25-10-2025, 03:33 PM
(This post was last modified: 25-10-2025, 09:38 PM by anus24. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Part 1: Shadows of Desire
The city of Hanmakonda pulsed with the vibrant energy of South Indian life, its streets a chaotic symphony of honking vehicles, street vendors hawking spicy mirchi bajjis, and the distant call of temple bells. In the midst of this urban heartbeat stood Sai Residency, a sprawling apartment complex that housed 200 flats across five sturdy floors. The buildings formed a quadrangle around a central courtyard, where residents gathered for festivals, gossip, and the occasional cricket match among the children. Laundry fluttered from balconies like colorful flags, and the air carried the mingled scents of incense, frying spices, and monsoon earth.
Vinay Reddy, a 28-year-old software engineer at a local IT firm, had settled into flat 305 on the third floor two years ago, right after his marriage to Priya. Their home was a modest two-bedroom space, painted in soft yellows, with a small kitchen where Priya whipped up tangy rasam and fluffy idlis each morning. Priya, 26, was a dedicated collegeteacher at a nearby government college, her dusky complexion a rich brown that glowed with the vitality of her active days. Her black hair fell in thick waves when loose, and she had a laugh that filled the room like sunlight. Their marriage, arranged through family connections in the traditional Telugu style, was one of companionship and quiet affection. Vinay appreciated her steadiness, the way she organized their lives with lists and smiles. But lately, a shadow had crept into his thoughts, one that Priya's warmth couldn't dispel.
It began subtly, about six months into their residency. Vinay first noticed Anjali Sharma when she moved into flat 304, directly across the narrow corridor. Anjali was 30, married to Rajesh, a businessman whose job kept him jetting between Hyderabad and Mumbai, leaving her to handle their home and the occasional social obligations. What set Anjali apart was her striking beauty—voluptuous and unapologetic, with a milky white complexion that seemed almost ethereal against the sun-baked tones of most neighbors. Her skin was smooth, unmarred, like polished porcelain, a genetic gift from her North Indian roots blended with Telugu heritage. She favored modern sarees that dbangd elegantly over her curves, and around her neck hung a small mangalsutra chain, the contemporary version with delicate gold links and a tiny black bead, a nod to tradition without the heaviness of older styles.
Vinay's initial encounters with Anjali were mundane, but they ignited something primal in him. It was during the preparations for Sankranti, the harvest festival that brought the complex alive with colors and cheers. The courtyard below their floors was transformed into a canvas of rangolis—intricate designs of rice flour, flowers, and chalk. Vinay had volunteered to help Priya with theirs, a simple lotus pattern near the entrance to their block. As he mixed colors in a bucket, his eyes wandered to Anjali, who was kneeling a few yards away, her red cotton saree pooling around her like spilled wine. She bent forward to trace the borders of her rangoli, a complex peacock motif that showcased her artistic flair.
The movement pulled her pallu aside just enough, and Vinay's breath caught. Her blouse, a matching red with a low neckline, strained against the generous swell of her breasts. Deep cleavage spilled into view, soft and pale, rising with each careful stroke of her hand. The valley between them was shadowed, inviting, and there—barely visible in the dimple of her left breast—a tiny mole, dark and teasing, like a hidden invitation. Vinay stared, transfixed, his cock twitching in his pants as he imagined burying his face there, licking that mole, feeling her nipples harden under his tongue. Anjali's body was a study in contrasts: her thin waist, cinched like a corset, flared dramatically to support those massive boobs, heavy and full, defying gravity on such a slender frame. Below, her hips widened into a big ass that even in kneeling position promised plush firmness.
She looked up, catching his gaze, but her expression was warm, sisterly. 'Thammudu,' she called out in her melodic Telugu, the word for little brother dripping with affection, 'don't just watch! Come help your akka with this feather detail. Priya bhabhi's rangoli is looking so beautiful—yours too, I'm sure.' Thammudu. The term stung, reducing his burning desire to familial banter. It frustrated him, this platonic barrier she erected so effortlessly. He forced a smile and joined her, kneeling close enough to catch her scent—jasmine soap mingled with the earthy rice flour. As she leaned again, her sensuous lips parted in concentration, full and pink, glistening slightly from the humid air. He wanted to kiss them, suck on the lower one until she moaned.
Their hands brushed as he passed her the chalk, and electricity shot through him. Up close, her milky white skin glowed, a stark contrast to Priya's dusky warmth waiting back at their spot. Anjali chatted animatedly about the festival sweets she planned to make, her voice light, oblivious to the turmoil she stirred. Vinay nodded, his eyes dipping repeatedly to her cleavage, that mole a siren call. When Priya called him back, he retreated, but the image seared into his mind. That night, as the complex echoed with firecracker bursts, Vinay lay awake, his frustration a tight coil in his belly.
The next encounter came a week later, on a sweltering Saturday afternoon. Vinay was returning from his routine jog around the complex perimeter, sweat soaking his t-shirt, when he spotted Anjali in the corridor struggling with two bulging grocery bags. She wore a deep green saree that clung to her curves from the humidity, the fabric damp at her back. As she bent to set one bag down and readjust, her ass came into full view—big, round, and perfectly shaped, the saree petticoat outlining the cheeks like a second skin. It jiggled slightly with the motion, firm yet plush, begging to be grabbed, spanked, spread apart. Vinay ogled shamelessly, his cock hardening as he pictured bending her over right there, sliding into her from behind, watching that ass bounce against his hips.
'Arre thammudu!' she exclaimed, straightening with a laugh that made her breasts quiver. 'Perfect timing. Help your akka with these onions and brinjals—they're heavier than Rajesh after his trips!' Again, thammudu, the word like salt in his wound. He took the bags, his arm brushing her thin waist accidentally—or was it? It was so narrow, his hand could almost encircle it, yet it anchored her voluptuous form: massive boobs above, swaying gently, and that big ass below, shifting as she walked ahead to her door. Her sensuous lips curved in gratitude, and the small mangalsutra nestled in her cleavage, drawing his eyes once more. 'You're a lifesaver, Vinay. Priya is so lucky—such a helpful husband.'
He mumbled something about neighbors helping each other, escaping to his flat where Priya was napping. The frustration gnawed at him, a sexual hunger that Priya's presence only amplified. That evening, as they sat for dinner—Priya's homemade pulihora, tangy and spiced—Vinay's mind replayed Anjali's ass, her lips. Priya noticed his distraction, her dusky hand covering his. 'Anna, you seem tense. Work stress?' In their private moments, she called him anna, elder brother, a playful twist on their roles.
He pulled her into his lap, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming her body through her nightie. Priya responded with a soft moan, her tongue meeting his. The kiss grew urgent, Vinay's frustration channeling into need. He stood, carrying her to the bedroom, their small sanctuary with its double bed and ceiling fan whirring lazily. Priya's nightie came off first, revealing her dusky skin, her breasts medium-sized and firm, nipples dark and erecting under his gaze. She was beautiful in her familiarity, but tonight, she was a vessel for his fantasies.
Vinay stripped quickly, his cock springing free, thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum at the tip. Priya's eyes widened with desire as she reached for it, stroking the shaft slowly. 'I want you, Vinay,' she whispered, her voice husky. He pushed her back onto the bed, kissing down her neck, sucking on her collarbone before latching onto her nipple. He sucked hard, tongue flicking the bud, while his hand slid between her thighs. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips plump and darkening with arousal, already slick. He rubbed her clit in circles, feeling it swell under his fingers.
Priya arched, moaning, 'Yes, anna... touch me there.' But in Vinay's mind, it was Anjali—her milky white thighs spread, that thin waist twisting. He inserted two fingers into Priya's pussy, pumping them in and out, curling to hit her G-spot. She bucked, her juices coating his hand. 'Fuck me, please,' she begged, her dusky breasts heaving. Vinay positioned himself, rubbing his cockhead against her entrance, teasing her clit before thrusting in deep. Her pussy gripped him like a vice, hot and wet, walls fluttering.
He fucked her steadily at first, hips rolling, cock sliding in and out with wet sounds. Priya's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. 'Harder, Vinay... oh god!' He obliged, pounding into her, the bed creaking under them. Each thrust imagined Anjali's big ass slapping against him, her sensuous lips parted in ecstasy. He flipped Priya onto her stomach, lifting her hips to enter from behind. Her ass, smaller than Anjali's but round, jiggled with his impacts. He spanked it lightly, watching the dusky skin redden, then gripped her waist—thinner than Anjali's but supportive—and rammed harder.
Priya pushed back, her moans filling the room. 'I'm close... cum with me!' Vinay reached under to rub her clit, feeling her pussy clench rhythmically as she orgasmed, squirting a little onto the sheets. The sensation pushed him over, his balls tightening. He thrust deep one last time, cock pulsing as he shot ropes of hot cum into her, filling her pussy until it leaked out around his shaft. They collapsed, panting, Priya curling into him with a satisfied sigh. But as she slept, Vinay's mind wandered back to Anjali, the release only temporary.
The days blurred into a pattern of tormenting glimpses. One morning, Vinay stepped out for the newspaper and found Anjali watering plants on her balcony, visible from the corridor. She wore a simple yellow salwar kameez, the dupatta slipping to reveal her thin waist as she stretched. Her massive boobs strained the kurta, nipples faintly outlined, and when she turned, her big ass filled the fabric. He ogled from the shadows, cock hardening again. She waved, 'Thammudu, good morning! Come for coffee sometime—Priya too.' The invitation was innocent, but his thoughts were filthy: bending her over the railing, fucking her ass while she called him brother.
Another afternoon, during a power outage that plunged the complex into humid darkness, Vinay heard a knock. Anjali, fanning herself with a magazine, stood there in a light blue saree. 'Thammudu, do you have candles? Rajesh forgot to stock up.' As she leaned in to take the ones he offered, her sensuous lips brushed close, her breath warm. Her cleavage loomed, that tiny mole winking. Her body—milky white, thin waist holding those curves—overwhelmed him. He imagined sucking her lips, pinching her nipples, making her big ass red from slaps.
'You're always so helpful,' she said, patting his arm. Frustration boiled; thammudu again, like he was a child. That night, the heat mirrored his inner fire. Priya, sensing it, initiated in the living room. She knelt before him on the rug, pulling down his shorts to free his cock. 'Let me take care of you,' she murmured, her dusky lips wrapping around the head. She sucked eagerly, tongue swirling the underside, taking him deeper until he hit her throat. Vinay groaned, hands in her hair, fucking her mouth gently at first.
Priya bobbed, saliva dripping, her hand stroking what she couldn't swallow. He watched her dusky cheeks hollow, but pictured Anjali's full lips stretched around him, her mangalsutra swinging. Pulling out, he lifted her onto the couch, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy glistened, folds parted. He licked her slowly, tongue flat against her clit, then delving inside to taste her tangy essence. Priya writhed, 'Vinay... yes, eat my pussy!' He sucked her clit, fingers pumping her hole, until she came on his face, thighs quaking.
Not done, Vinay stood, entering her in one thrust. The couch springs protested as he fucked her missionary style, her legs over his shoulders for deeper penetration. Her pussy milked him, wet slaps echoing. 'Cum in me, fill my pussy!' she cried. He did, grunting as his cock erupted, semen flooding her depths. Yet, satisfaction eluded him fully.
Weeks passed with similar vignettes: Anjali at the complex temple, bending to light diyas, her ass prominent; chatting in the lift, her lips moving hypnotically; waving from her window, waist accentuated. Each time, thammudu, the word fueling his rage-lust. Sex with Priya became more frequent, elaborate outlets. One evening, after spotting Anjali's cleavage during a corridor chat about repairs, Vinay cornered Priya in the kitchen.
He bent her over the counter, hiking up her saree to expose her ass. No panties— she knew his moods. He spanked her cheeks, watching them redden, then dropped to lick her pussy from behind, tongue probing her asshole too for variety. Priya gasped, 'Anna, that's dirty... but don't stop.' He fingered both holes, then stood to fuck her pussy raw, hand around her throat lightly. She came twice, pussy squirting, before he pulled out to cum on her ass, painting the dusky skin white.
The climax of his pre-power frustration built relentlessly. Then came the rainy Tuesday. Monsoon rains battered Hanmakonda, turning streets to rivers. Vinay, late from work, took a shortcut through a muddy alley behind the complex, lined with ancient banyan trees and forgotten shrines. His foot snagged on something—a weathered stone amulet, unearthed by the downpour, its surface etched with arcane symbols that glowed faintly in his mind's eye before fading.
He tripped, crashing down, pain lancing his knee on a sharp edge. Dazed, he pocketed the amulet, limping home. A wave of vertigo hit, shadows twisting unnaturally. Priya tended him, but sleep brought feverish dreams of white skin and dark commands. Unbeknownst to him, the dark magic had awakened—powers to whitewash women's wills, bending only the opposite gender to his subconscious desires.
Morning brought Anjali's knock. 'Thammudu, I heard! Let akka see.' She bent over his knee on the couch, cleavage spilling, mole visible, her milky form tormenting him anew. 'Rest, little brother. You'll heal.' She left, ass swaying, leaving Vinay harder than ever, unaware of the power stirring within.
The city of Hanmakonda pulsed with the vibrant energy of South Indian life, its streets a chaotic symphony of honking vehicles, street vendors hawking spicy mirchi bajjis, and the distant call of temple bells. In the midst of this urban heartbeat stood Sai Residency, a sprawling apartment complex that housed 200 flats across five sturdy floors. The buildings formed a quadrangle around a central courtyard, where residents gathered for festivals, gossip, and the occasional cricket match among the children. Laundry fluttered from balconies like colorful flags, and the air carried the mingled scents of incense, frying spices, and monsoon earth.
Vinay Reddy, a 28-year-old software engineer at a local IT firm, had settled into flat 305 on the third floor two years ago, right after his marriage to Priya. Their home was a modest two-bedroom space, painted in soft yellows, with a small kitchen where Priya whipped up tangy rasam and fluffy idlis each morning. Priya, 26, was a dedicated collegeteacher at a nearby government college, her dusky complexion a rich brown that glowed with the vitality of her active days. Her black hair fell in thick waves when loose, and she had a laugh that filled the room like sunlight. Their marriage, arranged through family connections in the traditional Telugu style, was one of companionship and quiet affection. Vinay appreciated her steadiness, the way she organized their lives with lists and smiles. But lately, a shadow had crept into his thoughts, one that Priya's warmth couldn't dispel.
It began subtly, about six months into their residency. Vinay first noticed Anjali Sharma when she moved into flat 304, directly across the narrow corridor. Anjali was 30, married to Rajesh, a businessman whose job kept him jetting between Hyderabad and Mumbai, leaving her to handle their home and the occasional social obligations. What set Anjali apart was her striking beauty—voluptuous and unapologetic, with a milky white complexion that seemed almost ethereal against the sun-baked tones of most neighbors. Her skin was smooth, unmarred, like polished porcelain, a genetic gift from her North Indian roots blended with Telugu heritage. She favored modern sarees that dbangd elegantly over her curves, and around her neck hung a small mangalsutra chain, the contemporary version with delicate gold links and a tiny black bead, a nod to tradition without the heaviness of older styles.
Vinay's initial encounters with Anjali were mundane, but they ignited something primal in him. It was during the preparations for Sankranti, the harvest festival that brought the complex alive with colors and cheers. The courtyard below their floors was transformed into a canvas of rangolis—intricate designs of rice flour, flowers, and chalk. Vinay had volunteered to help Priya with theirs, a simple lotus pattern near the entrance to their block. As he mixed colors in a bucket, his eyes wandered to Anjali, who was kneeling a few yards away, her red cotton saree pooling around her like spilled wine. She bent forward to trace the borders of her rangoli, a complex peacock motif that showcased her artistic flair.
The movement pulled her pallu aside just enough, and Vinay's breath caught. Her blouse, a matching red with a low neckline, strained against the generous swell of her breasts. Deep cleavage spilled into view, soft and pale, rising with each careful stroke of her hand. The valley between them was shadowed, inviting, and there—barely visible in the dimple of her left breast—a tiny mole, dark and teasing, like a hidden invitation. Vinay stared, transfixed, his cock twitching in his pants as he imagined burying his face there, licking that mole, feeling her nipples harden under his tongue. Anjali's body was a study in contrasts: her thin waist, cinched like a corset, flared dramatically to support those massive boobs, heavy and full, defying gravity on such a slender frame. Below, her hips widened into a big ass that even in kneeling position promised plush firmness.
She looked up, catching his gaze, but her expression was warm, sisterly. 'Thammudu,' she called out in her melodic Telugu, the word for little brother dripping with affection, 'don't just watch! Come help your akka with this feather detail. Priya bhabhi's rangoli is looking so beautiful—yours too, I'm sure.' Thammudu. The term stung, reducing his burning desire to familial banter. It frustrated him, this platonic barrier she erected so effortlessly. He forced a smile and joined her, kneeling close enough to catch her scent—jasmine soap mingled with the earthy rice flour. As she leaned again, her sensuous lips parted in concentration, full and pink, glistening slightly from the humid air. He wanted to kiss them, suck on the lower one until she moaned.
Their hands brushed as he passed her the chalk, and electricity shot through him. Up close, her milky white skin glowed, a stark contrast to Priya's dusky warmth waiting back at their spot. Anjali chatted animatedly about the festival sweets she planned to make, her voice light, oblivious to the turmoil she stirred. Vinay nodded, his eyes dipping repeatedly to her cleavage, that mole a siren call. When Priya called him back, he retreated, but the image seared into his mind. That night, as the complex echoed with firecracker bursts, Vinay lay awake, his frustration a tight coil in his belly.
The next encounter came a week later, on a sweltering Saturday afternoon. Vinay was returning from his routine jog around the complex perimeter, sweat soaking his t-shirt, when he spotted Anjali in the corridor struggling with two bulging grocery bags. She wore a deep green saree that clung to her curves from the humidity, the fabric damp at her back. As she bent to set one bag down and readjust, her ass came into full view—big, round, and perfectly shaped, the saree petticoat outlining the cheeks like a second skin. It jiggled slightly with the motion, firm yet plush, begging to be grabbed, spanked, spread apart. Vinay ogled shamelessly, his cock hardening as he pictured bending her over right there, sliding into her from behind, watching that ass bounce against his hips.
'Arre thammudu!' she exclaimed, straightening with a laugh that made her breasts quiver. 'Perfect timing. Help your akka with these onions and brinjals—they're heavier than Rajesh after his trips!' Again, thammudu, the word like salt in his wound. He took the bags, his arm brushing her thin waist accidentally—or was it? It was so narrow, his hand could almost encircle it, yet it anchored her voluptuous form: massive boobs above, swaying gently, and that big ass below, shifting as she walked ahead to her door. Her sensuous lips curved in gratitude, and the small mangalsutra nestled in her cleavage, drawing his eyes once more. 'You're a lifesaver, Vinay. Priya is so lucky—such a helpful husband.'
He mumbled something about neighbors helping each other, escaping to his flat where Priya was napping. The frustration gnawed at him, a sexual hunger that Priya's presence only amplified. That evening, as they sat for dinner—Priya's homemade pulihora, tangy and spiced—Vinay's mind replayed Anjali's ass, her lips. Priya noticed his distraction, her dusky hand covering his. 'Anna, you seem tense. Work stress?' In their private moments, she called him anna, elder brother, a playful twist on their roles.
He pulled her into his lap, kissing her deeply, his hands roaming her body through her nightie. Priya responded with a soft moan, her tongue meeting his. The kiss grew urgent, Vinay's frustration channeling into need. He stood, carrying her to the bedroom, their small sanctuary with its double bed and ceiling fan whirring lazily. Priya's nightie came off first, revealing her dusky skin, her breasts medium-sized and firm, nipples dark and erecting under his gaze. She was beautiful in her familiarity, but tonight, she was a vessel for his fantasies.
Vinay stripped quickly, his cock springing free, thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum at the tip. Priya's eyes widened with desire as she reached for it, stroking the shaft slowly. 'I want you, Vinay,' she whispered, her voice husky. He pushed her back onto the bed, kissing down her neck, sucking on her collarbone before latching onto her nipple. He sucked hard, tongue flicking the bud, while his hand slid between her thighs. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips plump and darkening with arousal, already slick. He rubbed her clit in circles, feeling it swell under his fingers.
Priya arched, moaning, 'Yes, anna... touch me there.' But in Vinay's mind, it was Anjali—her milky white thighs spread, that thin waist twisting. He inserted two fingers into Priya's pussy, pumping them in and out, curling to hit her G-spot. She bucked, her juices coating his hand. 'Fuck me, please,' she begged, her dusky breasts heaving. Vinay positioned himself, rubbing his cockhead against her entrance, teasing her clit before thrusting in deep. Her pussy gripped him like a vice, hot and wet, walls fluttering.
He fucked her steadily at first, hips rolling, cock sliding in and out with wet sounds. Priya's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. 'Harder, Vinay... oh god!' He obliged, pounding into her, the bed creaking under them. Each thrust imagined Anjali's big ass slapping against him, her sensuous lips parted in ecstasy. He flipped Priya onto her stomach, lifting her hips to enter from behind. Her ass, smaller than Anjali's but round, jiggled with his impacts. He spanked it lightly, watching the dusky skin redden, then gripped her waist—thinner than Anjali's but supportive—and rammed harder.
Priya pushed back, her moans filling the room. 'I'm close... cum with me!' Vinay reached under to rub her clit, feeling her pussy clench rhythmically as she orgasmed, squirting a little onto the sheets. The sensation pushed him over, his balls tightening. He thrust deep one last time, cock pulsing as he shot ropes of hot cum into her, filling her pussy until it leaked out around his shaft. They collapsed, panting, Priya curling into him with a satisfied sigh. But as she slept, Vinay's mind wandered back to Anjali, the release only temporary.
The days blurred into a pattern of tormenting glimpses. One morning, Vinay stepped out for the newspaper and found Anjali watering plants on her balcony, visible from the corridor. She wore a simple yellow salwar kameez, the dupatta slipping to reveal her thin waist as she stretched. Her massive boobs strained the kurta, nipples faintly outlined, and when she turned, her big ass filled the fabric. He ogled from the shadows, cock hardening again. She waved, 'Thammudu, good morning! Come for coffee sometime—Priya too.' The invitation was innocent, but his thoughts were filthy: bending her over the railing, fucking her ass while she called him brother.
Another afternoon, during a power outage that plunged the complex into humid darkness, Vinay heard a knock. Anjali, fanning herself with a magazine, stood there in a light blue saree. 'Thammudu, do you have candles? Rajesh forgot to stock up.' As she leaned in to take the ones he offered, her sensuous lips brushed close, her breath warm. Her cleavage loomed, that tiny mole winking. Her body—milky white, thin waist holding those curves—overwhelmed him. He imagined sucking her lips, pinching her nipples, making her big ass red from slaps.
'You're always so helpful,' she said, patting his arm. Frustration boiled; thammudu again, like he was a child. That night, the heat mirrored his inner fire. Priya, sensing it, initiated in the living room. She knelt before him on the rug, pulling down his shorts to free his cock. 'Let me take care of you,' she murmured, her dusky lips wrapping around the head. She sucked eagerly, tongue swirling the underside, taking him deeper until he hit her throat. Vinay groaned, hands in her hair, fucking her mouth gently at first.
Priya bobbed, saliva dripping, her hand stroking what she couldn't swallow. He watched her dusky cheeks hollow, but pictured Anjali's full lips stretched around him, her mangalsutra swinging. Pulling out, he lifted her onto the couch, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy glistened, folds parted. He licked her slowly, tongue flat against her clit, then delving inside to taste her tangy essence. Priya writhed, 'Vinay... yes, eat my pussy!' He sucked her clit, fingers pumping her hole, until she came on his face, thighs quaking.
Not done, Vinay stood, entering her in one thrust. The couch springs protested as he fucked her missionary style, her legs over his shoulders for deeper penetration. Her pussy milked him, wet slaps echoing. 'Cum in me, fill my pussy!' she cried. He did, grunting as his cock erupted, semen flooding her depths. Yet, satisfaction eluded him fully.
Weeks passed with similar vignettes: Anjali at the complex temple, bending to light diyas, her ass prominent; chatting in the lift, her lips moving hypnotically; waving from her window, waist accentuated. Each time, thammudu, the word fueling his rage-lust. Sex with Priya became more frequent, elaborate outlets. One evening, after spotting Anjali's cleavage during a corridor chat about repairs, Vinay cornered Priya in the kitchen.
He bent her over the counter, hiking up her saree to expose her ass. No panties— she knew his moods. He spanked her cheeks, watching them redden, then dropped to lick her pussy from behind, tongue probing her asshole too for variety. Priya gasped, 'Anna, that's dirty... but don't stop.' He fingered both holes, then stood to fuck her pussy raw, hand around her throat lightly. She came twice, pussy squirting, before he pulled out to cum on her ass, painting the dusky skin white.
The climax of his pre-power frustration built relentlessly. Then came the rainy Tuesday. Monsoon rains battered Hanmakonda, turning streets to rivers. Vinay, late from work, took a shortcut through a muddy alley behind the complex, lined with ancient banyan trees and forgotten shrines. His foot snagged on something—a weathered stone amulet, unearthed by the downpour, its surface etched with arcane symbols that glowed faintly in his mind's eye before fading.
He tripped, crashing down, pain lancing his knee on a sharp edge. Dazed, he pocketed the amulet, limping home. A wave of vertigo hit, shadows twisting unnaturally. Priya tended him, but sleep brought feverish dreams of white skin and dark commands. Unbeknownst to him, the dark magic had awakened—powers to whitewash women's wills, bending only the opposite gender to his subconscious desires.
Morning brought Anjali's knock. 'Thammudu, I heard! Let akka see.' She bent over his knee on the couch, cleavage spilling, mole visible, her milky form tormenting him anew. 'Rest, little brother. You'll heal.' She left, ass swaying, leaving Vinay harder than ever, unaware of the power stirring within.
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