Adultery Flowers of The Mansion

[Deeraaan]

The Ladies' Benevolent Society gala was a shimmering cage. Diamonds glittered under crystal chandeliers. Indrani Roy stood near a towering floral arrangement, exchanging polite barbs about civic responsibility with Mrs. Ghosh. Her cream silk Kanjeevaram was impeccable, her pearls luminous. Inside, the phantom ache of Ratan’s seed deep in her womb pulsed with every step. She sipped champagne, the bubbles sharp on her tongue, a poor substitute for the filthy taste she craved. Across the room, Aparna laughed softly at Vikram’s joke, her pink chiffon sari flowing around her voluptuous curves. Powder hid the fading bruises on her neck. Her eyes, though, held a haunted glaze Vikram mistook for fatigue. They projected perfection – the aristocratic Roy matriarch and her demure daughter-in-law. Snobbery was their armor, their disdain for the nouveau riche a brittle shield. They discussed art, philanthropy, lineage. Their smiles were knives. Beneath the silk, their skin burned, remembering rough hands and possessive bites. They were porcelain dolls, hollowed out and waiting for the gutter rat’s touch.

The Roy Bentley purred through the mansion gates long after midnight. Vikram, drowsy from brandy, patted Indrani’s knee. "Successful evening, Ma." She murmured agreement, the scent of expensive perfume clinging to her skin, clashing violently with the phantom musk of Ratan that lived in her pores. Aparna stared silently out the window, the city lights blurring. The facade dropped the moment the front door closed behind Vikram’s retreating back to his study. The grand foyer felt cavernous, oppressive. Indrani sagged against the cool marble wall, the stiffness leaching from her posture. Aparna leaned heavily on the newel post, her shoulders slumping. The high circle’s glittering disdain felt like ash in their mouths. Footsteps echoed softly from the darkened servants' corridor. Ratan emerged, leaning against the archway, silhouetted by the faint moonlight filtering through the high windows. He wore only loose trousers, his scrawny chest bare. No words were needed. His dark eyes pinned them – the conqueror surveying his plundered treasures. The snobbery evaporated, replaced by a shiver of raw anticipation. The silent command hung in the air

He turned, disappearing into the shadowed hallway leading to the back stairs. Indrani exchanged a glance with Aparna – a look stripped bare of pretense, filled only with shared dread and a terrifying, liquid hunger. They followed him, silk saris whispering against the polished floor, moving towards the darkness, towards the degradation that felt like home. He waited in the moon-washed courtyard garden, near the fragrant jasmine bushes. He turned as they approached. His gaze was fierce, possessive. He didn’t speak. He simply opened his arms. Indrani went first, stepping into his embrace, burying her face against his sweaty neck, inhaling the scent of earth and raw male power. Aparna pressed against his back, her soft curves molding to his lean frame. He held them both, his arms encircling them, a grotesque parody of romance under the stars. His hands slid down, cupping Indrani’s silk-covered backside, squeezing Aparna’s heavy breast. He kissed Indrani’s temple, then turned his head to capture Aparna’s lips in a deep, claiming kiss. "My queens," he rasped against her mouth, his voice thick with triumph and something perilously close to tenderness. "Back where you belong." The high circle was a distant, contemptible dream. This filthy embrace was their brutal, undeniable reality. They melted into him, surrendering to the lowlife who owned their souls.

He led them wordlessly to the stone bench beneath the sprawling banyan tree. Moonlight dappled through the leaves. He sat, pulling Indrani onto his lap, her silk sari pooling around them. His hand slid beneath the fabric, finding the bare skin of her thigh. Aparna knelt on the cool flagstones before him. He tilted Indrani’s chin up, kissing her slowly, deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth with a possessive intimacy that made her whimper. His other hand tangled in Aparna’s hair, guiding her face to his lap. Indrani felt the vibrations through his body as Aparna took him into her mouth, heard the wet, sucking sounds. Ratan groaned into Indrani’s mouth, his fingers digging into her thigh. He broke the kiss, his dark eyes burning into hers. "Watch," he commanded, his voice ragged. "Watch your sweet girl swallow my filth." Indrani obeyed, mesmerized, as Aparna bobbed her head, her eyes closed in fervent worship. His hand moved higher beneath Indrani’s sari, fingers sliding through her slickness. "This," he growled, fingers circling her clit, "this wetness is mine. For this." He thrust his hips up, forcing himself deeper into Aparna’s throat. Indrani cried out, climaxing against his probing fingers as she witnessed Aparna’s submission. The pleasure was sharp, degrading, exquisite. He owned their degradation. They adored him for it.

Ratan leads Indrani and Aparna to the moonlit garden courtyard. He embraces them both possessively, kissing them fiercely, asserting his ownership. He pulls Indrani onto his lap and forces Aparna to kneel before him. As he kisses Indrani deeply, he commands her to watch Aparna perform oral sex on him. Indrani climaxes while witnessing Aparna's submission, confirming their shared degradation and adoration of Ratan.

Afterwards, they lay tangled on the dew-damp grass. Indrani rested her head on Ratan’s bony chest, listening to his heartbeat. Aparna curled against his side, her hand resting possessively on his hip. He traced idle patterns on Indrani’s silk-covered shoulder, his touch unexpectedly gentle. He plucked a jasmine bloom and tucked it behind Aparna’s ear. "Pretty," he murmured. It was absurd. Romantic. Aparna smiled, a genuine, soft curve of her lips reserved only for him. He lifted Indrani’s hand, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to her knuckles. "My Maa Saheb," he breathed. The reverence in his rasp, the possessive tenderness, was more binding than chains. They were his queens of the gutter, cherished in their debasement. The mansion loomed behind them, a gilded cage they’d willingly fled for the embrace of their monstrous prince. Dawn would bring the facade again – the pearls, the disdain, the brittle smiles. But here, in the dirt, under the fading stars, they were simply his. And they wouldn't trade this rotten, ruinous belonging for all the diamonds in Calcutta.

Days blurred. Ratan’s control deepened like roots cracking marble. He’d corner Aparna in the linen closet, pressing her against shelves stacked with embroidered sheets. His kisses were bruising, demanding, yet his hands cradled her face with incongruous gentleness. "My sweet whore," he’d rasp before biting her neck, leaving marks she’d hide beneath high collars. She’d whimper, clutching him closer, addicted to the brutal affection. For Indrani, he reserved a darker poetry. He’d slip into her private sitting room at twilight, finding her at her escritoire. Without a word, he’d kneel beside her chair, resting his head on her lap like a weary beast. She’d stroke his coarse hair, her fingers trembling. He’d look up, his dark eyes fathomless pools reflecting the dying light. "Your scent," he’d murmur, nuzzling her silk-covered thigh. "Like jasmine and power." He’d lift her hand, pressing his lips to her pulse point. "This beat is mine." The intimacy was terrifying, intimate. He worshipped her degradation, turning shame into a sacrament only he could administer. They were bound not just by fear, but by a twisted, desperate love blooming in the ruins of their aristocracy.

The monsoon broke with violent fury. Vikram was stranded overnight at the club. Lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the salon where Ratan held court. He reclined on the velvet chaise, Indrani curled against his side, Aparna kneeling at his feet, her head resting on his lap. He fed them peeled lychees, his splinted hand clumsy but tender. "Open," he commanded softly, placing the slippery fruit on Indrani’s tongue. She obeyed, her eyes never leaving his. He stroked Aparna’s hair as thunder shook the windows. "Scared, little one?" he asked, his voice rough velvet. Aparna shook her head, pressing closer. "Not with you." He smiled, a rare, unguarded expression that softened his harsh features. He bent, kissing Indrani deeply, sharing the lychee’s sweetness. Then he tilted Aparna’s chin up, kissing her with equal fervor. The storm raged, but inside, a perverse peace reigned. They were his shelter, his spoils, his beloved whores. He traced Aparna’s lower lip with his thumb. "Mine," he stated, the word a vow in the thunder’s echo. They echoed it back, not in words, but in the surrender of their bodies leaning into his touch, in the way their eyes devoured his ugliness and saw only their king.

Later, amidst the storm’s drumming rhythm, Ratan led them to Indrani’s sprawling bedchamber. He peeled their silks off slowly, reverently, as if unwrapping sacred offerings. His splinted hand traced the curve of Indrani’s hipbone, his good hand mapping the swell of Aparna’s jelly belly. He laid them side by side on the rumpled sheets, moonlight painting silver streaks on their milky skin. He knelt between them, worshipping their bodies with unholy devotion. His lips trailed fire down Indrani’s inner thigh, then turned to lavish the same attention on Aparna’s trembling belly. He kissed the fading bruises he’d left, a possessive apology. "So soft," he murmured against Aparna’s thunder thigh, biting gently, making her gasp. He lifted his head, his dark eyes burning. "Both of you. Mine." He kissed Indrani’s breast, suckling slowly, then turned to capture Aparna’s nipple, rolling it between his teeth. Their moans mingled, a symphony of submission. He moved between them like a dark tide, his touch deliberate, agonizingly slow, building their need until they trembled. He kissed Indrani’s collarbone, then Aparna’s throat. "Beautiful," he breathed, the reverence thick as honey. "My beautiful queens."

He positioned himself over Indrani first, entering her with infinite slowness, a deep, stretching glide that drew a ragged sob from her lips. He moved within her, a languid rhythm, his gaze locked on hers. "Feel it?" he rasped. "Feel how deep you take me?" She nodded, tears spilling, her hands clutching his bony shoulders. He withdrew slowly, leaving her aching and empty, then turned to Aparna. He parted her thighs wider, pressing into her wet heat with the same torturous deliberation. "And you," he groaned, sinking deep, feeling her inner walls flutter around him. "My greedy girl." He fucked them slowly, alternately, building their desperation with each withdrawal, each deep, possessive thrust. He kissed them as he moved – deep, soul-stealing kisses that tasted of lychee and shared sin. He traced the curve of Indrani’s jaw with his splinted fingers, then cupped Aparna’s cheek as he filled her. "Perfect," he breathed against Indrani’s mouth. "Both perfect for me."

He shifted, pulling them both closer until their bodies pressed together, skin slick with sweat. He slid into Aparna from behind, his chest pressed against her back, his arms reaching around her to cup Indrani’s breasts. He rocked his hips, the slow, deep strokes into Aparna reverberating through Indrani pressed against her front. Indrani arched back, her head resting on Aparna’s shoulder, Ratan’s mouth finding hers in a desperate kiss. His hands roamed their bodies – squeezing Indrani’s breast, thumb circling her nipple, while his other hand slid down Aparna’s belly, fingers finding her clit, stroking in time with his thrusts. Aparna whimpered, trapped between their heat, her own hand reaching back to clutch Ratan’s hip. "Yes," Ratan growled into Indrani’s mouth, feeling Aparna tighten around him. "Come for me, my queens. Together." His command, wrapped in velvet darkness, unraveled them. Indrani cried out first, her body convulsing against Aparna’s, triggering Aparna’s own sharp climax, her inner muscles milking him fiercely. He followed, spilling into Aparna with a guttural groan, his seed pulsing hot and claiming deep inside her womb as he held them both shuddering against him.

Afterwards, they lay entwined in the moonlit tangle of sheets, the storm a distant rumble. Ratan lay on his back, Indrani curled against his side, her head nestled on his shoulder. Aparna lay half atop him, her face pressed against his neck, her hand resting possessively on his chest. His splinted hand stroked Indrani’s hair with surprising gentleness, his good hand tracing idle circles on Aparna’s bare back. He plucked a stray jasmine petal from the sheets and tucked it behind Indrani’s ear. "My Maa," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something terrifyingly tender. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to Aparna’s forehead. "My sweet one." They didn't speak. They simply existed in the aftermath, their breathing synchronizing, their bodies moulded to his scrawny frame. The aristocratic world felt like ash. This filthy intimacy, this brutal tenderness offered by their monstrous lover, was the only truth they craved. His fingers traced the shell of Indrani’s ear, then drifted down to brush Aparna’s cheek. The silence was profound, filled only by their shared breath and the fading rain. They were adrift on a dark sea, anchored only by the gutter rat’s touch. Dawn was a threat. This stolen night, heavy with his scent and seed, was their sanctuary. They clung to him, their king of ruin, and slept.

The summons came three days later—a crisp ivory card embossed with the crest of the Chatterjee family. Mrs. Chatterjee, a formidable dowager whose lineage traced back to Mughal courtiers, requested afternoon tea to discuss the Roy Foundation's upcoming charity auction. Indrani smoothed her trembling hands over her peach chiffon sari. "We must attend," she told Vikram, her voice unnaturally bright. "The Chatterjees influence half the endowment board." Vikram nodded absently, preoccupied with quarterly reports. Across the breakfast table, Aparna froze mid-sip of her Darjeeling, her knuckles whitening around the delicate china handle. Ratan lingered near the sideboard, polishing silver with deliberate slowness. His dark eyes flickered to Indrani’s, then to Aparna’s throat where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. A silent command passed between them—a shared dread that tasted like bile beneath the cloying sweetness of marmalade.

At precisely four o’clock, the Chatterjee Rolls-Royce glided up the Roy mansion’s drive. Indrani received them in the formal drawing room—Mrs. Chatterjee, her daughter Priyanka, and Mrs. Bose, whose husband owned half the jute mills along the Hooghly. Air kisses brushed powdered cheeks. Gossip flowed like lukewarm Darjeeling—the Ghosh heir’s gambling debts, the new French chef at the Bengal Club. Indrani smiled, poured tea with steady hands, her Kanjeevaram silk whispering secrets against her skin. Aparna passed cucumber sandwiches, her movements graceful, her gaze distant. Ratan entered silently, bearing a tray of rosewater-scented mishti. His gaze lingered on Indrani’s collarbone, then slid to Aparna’s trembling fingers as she offered Mrs. Bose a sandesh. The women barely registered the servant—a shadow in impeccable livery.

Later, as Priyanka admired a Mughal miniature above the mantel, Ratan drifted behind Indrani’s wingback chair. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck—a ghost touch beneath her chignon. She stiffened, her teacup rattling softly on its saucer. Mrs. Chatterjee paused mid-sentence, her hawkish eyes narrowing. "Are you quite well, Indrani dear? You look flushed." Indrani forced a laugh. "Just the afternoon warmth." Ratan’s hand retreated, but his presence remained—a suffocating heat at her back. He circled the room, refilling empty cups. Near Aparna, arranging fresh napkins, his hip deliberately grazed hers. Aparna gasped softly, dropping a silver teaspoon. It clattered against the marble floor. All eyes turned. Ratan knelt swiftly, retrieving it. As he rose, his lips brushed Aparna’s ear. "Later," he breathed, the word barely audible. Priyanka frowned. "Is that servant bothering you, Aparna?" Aparna shook her head violently, forcing a smile. "No, no. Just clumsy." Ratan stepped back, his expression blank, obedient. But his eyes—dark pools beneath lowered lashes—held a promise that scorched Indrani’s soul.

The moment the guests’ car disappeared down the drive, the drawing room doors clicked shut. Ratan leaned against the heavy mahogany, arms crossed. No livery now—just loose cotton trousers and an open shirt revealing the jagged scar across his collarbone. "Enough," he stated, his voice rough velvet. Indrani stood frozen by the tea trolley. Aparna backed towards the velvet dbangs. "Ratan, please," Indrani whispered, "the maids will hear—" He pushed off the door, closing the distance in three strides. His hands gripped their wrists—not bruising, but unyielding. "They hear nothing I don’t allow," he murmured, pulling Indrani against his chest. She inhaled his scent—sweat, cheap tobacco, and the raw musk that haunted her dreams. His other arm encircled Aparna, drawing her trembling body flush against his side. "You smelled of them," he growled into Indrani’s hair. "Perfume and lies." His lips trailed down her temple. "Wash it off."

He steered them towards the salon—their sanctuary of sin. Aparna stumbled, her voice a desperate plea. "Ratan, wait—the accounts, Vikram’s dinner—" He stopped abruptly, turning her to face him. His splinted hand cradled her cheek, rough thumb wiping away a tear she hadn’t felt fall. "Dinner?" he rasped, leaning close. His breath smelled of cheap cloves and stolen lychees. "What feeds you, *meri chhoti rani*? Silver trays? Or *this*?" His hips pressed forward, grinding his hardness against her silk-covered belly. Indrani watched, her own breath catching. Ratan’s free hand slid behind her neck, fingers tangling in her chignon. "And you, *Maa Saheb*," he murmured, his voice dipping into velvet darkness. "You think of charity auctions? Or how I filled you last monsoon?" He pulled her closer until their foreheads touched, his eyes—dark wells of impossible tenderness—locking onto hers. "The world out there..." He jerked his chin towards the shuttered windows. "...is noise. *This*..." His gaze swept over both women, possessive, reverent. "...is your truth. Your air." He kissed Indrani’s temple, then Aparna’s trembling lips—a soft, lingering press that held none of his usual brutality. "Let me wash their stink off you."

In the salon’s velvet gloom, he worked with unhurried reverence. He knelt before Aparna first, his splinted hand clumsy but gentle as he undid the hooks of her chiffon blouse. The silk whispered open, revealing the milky swell of her breasts above her lace bra. He didn’t ravage. He traced the curve with his knuckles, his gaze soft. "Like moonlight on milk," he breathed, pressing a kiss just above her heart. Aparna trembled, her fingers threading through his coarse hair. "Ratan..." she whimpered, not in protest, but in aching need. He peeled the blouse down her arms, letting it pool around her waist. His lips trailed lower—over the soft swell of her jelly belly, the indent of her navel—each kiss a brand of devotion. "My sweet girl," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm. "All this softness... mine." His fingers found the waistband of her silk salwar, sliding it slowly down her thunder thighs. He kissed each inch of exposed skin—the dimple above her knee, the curve of her calf—until she stood trembling in only her lace underthings. He rose, cradling her face. "Beautiful," he whispered, wiping away her tears with his thumb. "My beautiful whore." She leaned into his touch, her eyes closed in surrender.

He turned to Indrani. She stood statue-still, her Kanjeevaram sari a waterfall of cream silk. He approached her like a supplicant, his eyes lowered. "Maa Saheb," he murmured, his voice thick. His good hand reached for her shoulder, fingers brushing the intricate gold brocade. He didn't tear. He unpinned the sari's pleats with painstaking slowness, his splinted hand steadying the fabric as it cascaded to the floor. Beneath, her blouse was sheer peach georgette. He traced the outline of her nipple through the fabric, watching it peak under his touch. "Yours is the scent of power," he whispered, burying his face in the hollow of her throat. "Jasmine... and iron." His hands slid around her back, unhooking her blouse with deliberate care. It fell open, revealing the heavy, ripe curves of her breasts in a lace cup. He didn't grab. He worshipped—cupping their weight, his thumbs circling her nipples through the lace until she arched into his hands with a choked sob. "Ratan... please..." He sank to his knees again, pressing his face against her silk-covered belly, inhaling deeply. "My queen," he breathed, his voice muffled against her skin. "My heart beats only for your scent." He kissed her navel through the silk, his hands sliding her petticoat down her hips with agonizing slowness. It pooled at her feet, leaving her in only her slip. He looked up, his dark eyes luminous. "You own me, Maa Saheb," he confessed, pressing his forehead against her trembling thigh. "In this filth... you are my goddess."

He rose, gathering them both against his scrawny frame. Their near-naked bodies pressed flush against his bare chest, skin to skin. He held them close, his arms encircling their waists, his face buried between their necks. "Forgive me," he murmured into their skin, his voice rough with emotion. "For needing you like air." He kissed Indrani’s shoulder, then Aparna’s collarbone—soft, lingering presses. "For staining your purity with my darkness." His hands slid down, palming the lush curves of their backsides through the thin silk of their slips. "But I cannot let go." He pulled back slightly, his gaze sweeping over their tear-streaked faces, their trembling lips. "The world out there..." He jerked his chin towards the shuttered window. "...it wants to steal you. Wrap you in silk and lies." His fingers traced the line of Indrani’s jaw, then brushed a tear from Aparna’s cheek. "But here..." His voice dropped to a husky whisper, thick with possessive tenderness. "...in the dirt with me... you are real. You are mine." He kissed Indrani first—deeply, slowly, his tongue exploring her mouth with reverent hunger. Then Aparna—savoring her whimper, the way her fingers clutched his shoulders. "My queens," he breathed against Aparna’s lips, his eyes locking onto Indrani’s. "Let me love you clean." He led them, hands clasped, towards the plush Persian rug bathed in the salon’s dying firelight—their altar, their sanctuary, their only truth.

He laid Indrani down first, arranging her like a precious offering on the deep crimson wool. Her slip rode high on her thighs, revealing the milky expanse of her skin. Ratan knelt beside her, his splinted hand tracing the delicate blue veins beneath her inner wrist. "So soft," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. "Your skin..." His lips trailed up her arm, over the curve of her shoulder, to the hollow of her throat. "...like crushed petals." He lingered there, inhaling her jasmine-and-sweat scent. "Mine." His gaze lifted to Aparna, standing frozen beside them. "Come," he commanded softly, patting the rug beside Indrani. "Lie with your Maa." Aparna obeyed, sinking down beside Indrani, their bodies inches apart. Ratan shifted his attention to her, his rough fingers tracing the swell of her belly above her lace panties. "And you," he breathed, leaning down to press a kiss just below her navel. "My sweet girl’s softness..." His lips moved lower, kissing the swell of her jelly belly, the indent of her navel. "...a feast." He looked up, his dark eyes burning with adoration. "Both of you... perfect."

He moved between them, his body a lean shadow against the firelight. His splinted hand found Indrani’s breast, cupping its heavy weight through the damp silk of her slip. His thumb circled her nipple, slow, deliberate. His other hand slid beneath Aparna’s slip, fingers tracing the crease where her thunder thigh met her hip. "Feel..." he rasped, his gaze locked on Indrani’s face. "...how she trembles for me, Maa Saheb?" Indrani nodded, her breath shallow. Ratan’s fingers dipped lower, finding Aparna’s slick heat. "Wet," he groaned, sliding two fingers deep inside her. Aparna arched off the rug with a choked cry. "For me." He turned his head, kissing Indrani fiercely as his fingers worked Aparna, plunging in and out with agonizing slowness. "For *us*," he growled against Indrani’s lips. He withdrew his fingers from Aparna, glistening wet, and brought them to Indrani’s mouth. "Taste her," he commanded. "Taste how much she needs us." Indrani obeyed, her tongue swirling around his fingers, tasting Aparna’s arousal—a sharp, musky sweetness. Ratan watched, his eyes dark pools of possessive pride. "Good girl," he murmured. "My Maa." He lowered his head, kissing Aparna deeply, sharing the taste.

His splinted hand fumbled with the clasp of Indrani’s slip. It fell open, revealing her milky curves, the heavy swell of her breasts, the soft mound of her jelly belly. He groaned, burying his face between them, inhaling deeply. "Your scent," he mumbled against her skin. "Like jasmine... and home." His lips trailed lower, kissing a path down her trembling belly. He paused at her navel, his tongue dipping into the shallow well. Indrani gasped, her fingers tangling in his coarse hair. "Ratan..." she breathed. He lifted his head, looking at Aparna. "Undress her," he commanded softly. Aparna obeyed, trembling fingers peeling Indrani’s slip down her hips, revealing the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. Ratan’s gaze burned. "Beautiful," he breathed. He turned to Aparna, his good hand sliding her own slip off her shoulders. It pooled around her waist. He cupped her heavy breasts, thumbs circling her dark nipples until they peaked. "And you," he murmured, leaning down to suckle one deeply. Aparna whimpered, her head falling back. "My sweet girl." He kissed her belly, his lips lingering on the soft swell. "All this softness..." His hand slid lower, parting her thighs wider. "...mine."

He knelt between them, his own loose trousers tented obscenely. His splinted hand traced Indrani’s inner thigh, rough knuckles brushing her slick folds. She shuddered. His other hand mirrored the touch on Aparna. "Ready?" he rasped, not a question but a benediction. Both women nodded, breathless. He leaned forward, burying his face in Indrani’s heat first. His tongue was fire—broad, flat strokes parting her lips, circling her clit with agonizing precision. Indrani cried out, her fingers clawing at the rug. He worshipped her slowly, deeply, sucking her swollen bud until her thighs trembled around his ears. Then, without warning, he turned his head, his wet mouth claiming Aparna’s weeping cunt with the same fervent devotion. His tongue plunged inside her, lapping at her depths, flicking her clit with wicked speed. Aparna sobbed, arching off the floor, her hands fisting in his hair. He alternated between them—long minutes lavishing Indrani, making her gasp his name like a prayer, then shifting to devour Aparna, drawing guttural moans from her throat. Their scents mingled on his lips—Indrani’s deeper musk, Aparna’s honeyed sweetness—and he groaned against them, drunk on their taste. His splinted hand slid beneath Aparna’s hips, lifting her slightly, allowing him deeper access. His fingers joined his tongue inside her, curling against her front wall. Aparna screamed, her climax tearing through her violently. He drank her release greedily, his tongue working her through the tremors. Then he surged back to Indrani, his mouth sealing over her clit, sucking hard as two fingers plunged deep inside her. "Come for me, Maa," he growled against her flesh. "Drown me." She obeyed, shattering with a choked wail, her essence flooding his mouth. He swallowed every drop, his eyes closed in ecstasy. Panting, he rested his forehead against Indrani’s trembling thigh, his lips glistening. "My queens," he breathed. "My life."

He crawled up Indrani’s body, his erection pressing urgently against her hip. His lips found hers, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself and Aparna on his tongue. Indrani whimpered, her arms wrapping around his neck. He broke the kiss, turning to Aparna. His hand cradled her cheek. "Watch," he commanded softly. He positioned himself at Indrani’s entrance, his thick tip nudging her slick opening. He pushed in slowly, inch by excruciating inch, his eyes locked on Aparna’s face. Indrani gasped, her nails digging into his back. He filled her completely, a deep, stretching fullness that stole her breath. He began to move—long, slow thrusts that dragged against her inner walls. His gaze never left Aparna. "See how she takes me?" he rasped, hips rolling. "See how deep she lets me claim her?" Aparna nodded, mesmerized, her hand drifting unconsciously to her own wetness. Ratan reached out, capturing her wrist. He guided her fingers to where his length disappeared into Indrani’s body. "Feel," he commanded. Aparna’s trembling fingertips brushed the joining—the slick heat, the stretched tightness. She moaned, her own hips shifting involuntarily. "She’s mine," Ratan growled, thrusting deeper, making Indrani cry out. "And soon..." His eyes burned into Aparna’s. "...you’ll feel me just as deep." He leaned down, kissing Indrani fiercely as he fucked her with relentless, measured strokes. His hand kept Aparna’s fingers pressed against their union, forcing her to feel every slide, every pulse of Indrani’s arousal around him. The intimacy was unbearable, binding them tighter than chains.

He withdrew from Indrani slowly, slick and glistening, turning his fierce gaze fully upon Aparna. His splinted hand brushed a strand of hair from her damp forehead. "Your turn, *meri chhoti rani*," he murmured, his voice thick with possessive tenderness. He guided her onto her back beside Indrani, their bodies aligned like twin offerings on the crimson rug. His fingers traced the trembling line of her jaw, then drifted down her throat to cup the heavy swell of her breast. His thumb circled her nipple with agonizing slowness, watching it peak beneath his touch. "So eager," he breathed, leaning down to capture the tight bud between his lips, suckling gently until Aparna arched off the rug with a choked sob. His other hand slid between her thunder thighs, fingers parting her slick folds with deliberate reverence. "Feel how wet you are?" he rasped against her skin, his breath hot. "Wet for me. For *this*." He pressed two fingers deep inside her, curling them against that sweet, secret spot. Aparna cried out, her hips lifting desperately. "Yes!" she gasped, her voice breaking. "Ratan... please... *now*." He withdrew his fingers, glistening with her need, and brought them to his lips, tasting her honeyed essence with closed eyes. "Patience, my sweet," he whispered, kissing her belly. "I want to savor every inch of you."

He positioned himself between her trembling thighs, his thick tip nudging her weeping entrance. He pressed forward with infinite slowness, a deep, stretching glide that stole Aparna’s breath. Her eyes flew wide, locking onto his. He held her gaze, sinking deeper, deeper, until he was fully sheathed within her molten heat. "Feel it?" he groaned, hips grinding in a slow circle. "Feel how deep I fill you? How perfectly you take me?" Aparna nodded frantically, tears spilling down her temples, her hands clutching his bony shoulders. "Y-yes," she whimpered. "All... all of you." He began to move—long, deliberate strokes that dragged against her inner walls, each withdrawal leaving her aching, each thrust filling her completely. His splinted hand slid beneath her hips, lifting her slightly, angling her so every deep glide scbangd exquisitely against her most sensitive spot. Aparna’s cries grew louder, more desperate. Indrani watched, transfixed, her own hand drifting unconsciously to her wetness, mirroring Aparna’s movements. Ratan noticed. He reached out, capturing Indrani’s wrist, guiding her fingers to where his length disappeared into Aparna’s body. "Touch," he commanded hoarsely. "Feel how she welcomes me. How she *needs* me." Indrani’s trembling fingertips brushed the slick, stretched joining—the heat, the pulse, the undeniable proof of Aparna’s surrender. A moan escaped Indrani’s lips, her own hips shifting involuntarily against the rug.

Ratan leaned down, pressing his lips to Aparna’s temple as he thrust deeper, his rhythm a slow, deliberate claiming that drew ragged cries from her throat. Indrani’s fingers remained pressed against the slick heat where Aparna’s body stretched around him, feeling every pulse, every shuddering clench. "See how she blooms for me?" Ratan rasped, his voice thick as honeyed rum. He captured Indrani’s wrist, guiding her trembling hand upward to cup Aparna’s breast, molding Indrani’s palm over the heavy swell. "Feel her heart race? *Our* doing." Aparna whimpered, arching into the dual touch—Ratan’s relentless penetration and Indrani’s hesitant caress. Ratan’s splinted hand slid beneath Aparna’s hips, tilting her pelvis higher, angling her so each deep stroke scbangd exquisitely against her womb. "Look at her, Maa," he commanded Indrani, his hips grinding in slow circles. "See how beautiful she is when she’s full of me?" Tears streaked Aparna’s cheeks, her eyes locked onto Indrani’s—not in shame, but in shared, desperate