11-01-2026, 08:09 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-01-2026, 08:10 AM by fantasywoman. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
**Chapter 3: Midnight Cravings**
The Mumbai night pressed hot and heavy against the windows of Charu’s high-rise apartment, the distant hum of traffic a faint heartbeat beneath the silence. She lay sprawled across her king-sized bed in nothing but a pair of black lace panties that were already soaked through, the thin fabric clinging obscenely to the swollen lips of her cunt. The white kurti and jeans from earlier had long been discarded in a careless heap on the floor.
Moonlight sliced across her fair skin, painting silver streaks over the generous swell of her 34D breasts, those dark black nipples standing stiff and aching, begging for a mouth that wasn’t there. Charu’s long legs were spread wide, knees bent, toes curling into the sheets as her mind ran wild with the Johannesburg fantasy that had been torturing her all evening.
She pictured the Thunder Queens locker room after a grueling match—steam rising from the showers, the air thick with the scent of sweat, victory, and raw female power. Tall, muscular bodies everywhere: a Zulu captain with skin like polished ebony, dreads swinging as she peeled off her drenched uniform, revealing thick thighs and an ass so round and firm Charu wanted to bite it. Then there was the mixed-race libero—golden skin, green eyes, small perky tits with pierced nipples that would look so fucking perfect between Charu’s teeth. And the tall Afrikaner middle blocker, pale blonde hair plastered to her neck, blue eyes hungry, the kind of woman who’d pin Charu against the tiled wall and tongue-fuck her until she screamed.
Charu’s right hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting over her flat stomach, teasing the waistband of her panties before slipping underneath. She found her clit already engorged, slick and pulsing. A soft, filthy moan escaped her lips as she began slow, lazy circles—deliberate, torturously gentle. Just enough pressure to make her hips roll, not enough to let her come. Not yet.
“Fuck… yes, spread those legs for your doctor,” she whispered to the empty room, voice husky and low. In her mind the captain was on her knees now, thick tongue lapping at Charu’s dripping slit while the blonde blocker sucked hard on one black nipple, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
Charu’s breathing grew ragged. She dipped two fingers lower, parting her soaked folds, feeling how obscenely wet she was—her arousal coating her fingers like warm honey. Slowly, so fucking slowly, she pushed one long finger inside herself, savoring the stretch, the velvet heat that gripped her knuckle. Then a second finger joined, curling upward, stroking that spongy spot that made her back arch off the mattress.
“Ohhh… god, deeper,” she groaned, fucking herself with long, languid thrusts—pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt, her palm grinding against her swollen clit with every stroke. Her free hand roamed up to her tits, pinching and rolling one dark nipple until it throbbed in time with her cunt.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Needed to feel full. Stretched. Used.
Charu reached into the nightstand drawer with trembling fingers and pulled out her favorite toy: a thick, heavy stainless-steel dildo, cold to the touch, ridged along the shaft, seven unforgiving inches of unforgiving metal. She brought it to her lips first, licking a slow stripe up the length, tasting the faint metallic tang mixed with her own spit.
Then she dragged the blunt head down her body—between her heaving breasts, over her quivering stomach, until it kissed the entrance of her greedy pussy.
She teased herself mercilessly, rubbing the cold metal against her clit, letting the chill make her gasp, before finally—finally—pressing the thick tip inside.
The stretch was exquisite. Slow. Deliberate. She fed it in inch by torturous inch, eyes rolling back as her walls fluttered and clenched around the unyielding steel. When it was buried to the hilt, she held it there, hips rocking in tiny circles, feeling every ridge drag against her sensitive inner walls.
“Fuck me like you own me,” she panted to her imaginary lovers, voice breaking. “Fill this slutty Indian cunt until I can’t walk straight tomorrow.”
Only then did she begin to move it—long, deep, punishing strokes. Out until just the head remained, then slamming back in with a wet squelch that echoed obscenely in the quiet room. Her other hand flew back to her clit, rubbing frantic little circles now, chasing the edge she’d been denying herself for hours.
Her thighs trembled. Her tits bounced with every thrust. Sweat glistened between her breasts, trickling down to pool in her navel.
She pictured the entire team watching—cheering, touching themselves, waiting their turn to use her, to ruin her, to make their team doctor come so hard she forgot her own name.
The orgasm hit like a freight train.
Charu’s back bowed off the bed, a raw, animal scream tearing from her throat as her cunt clamped down hard on the metal shaft, spasming violently. Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her, juices gushing around the dildo, soaking the sheets beneath her ass. She kept fucking herself through it—slow, deep, relentless—milking every last tremor until she collapsed, panting, legs shaking, the steel still buried inside her twitching pussy.
For a long moment she lay there, chest heaving, black nipples still painfully erect, a satisfied, wicked smile curling her cum-glossed lips.
Johannesburg wasn’t just a job offer anymore.
It was a fucking promise.
And Dr. Charu Iyer intended to collect. Every. Single. Filthy. Inch.
Moonlight sliced across her fair skin, painting silver streaks over the generous swell of her 34D breasts, those dark black nipples standing stiff and aching, begging for a mouth that wasn’t there. Charu’s long legs were spread wide, knees bent, toes curling into the sheets as her mind ran wild with the Johannesburg fantasy that had been torturing her all evening.
She pictured the Thunder Queens locker room after a grueling match—steam rising from the showers, the air thick with the scent of sweat, victory, and raw female power. Tall, muscular bodies everywhere: a Zulu captain with skin like polished ebony, dreads swinging as she peeled off her drenched uniform, revealing thick thighs and an ass so round and firm Charu wanted to bite it. Then there was the mixed-race libero—golden skin, green eyes, small perky tits with pierced nipples that would look so fucking perfect between Charu’s teeth. And the tall Afrikaner middle blocker, pale blonde hair plastered to her neck, blue eyes hungry, the kind of woman who’d pin Charu against the tiled wall and tongue-fuck her until she screamed.
Charu’s right hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting over her flat stomach, teasing the waistband of her panties before slipping underneath. She found her clit already engorged, slick and pulsing. A soft, filthy moan escaped her lips as she began slow, lazy circles—deliberate, torturously gentle. Just enough pressure to make her hips roll, not enough to let her come. Not yet.
“Fuck… yes, spread those legs for your doctor,” she whispered to the empty room, voice husky and low. In her mind the captain was on her knees now, thick tongue lapping at Charu’s dripping slit while the blonde blocker sucked hard on one black nipple, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
Charu’s breathing grew ragged. She dipped two fingers lower, parting her soaked folds, feeling how obscenely wet she was—her arousal coating her fingers like warm honey. Slowly, so fucking slowly, she pushed one long finger inside herself, savoring the stretch, the velvet heat that gripped her knuckle. Then a second finger joined, curling upward, stroking that spongy spot that made her back arch off the mattress.
“Ohhh… god, deeper,” she groaned, fucking herself with long, languid thrusts—pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt, her palm grinding against her swollen clit with every stroke. Her free hand roamed up to her tits, pinching and rolling one dark nipple until it throbbed in time with her cunt.
But it wasn’t enough. She needed more. Needed to feel full. Stretched. Used.
Charu reached into the nightstand drawer with trembling fingers and pulled out her favorite toy: a thick, heavy stainless-steel dildo, cold to the touch, ridged along the shaft, seven unforgiving inches of unforgiving metal. She brought it to her lips first, licking a slow stripe up the length, tasting the faint metallic tang mixed with her own spit.
Then she dragged the blunt head down her body—between her heaving breasts, over her quivering stomach, until it kissed the entrance of her greedy pussy.
She teased herself mercilessly, rubbing the cold metal against her clit, letting the chill make her gasp, before finally—finally—pressing the thick tip inside.
The stretch was exquisite. Slow. Deliberate. She fed it in inch by torturous inch, eyes rolling back as her walls fluttered and clenched around the unyielding steel. When it was buried to the hilt, she held it there, hips rocking in tiny circles, feeling every ridge drag against her sensitive inner walls.
“Fuck me like you own me,” she panted to her imaginary lovers, voice breaking. “Fill this slutty Indian cunt until I can’t walk straight tomorrow.”
Only then did she begin to move it—long, deep, punishing strokes. Out until just the head remained, then slamming back in with a wet squelch that echoed obscenely in the quiet room. Her other hand flew back to her clit, rubbing frantic little circles now, chasing the edge she’d been denying herself for hours.
Her thighs trembled. Her tits bounced with every thrust. Sweat glistened between her breasts, trickling down to pool in her navel.
She pictured the entire team watching—cheering, touching themselves, waiting their turn to use her, to ruin her, to make their team doctor come so hard she forgot her own name.
The orgasm hit like a freight train.
Charu’s back bowed off the bed, a raw, animal scream tearing from her throat as her cunt clamped down hard on the metal shaft, spasming violently. Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her, juices gushing around the dildo, soaking the sheets beneath her ass. She kept fucking herself through it—slow, deep, relentless—milking every last tremor until she collapsed, panting, legs shaking, the steel still buried inside her twitching pussy.
For a long moment she lay there, chest heaving, black nipples still painfully erect, a satisfied, wicked smile curling her cum-glossed lips.
Johannesburg wasn’t just a job offer anymore.
It was a fucking promise.
And Dr. Charu Iyer intended to collect. Every. Single. Filthy. Inch.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)