headrests—directly from the lounge’s private gate. The captain tipped his cap, engines already warming, and Arjun settled into a window seat, the Mumbai skyline shrinking as they taxied. Ruby’s taste lingered—chai, mint, his cum, her tears—and that fifty lakhs would set her up, but his mind was already drifting, four months ahead, back to Maya’s fire.
He reached into his duffel, pulling out a slim checkbook—a habit he kept despite the digital age, the leather cover worn from use. “Wedding gift,” he said, voice rough but warm, scribbling a number with a quick flick of his pen. He tore it off, handing it to her, the paper crisp between his fingers. “Don’t spend it all on ghagras.”
Ruby took it, her hands still trembling from their encounter, her eyes flicking to his softening cock, still glistening from her mouth, far more enticing to her than the check. She glanced down, expecting a token amount—maybe a lakh or two—but the zeros hit her like a slap: fifty lakhs. Fifty fucking lakhs. Her breath caught, her chest tightening, tears welling fresh as she stared, stunned. “Master…” she whispered, voice cracking, her fingers clutching the paper like it might vanish. She was still in shock, emotions swirling—gratitude, disbelief, a pang of loss—as Arjun stood, stretching, and ambled toward the washroom, leaving the door wide open.
The click of his shoes on the marble snapped her back. She scrambled up, her ghagra rustling, her boobs still out, nipples red and tender from his pinches, and darted after him. He stood at the commode, pants unzipped, pissing with a lazy arc, the sound a soft splash against the porcelain. Ruby dropped to her knees beside it, the cold tile biting her skin, her wide smile breaking through the shock. “Master, sorry,” she said, voice thick with submission, her hands reaching for him. “I was careless—forgot my duty.” Before he could react, she took his pissing dick in her mouth, the warm stream hitting her tongue, her lips closing around him with a reverent grin. She swallowed quick, a faint gag as the taste—sharp, salty—mixed with the lingering flavor of his cum, her crooked teeth brushing him as she sucked, her eyes locked on his with pure devotion.
Arjun groaned, half-laughing, shaking his head as he finished, her mouth still on him, cleaning him with that snake-like tongue. She pulled back, panting, her chin wet, mascara fully smeared now, a black halo framing her beaming face. “Don’t forget, Master,” she said, her voice a playful plea, her hands resting on his thighs. “You’ve got birth rights to my body—always will. Wedding or not.”
He smirked, zipping up, his hand ruffling her hair like she was a pet. “Noted, Ruby. Enjoy the tub—and that check.” He stepped out, leaving her there, her ghagra pooling around her as she climbed into the sleek bathtub, the hot water valve hissing as she turned it on. Steam rose, curling around her bare skin, her breasts bobbing as she sank in, the check clutched tight in one hand, her eyes still on the door he’d left through.
The lounge staff reappeared moments later—two men in crisp uniforms, rolling in a mobile check-in cart, their faces neutral as if they hadn’t heard her gagging minutes ago. “Sir, your flight’s ready,” one said, bowing slightly, scanning his passport and boarding pass right there in the lobby. Arjun nodded, grabbing his duffel, his cement-colored pants and white shirt still casual, unrumpled despite the chaos Ruby had wrought. “Let’s go,” he said, voice steady, and they escorted him out, bypassing the terminal’s crowds.
He boarded the private jet—a sleek Gulfstream, its interior all cream leather and polished wood, the family crest subtle on the headrests—directly from the lounge’s private gate. The captain tipped his cap, engines already warming, and Arjun settled into a window seat, the Mumbai skyline shrinking as they taxied. Ruby’s taste lingered—chai, mint, his cum, her tears—and that fifty lakhs would set her up, but his mind was already drifting, four months ahead, back to Maya’s fire.
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