01-09-2025, 01:24 PM
Saga 4 - Scene 2 - Arun ka bulge
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Sameer: Well, I’m off to the office. Try not to… start any new charities without me today.
He gave Dipa a meaningful, hungry look and a quick kiss before heading out the door. The house fell quiet, save for the gentle clatter of plates from the kitchen and Tukun’s soft cooing from his cradle.
Dipa: Arun, you can leave the dishes for now. I’m sure there are other things to do.
Arun: It is no trouble, Madam. I will finish this quickly and then sweep and mop the floors.
His voice was polite, his demeanor perfectly professional. Dipa nodded and went into the bedroom, closing the door most of the way but leaving it slightly ajar. She lifted Tukun from his cradle and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling down the strap of her tank top to free a breast.
Tukun latched on, his little mouth working greedily. Dipa hummed a soft tune, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
In the living room, Arun finished cleaning the dining table. He moved through the house with a quiet efficiency, his broom whispering against the marble floor. As he worked his way toward the bedroom, he slowed. Through the crack in the door, he could see her. Madam Dipa. She was sitting on the bed, her back partially to him, feeding her son. All he could see was the soft curve of her bare shoulder and the top of the impossibly large, white breast her baby was feeding from. He stopped, mesmerized.
Just then, Tukun, having had his fill, pulled away from the nipple, letting out a small cry of protest as he did.
Dipa: Oh, you’re finished already, my little monster? No, no more for now.
She held the baby away from her chest for a moment to burp him. In that instant, Arun got a perfect, unobstructed view of her breast. It was magnificent—a huge, perfectly round globe of pale, milky flesh, veined with faint blue lines. And the nipple… it was the biggest he had ever seen, even in the dirty magazines the other restaurant boys passed around. It was long and thick, a deep, dusky brown, still wet and glistening with milk and baby saliva. Tukun, seeing his prize being withheld, began to cry and reach for it again, his tiny hand batting at the glorious flesh.
Dipa: No, Tukun baba. You are full.
A wave of intense, primal heat shot through Arun’s body. His cock, which had been semi-aroused since the moment he saw her that morning, throbbed and hardened into a painful, pulsating rod in his pants. It was the first time he had seen a woman’s nipple so close in real life. He felt a desperate urge to rush in, to push the baby aside and put his own mouth there. He took a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the broom handle. With a monumental effort of will, he turned away from the door and silently continued sweeping the rest of the house, the stunning image of her breast burned permanently into his mind.
That night, Dipa was jolted awake by a faint sound. A rhythmic, muffled thumping. It seemed to be coming from the main bathroom down the hall. Sameer was snoring softly beside her. Tukun was silent.
Curiosity overriding her caution, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. The house was dark, save for a sliver of light from under the bathroom door. She crept closer. The sound was clearer now. It was the sound of a hand slapping against wet flesh, accompanied by low, guttural groans.
Her heart began to pound. Arun.
She leaned in, pressing her eye to the tiny gap between the door and the frame. She could just barely peek inside. What she saw made her gasp.
Arun was standing in front of the wash basin, completely naked. He was even more impressively built than she had realized, his lean body a corded map of muscle. In his left hand, he was holding a photograph. Her photograph. The one from their wedding anniversary that sat on the living room mantelpiece. And in his right hand, he was holding his cock.
It was a monster. Even from her limited vantage point, she could see it was impossibly long and thick, far larger than Sameer’s, bigger even than the ones from her… her dreams. A full nine inches, at least, rigid and glistening. He was staring intently at her picture, his hips thrusting as he masturbated with a desperate, frantic rhythm.
Arun: (a low, ragged whisper) Dipa… Madam… oh, Dipa… so beautiful… your breasts… your milk… ahhh…
Dipa stood frozen, a voyeur in her own home. She was shocked, horrified… and intensely, undeniably aroused. She should have been angry, should have felt violated. Instead, a hot, liquid feeling pooled between her legs. The sight of his massive penis, the sound of him groaning her name, the knowledge of his raw, private lust for her—it was an intoxicating cocktail of fear and power.
She kept looking. She watched as his pace quickened, his groans becoming louder, his body tensing.
Arun: Oh, fuck… Madam… I’m… I’m going to cum!
With a final, guttural roar, he exploded. A huge amount of thick, white sperm shot from the end of his cock, splattering all over the inside of the white porcelain wash basin. He panted, his body trembling, then leaned over and began to calmly clean the head of his penis with a wet cloth.
Dipa backed away from the door, her own body trembling. She went straight back to her bed, her mind reeling. This boy is already lusting over me. The thought was terrifying. And thrilling. The image of his nine-inch long, fully erect penis was stuck in her mind, replaying over and over. She was suddenly, desperately excited in her own bed.
She slid a hand down her belly, over the silk of her shorts. She applied some saliva to her fingers, then pushed her hand down, inside her panties. Her fingers found her clit, already swollen and slick. She began to touch herself, her movements hesitant at first, then more confident as the memory of Arun’s raw display fueled her.
Her breath hitched, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She bit down on her knuckle to stifle the sound. Her hips began to move, a slow, desperate rhythm against her own hand. The pleasure was sharp, intense, building faster than she could have imagined. Her moans became louder, muffled by her hand. It was too much.
Dipa: (a choked whisper) Woah… that was… too much…
Her body convulsed, a silent, powerful climax shaking her from head to toe. She lay there, panting in the dark, her body slick with sweat.
Dipa: (to herself) Not back to sleep… I will see what I have to do in the morning.
To be Continued..
=======================
Sameer: Well, I’m off to the office. Try not to… start any new charities without me today.
He gave Dipa a meaningful, hungry look and a quick kiss before heading out the door. The house fell quiet, save for the gentle clatter of plates from the kitchen and Tukun’s soft cooing from his cradle.
Dipa: Arun, you can leave the dishes for now. I’m sure there are other things to do.
Arun: It is no trouble, Madam. I will finish this quickly and then sweep and mop the floors.
His voice was polite, his demeanor perfectly professional. Dipa nodded and went into the bedroom, closing the door most of the way but leaving it slightly ajar. She lifted Tukun from his cradle and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling down the strap of her tank top to free a breast.
Tukun latched on, his little mouth working greedily. Dipa hummed a soft tune, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
In the living room, Arun finished cleaning the dining table. He moved through the house with a quiet efficiency, his broom whispering against the marble floor. As he worked his way toward the bedroom, he slowed. Through the crack in the door, he could see her. Madam Dipa. She was sitting on the bed, her back partially to him, feeding her son. All he could see was the soft curve of her bare shoulder and the top of the impossibly large, white breast her baby was feeding from. He stopped, mesmerized.
Just then, Tukun, having had his fill, pulled away from the nipple, letting out a small cry of protest as he did.
Dipa: Oh, you’re finished already, my little monster? No, no more for now.
She held the baby away from her chest for a moment to burp him. In that instant, Arun got a perfect, unobstructed view of her breast. It was magnificent—a huge, perfectly round globe of pale, milky flesh, veined with faint blue lines. And the nipple… it was the biggest he had ever seen, even in the dirty magazines the other restaurant boys passed around. It was long and thick, a deep, dusky brown, still wet and glistening with milk and baby saliva. Tukun, seeing his prize being withheld, began to cry and reach for it again, his tiny hand batting at the glorious flesh.
Dipa: No, Tukun baba. You are full.
A wave of intense, primal heat shot through Arun’s body. His cock, which had been semi-aroused since the moment he saw her that morning, throbbed and hardened into a painful, pulsating rod in his pants. It was the first time he had seen a woman’s nipple so close in real life. He felt a desperate urge to rush in, to push the baby aside and put his own mouth there. He took a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the broom handle. With a monumental effort of will, he turned away from the door and silently continued sweeping the rest of the house, the stunning image of her breast burned permanently into his mind.
That night, Dipa was jolted awake by a faint sound. A rhythmic, muffled thumping. It seemed to be coming from the main bathroom down the hall. Sameer was snoring softly beside her. Tukun was silent.
Curiosity overriding her caution, she slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. The house was dark, save for a sliver of light from under the bathroom door. She crept closer. The sound was clearer now. It was the sound of a hand slapping against wet flesh, accompanied by low, guttural groans.
Her heart began to pound. Arun.
She leaned in, pressing her eye to the tiny gap between the door and the frame. She could just barely peek inside. What she saw made her gasp.
Arun was standing in front of the wash basin, completely naked. He was even more impressively built than she had realized, his lean body a corded map of muscle. In his left hand, he was holding a photograph. Her photograph. The one from their wedding anniversary that sat on the living room mantelpiece. And in his right hand, he was holding his cock.
It was a monster. Even from her limited vantage point, she could see it was impossibly long and thick, far larger than Sameer’s, bigger even than the ones from her… her dreams. A full nine inches, at least, rigid and glistening. He was staring intently at her picture, his hips thrusting as he masturbated with a desperate, frantic rhythm.
Arun: (a low, ragged whisper) Dipa… Madam… oh, Dipa… so beautiful… your breasts… your milk… ahhh…
Dipa stood frozen, a voyeur in her own home. She was shocked, horrified… and intensely, undeniably aroused. She should have been angry, should have felt violated. Instead, a hot, liquid feeling pooled between her legs. The sight of his massive penis, the sound of him groaning her name, the knowledge of his raw, private lust for her—it was an intoxicating cocktail of fear and power.
She kept looking. She watched as his pace quickened, his groans becoming louder, his body tensing.
Arun: Oh, fuck… Madam… I’m… I’m going to cum!
With a final, guttural roar, he exploded. A huge amount of thick, white sperm shot from the end of his cock, splattering all over the inside of the white porcelain wash basin. He panted, his body trembling, then leaned over and began to calmly clean the head of his penis with a wet cloth.
Dipa backed away from the door, her own body trembling. She went straight back to her bed, her mind reeling. This boy is already lusting over me. The thought was terrifying. And thrilling. The image of his nine-inch long, fully erect penis was stuck in her mind, replaying over and over. She was suddenly, desperately excited in her own bed.
She slid a hand down her belly, over the silk of her shorts. She applied some saliva to her fingers, then pushed her hand down, inside her panties. Her fingers found her clit, already swollen and slick. She began to touch herself, her movements hesitant at first, then more confident as the memory of Arun’s raw display fueled her.
Her breath hitched, and a soft moan escaped her lips. She bit down on her knuckle to stifle the sound. Her hips began to move, a slow, desperate rhythm against her own hand. The pleasure was sharp, intense, building faster than she could have imagined. Her moans became louder, muffled by her hand. It was too much.
Dipa: (a choked whisper) Woah… that was… too much…
Her body convulsed, a silent, powerful climax shaking her from head to toe. She lay there, panting in the dark, her body slick with sweat.
Dipa: (to herself) Not back to sleep… I will see what I have to do in the morning.
To be Continued..
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