29-10-2025, 12:26 AM
## Update 68: Twice Claimed and Consumed (Avi and Meena Chachi)
I woke to the dense, humid heat of her body pressed against mine, a familiar, intoxicating warmth that was quickly becoming a constant. Her hair, the texture of silk, brushed my chin, and Meena Chachi's lips found mine with a fierce, demanding possession that instantly set the pace for the day. This wasn't yesterday's careful exploration; this was a reckless, burning hunger mirrored between us.
Our breaths, already ragged and hot, mixed above us in a cloud of sudden, frantic need, the only sound the hollow *thump* of my heart against the silence. My hand found the small of her back, the curve of her spine burning through the thin, slick fabric of her sleeping clothes. Her lips broke away just long enough for me to catch a full, staggering lungful of the air that tasted entirely of her. Her eyes were not merely looking at me; they were consuming, demanding. Then, with a quick, predatory motion, Chachi hooked her fingers into my waistband.
The fabric was pulled away, tossed silently to the floor. Chachi knelt on the mattress, her dark eyes dropping, and a sudden, sharp gasp escaped her. Her hand shot out, wrapping around my lunď with a heat that felt less like touch and more like a brand. "Where had you hidden this all this time?" Her voice was a low, rough command.
A deep, involuntary shiver—not of cold, but of pure shock—rattled my ribcage. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic, off-kilter drumbeat that swallowed all other noise. My hands clenched uselessly into the sheets, and my jaw locked so tight I felt a cold ache in my temples. The world had shrunk to the point of pressure where her hand gripped me.
Chachi released me and leaned closer, her expression intense, almost accusatory. "You didn't offer this yesterday."
I reached out, gently cupping the side of her face. "I thought you wouldn't like it," I admitted, the lie tasting dry in my mouth.
She didn't respond with words. Chachi slid down the bed, her mouth found my lunď again, a ferocious concentration pulling her eyebrows together. My breath hitched, and my eyes slammed shut.
"Aaaaaahhhhh." The sound was stolen from my lungs.
Chachi paused, lifting her head only inches. Her tongue traced a delicate, devastating line on my skin. "This isn't about what I 'like'," Chachi told me, her voice a low, gravelly promise. "This is about what Chachi *need*."
I took her shoulders and pressed her gently back onto the bed. I moved over her, positioning myself between her legs, and paused. She was utterly exposed, a clean, smooth, inviting expanse of skin.
*She’s preparing to burn the whole world down for this, and I’m letting her.*
I ran my thumb along the immaculate curve of her inner thigh. "Chachi, you're perfect," I observed.
"Of course, I am," Chachi challenged, lifting her hips slightly into my touch, a fierce pride in her eyes.
"But you were just with him," I pressed, the question heavy with the implication of betrayal.
"He doesn't look here," she gave a small, almost dismissive shrug, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He just gets his part done. This is for me."
I lowered my head, the potent, feminine scent of her chooť a powerful lure. The urgency was overwhelming. Her hands immediately gripped my hair, a brutal, possessive hold, pushing me harder. Chachi began to chant, a series of short, desperate cries.
The juice was overwhelming, hot and thick. I continued until her body arched high, a wave of hot, thick release flooding my mouth. I swallowed hard, the taste of her satisfaction flooding my throat.
"Now. Prove it," she gasped for air, pulling my head up, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wet with pleasure.
I positioned myself. One slow, determined push, and my lunď was half in. I met her eyes, a silent confirmation of the risk. A final, forceful shove, and I was home inside her chooť.
A sharp, ragged sound tore from her throat. The residual stiffness was there, a final barrier I had to breach. To distract her—and myself—from the tightness, I used my free hand to cover and gently squeeze her breasts.
I started a steady, rhythmic pressure. Her hips rose to meet every thrust, a responsive choreography that erased any lingering inhibition. The tempo increased. Her control shattered; her body went rigid, a series of quick, shallow spasms gripping me.
With the release of her climax, the tightness vanished. The rhythm became a frenetic beat against the sheets. The only sounds were the wet, heavy slaps of our skin meeting, punctuated by her gasping, muffled cries.
I increased the speed. Chachi became frantic, lifting herself higher, seeking a depth I wasn't sure I could give. After nearly a half-hour of this driving pace, she came twice more. I collapsed onto her, chest to chest, releasing all the heat and tension I had held into her body. We lay motionless, the only movement the desperate rise and fall of our chests.
I fully expected Chachi to leave. The initial hunger had been sated; the danger of discovery lingered.
But Chachi didn't move. After a few minutes of settling breath, she reached down, her fingers finding me, tracing the slick remnants of the encounter. She brought me to her mouth, methodically cleaning and then teasing until the energy returned, hot and insistent.
She pushed me onto my back, her eyes shining with newfound purpose. She grabbed my lunď, placed it, and with agonizing slowness, she lowered herself onto my length. "My turn," she whispered, gripping my chest for balance.
She began to move, a slow, rotating grind that accelerated into a frantic, mesmerizing blur. Her breasts shook with every rotation, beautiful, chaotic movement that drew my focus entirely. I abandoned my watch on the door and concentrated on her, seizing her hips to meet her momentum.
Ten minutes. Chachi cried out, her entire weight settling heavily onto my chest. She was done.
I rolled her beneath me, taking the dominant position again. I didn't wait for her recovery. I came down hard, starting a punishing, forceful tempo. Her teeth immediately bit into her lower lip, but the pain quickly yielded to sound.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh! Aaaaaahhhhhh!" The desperate volume told me I was stretching her chooť again.
I kept thrusting. Chachi kept screaming. We were locked into a loop of raw, explosive give and take. For forty minutes, nothing existed outside the hot, urgent confines of the bed. I finally emptied myself inside her once more. Her face, slick with sweat, instantly lit up with profound, undeniable happiness.
We simply stared at each other for fifteen minutes, breathing each other's air, the silence a thick, dangerous comfort. Chachi rose, quickly dressed, and walked to the door. She looked back, a genuine, possessive smile breaking across her face. I returned it, equally spent, equally claimed. I pulled my clothes on and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
---
I woke to the dense, humid heat of her body pressed against mine, a familiar, intoxicating warmth that was quickly becoming a constant. Her hair, the texture of silk, brushed my chin, and Meena Chachi's lips found mine with a fierce, demanding possession that instantly set the pace for the day. This wasn't yesterday's careful exploration; this was a reckless, burning hunger mirrored between us.
Our breaths, already ragged and hot, mixed above us in a cloud of sudden, frantic need, the only sound the hollow *thump* of my heart against the silence. My hand found the small of her back, the curve of her spine burning through the thin, slick fabric of her sleeping clothes. Her lips broke away just long enough for me to catch a full, staggering lungful of the air that tasted entirely of her. Her eyes were not merely looking at me; they were consuming, demanding. Then, with a quick, predatory motion, Chachi hooked her fingers into my waistband.
The fabric was pulled away, tossed silently to the floor. Chachi knelt on the mattress, her dark eyes dropping, and a sudden, sharp gasp escaped her. Her hand shot out, wrapping around my lunď with a heat that felt less like touch and more like a brand. "Where had you hidden this all this time?" Her voice was a low, rough command.
A deep, involuntary shiver—not of cold, but of pure shock—rattled my ribcage. My heart hammered against my ribs, a chaotic, off-kilter drumbeat that swallowed all other noise. My hands clenched uselessly into the sheets, and my jaw locked so tight I felt a cold ache in my temples. The world had shrunk to the point of pressure where her hand gripped me.
Chachi released me and leaned closer, her expression intense, almost accusatory. "You didn't offer this yesterday."
I reached out, gently cupping the side of her face. "I thought you wouldn't like it," I admitted, the lie tasting dry in my mouth.
She didn't respond with words. Chachi slid down the bed, her mouth found my lunď again, a ferocious concentration pulling her eyebrows together. My breath hitched, and my eyes slammed shut.
"Aaaaaahhhhh." The sound was stolen from my lungs.
Chachi paused, lifting her head only inches. Her tongue traced a delicate, devastating line on my skin. "This isn't about what I 'like'," Chachi told me, her voice a low, gravelly promise. "This is about what Chachi *need*."
I took her shoulders and pressed her gently back onto the bed. I moved over her, positioning myself between her legs, and paused. She was utterly exposed, a clean, smooth, inviting expanse of skin.
*She’s preparing to burn the whole world down for this, and I’m letting her.*
I ran my thumb along the immaculate curve of her inner thigh. "Chachi, you're perfect," I observed.
"Of course, I am," Chachi challenged, lifting her hips slightly into my touch, a fierce pride in her eyes.
"But you were just with him," I pressed, the question heavy with the implication of betrayal.
"He doesn't look here," she gave a small, almost dismissive shrug, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He just gets his part done. This is for me."
I lowered my head, the potent, feminine scent of her chooť a powerful lure. The urgency was overwhelming. Her hands immediately gripped my hair, a brutal, possessive hold, pushing me harder. Chachi began to chant, a series of short, desperate cries.
The juice was overwhelming, hot and thick. I continued until her body arched high, a wave of hot, thick release flooding my mouth. I swallowed hard, the taste of her satisfaction flooding my throat.
"Now. Prove it," she gasped for air, pulling my head up, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wet with pleasure.
I positioned myself. One slow, determined push, and my lunď was half in. I met her eyes, a silent confirmation of the risk. A final, forceful shove, and I was home inside her chooť.
A sharp, ragged sound tore from her throat. The residual stiffness was there, a final barrier I had to breach. To distract her—and myself—from the tightness, I used my free hand to cover and gently squeeze her breasts.
I started a steady, rhythmic pressure. Her hips rose to meet every thrust, a responsive choreography that erased any lingering inhibition. The tempo increased. Her control shattered; her body went rigid, a series of quick, shallow spasms gripping me.
With the release of her climax, the tightness vanished. The rhythm became a frenetic beat against the sheets. The only sounds were the wet, heavy slaps of our skin meeting, punctuated by her gasping, muffled cries.
I increased the speed. Chachi became frantic, lifting herself higher, seeking a depth I wasn't sure I could give. After nearly a half-hour of this driving pace, she came twice more. I collapsed onto her, chest to chest, releasing all the heat and tension I had held into her body. We lay motionless, the only movement the desperate rise and fall of our chests.
I fully expected Chachi to leave. The initial hunger had been sated; the danger of discovery lingered.
But Chachi didn't move. After a few minutes of settling breath, she reached down, her fingers finding me, tracing the slick remnants of the encounter. She brought me to her mouth, methodically cleaning and then teasing until the energy returned, hot and insistent.
She pushed me onto my back, her eyes shining with newfound purpose. She grabbed my lunď, placed it, and with agonizing slowness, she lowered herself onto my length. "My turn," she whispered, gripping my chest for balance.
She began to move, a slow, rotating grind that accelerated into a frantic, mesmerizing blur. Her breasts shook with every rotation, beautiful, chaotic movement that drew my focus entirely. I abandoned my watch on the door and concentrated on her, seizing her hips to meet her momentum.
Ten minutes. Chachi cried out, her entire weight settling heavily onto my chest. She was done.
I rolled her beneath me, taking the dominant position again. I didn't wait for her recovery. I came down hard, starting a punishing, forceful tempo. Her teeth immediately bit into her lower lip, but the pain quickly yielded to sound.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh! Aaaaaahhhhhh!" The desperate volume told me I was stretching her chooť again.
I kept thrusting. Chachi kept screaming. We were locked into a loop of raw, explosive give and take. For forty minutes, nothing existed outside the hot, urgent confines of the bed. I finally emptied myself inside her once more. Her face, slick with sweat, instantly lit up with profound, undeniable happiness.
We simply stared at each other for fifteen minutes, breathing each other's air, the silence a thick, dangerous comfort. Chachi rose, quickly dressed, and walked to the door. She looked back, a genuine, possessive smile breaking across her face. I returned it, equally spent, equally claimed. I pulled my clothes on and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
---
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