02-12-2025, 10:21 AM
The ceiling fan turned lazily above them, doing nothing to cut the thick, humid heat that clung to their skin. The bedsheet beneath Paromita was already a battlefield of damp patches and crumpled silk, the air heavy with the smell of sex, sweat, and the faint metallic trace of spent latex. She lay on her back between the two men, chest still glistening from the mixed load they had painted across her breasts only minutes earlier. Her nipples were dark and swollen, rising and falling with each slow breath. A lazy, satisfied smile played on her lips, but her eyes, when she opened them, were sharp, hungry, not sated.
Rahul was on her left, propped on one elbow, tracing idle circles around her navel with a fingertip that still trembled from his own climax. Samir lay on her right, one heavy arm thrown across her waist, thumb brushing the underside of her breast as if testing whether she was still real.
For a long moment no one spoke. Only the wet sound of their breathing and the distant hum of Kolkata traffic far below the flat.
Then Paromita stretched like a cat, arching her back so her breasts lifted toward the fan, cum sliding in slow rivulets toward her collarbones.
“Boys,” she said, voice low and syrupy, “we are nowhere near finished.”
Rahul’s cock gave an involuntary twitch against her thigh. Samir’s answering laugh rumbled against her ribs.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Samir murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of her breast, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his own release. “Because I still haven’t heard you scream my name properly.”
Paromita turned her head, caught Rahul’s eyes. “And you, baby? Still jealous?”
Rahul swallowed. “Yes, Boudi.”
“Good,” she whispered. She reached down, wrapped her fingers around his half-hard shaft, and gave it a slow, possessive stroke. “Jealous boys fuck harder. I’m counting on that.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows, looked from one to the other, and let the smile sharpen into something wicked.
“I want both of you inside me. At the same time. No more taking turns like polite guests. I want to feel so full I forget my own name.”
Rahul’s breath hitched. Samir’s hand stilled on her waist.
Paromita went on, voice velvet and steel. “Rahul, you’ve been begging to take my ass for months. Tonight you get your wish. Samir,” she turned to the bigger man, traced a nail down the deep groove between his abs, “you keep my pussy. I want to feel you two rubbing against each other through that thin wall while you wreck me.”
Samir’s cock surged against her hip, already thick again. Rahul made a strangled sound.
“But first,” she continued, “we do this slowly. I’m not some cheap whore who gets jackhammered and tossed aside. You will worship me. You will ruin me properly.”
She rolled onto her stomach, pushed herself up onto hands and knees, looked back over her shoulder. The sight of her, back arched, heavy breasts hanging, ass tilted high, stole the air from both men.
“Rahul,” she said softly, “come here. Kiss it. Show Samir how gently you can love your boudi’s ass before you split it open.”
Rahul crawled forward like a supplicant. His hands trembled when he cupped her cheeks, spreading them reverently. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the cleft, then another, tongue tracing the sensitive skin with the devotion of prayer. Paromita let her head drop forward, a low hum of approval vibrating in her throat.
Samir watched, stroking himself lazily. “Look at him,” he said, voice rough. “Boy’s shaking like it’s his wedding night.”
“He is,” Paromita answered, pushing back against Rahul’s mouth. “Tonight he marries my ass. And you, Samir, you’re the best man who gets to fuck the bride while the groom watches.”
Rahul whimpered against her skin.
Samir barked a laugh. “Dirty mouth on a respectable boudi.”
“You have no idea,” she purred.
She reached blindly for the bedside drawer, pulled out a fresh bottle of lube, thick, expensive, unscented, and tossed it to Rahul. “Use a lot. I want to feel you slide in like you belong there.”
Rahul’s hands shook as he slicked his fingers. The first cool touch at her tight ring made Paromita sigh, long and luxurious. He circled, pressed, worked one finger in slowly, reverently, then two, scissoring gently while Samir watched with dark, predatory eyes.
“Tell him, Rahul,” Paromita ordered, voice husky. “Tell Samir what you’re doing to your boudi’s virgin ass.”
Rahul’s voice cracked. “I… I’m opening her for my cock. So I can fuck her ass while he fucks her pussy.”
Samir leaned forward, brushed Rahul’s hair back almost tenderly. “Good boy. Add a third finger. Stretch her nice and slow.”
Rahul obeyed, cheeks burning, cock leaking against the sheet.
Paromita moaned, pushing back. “More. I want to feel the burn.”
Minutes stretched, thick and syrupy. Rahul worked her open with the devotion of a man who knew this might be the only night he ever got this gift. When he finally replaced fingers with the blunt head of his cock, slick and trembling, Paromita exhaled shakily.
“Look at me, baby,” she said.
Rahul met her eyes in the mirror across the room, saw his own flushed face behind her, saw Samir kneeling between her thighs, stroking himself, waiting.
“Push,” she whispered.
The pressure was immense. Rahul went slow, letting her body yield by slow degrees, until the head popped past the tight ring and they both gasped. Paromita’s nails clawed the sheet.
“Fuck… yes… just like that… don’t you dare hurry.”
Inch by inch he fed himself into her ass until his hips met her cheeks. He stayed buried, panting, letting her adjust.
Samir’s voice was gravel. “Move aside a little, kid. Let me in.”
Rahul pulled back slightly. Samir slicked his own length generously, lined up, and pressed forward into her soaked pussy in one smooth, relentless glide. Paromita cried out, back bowing, the sudden fullness overwhelming.
Both men froze, buried to the hilt, feeling each other through the thin membrane, feeling her body flutter and clench around the impossible stretch.
Paromita’s voice came out broken, breathless. “Move. Both of you. Fuck me like you hate me.”
They found a rhythm slowly, carefully at first. Rahul shallow thrusts into her ass while Samir withdrew from her pussy, then reversed. Every tiny movement rubbed their cocks together inside her, the friction obscene, perfect.
Paromita’s moans turned animal. “Harder… yes… like that… fill me… oh god I can feel you both…”
Samir growled, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Your pussy is gripping me like a fist, Paromita. Feel that, Rahul? Feel how she milks us both?”
Rahul could only whimper in answer, lost in the tight heat of her ass and the knowledge that Samir’s cock was sliding against his own with every thrust.
Paromita reached back blindly, found Rahul’s thigh, dug her nails in. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me how it feels to fuck your boudi’s ass while another man’s cock rubs yours.”
Rahul’s voice cracked. “It’s… it’s so tight, Boudi… and I can feel him… I can feel him moving inside you… it’s wrong and it’s perfect…”
Samir laughed darkly, snapped his hips harder. “Wrong is the point, kid. Your brother’s wife is stuffed full of two cocks tonight. How does that feel?”
Rahul’s answer was a broken moan as he thrust deeper.
Paromita’s whole body began to shake. “Switch,” she gasped. “I want to feel the difference. Rahul in my pussy, Samir in my ass. Now.”
They moved carefully, reluctantly, trading places. Samir’s thicker cock breaching her ass made Paromita scream into the pillow, a raw, guttural sound that turned into a sob of pleasure when Rahul slid home into her pussy, familiar, perfect, ruined by the stretch.
Samir’s girth.
Rahul’s eyes rolled back. “Boudi… you’re so loose now… he really did wreck you…”
“Yes,” she panted, pushing back against them both. “And you love it. You love feeling how another man opened me for you.”
Samir’s hand came down in a sharp slap on her ass that made her clench hard around them both. “Tell him thank you, slut.”
Paromita laughed breathlessly. “Thank you, Samir… thank you for stretching my ass so my dewar can slide in like it’s nothing…”
Rahul’s thrusts turned punishing, jealousy and gratitude braided tight.
They lost track of time. Sweat dripped, skin slapped, the room filled with the wet, filthy sounds of two cocks working one woman in perfect, brutal unison. Paromita’s voice gave out first, reduced to broken whimpers and pleas in Bengali, then just raw sound.
Samir was the one to break rhythm. “Close,” he growled.
Paromita reached back, grabbed Rahul’s wrist. “Together. I want both of you to come inside me at the same time. Fill me up until I leak for days.”
Rahul sobbed, “Condom—”
“No,” she snapped. “I want to feel it. I want to feel both my boys lose control inside me.”
Samir’s laugh was dark. “Greedy fucking woman.”
They sped up, frantic now, hips snapping, the bed creaking dangerously. Paromita’s entire body locked up first, orgasm ripping through her so violently her vision whined high and broken, pussy and ass spasming around them in waves.
The clenching dragged both men over the edge. Samir first, buried deep in her ass, groaning her name like a curse. Rahul seconds later, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, tears and sweat mixing as he pumped pulse after pulse into her pussy.
They stayed locked together, trembling, until the aftershocks subsided.
Slowly, carefully, they separated. Cum leaked from both her holes in thick, obscene rivulets, marking the sheet, marking her thighs.
Paromita collapsed onto her side, chest heaving, hair plastered to her face. She looked at Rahul, then at Samir, and smiled a slow, utterly ruined smile.
“Clean me,” she whispered.
Rahul didn’t hesitate. He lowered his mouth to her pussy, lapping gently at the mess he and Samir had made. Samir watched for a moment, then joined him, tongue sliding down to tongue her ass, tasting himself on her skin.
Paromita stroked both their heads, fingers threading through sweat-damp hair.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Good boys. Taste what you did to me.”
When they finally pulled away, faces shining, she drew them up her body, kissed them both, tasting herself and them on their tongues.
She looked at the clock. 4:17 a.m.
“Sun will be up soon,” she said softly. “And I still haven’t decided whose cum I’m keeping inside me longer.”
Rahul’s cock twitched against her thigh.
Samir chuckled, already reaching for her again.
Paromita stretched, slow and satisfied, and spread her legs in open invitation.
“Then we have time for one more round,” she said. “This time I’m on top. And neither of you is allowed to come until I say.”
She rose over them like a goddess and sinner in one breath, took Rahul in her pussy first, then guided Samir into her ass from beneath, and began to ride them both with slow, merciless rolls of her hips.
The night was far from over.
And somewhere between the fifth and sixth orgasm, when dawn finally bled pale gold through the curtains, Paromita looked down at the two men wrecked beneath her, at the sheets destroyed beyond saving, at the mangalsutra still somehow clinging to her cum-streaked neck, and laughed, low and filthy and utterly free.
“This,” she whispered, grinding down so they both groaned inside her, “is only the beginning.”
Rahul was on her left, propped on one elbow, tracing idle circles around her navel with a fingertip that still trembled from his own climax. Samir lay on her right, one heavy arm thrown across her waist, thumb brushing the underside of her breast as if testing whether she was still real.
For a long moment no one spoke. Only the wet sound of their breathing and the distant hum of Kolkata traffic far below the flat.
Then Paromita stretched like a cat, arching her back so her breasts lifted toward the fan, cum sliding in slow rivulets toward her collarbones.
“Boys,” she said, voice low and syrupy, “we are nowhere near finished.”
Rahul’s cock gave an involuntary twitch against her thigh. Samir’s answering laugh rumbled against her ribs.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Samir murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of her breast, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his own release. “Because I still haven’t heard you scream my name properly.”
Paromita turned her head, caught Rahul’s eyes. “And you, baby? Still jealous?”
Rahul swallowed. “Yes, Boudi.”
“Good,” she whispered. She reached down, wrapped her fingers around his half-hard shaft, and gave it a slow, possessive stroke. “Jealous boys fuck harder. I’m counting on that.”
She pushed herself up on her elbows, looked from one to the other, and let the smile sharpen into something wicked.
“I want both of you inside me. At the same time. No more taking turns like polite guests. I want to feel so full I forget my own name.”
Rahul’s breath hitched. Samir’s hand stilled on her waist.
Paromita went on, voice velvet and steel. “Rahul, you’ve been begging to take my ass for months. Tonight you get your wish. Samir,” she turned to the bigger man, traced a nail down the deep groove between his abs, “you keep my pussy. I want to feel you two rubbing against each other through that thin wall while you wreck me.”
Samir’s cock surged against her hip, already thick again. Rahul made a strangled sound.
“But first,” she continued, “we do this slowly. I’m not some cheap whore who gets jackhammered and tossed aside. You will worship me. You will ruin me properly.”
She rolled onto her stomach, pushed herself up onto hands and knees, looked back over her shoulder. The sight of her, back arched, heavy breasts hanging, ass tilted high, stole the air from both men.
“Rahul,” she said softly, “come here. Kiss it. Show Samir how gently you can love your boudi’s ass before you split it open.”
Rahul crawled forward like a supplicant. His hands trembled when he cupped her cheeks, spreading them reverently. He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the cleft, then another, tongue tracing the sensitive skin with the devotion of prayer. Paromita let her head drop forward, a low hum of approval vibrating in her throat.
Samir watched, stroking himself lazily. “Look at him,” he said, voice rough. “Boy’s shaking like it’s his wedding night.”
“He is,” Paromita answered, pushing back against Rahul’s mouth. “Tonight he marries my ass. And you, Samir, you’re the best man who gets to fuck the bride while the groom watches.”
Rahul whimpered against her skin.
Samir barked a laugh. “Dirty mouth on a respectable boudi.”
“You have no idea,” she purred.
She reached blindly for the bedside drawer, pulled out a fresh bottle of lube, thick, expensive, unscented, and tossed it to Rahul. “Use a lot. I want to feel you slide in like you belong there.”
Rahul’s hands shook as he slicked his fingers. The first cool touch at her tight ring made Paromita sigh, long and luxurious. He circled, pressed, worked one finger in slowly, reverently, then two, scissoring gently while Samir watched with dark, predatory eyes.
“Tell him, Rahul,” Paromita ordered, voice husky. “Tell Samir what you’re doing to your boudi’s virgin ass.”
Rahul’s voice cracked. “I… I’m opening her for my cock. So I can fuck her ass while he fucks her pussy.”
Samir leaned forward, brushed Rahul’s hair back almost tenderly. “Good boy. Add a third finger. Stretch her nice and slow.”
Rahul obeyed, cheeks burning, cock leaking against the sheet.
Paromita moaned, pushing back. “More. I want to feel the burn.”
Minutes stretched, thick and syrupy. Rahul worked her open with the devotion of a man who knew this might be the only night he ever got this gift. When he finally replaced fingers with the blunt head of his cock, slick and trembling, Paromita exhaled shakily.
“Look at me, baby,” she said.
Rahul met her eyes in the mirror across the room, saw his own flushed face behind her, saw Samir kneeling between her thighs, stroking himself, waiting.
“Push,” she whispered.
The pressure was immense. Rahul went slow, letting her body yield by slow degrees, until the head popped past the tight ring and they both gasped. Paromita’s nails clawed the sheet.
“Fuck… yes… just like that… don’t you dare hurry.”
Inch by inch he fed himself into her ass until his hips met her cheeks. He stayed buried, panting, letting her adjust.
Samir’s voice was gravel. “Move aside a little, kid. Let me in.”
Rahul pulled back slightly. Samir slicked his own length generously, lined up, and pressed forward into her soaked pussy in one smooth, relentless glide. Paromita cried out, back bowing, the sudden fullness overwhelming.
Both men froze, buried to the hilt, feeling each other through the thin membrane, feeling her body flutter and clench around the impossible stretch.
Paromita’s voice came out broken, breathless. “Move. Both of you. Fuck me like you hate me.”
They found a rhythm slowly, carefully at first. Rahul shallow thrusts into her ass while Samir withdrew from her pussy, then reversed. Every tiny movement rubbed their cocks together inside her, the friction obscene, perfect.
Paromita’s moans turned animal. “Harder… yes… like that… fill me… oh god I can feel you both…”
Samir growled, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Your pussy is gripping me like a fist, Paromita. Feel that, Rahul? Feel how she milks us both?”
Rahul could only whimper in answer, lost in the tight heat of her ass and the knowledge that Samir’s cock was sliding against his own with every thrust.
Paromita reached back blindly, found Rahul’s thigh, dug her nails in. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me how it feels to fuck your boudi’s ass while another man’s cock rubs yours.”
Rahul’s voice cracked. “It’s… it’s so tight, Boudi… and I can feel him… I can feel him moving inside you… it’s wrong and it’s perfect…”
Samir laughed darkly, snapped his hips harder. “Wrong is the point, kid. Your brother’s wife is stuffed full of two cocks tonight. How does that feel?”
Rahul’s answer was a broken moan as he thrust deeper.
Paromita’s whole body began to shake. “Switch,” she gasped. “I want to feel the difference. Rahul in my pussy, Samir in my ass. Now.”
They moved carefully, reluctantly, trading places. Samir’s thicker cock breaching her ass made Paromita scream into the pillow, a raw, guttural sound that turned into a sob of pleasure when Rahul slid home into her pussy, familiar, perfect, ruined by the stretch.
Samir’s girth.
Rahul’s eyes rolled back. “Boudi… you’re so loose now… he really did wreck you…”
“Yes,” she panted, pushing back against them both. “And you love it. You love feeling how another man opened me for you.”
Samir’s hand came down in a sharp slap on her ass that made her clench hard around them both. “Tell him thank you, slut.”
Paromita laughed breathlessly. “Thank you, Samir… thank you for stretching my ass so my dewar can slide in like it’s nothing…”
Rahul’s thrusts turned punishing, jealousy and gratitude braided tight.
They lost track of time. Sweat dripped, skin slapped, the room filled with the wet, filthy sounds of two cocks working one woman in perfect, brutal unison. Paromita’s voice gave out first, reduced to broken whimpers and pleas in Bengali, then just raw sound.
Samir was the one to break rhythm. “Close,” he growled.
Paromita reached back, grabbed Rahul’s wrist. “Together. I want both of you to come inside me at the same time. Fill me up until I leak for days.”
Rahul sobbed, “Condom—”
“No,” she snapped. “I want to feel it. I want to feel both my boys lose control inside me.”
Samir’s laugh was dark. “Greedy fucking woman.”
They sped up, frantic now, hips snapping, the bed creaking dangerously. Paromita’s entire body locked up first, orgasm ripping through her so violently her vision whined high and broken, pussy and ass spasming around them in waves.
The clenching dragged both men over the edge. Samir first, buried deep in her ass, groaning her name like a curse. Rahul seconds later, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, tears and sweat mixing as he pumped pulse after pulse into her pussy.
They stayed locked together, trembling, until the aftershocks subsided.
Slowly, carefully, they separated. Cum leaked from both her holes in thick, obscene rivulets, marking the sheet, marking her thighs.
Paromita collapsed onto her side, chest heaving, hair plastered to her face. She looked at Rahul, then at Samir, and smiled a slow, utterly ruined smile.
“Clean me,” she whispered.
Rahul didn’t hesitate. He lowered his mouth to her pussy, lapping gently at the mess he and Samir had made. Samir watched for a moment, then joined him, tongue sliding down to tongue her ass, tasting himself on her skin.
Paromita stroked both their heads, fingers threading through sweat-damp hair.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Good boys. Taste what you did to me.”
When they finally pulled away, faces shining, she drew them up her body, kissed them both, tasting herself and them on their tongues.
She looked at the clock. 4:17 a.m.
“Sun will be up soon,” she said softly. “And I still haven’t decided whose cum I’m keeping inside me longer.”
Rahul’s cock twitched against her thigh.
Samir chuckled, already reaching for her again.
Paromita stretched, slow and satisfied, and spread her legs in open invitation.
“Then we have time for one more round,” she said. “This time I’m on top. And neither of you is allowed to come until I say.”
She rose over them like a goddess and sinner in one breath, took Rahul in her pussy first, then guided Samir into her ass from beneath, and began to ride them both with slow, merciless rolls of her hips.
The night was far from over.
And somewhere between the fifth and sixth orgasm, when dawn finally bled pale gold through the curtains, Paromita looked down at the two men wrecked beneath her, at the sheets destroyed beyond saving, at the mangalsutra still somehow clinging to her cum-streaked neck, and laughed, low and filthy and utterly free.
“This,” she whispered, grinding down so they both groaned inside her, “is only the beginning.”
Komal.
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