Incest Mrs. Chatterjee opens a massage parlor at home

[cutekomal]

Rahul, equally exhausted, had finally moved off her, his body a warm, comforting weight beside her. She felt the heavy, sticky proof of his seed deep within her, a silent testament to their shared sin. The thought of it, once horrifying, now stirred a strange, possessive warmth in her belly.

The doorbell, a jarring intrusion, ripped her from her reverie. She glanced at the clock; it was nearly 8:30 PM. The food delivery. A faint smile touched her lips.
“Oh, the food’s here,” she murmured, her voice still husky from their exertions. She pushed herself up, wincing slightly as her muscles protested. “I completely forgot about dinner.” Rahul stirred, stretching languidly beside her. “Already? Time flies when you’re having fun, Boudi.” His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, held a mischievous glint as they raked over her naked form. Paromita blushed, a soft, warm flush that spread across her cheeks. “Fun, you say? You nearly broke me, you beast.” She playfully slapped his arm, though the affection in her touch was unmistakable. “Go get decent. I’ll just throw something on.” She scrambled off the bed, her movements still a little wobbly, and rummaged through a pile of clothes, pulling out a loose, soft nighty. It was a simple, comfortable garment, a stark contrast to the bra and panty she had worn earlier. She slipped it over her head, feeling the cool fabric against her still-heated skin. Rahul watched her, his gaze intense, as she quickly donned the nighty.

Rahul, meanwhile, had found his boxers and pulled them on, though they did little to conceal the prominent bulge that was already beginning to stir. He followed her out to the living room, where the delivery boy was patiently waiting. The exchange was quick, and soon, the tantalizing aroma of biryani and rich curries filled the apartment. They sat on the floor, cross-legged, sharing the meal from the containers. Paromita, ravenous after their afternoon and evening of intense activity, ate with gusto. Rahul, too, devoured his food, though his eyes kept darting to her, a silent question in their depths. “That was delicious,” Paromita sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions, feeling completely sated. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Rahul chuckled, reaching over to gently brush a stray grain of rice from her lip. “Boudi, there is something on your chin.” His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her jaw. Paromita met his gaze, her heart thrumming. The easy intimacy between them now felt as natural as breathing. “You just need any damn reason to touch me.” He smiled, a slow, possessive curve of his lips. “Paromita. Only for you.” He stood, gathering the empty containers. “I should probably head to my room. Get some sleep.”

Paromita nodded, a strange sense of melancholy settling over her. The intensity of their shared passion had created a bubble, a world unto itself, and now, the mundane reality of separate bedrooms felt like a cruel intrusion. “Yes, you should. We both need rest.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, a gesture that was both tender and deeply possessive. “Good night, Boudi. Dream of me.” “Always, my Rahul,” she whispered, watching him walk away, his figure disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

Paromita remained on the sofa for a few more moments, savoring the lingering warmth of his kiss, the memory of his body against hers. Then, with a heavy sigh, she rose and made her way to her own bedroom. The bed, still disheveled from their passionate encounters, seemed to beckon her. She crawled beneath the covers, the soft nighty a comforting embrace against her skin, and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The room was still shrouded in a heavy, pre-dawn darkness when a faint sound, the soft click of her bedroom door, jolted Paromita awake. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered open. A shiver of unease traced its way down her spine. Who could it be? Sahil was thousands of miles away. A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the door, moving with a silent, feline grace towards her bed. Paromita’s heart hammered against her ribs, a primal fear clutching at her throat. Then, as the figure drew closer, illuminated by the faint glow filtering through the curtains, her fear dissolved into a gasp of surprise, followed by a soft, incredulous giggle.

It was Rahul. Stark naked. And unmistakably, powerfully aroused, his "anaconda" a proud, throbbing testament to his nocturnal mission. “Rahul? What on earth…?” she whispered, a blush creeping up her neck. He reached the side of her bed, his eyes, dark and intense, fixed on her. The sight of his complete nudity, so unapologetic, so utterly confident, made her feel a strange mix of embarrassment and a sudden, electric thrill. She pulled the covers up instinctively, her cheeks burning. Rahul, however, merely chuckled, a low, husky sound that sent a shiver through her. He climbed onto the bed, his weight settling beside her, the mattress dipping slightly. The warmth of his naked body radiated against her. “Couldn’t sleep, Boudi,” he murmured, his voice a deep purr. He leaned over her, his eyes raking over her form, still clad in the soft nighty. “But what’s this? Clothes in bed? After all we did today, you dare to wear clothes to bed?” His tone was playful, yet held a hint of possessive command. Paromita, still half-asleep and completely disarmed by his naked presence, giggled again. “And you, my dear Rahul, what’s your excuse for parading around like this? Did you forget your pajamas?” He laughed, a rich, uninhibited sound. “My pajamas, Boudi, are currently residing on the kitchen floor, along with my boxers, if you recall.” His hand, warm and strong, moved to her chest, tracing the outline of her breasts beneath the soft fabric of her nighty. “But seriously, why cover up this magnificent body? After I’ve spent all day exploring every inch of it?” Paromita’s breath hitched as his fingers gently cupped one of her breasts, the soft fabric doing little to conceal the rising sensitivity of her nipple. “I… I was tired. I just fell asleep.” “Tired or not, my Boudi doesn’t sleep in clothes,” he challenged, his thumb stroking her nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure through her. “Boudi sleeps naked, ready for her lover’s touch.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek, his lips lingering. “Come here, Boudi.” He pulled her closer, her body molding against his naked length. The friction of his skin against her nighty was an exquisite torment. Paromita’s hands, almost instinctively, reached out, her fingers finding his magnificent erection. It was hot, hard, and utterly compelling. A low moan escaped her lips as she gently squeezed him. “You’re still so eager,” she whispered, her voice thick with burgeoning desire.

“Always for you, my Boudi,” he murmured, his eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive hunger. He watched her for a moment, then his gaze dropped to her hair, which was still loose and a little disheveled from sleep. “Your hair… it’s beautiful, but it’ll get in the way.” Paromita, her mind already swirling with the intoxicating promise of his touch, understood. She pulled her hands away from his erection, and with practiced ease, gathered her long, dark hair, twisting it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. The simple act exposed the elegant curve of her neck, the delicate line of her shoulders. Rahul watched, utterly captivated. “Perfect,” he breathed, his eyes devouring her. “Now, about that nighty…”

Paromita’s eyes met his, a mischievous glint dancing in their depths. “Impatience, Rahul, is a sin.” But even as she spoke, her hands moved to the hem of her nighty. With a slow, deliberate motion, she began to pull it up, inch by tantalizing inch. The soft fabric slid over her thighs, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath. She hiked it higher, until it was gathered around her waist, effectively exposing her entire lower body to his hungry gaze. Her pussy, still a little swollen from their earlier encounters, glistened invitingly. She then tied a knot around her waist, securing the nighty in place, leaving her breasts and abdomen bare, but her lower half completely exposed. Rahul gasped, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes, dark and intense, devoured the sight of her exposed womanhood. The contrast of the soft nighty, now cinched around her waist, and the raw, undeniable invitation of her naked lower body was almost too much to bear. Paromita, reveling in his reaction, leaned down. Her gaze fell upon his impressive erection, now throbbing with an almost desperate urgency. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the prominent veins that pulsed beneath his skin.

“You, my monster, have been very busy today,” she purred, her voice a low, seductive whisper. She lowered her head, her lips brushing against the sensitive tip of his dick. Rahul’s body tensed, a shudder running through him. She took the head of his penis into her mouth, a slow, deliberate suck that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure through him. Rahul moaned, his hands immediately reaching for the sheets, gripping them tightly. Paromita, meanwhile, treated his dick like a delicious lollipop, swirling her tongue around the crown, teasing and tormenting him with exquisite precision. She pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded, meeting his. “You thought you had conquered me, didn’t you?” she whispered, her breath hot against his length. “You thought you had deposited your seed, and that was that.” She pressed a soft kiss to the side of his shaft, then another, moving slowly down the length of his manhood.

“But this,” she continued, her lips tracing the outline of a particularly prominent vein, “this is a monster that needs constant attention. A monster that needs to be worshipped.” She planted a series of soft, lingering kisses along his shaft, each one a silent promise of the pleasure to come. Rahul was in an agony of ecstasy, his body rigid, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “You… you are intoxicating, Boudi,” he choked out, his voice hoarse with desire. Paromita smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips. She moved her head, her cheeks brushing against his erection, her lips playfully slapping against the hard meat. She pressed the tip of his dick against her nose, inhaling his musky scent, then against her eyes, as if anointing herself with his essence. “You deposited your seed in my womb,” she murmured, her voice laced with a possessive pride. “You filled me. Now, I will fill you with pleasure.” She took him back into her mouth, not with the full, aggressive suction she had employed during his stamina training, but with a softer, more teasing rhythm, licking and sucking the tip, drawing him deeper with gentle insistence. 

Rahul groaned, his hips beginning to twitch instinctively. “Boudi… you’re driving me mad.” Paromita pulled back again, her eyes blazing with a fierce, untamed desire. “Mad, you say? I’m just getting started, my love.” She looked at him, her gaze lingering on his naked form, then back to her own, still partially clad body. “It’s not fair, Boudi,” Rahul finally managed, his voice thick with frustration. “I’m completely naked, exposed to your every whim. And you… you’re still wearing that flimsy nighty.” He reached out, his fingers fumbling with the knot she had tied around her waist. “Take it off. Please. I want to see all of you. I want to worship all of you.” Paromita paused, her eyes meeting his. The raw, uninhibited desire in his gaze was a powerful aphrodisiac. She smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. “You want to see all of me, do you?” “More than anything,” he breathed, his eyes devouring her. “Very well, my boy.” With a theatrical flourish, Paromita reached for the knot at her waist and untied it. The nighty, released from its confinement, slid down her body, pooling around her hips. Then, with a graceful movement, she pulled it over her head, stripping it off completely. It fell to the floor, a discarded silk skin. She stood before him, fully naked, her body shimmering in the faint pre-dawn light. The sight of her, so utterly exposed, so magnificent, stole Rahul’s breath away.

“Come here,” she commanded, her voice a low, seductive purr. She reached out, taking his throbbing erection firmly in her hands. She guided it upwards, positioning it between her milky white breasts. Rahul gasped as the warm, soft flesh enveloped him, the contrast of his hard dick against her supple curves an exquisite sensation. Paromita gently squeezed her breasts together, cupping his dick tightly between them. “You wanted to feel them naked, didn’t you?” she whispered, her eyes fixed on him. “You wanted to measure them, to worship them.” She began to move, a slow, deliberate sliding motion, using her hands to guide his dick up and down the valley between her breasts. The friction, the warmth, the sheer intimacy of the act was almost unbearable. Rahul groaned, his body arching, his hands reaching out to cup her head, burying his face in her hair. “Oh, Boudi… this is incredible.” Paromita continued the rhythmic motion, her breasts caressing his length, her hands gently squeezing him. She watched his face, saw the exquisite torment, the pure, unadulterated pleasure. 

“You know, Rahul,” she murmured, her voice playful, yet holding a deeper meaning, “I’ve been thinking.” Rahul, his eyes closed in ecstasy, simply hummed in response. “My husband,” she continued, her voice losing some of its playful edge, “he never gave me a mangalsutra.” A mangalsutra, the sacred necklace worn by married ***** women, symbolized the husband’s devotion and the wife’s marital status. Rahul’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of surprise, then understanding, in their depths. “He didn’t? But… you’re married.” Paromita nodded, a hint of sadness touching her lips. “A symbol of devotion, they say. But Sahil… he was always so pragmatic. So focused on work, on providing. The romantic gestures, the symbols… they were never his priority.” She leaned down, pressing her lips to his ear. “But you, my Rahul. You are different.” Rahul’s eyes, now blazing with a fierce, protective love, met hers. “I’ll buy you one, Boudi,” he declared, his voice firm, unwavering. “A beautiful one. The most beautiful mangalsutra in Kolkata. A symbol of… of our devotion.” Paromita smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her eyes. “Will you, my love?”

“Absolutely,” he vowed. He watched her for a moment, then a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. “And you know what would make that mangalsutra even more beautiful?” Paromita arched an eyebrow, intrigued. “What, my clever boy?” “If it was wrapped around my dick,” Rahul stated, his gaze dropping to the hard length nestled between her breasts. “Imagine it, Boudi. Your mangalsutra, a symbol of our bond, encircling my manhood. It would be… incredibly sexy.” Paromita gasped, a shock of delightful scandal shooting through her. A blush, deeper than before, spread across her face, but this time, it was a blush of pure, unadulterated pleasure. The image he painted, so audacious, so utterly forbidden, ignited a new, fierce heat within her.

“You… you devil,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock and arousal. She squeezed her breasts tighter around his dick, a powerful, possessive grip. “You truly are my wicked destiny.” Rahul chuckled, a triumphant sound. “Only for you, Paromita. Only for you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, his hips beginning to buck instinctively. “Now, Boudi. Let’s see how much more beautiful this mangalsutra of ours can become.”

The soft, silken nighty lay discarded on the floor, a casualty of their escalating desire. Paromita, surrendered the magnificent sight of her body onto the damp, tangled sheets beside Rahul. The clock on the bedside table, a silent witness to their glorious sin, struck five o’clock. It had been an hour of continuous, demanding pleasure, a vortex of shared intimacy that had swallowed the last vestiges of pretense.

“My wicked destiny,” Paromita murmured, her voice husky, heavy with exhaustion, yet humming with a potent satisfaction. She ran her hand down the length of Rahul’s arm, slick with sweat and the faint, fragrant residue of her jasmine perfume. “You are a beast, Rahul. A magnificent, stubborn beast.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling the rapid drum of his heart slowly begin to settle. The early October air, usually crisp, was thick and heavy in the room, saturated with the musky scent of their bodies and their dual climaxes. She felt a possessive warmth spread through her chest.

“Rahul, your dick is rising like the morning sun,” she purred, shifting slightly so her gaze could fall upon his erection. Even after the intensity of her boob job and the uninhibited suction of her mouth, his “anaconda” remained proudly, impossibly taut, a testament to his staggering, youthful vigor.

Paromita smiled, a slow, intoxicating curve of her lips. She felt a fierce pride, a little achievement deep in her core. She had trained him for endurance, and the results were magnificent. “You are relentless, my boy. Unending. Sahil would have been asleep twice over by now.” She reached out, her fingers cupping his hardness, stroking him lightly, testing the rock-solid structure. “This glorious meat just refuses to be put to rest, doesn’t it?”

Rahul turned his face toward hers, his eyes dark, glazed with the lingering intensity of their passion. He inhaled deeply, pulling the intoxicating scent of her skin into his lungs. “I live only to be hard for you, Boudi. It is my purpose. My stamina and strength belongs entirely to your command and fulfillment.”

Paromita felt the dampness on her skin they were heavily soaked in sweat, the evidence of their glorious exertion. “We must cleanse this beautiful mess,” she declared, pushing herself up from the bed. She stood, fully naked, allowing her lover to feast his eyes on the form he now claimed with such possessive pride.

She took a slow step toward the washroom door, feeling the satisfying ache in her muscles.

“Wait,” Rahul commanded, his voice sharp with sudden urgency. He reached out, grabbing her wrist, a gentle but firm assertion of his primal ownership. “I also need to go...”

Paromita paused, turning back to him, raising a challenging eyebrow. “You have a washroom attached to your bedroom, Rahul ?”

“No…its too far away,” he affirmed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood beside her, his body immediately mirroring her naked state. “You have ignited my passion for you, I cannot let this passion down in your most intimate and private moment. I want to see you in your glory and also in your shame. ”

The sheer reckless audacity of his demand thrilled her, shattering the final, tiny boundary of civilized separation. This was the true intimacy of the forbidden.

Paromita smiled, a slow, intoxicating acknowledgment of his demand. “Very well, lead the way.”

They walked together, two magnificent naked souls, the scent of jasmine and spent lust clinging to them, into the small, humid space of the washroom. Paromita turned, sitting down upon the cool porcelain of the toilet pot. Rahul moved immediately, kneeling infront of her, resting his arm possessively on her thigh.

She relaxed, letting out a deep sigh of relief as her bladder yielded. The sound of her urine hitting the water made a distinct, sizzling sound, loud and unashamed in the quiet confines of the room. Paromita looked down, met Rahul’s intense gaze, and let him watch, entirely exposed, entirely unburdened by shame, as she completed the mundane act.

“Your body is my temple, Boudi,” Rahul whispered, his voice thick with devotion, his eyes fixated on the sight. “Even in its most basic need.”

Paromita finished, wiping herself slowly. Then, she stood, turning slightly. It was Rahul’s turn. He moved to the pot, bracing his hands on the wall, and Paromita, standing naked only inches away, looked at him.

His dick now softened slightly by the dual demands of their recent passion, rose instantly as he prepared to release his pressure. She watched the powerful, immediate reaction of his body, the stark, raw reality of his anatomy as he directed his stream into the same pot where she had just urinated. The act was one of shared, utter vulnerability, a profound act of absolute, uninhibited intimacy.

Rahul finished with a deep sigh of relief. He flushed the toilet at once, the loud gush of water washing away the evidence of their shared bodily release. His magnificent meat, having been relieved of the immediate pressure, was now a fallen lump, soft and beautiful in its temporary exhaustion.

They stepped back into the bedroom, the air cooler now.

Paromita retrieved a large, clean towel, drying her body slowly, languidly. She tossed him another. “So, my boy,” she began, her voice slipping into the calm, controlled tone of the mistress. “The sun will dare to peek through the curtains soon. Do you wish to sleep now, and gather your strength?”

Rahul finished drying himself, his gaze locked on her face. “Sleep? No, Boudi. The adrenaline is still coursing through my blood. I cannot rest.”

“Then,” Paromita challenged, letting the towel fall to the floor. She approached him, trailing her finger down his chest, lingering just above his groin, enjoying the immediate hardening of his nipples. “Do you wish to fuck me, and claim me fully once more, before the world wakes?”

Rahul’s eyes flashed with a potent, fierce hunger. His breathing hitched. “Yes, Boudi. More than anything. I want to bury myself deep in your beautiful pussy again. I want to taste your completion.”

Paromita smiled, a slow, triumphant curve of her lips. She tapped his soft erection gently, reminding him of the terms of their control. “Then you know the rule, my love. You deposited your seed, unchecked, twice already. We do not risk consequences. Not yet. Not until I command it.”

Her voice dropped to a low, seductive command: “Go. Bring the condom from your room. Show me your swift obedience, and your reward will be deep, uninhibited possession.”

Rahul’s face twisted slightly in delicious anguish—the thought of separating from her, even for a moment, was agony. But the command from his **Mohini-Boudi**, the powerful promise of what awaited him, immediately overrode his desire to linger.

“Yes, Boudi. Your will is my command.”

He didn’t wait. He rushed out of her room, leaving his magnificent meat bouncing softly with every frantic stride, desperate to fulfill the duty that would grant him entry back into his wicked destiny’s bedchamber.

Rahul rushed back into the room, his breath sawing raggedly, his naked body slick with sweat from the sudden, frantic sprint and the immense, lingering excitement. He held the packet of condoms, still cool from his room, like a sacred offering. His magnificent meat was already standing proud and ready, a testament to his absolute, uninhibited desire to fulfill her command.

Paromita watched him from the bed, her body still gleaming in the faint dawn light, entirely naked, her gaze sharp and possessive. She felt the fierce, intoxicating thrill of his immediate obedience. He approached the bed, kneeling once more before her, the clinical white and blue packet a jarring contrast to the raw, flushed skin of his chest. He tore one packet from the string, the sound a thin rip in the heavy silence, and tucked the remaining nineteen packets neatly back into the larger box.

“Here, Boudi,” Rahul whispered, his voice thick with devotion, placing the box carefully on the bedside table beside her. “Twenty pieces. All for you.” Paromita reached out, not for the condom box, but for the hard, pulsing length of his erection, running her hand slowly from base to tip, measuring its heat and tension. Her eyes, dark and heavy with unspoken hunger, met his.
“Twenty,” Paromita murmured, her voice a low, husky purr. “A good stock. We have atleast 20 fucks in store if you use these rubber caps.”

Rahul swallowed hard, his hands instinctively reaching up to cup and gently squeeze the soft, fleshy mounds of her breasts. He could only manage a humble plea, “I only anticipated your needs, Boudi. Your new, beautiful needs. I want you to feel the full strength of this body, as often as you command.”

Paromita smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. She removed his hand from her breast, bringing it down to his side, ensuring he knew the true order of things. “The quantity is irrelevant, Rahul. It is the quality of your fuck that matters. You think this packet means twenty swift victories for you? No... This means twenty sessions of exquisite, torturous obedience. Twenty times you must endure the agonizing slowness of my command. Twenty times you must prove that your stamina can meet my demands. We will see in how many days, not weeks, we need to restock this supply, won’t we?”.

She kept one hand firmly wrapped around his magnificent meat, enjoying the involuntary shudder that ran through him with every possessive squeeze. With her free hand, she reached between her own legs, finding the wet, hot slickness of her pussy hole, confirming the fierce, uninhibited desire that was already pooling there, the same hole that had so recently accepted his man seeds.

“I am wet, Rahul,” she confessed, her voice thick with the immediate, visceral need to assert her power. “Already. Your naked presence does this to me. But I will not rush.” Paromita leaned back, stretching out flat on the bed, her body languid and inviting. Her breasts rose and fell with her accelerating breath, inviting his gaze. Her wet pussy hole gaped slightly, drawing his eyes.

“Come here, my man,” Paromita commanded, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “Place your hands where I can feel them.”
Rahul, trembling with urgency and devotion, placed his hands firmly on her breasts, gently squeezing the milk jugs, his eyes fixed on her face, awaiting the next instruction.

Paromita took the condom, peeling it from the foil with slow, deliberate movements. She did not immediately apply for it. Instead, she guided his rigid erection to her lips, pressing the thin rubber sheath against the sensitive tip of his dick.

“This little shield,” Paromita whispered, her lips brushing the taut skin of his glans, “is the final boundary. It protects us from the world, but it doesn’t protect us from each other. Now, wear your armor, my warrior.” She rolled the rubber cap down the length of his penis, taking her time, making the process an extended, agonizing form of foreplay. When the condom was fully sheathed, gleaming slickly in the ambient light, Paromita lowered her head and planted a soft, lingering kiss directly onto the rubber tip.

“A kiss of consecration,” she murmured against the slick membrane. “The promise of possession.” She guided the tip of his condom-sheathed meat to her pussy. Rahul’s breath hitched, his entire body rigid with the need for immediate entry. He inserted the tip, feeling the exquisite, wet heat of her core. He paused, looking at her face, seeking her permission for the final, commanding act of penetration. Paromita pulled him closer, her hips lifting slightly to meet his weight. The clock on the bedside table, oblivious to their sin, struck half past six in the morning.

“Now, Rahul,” Paromita commanded, her voice thick with pure, uninhibited lust. “Show me the true meaning of possession. This is not forced intercourse; this is the act of a chosen lover. Fuck me like you mean to claim my soul.”

Rahul pushed, exerting pressure on his hips, enabling a smooth, powerful penetration into his boudi’s pussy. They lay close to each other, chest to breast, maintaining intense eye contact, studying the raw, unadulterated passion in each other’s eyes. Paromita could feel the rhythmic movement of his body beneath her, feeling the force exerted at her hips move her entire frame.

“Tell me what you see, Rahul,” Paromita gasped, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders. “Tell me how I look to you now, without the pretense of a friend or the fear of a victim. Am I still the timid wife, or am I Mohini, the fire you crave?”

Rahul began to move, slow at first, then increasing the tempo, thrusting deep and sure. “You are pure fire, Paromita! My beautiful Boudi! I am so lucky to have you. You are magnificent when naked, moving under my pelvic thrust. This is where I belong. Deep inside you.”

“You are the lucky one, my darling,” Paromita countered, arching her back, encouraging him to sink deeper, harder. “My body needs a fucker like you, Rahul. Strong, relentless, and completely dedicated to my pleasure. Tell me the truth, tell me when this desire began.”

“From day one, Boudi,” Rahul confessed, his voice ragged with exertion and honesty. “From the moment I saw you walk into the ancestral home. But I never dared to voice it. I waited. And now, you are mine. I have been waiting to fuck you since the moment I first saw you.”

Paromita felt a tremor of fierce, possessive pleasure at his admission. “And I felt so empty before you, Rahul. Your vigor, your relentless hunger… you make me feel like a woman, a real woman, not just an ornament left behind by an absent husband. You fill the void Sahil abandoned.”

Rahul pushed deeper, the friction intense and all-consuming. “I want to fill more than just the void, Boudi. I want to fill you with my seed. I want to see you heavy with my wicked consequence.”

Paromita wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, locking him to her, relishing the sheer power of his statement. “My pussy will only fuck your dick, Rahul. Yours alone. But you must use your armor, my love. For now, the condom is our secret weapon. Now, increase the tempo! Faster, harder! I need to feel your power shatter me!”

Rahul obeyed instantly, his thrusts becoming a merciless, driving rhythm. “Moan my name, Boudi! Scream it! I want the entire world to hear the sound of your surrender! Moan my name loud!”

Paromita threw her head back, her throat open, letting out a wild, primal sound. It was the moan of a hungry tigress claiming its mate, a sound that seemed loud enough to wake the neighborhood.

Rahul, driven wild by her uninhibited cry, was nearing his climax. He surged, gripping her tightly. As he reached the precipice, he lowered his head, sinking his teeth gently into the milky, soft flesh of her breast.

Paromita screamed, a mixture of exquisite pain and blinding ecstasy. “Bite me harder, Rahul! Harder! Use your strength! I want the mark of your claim!” Rahul pulled back just slightly, breathing heavily, his eyes blazing with fierce, primal possession. He called her a cheap, vulgar name, a raw term of desire that shattered the last pretense of their familial roles.
Paromita’s response was immediate and overwhelming; she moaned even louder, a shattering, prolonged cry that eclipsed all previous sounds.

Rahul let out a guttural grunt, his body convulsing as the accumulated seed exploded fiercely inside the condom. Paromita shook violently, her own core contracting fiercely around his spent length, achieving the synchronized, earth-shattering orgasm they had attained in their previous union. Rahul remained inside her, still for a moment, letting the tremors subside, his chest heaving. Paromita lay beneath him, drenched in sweat, completely spent, yet utterly magnificent in her surrender.
Slowly, carefully, Rahul pulled his magnificent meat out of her pussy hole. He pulled the rubber from his dick, the thick, white fluid of his ejaculation trapped inside. He didn't dispose of it immediately. Instead, he angled the condom, emptying the contents onto Paromita’s abdomen, directly over her navel.

“My love. My Boudi. My naughty slutty boudi. My naked boudi…." he breathed, his voice ragged. “The proof of my devotion. The cum of your dedicated dewar, my private war paint.”

Paromita lifted her head, her eyes still glazed with the residue of their mutual climax. She looked down at the thick, white fluid glistening on her skin, running slightly into the hollow of her navel. She slowly reached out a finger, dipped it into the slick, warm mess, and brought it to her lips, tasting the proof of his submission.
She swallowed the thick, saline fluid, the taste a final, primal seal on their incestuous bond.

Paromita lay back, pulling Rahul down beside her, their bodies entangled, their skin slick with sweat and oil. The scent of jasmine and spent lust was heavy and intoxicating. They did not speak for a long time, only breathed, matching their rhythms until they were synchronized in the quiet aftermath.

Rahul moved his hand to her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw, his gaze full of the possessive love she craved. “That was glorious, Boudi. Every moment. Every movement. Every sound.”
Paromita turned her head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss into the palm of his hand. “You have earned your prize. You are relentless. But you must remember the price of this pleasure, Rahul. Your excellence in your studies.”
Rahul nodded instantly. “I know, Boudi. I will return to my books. I will study until I drop. But first, I need one thing.”

“And what is that, my darling?” Paromita whispered, already knowing the answer.
“I need to clean your temple, my Mohini,” Rahul confessed, his eyes dropping to her abdomen, where the last residue of his semen still clung to her skin. “I need to cleanse the evidence of our magnificent surrender.”

He retrieved a fresh tissue for Paromita had brought earlier. He began to wipe the fluid from her abdomen, his hands moving with the delicacy of a worshipper cleaning an altar.

“You are too devoted, Rahul,” Paromita murmured, reveling in the care of his touch.
“Only to you, Boudi. Only to the one who shattered my old life and brought me this intoxicating reality.” He moved lower, his eyes lingering on her pussy, which was glistening with their mingled fluids. “May I clean you completely, boudi?”

Paromita parted her legs slightly, offering him full access. “Cleanse me, Rahul. Prepare me for the day.”

Rahul carefully wiped the inner curves of her thighs and her wet core, removing all traces of their recent union. When he was done, he pressed his lips to the freshly wiped skin, a gesture of absolute, total devotion.

“You are pure, Boudi. Ready for the world, and ready for me.”

Paromita pulled him close for a deep, possessive kiss. “Now, go, Rahul. Bathe, dress, and dedicate yourself to your studies. I expect to see you by lunchtime.”
Rahul smiled, retrieving his damp boxers from the floor. He shed them again instantly, deciding that clothes were indeed superfluous in this house. He retrieved his shirt and trousers from his room, returning only moments later to dress in Paromita’s room, keeping their routine synchronized.

Paromita watched him dress, the sight of his youthful, hard body moving beneath the fabric a powerful reminder of her ownership.