11-10-2025, 12:06 AM
Indrani’s knees gave way. She slid down the glass door, silk pajamas rucked around her hips, fingers soaked and trembling. Aparna’s final, shattered scream echoed in her skull, followed by Ratan’s triumphant roar. The silence that followed was worse – thick with imagined panting, the wet sounds of possession. Her own climax ripped through her, sharp and shameful, leaving her gasping against the cold marble floor. Disgust warred with a gnawing emptiness. She’d just come to the sounds of her daughter-in-law being violently taken by that… creature. And she’d *wanted* it. Wanted to be the one pinned beneath that scrawny frame. The cool air kissed her exposed skin, a stark contrast to the furnace inside. She pulled her hand away, staring at the glistening evidence of her betrayal. Vikram’s face flashed in her mind – dignified, distant. Ratan’s leer replaced it, promising filth and fire. The marble felt cold. Her body felt hollow. The storm had passed outside, leaving only the dripping eaves and the suffocating silence of the violated mansion. Down the hall, a door creaked open. Soft, hesitant footsteps padded across marble. Indrani froze. Aparna? Coming downstairs? Now? Covered in the criminal’s sweat, his seed? Panic seized her. She scrambled to pull up her pajamas, wiping her hand frantically on the silk. The footsteps paused outside the verandah doors. Indrani held her breath, pressed against the glass in the dark, praying the shadows hid her dishevelment. The handle turned. The door swung inward. Aparna stood silhouetted in the dim light from the hall. Her torn nightgown hung open, revealing bite marks on her heavy breasts. Milky thighs glistened. Her eyes, wide and shell-shocked, met Indrani’s across the threshold. Neither spoke. The air crackled with shared degradation. Ratan’s victory hung between them, thick and obscene. The fortress had fallen. The prey had come to the huntress.
Ratan watched from the shadowed landing above, leaning against the cool wood railing. The splinted hand throbbed dully, a reminder of his vulnerability. Worth it. Below, the two women stood frozen in the aftermath – the voluptuous daughter-in-law trembling in her ruined silk, the matriarch crumpled on the floor, silk pajamas askew, shame radiating off her like heat. He smelled their mingled musk even from here – Aparna’s fresh violation, Indrani’s frantic self-pollution. His thin lips curved. The gardenia’s scent, now laced with sex, clung to the air. He’d cracked Aparna wide open, left her dripping his gutter seed into her royal womb. Now, Indrani… her horrified arousal was palpable. He’d seen her silhouette at the window, seen her hand move. She’d watched him rut her daughter-in-law and gotten off on it. The respectable marble fortress was rotten inside. He shifted, adjusting the painful hardness still straining against his trousers. The hunt wasn’t over. It was just beginning. He’d make the matriarch beg louder than her daughter-in-law. He’d watch them both drown in his filth. The first drops of dawn light crept through the stained glass, painting the carnage below in lurid shades of rose and gold. Ratan faded back into the shadows, a gaunt ghost savoring the ruin. The storm had passed. The real tempest was just stirring.
Indrani couldn’t look away from Aparna’s ruined nightgown, the bite marks blooming like dark roses on her milky breasts. The girl’s thighs glistened, slick with sweat and… *him*. Disgust choked Indrani, thick and acrid. Yet, her own thighs clenched, remembering the frantic pressure of her fingers, the shameful peak she’d reached listening to Aparna’s cries. Her gaze flickered to Aparna’s swollen belly, imagining the gutter rat’s seed already pooling deep inside. The thought sent a forbidden pulse of heat through her own neglected core. She scrambled to her feet, pulling her pajamas closed with trembling hands, desperate to hide the wet patch between her legs. "Aparna," she whispered, voice raw. "What… what have you done?" The question hung in the air, absurd. They both knew. They’d both participated – one actively, one voyeuristically. The shared degradation was a suffocating shroud.
Aparna flinched as if struck. Tears welled in her wide, shell-shocked eyes. "He… he made me," she breathed, voice trembling. But the lie withered instantly under Indrani’s knowing gaze. Her plump shoulders slumped. A shudder ran through her voluptuous frame. "I couldn’t stop him," she amended, softer. Then, horrifyingly, a ghost of something else flickered in her eyes – a dazed, sated exhaustion. She touched her bruised lips. "He… he owns me now." The confession, whispered into the dawn silence, was more devastating than any scream. Indrani felt a fresh wave of nausea, mixed with a treacherous stab of envy. That ugly creature had claimed her daughter-in-law’s perfect, fertile body, filled her womb, and left her broken… yet somehow *alive* in a way Indrani hadn’t felt in decades. The cool marble floor seemed to tilt beneath her.
The silence stretched, thick with unspeakable truths. Then, a soft creak echoed from the grand staircase above. Both women froze, hearts hammering against their ribs. Slowly, deliberately, they turned their heads upwards. Ratan stood halfway down the stairs, leaning casually against the banister. Dawn light caught the sharp angles of his scrawny frame, casting long, predatory shadows. He wasn’t smiling. His dark eyes, flat and assessing, moved slowly from Aparna’s tear-streaked face, down her trembling, marked body, then settled on Indrani. His gaze lingered on the hastily closed pajamas, the flush still staining her neck. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The message was clear in that cold, knowing stare: *You’re next.* He took a single, deliberate step down towards them. The huntress met the hunter’s eyes. Terror warred with a molten, shameful anticipation deep in her belly. The fortress had fallen. Now came the spoils.
Indrani’s breath hitched, trapped in her throat. The weight of his gaze pinned her like a butterfly – seeing the frantic arousal beneath her dishevelment, smelling her own betrayal mixed with Aparna’s violation. She wanted to scream, to order him out, to shield her broken daughter-in-law. Yet, her feet felt rooted to the cold marble. Her traitorous body remembered the phantom pressure of his imagined thrusts, the forbidden heat that had flooded her as she listened. Aparna whimpered beside her, shrinking back against the verandah doorframe, her torn silk barely clinging to her voluptuous curves. Ratan descended another step, his movements unhurried, deliberate. The splinted hand hung uselessly, but his good hand flexed slightly, fingers curling as if already anticipating the soft, yielding flesh awaiting him. His eyes never left Indrani’s, stripping her defenses bare. The dawn light felt like an interrogation lamp.
He reached the bottom step. The air crackled. He stopped mere feet from Indrani, his scent – sweat, rain, sex, and raw danger – washing over her. He ignored Aparna completely now, his entire focus a crushing weight on the matriarch. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze traveled down her body: the heavy swell of her breasts beneath the silk, the curve of her belly, the plush thighs hidden by the pajamas. Indrani felt stripped naked. Then, his good hand lifted, not to touch her, but to gesture vaguely towards the grand salon behind her. His voice, when it came, was a low rasp, devoid of mock deference now, pure command. "In there. Now." It wasn't a request. It was an order to the new master of the house. Indrani’s legs trembled violently. Shame screamed. Lust roared louder. She took a single, faltering step backward towards the shadowed salon doorway. The hunt was over. The claiming had begun.
Aparna watched, frozen, as her mother-in-law obeyed. The sight was more shattering than her own violation. Indrani Roy, the unassailable pillar of Kolkata aristocracy, shuffling towards degradation like a sleepwalker. Ratan finally glanced at Aparna, his eyes cold. "Go clean yourself," he growled. "And be quiet." The dismissal was absolute. Aparna fled towards the servants' stairs, clutching her torn gown, the echo of his possession still slick between her thighs. Indrani stood just inside the salon’s gloom, the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the dawn. The scent of old leather and polish couldn't mask the musk radiating from her own body. Ratan closed the double doors behind them with a soft, final click. The sound echoed like a tomb sealing. He turned, silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the curtains. He didn't speak. He simply advanced, his scrawny frame radiating terrifying purpose. Indrani backed up until her calves hit the edge of a heavy mahogany desk. Nowhere else to go. His rough hand shot out, fingers tangling in the silk at her neckline. With one brutal yank, the pajama top tore open. Her heavy breasts spilled free, pale and trembling in the gloom. He stared, a low, appreciative growl rumbling in his chest. "Rich milk," he murmured, his free hand already closing possessively over the soft, yielding flesh, kneading hard. Indrani gasped, pain and pleasure lancing through her. His thumb found her stiffening nipple, pinching cruelly. She cried out, arching into the pain. His eyes locked onto hers, triumphant and merciless. "You watched," he accused, his voice thick. "You listened. You touched yourself while I fucked your son's wife." His hand slid down her quivering belly, fingers hooking into the waistband of her silk pants. "Now," he breathed, pulling them down, exposing her plush thighs, the dark triangle of curls, "you'll taste what you craved." He shoved her roughly backward over the desk. The huntress lay conquered, awaiting the gutter rat's feast.
The polished wood was cold against Indrani’s bare back. Her heavy breasts flattened against the chill surface, nipples painfully hard. Ratan loomed over her, his bony frame blocking the slivers of dawn light. He didn’t hesitate. His good hand gripped her plump thigh, forcing it wide, exposing her completely. His gaze burned over her exposed flesh – the soft curve of her belly, the trembling mound, the slick evidence of her shameful arousal. A cruel smirk twisted his lips. "So wet for me, *Maa Saheb*?" he mocked, his voice thick with contempt. "After watching me ruin your *bahu*?" Before she could answer, his head dipped. His mouth, hot and demanding, covered her. Indrani gasped, back arching off the desk as his tongue plunged deep – a filthy, invasive violation. He devoured her, sucking hard on her swollen clit, lapping at her wetness with obscene hunger. Disgust warred with blinding pleasure. She tasted herself on his tongue, mixed with the phantom memory of Aparna’s cries. Her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that degrading friction. He growled against her flesh, fingers digging into her thunder thigh, holding her open. "Beg," he commanded, lifting his head, saliva glistening on his chin. "Beg for your gutter rat to fuck you." Tears streaked Indrani’s temples. Her body screamed *yes*. Her dignity screamed *no*. The words choked her. "P-please…" she whispered. He slapped her inner thigh – sharp, stinging. "Louder!" "Please!" she cried, the dam breaking. "Fuck me! *Please*!" Triumph flared in his eyes. He fumbled with his trousers, freeing his thick, ugly cock. He spat onto his palm, slicking himself roughly. No tenderness, no preamble. He shoved her legs wider, the edge of the desk biting into her soft hips, and drove into her with one brutal thrust. Indrani screamed – a raw sound torn from her soul as he filled her, stretching her neglected passage, claiming her with savage ownership. He pistoned into her, his bony hips slamming against her plush flesh, the wet slap of skin echoing in the grand salon. Each thrust hammered home her surrender. She was no longer the matriarch. She was his whore. And as his gutter seed flooded her royal womb, she clung to him, sobbing, utterly broken.
Ratan collapsed onto her, his sweat-drenched skin sticking to her milky softness. His breath rasped hot against her neck. Indrani lay pinned beneath his scrawny weight, feeling his seed leaking from her, pooling on the cold wood beneath her hips. Shame was a lead blanket, but beneath it, a terrifying emptiness yawned. He’d taken everything – her dignity, her family’s honor, her very self. Yet, her traitorous body still hummed with the aftershocks of that brutal claiming. He lifted his head, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Remember this," he hissed, spitting a glob of saliva onto her heaving breast. It landed with a wet splat, trickling down the curve. "You belong to me now. Both of you." He pushed himself off her, tucking his spent cock away with casual obscenity. Indrani slid bonelessly off the desk, crumpling onto the Persian rug, silk pajamas torn around her ankles. She watched, numb, as he adjusted his splinted hand, then turned towards the salon doors. He paused, glancing back. His gaze swept over her naked, trembling form, a final, dismissive assessment. "Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice flat. "And send breakfast to my room." He walked out, leaving the doors wide open. Indrani shivered, exposed and ruined. Down the hall, a soft sob echoed – Aparna. The fortress wasn’t just breached; it was defiled. And the conqueror expected to be served.
Indrani dragged herself upright, clutching the torn silk to her chest. The grand salon felt cavernous, suffocating. The scent of sex and her own degradation clung thickly. She stumbled towards the hallway, desperate for refuge. As she passed the staircase, she froze. Aparna stood halfway up, clutching a shawl around her shoulders, her tear-streaked face pale as marble. Their eyes met. No words were needed. The shared horror, the shared shame, the shared, impossible arousal – it hung between them like a poisonous fog. Aparna flinched, pulling the shawl tighter over her bruised breasts. "He… he told me to bring him breakfast," she whispered, her voice raw. Indrani’s stomach churned. The gutter rat demanded service from his royal whores. She nodded stiffly, unable to speak. The silence stretched, broken only by the dripping eaves outside. Then, a door clicked open upstairs – Ratan’s door. Both women flinched. The message was clear: *Obey.* Aparna turned and fled silently up the stairs. Indrani watched her go, the plump curves moving beneath the thin shawl. Her own thighs were sticky. Her womb felt heavy with his filth. The hunt was over. The servitude had begun.
Indrani retreated to her private sitting room, locking the door. Leaning against it, she slid down to the floor, trembling violently. She stared at her hands – the hands that had pleasured herself to the sounds of her daughter-in-law’s bang. She could still smell him on her skin. A wave of nausea hit her, followed by a treacherous pulse of heat between her thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images assaulted her: Ratan’s ugly frame pinning Aparna, his mouth on Indrani’s own flesh, the brutal invasion, the flood of his seed. A choked sob escaped her. She was the matriarch, the guardian of tradition. And she’d begged for it. Begged for the gutter rat to ruin her. The lock clicked. Her heart stopped. The door handle turned slowly. She scrambled back, clutching her torn clothes. The door didn’t open. But a low chuckle echoed through the wood – Ratan’s chuckle. He knew she was there. He knew she was broken. He owned the locks too. Indrani buried her face in her knees, the taste of her own degradation thick on her tongue. The fortress walls were paper. The predator was inside. And he was hungry for more.
Can give suggestions how to continue the story but make sure the male members unaware of everything
Ratan watched from the shadowed landing above, leaning against the cool wood railing. The splinted hand throbbed dully, a reminder of his vulnerability. Worth it. Below, the two women stood frozen in the aftermath – the voluptuous daughter-in-law trembling in her ruined silk, the matriarch crumpled on the floor, silk pajamas askew, shame radiating off her like heat. He smelled their mingled musk even from here – Aparna’s fresh violation, Indrani’s frantic self-pollution. His thin lips curved. The gardenia’s scent, now laced with sex, clung to the air. He’d cracked Aparna wide open, left her dripping his gutter seed into her royal womb. Now, Indrani… her horrified arousal was palpable. He’d seen her silhouette at the window, seen her hand move. She’d watched him rut her daughter-in-law and gotten off on it. The respectable marble fortress was rotten inside. He shifted, adjusting the painful hardness still straining against his trousers. The hunt wasn’t over. It was just beginning. He’d make the matriarch beg louder than her daughter-in-law. He’d watch them both drown in his filth. The first drops of dawn light crept through the stained glass, painting the carnage below in lurid shades of rose and gold. Ratan faded back into the shadows, a gaunt ghost savoring the ruin. The storm had passed. The real tempest was just stirring.
Indrani couldn’t look away from Aparna’s ruined nightgown, the bite marks blooming like dark roses on her milky breasts. The girl’s thighs glistened, slick with sweat and… *him*. Disgust choked Indrani, thick and acrid. Yet, her own thighs clenched, remembering the frantic pressure of her fingers, the shameful peak she’d reached listening to Aparna’s cries. Her gaze flickered to Aparna’s swollen belly, imagining the gutter rat’s seed already pooling deep inside. The thought sent a forbidden pulse of heat through her own neglected core. She scrambled to her feet, pulling her pajamas closed with trembling hands, desperate to hide the wet patch between her legs. "Aparna," she whispered, voice raw. "What… what have you done?" The question hung in the air, absurd. They both knew. They’d both participated – one actively, one voyeuristically. The shared degradation was a suffocating shroud.
Aparna flinched as if struck. Tears welled in her wide, shell-shocked eyes. "He… he made me," she breathed, voice trembling. But the lie withered instantly under Indrani’s knowing gaze. Her plump shoulders slumped. A shudder ran through her voluptuous frame. "I couldn’t stop him," she amended, softer. Then, horrifyingly, a ghost of something else flickered in her eyes – a dazed, sated exhaustion. She touched her bruised lips. "He… he owns me now." The confession, whispered into the dawn silence, was more devastating than any scream. Indrani felt a fresh wave of nausea, mixed with a treacherous stab of envy. That ugly creature had claimed her daughter-in-law’s perfect, fertile body, filled her womb, and left her broken… yet somehow *alive* in a way Indrani hadn’t felt in decades. The cool marble floor seemed to tilt beneath her.
The silence stretched, thick with unspeakable truths. Then, a soft creak echoed from the grand staircase above. Both women froze, hearts hammering against their ribs. Slowly, deliberately, they turned their heads upwards. Ratan stood halfway down the stairs, leaning casually against the banister. Dawn light caught the sharp angles of his scrawny frame, casting long, predatory shadows. He wasn’t smiling. His dark eyes, flat and assessing, moved slowly from Aparna’s tear-streaked face, down her trembling, marked body, then settled on Indrani. His gaze lingered on the hastily closed pajamas, the flush still staining her neck. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The message was clear in that cold, knowing stare: *You’re next.* He took a single, deliberate step down towards them. The huntress met the hunter’s eyes. Terror warred with a molten, shameful anticipation deep in her belly. The fortress had fallen. Now came the spoils.
Indrani’s breath hitched, trapped in her throat. The weight of his gaze pinned her like a butterfly – seeing the frantic arousal beneath her dishevelment, smelling her own betrayal mixed with Aparna’s violation. She wanted to scream, to order him out, to shield her broken daughter-in-law. Yet, her feet felt rooted to the cold marble. Her traitorous body remembered the phantom pressure of his imagined thrusts, the forbidden heat that had flooded her as she listened. Aparna whimpered beside her, shrinking back against the verandah doorframe, her torn silk barely clinging to her voluptuous curves. Ratan descended another step, his movements unhurried, deliberate. The splinted hand hung uselessly, but his good hand flexed slightly, fingers curling as if already anticipating the soft, yielding flesh awaiting him. His eyes never left Indrani’s, stripping her defenses bare. The dawn light felt like an interrogation lamp.
He reached the bottom step. The air crackled. He stopped mere feet from Indrani, his scent – sweat, rain, sex, and raw danger – washing over her. He ignored Aparna completely now, his entire focus a crushing weight on the matriarch. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze traveled down her body: the heavy swell of her breasts beneath the silk, the curve of her belly, the plush thighs hidden by the pajamas. Indrani felt stripped naked. Then, his good hand lifted, not to touch her, but to gesture vaguely towards the grand salon behind her. His voice, when it came, was a low rasp, devoid of mock deference now, pure command. "In there. Now." It wasn't a request. It was an order to the new master of the house. Indrani’s legs trembled violently. Shame screamed. Lust roared louder. She took a single, faltering step backward towards the shadowed salon doorway. The hunt was over. The claiming had begun.
Aparna watched, frozen, as her mother-in-law obeyed. The sight was more shattering than her own violation. Indrani Roy, the unassailable pillar of Kolkata aristocracy, shuffling towards degradation like a sleepwalker. Ratan finally glanced at Aparna, his eyes cold. "Go clean yourself," he growled. "And be quiet." The dismissal was absolute. Aparna fled towards the servants' stairs, clutching her torn gown, the echo of his possession still slick between her thighs. Indrani stood just inside the salon’s gloom, the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the dawn. The scent of old leather and polish couldn't mask the musk radiating from her own body. Ratan closed the double doors behind them with a soft, final click. The sound echoed like a tomb sealing. He turned, silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the curtains. He didn't speak. He simply advanced, his scrawny frame radiating terrifying purpose. Indrani backed up until her calves hit the edge of a heavy mahogany desk. Nowhere else to go. His rough hand shot out, fingers tangling in the silk at her neckline. With one brutal yank, the pajama top tore open. Her heavy breasts spilled free, pale and trembling in the gloom. He stared, a low, appreciative growl rumbling in his chest. "Rich milk," he murmured, his free hand already closing possessively over the soft, yielding flesh, kneading hard. Indrani gasped, pain and pleasure lancing through her. His thumb found her stiffening nipple, pinching cruelly. She cried out, arching into the pain. His eyes locked onto hers, triumphant and merciless. "You watched," he accused, his voice thick. "You listened. You touched yourself while I fucked your son's wife." His hand slid down her quivering belly, fingers hooking into the waistband of her silk pants. "Now," he breathed, pulling them down, exposing her plush thighs, the dark triangle of curls, "you'll taste what you craved." He shoved her roughly backward over the desk. The huntress lay conquered, awaiting the gutter rat's feast.
The polished wood was cold against Indrani’s bare back. Her heavy breasts flattened against the chill surface, nipples painfully hard. Ratan loomed over her, his bony frame blocking the slivers of dawn light. He didn’t hesitate. His good hand gripped her plump thigh, forcing it wide, exposing her completely. His gaze burned over her exposed flesh – the soft curve of her belly, the trembling mound, the slick evidence of her shameful arousal. A cruel smirk twisted his lips. "So wet for me, *Maa Saheb*?" he mocked, his voice thick with contempt. "After watching me ruin your *bahu*?" Before she could answer, his head dipped. His mouth, hot and demanding, covered her. Indrani gasped, back arching off the desk as his tongue plunged deep – a filthy, invasive violation. He devoured her, sucking hard on her swollen clit, lapping at her wetness with obscene hunger. Disgust warred with blinding pleasure. She tasted herself on his tongue, mixed with the phantom memory of Aparna’s cries. Her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that degrading friction. He growled against her flesh, fingers digging into her thunder thigh, holding her open. "Beg," he commanded, lifting his head, saliva glistening on his chin. "Beg for your gutter rat to fuck you." Tears streaked Indrani’s temples. Her body screamed *yes*. Her dignity screamed *no*. The words choked her. "P-please…" she whispered. He slapped her inner thigh – sharp, stinging. "Louder!" "Please!" she cried, the dam breaking. "Fuck me! *Please*!" Triumph flared in his eyes. He fumbled with his trousers, freeing his thick, ugly cock. He spat onto his palm, slicking himself roughly. No tenderness, no preamble. He shoved her legs wider, the edge of the desk biting into her soft hips, and drove into her with one brutal thrust. Indrani screamed – a raw sound torn from her soul as he filled her, stretching her neglected passage, claiming her with savage ownership. He pistoned into her, his bony hips slamming against her plush flesh, the wet slap of skin echoing in the grand salon. Each thrust hammered home her surrender. She was no longer the matriarch. She was his whore. And as his gutter seed flooded her royal womb, she clung to him, sobbing, utterly broken.
Ratan collapsed onto her, his sweat-drenched skin sticking to her milky softness. His breath rasped hot against her neck. Indrani lay pinned beneath his scrawny weight, feeling his seed leaking from her, pooling on the cold wood beneath her hips. Shame was a lead blanket, but beneath it, a terrifying emptiness yawned. He’d taken everything – her dignity, her family’s honor, her very self. Yet, her traitorous body still hummed with the aftershocks of that brutal claiming. He lifted his head, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Remember this," he hissed, spitting a glob of saliva onto her heaving breast. It landed with a wet splat, trickling down the curve. "You belong to me now. Both of you." He pushed himself off her, tucking his spent cock away with casual obscenity. Indrani slid bonelessly off the desk, crumpling onto the Persian rug, silk pajamas torn around her ankles. She watched, numb, as he adjusted his splinted hand, then turned towards the salon doors. He paused, glancing back. His gaze swept over her naked, trembling form, a final, dismissive assessment. "Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice flat. "And send breakfast to my room." He walked out, leaving the doors wide open. Indrani shivered, exposed and ruined. Down the hall, a soft sob echoed – Aparna. The fortress wasn’t just breached; it was defiled. And the conqueror expected to be served.
Indrani dragged herself upright, clutching the torn silk to her chest. The grand salon felt cavernous, suffocating. The scent of sex and her own degradation clung thickly. She stumbled towards the hallway, desperate for refuge. As she passed the staircase, she froze. Aparna stood halfway up, clutching a shawl around her shoulders, her tear-streaked face pale as marble. Their eyes met. No words were needed. The shared horror, the shared shame, the shared, impossible arousal – it hung between them like a poisonous fog. Aparna flinched, pulling the shawl tighter over her bruised breasts. "He… he told me to bring him breakfast," she whispered, her voice raw. Indrani’s stomach churned. The gutter rat demanded service from his royal whores. She nodded stiffly, unable to speak. The silence stretched, broken only by the dripping eaves outside. Then, a door clicked open upstairs – Ratan’s door. Both women flinched. The message was clear: *Obey.* Aparna turned and fled silently up the stairs. Indrani watched her go, the plump curves moving beneath the thin shawl. Her own thighs were sticky. Her womb felt heavy with his filth. The hunt was over. The servitude had begun.
Indrani retreated to her private sitting room, locking the door. Leaning against it, she slid down to the floor, trembling violently. She stared at her hands – the hands that had pleasured herself to the sounds of her daughter-in-law’s bang. She could still smell him on her skin. A wave of nausea hit her, followed by a treacherous pulse of heat between her thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images assaulted her: Ratan’s ugly frame pinning Aparna, his mouth on Indrani’s own flesh, the brutal invasion, the flood of his seed. A choked sob escaped her. She was the matriarch, the guardian of tradition. And she’d begged for it. Begged for the gutter rat to ruin her. The lock clicked. Her heart stopped. The door handle turned slowly. She scrambled back, clutching her torn clothes. The door didn’t open. But a low chuckle echoed through the wood – Ratan’s chuckle. He knew she was there. He knew she was broken. He owned the locks too. Indrani buried her face in her knees, the taste of her own degradation thick on her tongue. The fortress walls were paper. The predator was inside. And he was hungry for more.
Can give suggestions how to continue the story but make sure the male members unaware of everything
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