31-08-2025, 09:11 PM
Saga 2 - Scene 2 - Baba ka powder
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Murari: Madam, you are saving him! But the fakir said… he said the final cure… is for his body to remember how to be a man.
Dipa understood. In her altered state, it was the most logical, most holy thing in the world.
Dipa: Yes. Of course. That is the final part of the ritual.
She reached down and slowly, gracefully, peeled her panties down her legs, her movements feeling profound and significant. As she lay naked on the cot, Keshav, who moments ago was a near-corpse, moved over her. His erection was thick and hard, a full 8 inches, the foreskin pulled back to reveal a dark, glistening head.
Dipa: The curse… it is breaking… I can feel it…
Keshav positioned himself between her legs. Her vagina was already slick and flooded, not just with the usual juices of arousal, but with a copious, frictionless wetness that seemed to be a product of the drug itself. Her muscles were completely relaxed, her body open and receptive. She felt no fear, only a deep sense of purpose. He entered her with a single, smooth push, his entire length sliding deep inside her. The sensation was not of being penetrated, but of being completed. It was a joining of energies, the final step in the circuit.
Keshav: Oh… madam… you are… so wet… so tight…
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that felt smooth and watery. Murari, watching from the side, had a wicked, triumphant smirk on his face—a truly harami expression. He saw his plan working perfectly.
Dipa: Yes… slowly… I can feel the sickness leaving you… your energy is returning…
Keshav: Your pussy… it feels like heaven…
His pace began to quicken, his thrusts growing deeper and harder. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the small hut, but to Dipa, it was a help she was giving. Her own wetness was increasing with every stroke, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around his cock. As he fucked her, Murari knelt beside the cot.
Murari: I must assist Memsahab! I must channel my energy to help my brother!
He took her free, dangling breast in his mouth and began to suckle, his hands roaming her body, squeezing her hips, her thighs. Dipa was in another dimension, her body a vessel for healing, the thrusts of the cock inside her and Murari's mouth on her breast, they were pure bliss for Dipa.
Murari: (whispering to his brother) See, Keshav? I told you that baba's powder would work! Look at her!
Keshav: (panting) She is gone, in another dimension, bhai! This is the best fucking of my life! She’s taking every inch!
Murari: I told you my plan was perfect. She believed every word. She thinks she’s healing you!
In her psychedelic haze, Dipa barely registered their words. They were like the buzzing of flies on a distant shore. She only felt the pleasure, the power, the profound sense of purpose. She was saving them. She was their Memsahab.
Murari: Keshav, let me come on top of her now. It is my turn to receive the Memsahab’s blessing.
Keshav pulled out his penis with a wet squelch and moved to the side of the cot. Murari immediately took his place, positioning his own thick, hard cock at her entrance.
Murari: Madam… Dipa… I have dreamed of this moment.
He pushed inside her, filling her completely.
Murari: Ahhh, yes… just as I imagined. Tighter than I dreamed.
He began to move, his rhythm hard and fast from the start.
Murari: I have watched you, you know. Sometimes, in the morning, I deliver goods near your house. I have seen you on your balcony, stretching in the sun. I have watched your huge boobs bouncing, and I have jerked off thinking about them. I told myself, one day, Murari, one day you will fuck that high-class Memsahab. You will bury your cock deep in her pussy.
He thrust deeper, pushing the air from her lungs.
Dipa: (gasping) Yes… more… heal him too…
Murari: Heal? Oh yes, I am being healed. I am fucking you so hard, Dipa. You feel so good. You taste so good. Your milk, your pussy… it’s all for me now. For us. We own you.
He grabbed her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he pounded into her. She felt no pain, only an intensification of the ecstatic, swirling energy that consumed her. He was a force of nature, a storm, and she was the earth receiving his rain.
After several minutes, he slowed his pace, his body still buried deep inside her. Keshav moved up to her head.
Keshav: Memsahab, you face is so beautiful I want to kiss you. Your lips… they look so soft.
Dipa: (dizzy, her voice a whisper) Yes… come close.
Keshav lowered his head, his mouth claiming hers. The kiss was not gentle. It was brutal, possessive. He forced his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her, tasting the prasad, tasting his victory.
Keshav: Mmmmmm… you taste amazing, such soft lips. Like sin. Let me drink your breath.
He sucked on her tongue, biting her lower lip, his hands tangling in her hair, holding her head still. He kissed her with a deep, consuming hunger, as if he could devour her very essence. Dipa responded with equal passion, her own tongue wrestling with his, her body arching up to meet Murari’s slow, deep thrusts from below. She was being possessed, consumed from both ends, a willing sacrifice on the altar of her own divine delusion.
To be continued..
========================
Murari: Madam, you are saving him! But the fakir said… he said the final cure… is for his body to remember how to be a man.
Dipa understood. In her altered state, it was the most logical, most holy thing in the world.
Dipa: Yes. Of course. That is the final part of the ritual.
She reached down and slowly, gracefully, peeled her panties down her legs, her movements feeling profound and significant. As she lay naked on the cot, Keshav, who moments ago was a near-corpse, moved over her. His erection was thick and hard, a full 8 inches, the foreskin pulled back to reveal a dark, glistening head.
Dipa: The curse… it is breaking… I can feel it…
Keshav positioned himself between her legs. Her vagina was already slick and flooded, not just with the usual juices of arousal, but with a copious, frictionless wetness that seemed to be a product of the drug itself. Her muscles were completely relaxed, her body open and receptive. She felt no fear, only a deep sense of purpose. He entered her with a single, smooth push, his entire length sliding deep inside her. The sensation was not of being penetrated, but of being completed. It was a joining of energies, the final step in the circuit.
Keshav: Oh… madam… you are… so wet… so tight…
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that felt smooth and watery. Murari, watching from the side, had a wicked, triumphant smirk on his face—a truly harami expression. He saw his plan working perfectly.
Dipa: Yes… slowly… I can feel the sickness leaving you… your energy is returning…
Keshav: Your pussy… it feels like heaven…
His pace began to quicken, his thrusts growing deeper and harder. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting echoed in the small hut, but to Dipa, it was a help she was giving. Her own wetness was increasing with every stroke, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around his cock. As he fucked her, Murari knelt beside the cot.
Murari: I must assist Memsahab! I must channel my energy to help my brother!
He took her free, dangling breast in his mouth and began to suckle, his hands roaming her body, squeezing her hips, her thighs. Dipa was in another dimension, her body a vessel for healing, the thrusts of the cock inside her and Murari's mouth on her breast, they were pure bliss for Dipa.
Murari: (whispering to his brother) See, Keshav? I told you that baba's powder would work! Look at her!
Keshav: (panting) She is gone, in another dimension, bhai! This is the best fucking of my life! She’s taking every inch!
Murari: I told you my plan was perfect. She believed every word. She thinks she’s healing you!
In her psychedelic haze, Dipa barely registered their words. They were like the buzzing of flies on a distant shore. She only felt the pleasure, the power, the profound sense of purpose. She was saving them. She was their Memsahab.
Murari: Keshav, let me come on top of her now. It is my turn to receive the Memsahab’s blessing.
Keshav pulled out his penis with a wet squelch and moved to the side of the cot. Murari immediately took his place, positioning his own thick, hard cock at her entrance.
Murari: Madam… Dipa… I have dreamed of this moment.
He pushed inside her, filling her completely.
Murari: Ahhh, yes… just as I imagined. Tighter than I dreamed.
He began to move, his rhythm hard and fast from the start.
Murari: I have watched you, you know. Sometimes, in the morning, I deliver goods near your house. I have seen you on your balcony, stretching in the sun. I have watched your huge boobs bouncing, and I have jerked off thinking about them. I told myself, one day, Murari, one day you will fuck that high-class Memsahab. You will bury your cock deep in her pussy.
He thrust deeper, pushing the air from her lungs.
Dipa: (gasping) Yes… more… heal him too…
Murari: Heal? Oh yes, I am being healed. I am fucking you so hard, Dipa. You feel so good. You taste so good. Your milk, your pussy… it’s all for me now. For us. We own you.
He grabbed her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he pounded into her. She felt no pain, only an intensification of the ecstatic, swirling energy that consumed her. He was a force of nature, a storm, and she was the earth receiving his rain.
After several minutes, he slowed his pace, his body still buried deep inside her. Keshav moved up to her head.
Keshav: Memsahab, you face is so beautiful I want to kiss you. Your lips… they look so soft.
Dipa: (dizzy, her voice a whisper) Yes… come close.
Keshav lowered his head, his mouth claiming hers. The kiss was not gentle. It was brutal, possessive. He forced his tongue deep into her mouth, tasting her, tasting the prasad, tasting his victory.
Keshav: Mmmmmm… you taste amazing, such soft lips. Like sin. Let me drink your breath.
He sucked on her tongue, biting her lower lip, his hands tangling in her hair, holding her head still. He kissed her with a deep, consuming hunger, as if he could devour her very essence. Dipa responded with equal passion, her own tongue wrestling with his, her body arching up to meet Murari’s slow, deep thrusts from below. She was being possessed, consumed from both ends, a willing sacrifice on the altar of her own divine delusion.
To be continued..
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The erotic writer.
The erotic writer.
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