29-12-2025, 06:54 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-01-2026, 10:37 PM by ashuezy2. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Scene 26
The steam from the shower was slowly dissipating, but the heat between us remained. Sonu had been sent away to his quarters, leaving me and my mother alone in the master bedroom. I walked out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped tight around my chest, water dripping from the ends of my hair onto my bare shoulders.
I looked back at Mom. She was sitting at her vanity, applying moisturizer to her legs. She was smiling—a genuine, proud smile. This was our first real moment together as women, not just mother and daughter.
I picked up the hair dryer and plugged it in. The hot air blasted against my scalp. Mom gave out a soft laugh, looking at me through the mirror. She was surprised by how comfortable I was, standing there half-naked after what we had just done, and how easy I made her feel about her secret life.
"You are a naughty one, aren't you?" she teased, her eyes twinkling. "First Saloni, and now this driver. You are surprising me, Ananya."
I turned off the dryer for a second, meeting her gaze. "I am learning from you, Mom."
Mom’s expression turned serious for a fleeting second. "Listen, Ananya, I need not tell you, but your father must not even get a hint of this, or we all will be in trouble."
I nodded silently. I wondered what the deal really was between Mom and Dad. They shared the same bed, ate at the same table, yet lived in parallel universes. I wanted to cross the line and ask—does he know anything? does he suspect?—but I couldn't gather enough courage yet. The bond was new; I didn't want to break it with heavy questions.
Mom stood up and walked to her closet, pulling out a daring, low-cut blouse.
"I have some friends coming over today," she announced casually. "I will introduce you to some of them."
"What for, Mom?" I asked, resuming drying my hair. "Usual get-together or something else?"
Mom paused, holding the blouse against her chest. "Let's say... I lost a bet. And I have some debts to settle."
I lowered the dryer. "Lost a bet?"
"Yeah," Mom sighed, though she didn't look too upset about it. "I overcommitted myself to my friends. I promised I could bring a new woman into our group—someone fresh. But she was pregnant and couldn't get out of her house, so I need to pay back the group for the disappointment."
"Was this Sneha Mehra?" I asked, recognizing the name of the new neighbor.
"Yeah," Mom confirmed, slipping into her blouse. "Her family recently moved in. She lives in a joint family, and her mother-in-law keeps track of her movements like a hawk. I even went to her house, tried to lure her out for 'coffee,' but that old mother-in-law is too careful. She wouldn't let Sneha out of her sight."
She turned to me, zipping up her skirt.
"So, since I couldn't deliver Sneha... the group demands a penalty. They are a bunch of Lusty moms."
Two hours later, the living room had transformed. The heavy curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun, creating a dim, club-like atmosphere. The air was thick with expensive perfumes—Chanel, Gucci, Dior—mixing with the smell of imported wine.
The "friends" arrived. Mrs. Kapoor, Mrs. Gupta, Mrs. Singhania—women I had seen at Diwali parties acting like saints were now lounging on our sofas, holding wine glasses, their sarees dbangd loosely to show off cleavage and midriffs.
They looked at me with hungry, assessing eyes as Mom introduced me.
"This is Ananya," Mom said, her hand on my shoulder. "She knows."
A ripple of excitement went through the room. "She knows?" Mrs. Kapoor giggled, sipping her wine. "Does she play?"
"She's learning," Mom winked.
Suddenly, the music changed. The soft lounge jazz was replaced by a heavy, thumping bass beat coming from the Bluetooth speaker.
The main door opened.
A man walked in. He wasn't a guest. He was wearing a tight security officer uniform that looked like it had been bought at a costume shop, sunglasses, and combat boots. He was huge—muscular, oiled, and radiating aggressive energy.
The women cheered, clapping their hands.
" Officer!" Mrs. Gupta shouted. "Someone here has been a bad girl!"
The stripper didn't smile. He walked into the center of the room, scanning the group. He locked eyes with Mom.
"Sunita," he barked, his voice deep and commanding.
Mom stepped forward, trembling slightly, acting the part of the nervous victim, though I saw the flush of excitement on her neck.
"You promised the group a new recruit," the stripper announced, walking around her, his baton tapping against his palm. "You failed. Debts must be paid."
He stopped behind her. He reached out and ripped the Velcro of his pants, tearing them away to reveal a tiny, neon thong bulging with his package.
The room erupted. The women were hooting, whistling, and clapping.
"Penalty time!" Mrs. Singhania yelled, raising her glass.
The stripper grabbed Mom’s waist and spun her around, pressing his crotch against her stomach. He looked at the cheering crowd, then back at Mom.
"Take her now!" a woman shouted from the back.
"Take her now! Take her now!" the group chanted in unison, chanting for my mother's public humiliation.
I stood back, leaning against the wall, watching the spectacle. I was looking at my mom, but the woman in the center of the room wasn't the mother who scolded me about grades. She was in her own zone, channeling a version of herself I had never seen—her wild college days brought back to life by adrenaline and lust.
She wasn't shying away from the stripper. She was backing into him. She started moving her hips, dry humping his thigh through his tear-away pants. He moved behind her, gripping her waist, grinding his hardness against her ass.
"Go, Sunita!" Mrs. Kapoor screamed, laughing hysterically.
One of them—I think it was Mrs. Singhania—grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl and literally threw it on them. Corns bounced off Mom’s cleavage and the stripper’s oiled chest. They didn't care. They were feeding off the energy.
The stripper wasted no time. He spun Mom around and shoved her down onto the ornate dining chair that had been pulled into the center of the rug.
"Sit," he commanded.
He started his dance. It was aggressive and hypnotic. He gyrated in her face, his package swaying inches from her nose. I just watched how a man could seduce a MILF like that—using sheer confidence and the roar of the small crowd.
The other women couldn't sit still anymore. They stood up from their sofas and moved in close, forming a tight circle around the chair, just like it happens in bachelor parties. They were clapping to the beat, their eyes glued to the show.
"Time to pay up!" the stripper shouted.
He reached down. With practiced efficiency, he stripped Mom. The blouse was unhooked, the saree unraveled, the petticoat pulled down. Within seconds, she was fully naked, sitting exposed under the chandelier.
She didn't cover herself. She threw her head back, accepting her fate.
The stripper grabbed a condom wrapper with his teeth, ripped it open, and rolled it on. He lifted Mom’s legs, dbanging them over the armrests of the chair.
"Look at her!" he yelled to the group.
"Yes!" the women chanted.
He drove into her.
Mom screamed, a sound of pure release. He started pounding her right there in front of everyone. Her breasts bounced violently with every thrust. The women cheered, leaning in to slap her ass or touch the stripper’s flexing muscles. This was the bet—total submission to the group's pleasure.
When he stopped, he was pulling out and leaving Mom panting and slumped in the chair, the show wasn't over. The other women wanted their share. They swarmed him. Mrs. Gupta was grabbing his ass, Mrs. Kapoor was licking sweat off his chest. It was a feeding frenzy of repressed housewives taking what they wanted.
I was sitting in the back, overwhelmed but unable to look away.
The stripper pushed through the crowd of aunties. He looked straight at me. He pointed his baton.
"You," he said, breathless and sweating. "Come forward."
The room went quiet for a split second, then erupted again.
"Ananya! Ananya! Ananya!" the women chanted, cheering me on with my name.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stood up. My legs felt heavy, but the pull of the group was stronger. I walked into the center of the circle.
Mom looked up from the chair, her hair messy, her body glowing with sweat. She smiled weakly but proudly. She rolled off the chair and crawled to the side, joining the circle.
"Sit," the stripper ordered me, pointing to the same chair my mother had just vacated.
I sat down. The seat was still warm from her body.
"The Queen," the stripper announced, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is your induction."
He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a can of whipped cream. He shook it violently. Shhh-shhh-shhh.
He stepped between my spread legs. He didn't enter me—not yet. He held his still-hard cock in his hand. He sprayed a mountain of white, fluffy cream all over the shaft and the head.
"Taste it," he commanded, holding it to my lips. "Show them you belong."
I looked at the women. I looked at Mom. They were all watching, waiting to see if I had the courage.
I opened my mouth. I leaned forward and licked the cream off him. The women cheered wildly, their applause filling the room as I tasted the sweetness and the musk, officially taking my place in their circle.
I was still fully dressed in my tight jeans and a fitted ribbed tank top that clung to me like a second skin, outlining every curve but hiding the main attraction.
The stripper wiped the remaining cream from himself and looked at me. His eyes roamed over my torso. The tank top was strained across my chest, the fabric stretching thin over the mounds underneath.
"Too much cotton," he announced to the room, his voice booming over the bass. "A Queen shouldn't be hiding behind cheap fabric."
"Take it off!" Mrs. Gupta screamed, clapping her hands.
"Strip her!" Mrs. Singhania chanted.
The stripper stepped behind the chair. He leaned down, his breath hot on my ear. "Stand up."
I stood up, my legs trembling. He didn't ask me to undress. He grabbed the hem of my tank top.
With one violent motion, he ripped the shirt upward. My arms got tangled for a second before he yanked it over my head and tossed it into the crowd of cheering women.
I stood there in my bra. It was a black, lacy thing, struggling to contain the breasts.
The cleavage spilled over the cups.
"Oh my god," Mrs. Kapoor gasped, leaning in closer. "Look at the size of them."
"Bigger than Sunita's," someone whispered loud enough for Mom to hear.
The stripper moved around to face me. He reached for the clasp between the cups.
"Let's see the goods," he growled.
Click.
The bra fell away. My breasts swung free, heavy and pale under the chandelier light.
The room went silent for a heartbeat.
It wasn't just the size of the breasts that stopped them; it was the nipples. They were massive—dark, puffy areolas that dominated the pale skin, with long, thick teats that stood violently erect in the cool air. They looked swollen, almost unnatural in their prominence.
"Holy shit," the stripper breathed, breaking character for a second. He stared at them, mesmerized. "I have never seen..."
The silence broke into a cacophony of shock and lust.
"Look at those nipples!" Mrs. Gupta shrieked, actually reaching out to poke one with a manicured finger. "They are huge! They are like thumbs!"
"Sunita!" Mrs. Singhania yelled, turning to my naked mother who was sitting on the floor. "You hid this from us? Your daughter is a freak! A beautiful freak!"
Mom looked at me. She looked at the chest that was captivating the entire room. There was no jealousy in her eyes, only a dark satisfaction.
"I told you she was special," Mom purred, crawling closer on her hands and knees.
The stripper recovered his composure. He reached out with both hands. He didn't grab the breast tissue; he grabbed the nipples directly. His fingers couldn't even cover the areolas completely.
He tweaked them.
"Ahhh!" I cried out, the sensation sharp and electric.
"These aren't nipples," the stripper laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "These are cup cakes. And I'm going to eat them."
He looked at the women.
"Who wants a turn before I destroy her?" he asked.
The aunties surged forward, their hands reaching out to touch, to pinch, to verify that the massive, dark peaks on my chest were real.
I didn't speak. I didn't try to cover myself. I just stood there, breathing shallowly, watching the circle of women close in. They looked like they were in a trance, their eyes fixed on the dark, swollen peaks of my chest. They weren't the polite, tea-sipping ladies of Vasant Vihar anymore; they were greedy, curious, and desperate to touch the youth they had lost.
I waited for the first one to break the seal.
It was Mrs. Gupta. She stepped forward, her diamond bracelets jingling. She didn't hesitate. She reached out with both hands and grabbed me.
Her hands were soft, manicured, and warm. She cupped the weight of my breasts, lifting them slightly.
"So heavy," she whispered, her eyes wide with envy. "Real, heavy flesh."
She squeezed.
"Ah," I gasped, the sound escaping my lips involuntarily.
She focused on the left nipple. She took the thick, dark teat between her thumb and forefinger and rolled it. It was a pinch that hovered right on the edge of pain.
"Look at how it swells," she announced to the group, pulling on it like it was taffy. "It’s like a rubber eraser. Tough. Responsive."
Mrs. Kapoor pushed in from the right. "Let me feel."
She grabbed my other breast. Her touch was rougher, hungrier. She dug her fingers into the soft tissue, kneading me like dough.
"Ananya," Mrs. Singhania purred, sliding her hands around my waist to press her face between my breasts. "You smell like sex."
I was being pulled in three different directions. I felt like a doll being passed around a nursery. Hands were everywhere—pinching, squeezing, weighing, slapping.
"I want to taste," Mrs. Kapoor declared.
She didn't wait for permission. She leaned down and latched onto my right nipple.
It was shocking. Her mouth was hot and wet. She sucked hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive skin of the areola. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I threw my head back, my hands gripping Mrs. Kapoor’s shoulders for balance.
"Mmm," Mrs. Kapoor moaned, vibrating against my chest. "Sweet."
Mrs. Gupta got jealous. She attacked the left one. Now I had two middle-aged women suckling on me, competing to see who could draw more reaction.
![[Image: Xz3vdX4u_o.gif]](https://images2.imgbox.com/c0/36/Xz3vdX4u_o.gif)
"Yes," Mom’s voice floated from somewhere on the floor. "Drink her in. She has plenty to give."
I looked down. I saw the tops of their heads, their hair sprayed and styled, buried in my chest. I felt their tongues flicking against the hard nubs of my nipples. It was surreal. It was perverse. And god help me, it felt incredible.
Through the haze of sensation, I looked at the stripper.
He was watching the spectacle with a dark grin. He adjusted his thong, clearly enjoying the show. He wasn't rushing them. He knew that the more worked up I got, the wetter I would be for him.
He caught my eye. He winked.
"Get her ready for me, ladies," he called out, his voice cutting through the moans. "Tenderize the meat. Because once I start, I won't be gentle."
I shivered. The women sucked harder, treating my breasts like lollipops, preparing me for the destruction he had promised.
The steam from the shower was slowly dissipating, but the heat between us remained. Sonu had been sent away to his quarters, leaving me and my mother alone in the master bedroom. I walked out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped tight around my chest, water dripping from the ends of my hair onto my bare shoulders.
I looked back at Mom. She was sitting at her vanity, applying moisturizer to her legs. She was smiling—a genuine, proud smile. This was our first real moment together as women, not just mother and daughter.
I picked up the hair dryer and plugged it in. The hot air blasted against my scalp. Mom gave out a soft laugh, looking at me through the mirror. She was surprised by how comfortable I was, standing there half-naked after what we had just done, and how easy I made her feel about her secret life.
"You are a naughty one, aren't you?" she teased, her eyes twinkling. "First Saloni, and now this driver. You are surprising me, Ananya."
I turned off the dryer for a second, meeting her gaze. "I am learning from you, Mom."
Mom’s expression turned serious for a fleeting second. "Listen, Ananya, I need not tell you, but your father must not even get a hint of this, or we all will be in trouble."
I nodded silently. I wondered what the deal really was between Mom and Dad. They shared the same bed, ate at the same table, yet lived in parallel universes. I wanted to cross the line and ask—does he know anything? does he suspect?—but I couldn't gather enough courage yet. The bond was new; I didn't want to break it with heavy questions.
Mom stood up and walked to her closet, pulling out a daring, low-cut blouse.
"I have some friends coming over today," she announced casually. "I will introduce you to some of them."
"What for, Mom?" I asked, resuming drying my hair. "Usual get-together or something else?"
Mom paused, holding the blouse against her chest. "Let's say... I lost a bet. And I have some debts to settle."
I lowered the dryer. "Lost a bet?"
"Yeah," Mom sighed, though she didn't look too upset about it. "I overcommitted myself to my friends. I promised I could bring a new woman into our group—someone fresh. But she was pregnant and couldn't get out of her house, so I need to pay back the group for the disappointment."
"Was this Sneha Mehra?" I asked, recognizing the name of the new neighbor.
"Yeah," Mom confirmed, slipping into her blouse. "Her family recently moved in. She lives in a joint family, and her mother-in-law keeps track of her movements like a hawk. I even went to her house, tried to lure her out for 'coffee,' but that old mother-in-law is too careful. She wouldn't let Sneha out of her sight."
She turned to me, zipping up her skirt.
"So, since I couldn't deliver Sneha... the group demands a penalty. They are a bunch of Lusty moms."
Two hours later, the living room had transformed. The heavy curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun, creating a dim, club-like atmosphere. The air was thick with expensive perfumes—Chanel, Gucci, Dior—mixing with the smell of imported wine.
The "friends" arrived. Mrs. Kapoor, Mrs. Gupta, Mrs. Singhania—women I had seen at Diwali parties acting like saints were now lounging on our sofas, holding wine glasses, their sarees dbangd loosely to show off cleavage and midriffs.
They looked at me with hungry, assessing eyes as Mom introduced me.
"This is Ananya," Mom said, her hand on my shoulder. "She knows."
A ripple of excitement went through the room. "She knows?" Mrs. Kapoor giggled, sipping her wine. "Does she play?"
"She's learning," Mom winked.
Suddenly, the music changed. The soft lounge jazz was replaced by a heavy, thumping bass beat coming from the Bluetooth speaker.
The main door opened.
A man walked in. He wasn't a guest. He was wearing a tight security officer uniform that looked like it had been bought at a costume shop, sunglasses, and combat boots. He was huge—muscular, oiled, and radiating aggressive energy.
The women cheered, clapping their hands.
" Officer!" Mrs. Gupta shouted. "Someone here has been a bad girl!"
The stripper didn't smile. He walked into the center of the room, scanning the group. He locked eyes with Mom.
"Sunita," he barked, his voice deep and commanding.
Mom stepped forward, trembling slightly, acting the part of the nervous victim, though I saw the flush of excitement on her neck.
"You promised the group a new recruit," the stripper announced, walking around her, his baton tapping against his palm. "You failed. Debts must be paid."
He stopped behind her. He reached out and ripped the Velcro of his pants, tearing them away to reveal a tiny, neon thong bulging with his package.
The room erupted. The women were hooting, whistling, and clapping.
"Penalty time!" Mrs. Singhania yelled, raising her glass.
The stripper grabbed Mom’s waist and spun her around, pressing his crotch against her stomach. He looked at the cheering crowd, then back at Mom.
"Take her now!" a woman shouted from the back.
"Take her now! Take her now!" the group chanted in unison, chanting for my mother's public humiliation.
I stood back, leaning against the wall, watching the spectacle. I was looking at my mom, but the woman in the center of the room wasn't the mother who scolded me about grades. She was in her own zone, channeling a version of herself I had never seen—her wild college days brought back to life by adrenaline and lust.
She wasn't shying away from the stripper. She was backing into him. She started moving her hips, dry humping his thigh through his tear-away pants. He moved behind her, gripping her waist, grinding his hardness against her ass.
"Go, Sunita!" Mrs. Kapoor screamed, laughing hysterically.
One of them—I think it was Mrs. Singhania—grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl and literally threw it on them. Corns bounced off Mom’s cleavage and the stripper’s oiled chest. They didn't care. They were feeding off the energy.
The stripper wasted no time. He spun Mom around and shoved her down onto the ornate dining chair that had been pulled into the center of the rug.
"Sit," he commanded.
He started his dance. It was aggressive and hypnotic. He gyrated in her face, his package swaying inches from her nose. I just watched how a man could seduce a MILF like that—using sheer confidence and the roar of the small crowd.
The other women couldn't sit still anymore. They stood up from their sofas and moved in close, forming a tight circle around the chair, just like it happens in bachelor parties. They were clapping to the beat, their eyes glued to the show.
"Time to pay up!" the stripper shouted.
He reached down. With practiced efficiency, he stripped Mom. The blouse was unhooked, the saree unraveled, the petticoat pulled down. Within seconds, she was fully naked, sitting exposed under the chandelier.
She didn't cover herself. She threw her head back, accepting her fate.
The stripper grabbed a condom wrapper with his teeth, ripped it open, and rolled it on. He lifted Mom’s legs, dbanging them over the armrests of the chair.
"Look at her!" he yelled to the group.
"Yes!" the women chanted.
He drove into her.
Mom screamed, a sound of pure release. He started pounding her right there in front of everyone. Her breasts bounced violently with every thrust. The women cheered, leaning in to slap her ass or touch the stripper’s flexing muscles. This was the bet—total submission to the group's pleasure.
When he stopped, he was pulling out and leaving Mom panting and slumped in the chair, the show wasn't over. The other women wanted their share. They swarmed him. Mrs. Gupta was grabbing his ass, Mrs. Kapoor was licking sweat off his chest. It was a feeding frenzy of repressed housewives taking what they wanted.
I was sitting in the back, overwhelmed but unable to look away.
The stripper pushed through the crowd of aunties. He looked straight at me. He pointed his baton.
"You," he said, breathless and sweating. "Come forward."
The room went quiet for a split second, then erupted again.
"Ananya! Ananya! Ananya!" the women chanted, cheering me on with my name.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stood up. My legs felt heavy, but the pull of the group was stronger. I walked into the center of the circle.
Mom looked up from the chair, her hair messy, her body glowing with sweat. She smiled weakly but proudly. She rolled off the chair and crawled to the side, joining the circle.
"Sit," the stripper ordered me, pointing to the same chair my mother had just vacated.
I sat down. The seat was still warm from her body.
"The Queen," the stripper announced, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is your induction."
He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a can of whipped cream. He shook it violently. Shhh-shhh-shhh.
He stepped between my spread legs. He didn't enter me—not yet. He held his still-hard cock in his hand. He sprayed a mountain of white, fluffy cream all over the shaft and the head.
"Taste it," he commanded, holding it to my lips. "Show them you belong."
I looked at the women. I looked at Mom. They were all watching, waiting to see if I had the courage.
I opened my mouth. I leaned forward and licked the cream off him. The women cheered wildly, their applause filling the room as I tasted the sweetness and the musk, officially taking my place in their circle.
I was still fully dressed in my tight jeans and a fitted ribbed tank top that clung to me like a second skin, outlining every curve but hiding the main attraction.
The stripper wiped the remaining cream from himself and looked at me. His eyes roamed over my torso. The tank top was strained across my chest, the fabric stretching thin over the mounds underneath.
"Too much cotton," he announced to the room, his voice booming over the bass. "A Queen shouldn't be hiding behind cheap fabric."
"Take it off!" Mrs. Gupta screamed, clapping her hands.
"Strip her!" Mrs. Singhania chanted.
The stripper stepped behind the chair. He leaned down, his breath hot on my ear. "Stand up."
I stood up, my legs trembling. He didn't ask me to undress. He grabbed the hem of my tank top.
With one violent motion, he ripped the shirt upward. My arms got tangled for a second before he yanked it over my head and tossed it into the crowd of cheering women.
I stood there in my bra. It was a black, lacy thing, struggling to contain the breasts.
The cleavage spilled over the cups.
"Oh my god," Mrs. Kapoor gasped, leaning in closer. "Look at the size of them."
"Bigger than Sunita's," someone whispered loud enough for Mom to hear.
The stripper moved around to face me. He reached for the clasp between the cups.
"Let's see the goods," he growled.
Click.
The bra fell away. My breasts swung free, heavy and pale under the chandelier light.
The room went silent for a heartbeat.
It wasn't just the size of the breasts that stopped them; it was the nipples. They were massive—dark, puffy areolas that dominated the pale skin, with long, thick teats that stood violently erect in the cool air. They looked swollen, almost unnatural in their prominence.
"Holy shit," the stripper breathed, breaking character for a second. He stared at them, mesmerized. "I have never seen..."
The silence broke into a cacophony of shock and lust.
"Look at those nipples!" Mrs. Gupta shrieked, actually reaching out to poke one with a manicured finger. "They are huge! They are like thumbs!"
"Sunita!" Mrs. Singhania yelled, turning to my naked mother who was sitting on the floor. "You hid this from us? Your daughter is a freak! A beautiful freak!"
Mom looked at me. She looked at the chest that was captivating the entire room. There was no jealousy in her eyes, only a dark satisfaction.
"I told you she was special," Mom purred, crawling closer on her hands and knees.
The stripper recovered his composure. He reached out with both hands. He didn't grab the breast tissue; he grabbed the nipples directly. His fingers couldn't even cover the areolas completely.
He tweaked them.
"Ahhh!" I cried out, the sensation sharp and electric.
"These aren't nipples," the stripper laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "These are cup cakes. And I'm going to eat them."
He looked at the women.
"Who wants a turn before I destroy her?" he asked.
The aunties surged forward, their hands reaching out to touch, to pinch, to verify that the massive, dark peaks on my chest were real.
I didn't speak. I didn't try to cover myself. I just stood there, breathing shallowly, watching the circle of women close in. They looked like they were in a trance, their eyes fixed on the dark, swollen peaks of my chest. They weren't the polite, tea-sipping ladies of Vasant Vihar anymore; they were greedy, curious, and desperate to touch the youth they had lost.
I waited for the first one to break the seal.
It was Mrs. Gupta. She stepped forward, her diamond bracelets jingling. She didn't hesitate. She reached out with both hands and grabbed me.
Her hands were soft, manicured, and warm. She cupped the weight of my breasts, lifting them slightly.
"So heavy," she whispered, her eyes wide with envy. "Real, heavy flesh."
She squeezed.
"Ah," I gasped, the sound escaping my lips involuntarily.
She focused on the left nipple. She took the thick, dark teat between her thumb and forefinger and rolled it. It was a pinch that hovered right on the edge of pain.
"Look at how it swells," she announced to the group, pulling on it like it was taffy. "It’s like a rubber eraser. Tough. Responsive."
Mrs. Kapoor pushed in from the right. "Let me feel."
She grabbed my other breast. Her touch was rougher, hungrier. She dug her fingers into the soft tissue, kneading me like dough.
"Ananya," Mrs. Singhania purred, sliding her hands around my waist to press her face between my breasts. "You smell like sex."
I was being pulled in three different directions. I felt like a doll being passed around a nursery. Hands were everywhere—pinching, squeezing, weighing, slapping.
"I want to taste," Mrs. Kapoor declared.
She didn't wait for permission. She leaned down and latched onto my right nipple.
It was shocking. Her mouth was hot and wet. She sucked hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive skin of the areola. It sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I threw my head back, my hands gripping Mrs. Kapoor’s shoulders for balance.
"Mmm," Mrs. Kapoor moaned, vibrating against my chest. "Sweet."
Mrs. Gupta got jealous. She attacked the left one. Now I had two middle-aged women suckling on me, competing to see who could draw more reaction.
"Yes," Mom’s voice floated from somewhere on the floor. "Drink her in. She has plenty to give."
I looked down. I saw the tops of their heads, their hair sprayed and styled, buried in my chest. I felt their tongues flicking against the hard nubs of my nipples. It was surreal. It was perverse. And god help me, it felt incredible.
Through the haze of sensation, I looked at the stripper.
He was watching the spectacle with a dark grin. He adjusted his thong, clearly enjoying the show. He wasn't rushing them. He knew that the more worked up I got, the wetter I would be for him.
He caught my eye. He winked.
"Get her ready for me, ladies," he called out, his voice cutting through the moans. "Tenderize the meat. Because once I start, I won't be gentle."
I shivered. The women sucked harder, treating my breasts like lollipops, preparing me for the destruction he had promised.
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