Misc. Erotica The Art of Falling - the story of Sejal Sharma

[chickenpakoda]

Chapter 4:  The Pact

Sejal woke with a gasp, her skin still humming from phantom touches. The sheets beneath her were impossibly soft—Egyptian 

cotton, no doubt—and the scent of jasmine, leather, and expensive cologne clung to her bare skin like invisible fingerprints.

Where—?

Memories flickered like a half-remembered dream.

Nandini’s smirk in the dim lounge light. The way Mark had stormed out, leaving her flushed and exposed. The Malhotras’ shared glance—predatory, possessive—before Nandini had murmured, "Let’s take this somewhere private."

Sejal sat up, the silk sheets slipping from her breasts, nipples still stiff from earlier attention. Her waitress uniform lay discarded on the floor, the black velvet shirt torn open, one sleeve hanging like a ghost of innocence. Her black lace panties were nowhere in 
sight. A bruise bloomed on her hip in the shape of fingers. Between her thighs, she still throbbed.

Oh god.

She could only remember the limo.

The partition was up. The city blurred past, but all Sejal could see was Rajan's large, warm hand sliding beneath her skirt, his knuckles pressing against the slick heat between her legs. His breath was thick against her ear.

She was sandwiched between them, every inch of her surrounded by heat and hunger. Nandini’s fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her into a kiss that stole the air from her lungs. Her tongue was commanding, exploring, tasting. Her thigh pressed between Sejal’s legs as Rajan worked her skirt up to her waist.

"No panties," Rajan murmured, voice low. His fingers grazed her folds. "Such a needy little thing."

Nandini climbed into her lap, breasts pressing against Sejal’s. She took Sejal’s hands and placed them on her own hips. "Touch me. Show us you deserve this."

Sejal obeyed.

Nandini kissed her again, her hands pulling open Sejal’s shirt. Buttons popped, exposing her black lace bra, the fabric already damp where Rajan’s thumb circled her nipple through the lace.

"On your knees," Nandini whispered.

Sejal slid down between them, her cheek brushing the leather seat, the tension in her thighs turning molten as Rajan gripped her chin and tilted her head up. His kiss was rough, dominant, while his other hand stayed busy between her legs, fingers slick with arousal.

"Look at how soaked you are," he growled. "You want to come like a slut in the back of a limo? Say it."

"Yes," Sejal moaned. "Please—please, I want to."

"You don’t come until we tell you," Nandini said sharply, slapping Sejal’s thigh. The sting bloomed into heat. "You belong to us tonight. Your pleasure is ours to give."

The penthouse elevator opened directly into sleek marble and shadows. Rajan didn’t wait. He lifted Sejal into his arms effortlessly, carrying her through the modern opulence of glass walls and low lighting. Nandini led the way, shrugging off her robe to reveal bare curves and long legs that moved with feline ease.

The bedroom swallowed them in silk and dim golden light. Sejal was tossed onto the bed, her skirt rucked up, legs parted without modesty. Rajan fell to his knees before her.

"Hold her down," he ordered.

Nandini straddled Sejal’s chest, her thighs pressing into her ribs. She leaned forward, palms pinning Sejal’s wrists into the mattress, her breasts inches from Sejal’s face.

Rajan poured a trail of whiskey between Sejal’s thighs. The cold shock made her cry out.

Then Nandini was there, her mouth hot and merciless. She licked slowly, collecting the liquor drop by drop, her tongue dragging through Sejal’s folds. Sejal screamed, her hips bucking into Nandini’s mouth.

"Stay. Still," Rajan growled, gripping Sejal’s thighs and holding her down.

Nandini moaned softly against her, sending vibrations through her clit. Sejal writhed under them, barely able to breathe.

"Beg."

"Please—please let me come. I need it. I’ll do anything—"

Rajan’s fingers replaced Nandini’s mouth, pushing inside, stretching her. Two thick fingers curling just right. Sejal thrashed.

"Say who you belong to."

"You—I belong to you. I’m yours!"

"Good girl," Nandini whispered, flicking her tongue again.

That was all it took. Sejal came hard, her cry echoing, her muscles locking tight as heat flooded her.

Later, Sejal lay breathless between them, bruises like kisses blooming across her breasts and thighs. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as Nandini crawled over her, straddling her hips and leaning in.

"Touch me," Nandini whispered, guiding Sejal’s hand between her own legs.

Sejal obeyed, two fingers sliding into soaked heat as Nandini rocked into her hand. The look in her eyes was feral. Rajan sat behind her, hands gripping her waist, whispering filth in her ear as she chased her own climax.

When Nandini came, she bit Sejal’s shoulder, marking her again.

Rajan pulled Sejal into his lap, her back to his chest. His cock pressed hard against her ass as he cupped her breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples until she was trembling again.

"One more," he whispered. "You can give us one more."

Rajan didn’t wait.


With one arm still around her waist, he lifted Sejal slightly and slid his cock inside her in one deep, claiming thrust. She gasped—half shock, half pleasure—as her body arched into the intrusion. Her muscles clenched around him instinctively, still sensitive, still dripping. Behind her, his breath was ragged, his mouth pressed to her neck.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” he growled, thrusting again—slow, deliberate, each movement designed to make her feel completely filled.

In front of her, Nandini had gone feral. Her lips closed over Sejal’s collarbone, sucking hard, biting until Sejal whimpered. Then her teeth moved lower, grazing along the swell of Sejal’s breasts, leaving little bruises and wet kisses as Rajan fucked her from behind.

Sejal moaned openly, her body suspended between them, pleasure spiraling tighter with each stroke. Rajan’s grip on her hips grew rougher, his pace quicker. Nandini kept up her assault—tongue flicking over a nipple before she bit down again, hard enough to make Sejal cry out, her whole body jerking in response.

“You like this, don’t you?” Nandini murmured darkly, watching her squirm. “Being used. Being marked.”

Rajan’s rhythm turned urgent, his breath coming in short bursts as Sejal tightened around him. Her hands clawed at the sheets, her body trembling, her moans becoming cries.

“Come for us,” Rajan groaned, his fingers digging into her hips. “Now.”

And she did—helpless and raw. Her body convulsed around him, wet and shuddering. Nandini bit down on her neck just as the climax hit, her teeth sinking in as if to brand her again.

Rajan barely held back. With a deep groan, he pulled out at the last moment, stroking himself once, twice—then coming in hot, thick spurts across the curve of Sejal’s ass. He let out a broken sound, collapsing against her back, his breath hot against her ear.

They stayed like that for a moment—sweat-slicked bodies tangled, bruised and bitten, trembling in the aftermath.

Then Nandini leaned in, licking a trail up Sejal’s spine like she was savoring the taste of her.

“Good girl,” she whispered, her voice a purr. “You’ll remember this.

Back in the steam of the penthouse bathroom, Sejal stood motionless under the hot water. Her body bore the evidence of the night—finger marks, reddened skin, the ache between her legs still blooming. The shower didn’t wash it away. It soaked into her.

She stepped out, skin flushed and hair dripping.

On the vanity: a sleek black dress. A note.

Wear this. We’ll send for you tonight.

Her hands trembled slightly as she picked it up. Her thighs still sticky. Her lips raw.

Her reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable.

Not innocent.

Not afraid.

Just hungry.

She slipped into the dress without hesitation.

One more night, she told herself.

But the truth was undeniable:


She was theirs—and she wanted to be.