17-01-2026, 11:43 AM
Hi, it's Chaitali here, your forever-adventurous housewife turned insatiable explorer of all things taboo and thrilling. Oh god, where do I even begin with this latest chapter in my wild, sex-soaked life? It's been a few months since that intense night at Bhanu Bhaiya's Delhi bungalow—the one where Shilpi and I turned a surprise threesome into a jealousy-fueled anal initiation that left us all quivering and cum-drenched. Life had settled into a delicious routine: sneaky quickies with Manish inspired by our group memories, flirty group chats with the crew sharing nudes and fantasies, and me masturbating to the thought of our next big escapade. But nothing could prepare me for what Bhanu Bhaiya had brewing. He called it a "simple outing to Goa," but honey, it was anything but simple. Let me spill every juicy, heart-pounding detail—from the butterflies in my stomach on the flight to the earth-shattering orgasms that had me screaming into the ocean breeze. Buckle up; this is going to be long, raw, and so intensely erotic that you'll feel every thrust, every lick, every surprise twist right along with me. By the end, if you're not on the edge (or over it), I haven't done my job.
It all started with a casual text from Bhanu Bhaiya about two weeks ago. "Bhabhi, pack your bikinis. I'm taking you to Goa for a weekend getaway. Just you and me—Manish can join if he's free, but I want some quality time with my favorite." My pussy tingled just reading it; Bhanu had that effect on me, his dominant vibe always promising adventures that pushed my limits. Manish was thrilled at first—"Finally, some beach fun!"—but then work hit. He had a big client meeting in Mumbai that same weekend, non-negotiable. "Go without me, jaan," he said, kissing my neck while fingering me slowly on the couch that night. "I trust Bhanu. Have fun... and send pics." Little did he know how much "fun" it would be. To my surprise, Kiran texted me the next day: "Heard about Manish's Mumbai trip. Mind if I tag along with him? We can 'work' together." I laughed—Kiran, our group's resident nympho, always ready for a side fling. "Sure, keep him company," I replied, imagining them fucking in some hotel room while I lounged in Goa. Perfect balance.
Bhanu arranged everything: flights, a luxury villa on a private beach in South Goa, away from the tourist crowds. I flew down with him on Friday morning, my heart racing as we boarded the plane. He looked so commanding in his linen shirt and shorts, his muscular arms brushing mine in the first-class seats. "This is going to be special, bhabhi," he whispered, his hand sliding up my thigh under the blanket the flight attendant provided. I was wearing a short sundress, no bra or panties—his request—and his fingers found my bare pussy easily, teasing my clit with slow circles while I bit my lip to stifle moans. "Bhaiya... people might see," I gasped, but he just smirked: "Let them. You're mine this weekend." By the time we landed, I was dripping wet, my nipples hard against the fabric, desperate for more.
The villa was breathtaking: a sprawling two-story haven with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arabian Sea, a private infinity pool, lush gardens, and multiple bedrooms decked out in silk sheets and mood lighting. No staff on site—Bhanu said he'd hired a discreet service for meals and cleaning, but we'd have total privacy. "Perfect for what I have planned," he said, pulling me into a deep kiss as soon as the door closed. His tongue explored my mouth hungrily, hands roaming my body, pinching my nipples through the dress until I whimpered. We didn't even make it to the bedroom; he bent me over the living room couch, hiked up my dress, and ate my pussy from behind like a starving man. His tongue lapped at my folds, circling my clit, then probing my ass—rimming me deep while fingering my G-spot. "Ahh, bhaiya! Fuck... don't stop!" I cried, grinding back against his face. He made me cum twice like that—first a slow build to a shuddering release, squirting onto his chin, then a rougher one with his fingers pounding me while he sucked my clit hard. Only then did he stand, unzip, and slide his thick cock into me doggy-style—slow at first, letting me feel every inch, then slamming hard, his balls slapping my clit. "This is just the appetizer, bhabhi," he growled, spanking my ass red. He pulled out at the last second, cumming across my back in hot ropes that dripped down my crack. We collapsed laughing, sweaty, and satisfied—for the moment.
That afternoon, we lounged by the pool. I wore the tiniest bikini Bhanu had packed for me—barely covering my nipples and pussy, strings that could untie with a tug. He oiled me up personally, his hands massaging my breasts, ass, and inner thighs until I was moaning again. "Bhaiya, you're teasing me," I pouted, but he just smiled mysteriously. "Patience. I have a surprise tonight." We swam naked, fucked in the shallow end—me riding him while waves lapped at us, his cock hitting depths that made my toes curl. Dinner was delivered: fresh seafood, wine, candlelight on the terrace. Bhanu was unusually attentive, feeding me bites, whispering how sexy I looked, how much he craved my body. But his phone buzzed a few times, and he'd check it with a sly grin. "Business?" I asked. "Something like that. You'll see."
As the sun set, painting the sky in oranges and pinks, a car pulled up to the villa. I heard voices—deep, accented ones—and my curiosity piqued. Bhanu stood, adjusting his shirt. "Time for your surprise, bhabhi." He led me to the entrance, where two figures waited: a tall, imposing man in his early 40s, dressed in a crisp white thobe, exuding wealth and authority, and a stunning young woman veiled in a veil but wearing a form-fitting abaya that hinted at curves beneath. The man was Razzaq—Bhanu's business client from Dubai, 42 years old, with sharp features, a neatly trimmed beard, piercing dark eyes, and an aura of power that made my knees weak. Beside him was his third wife, Subiya, just 25, her face partially visible—porcelain skin, full lips painted red, eyes lined with kohl that screamed sensuality. And lurking in the shadows behind them? A burly bodyguard, Sammir—mid-30s, built like a tank, silent and watchful, his eyes scanning everything.
"Bhanu, my friend," Razzaq boomed in a thick Arabic accent, shaking hands firmly. "This villa is magnificent. And this must be the beautiful Chaitali you've spoken of." His gaze raked over me hungrily, lingering on my bikini-clad body, making my skin flush. Subiya smiled shyly, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. Bhanu introduced us: "Razzaq is a key investor in my Dubai projects. He's here for a quick meeting... and some relaxation. Subiya is his latest gem." I felt a thrill—and a twinge of nervousness. This wasn't just a business visit; Bhanu's "big plan" was unfolding.
We moved to the terrace for drinks. Razzaq was charming, regaling us with stories of his yacht parties in Dubai, his multiple wives (Subiya was the youngest, married just six months ago), and his appetite for "exotic experiences." Sammir stood nearby, arms crossed, not drinking—just watching, his presence both intimidating and oddly arousing. Subiya was quieter, but as the wine flowed, she opened up: "Razzaq loves surprises. When Bhanu mentioned this trip, he insisted we join." Her hand rested on Razzaq's thigh possessively, but her glances at Bhanu were flirtatious.
Bhanu clinked glasses. "To new partnerships." Then, leaning close to me, he whispered: "Bhabhi, Razzaq has a request. He wants a night with you—alone, to seal our deal. In return, I'll entertain Subiya. It's all consensual... and Sammir will be there to 'protect' him." My heart pounded. Swapping with a stranger? A powerful Arab sheikh-type, with his bodyguard watching? It was taboo, risky, exhilarating. I'd never been with someone from that world, and the thought of performing in front of Sammir added a voyeuristic edge that made my pussy clench. "Are you sure, bhaiya?" I asked, but my voice was breathy with excitement. He nodded: "For me... and for the thrill. Manish would approve—he loves when you explore." I texted Manish quickly: "Surprise guest. Going to spend night with Bhanu's client. Details later. Love you." His reply: "Hot! Be safe, send pics if you can."
We retired to separate rooms around midnight. Bhanu led Subiya to the master suite, her giggles echoing as he whispered promises in her ear. Razzaq took my hand, his grip firm and warm, leading me to a guest bedroom with Sammir trailing silently. The room was luxurious: a four-poster bed with sheer curtains, mirrors on the walls, soft lighting from lamps that cast golden hues. Sammir positioned himself in an armchair by the door, fully clothed, his eyes locked on us—watchful, expressionless, but I caught a bulge in his pants already. "Sammir is my shadow," Razzaq explained, his voice low and commanding. "He stays. No touching, just protecting. But he sees everything." The idea thrilled me—being fucked while this hulking man watched, perhaps getting off silently. Surprise element one: voyeurism on steroids.
Razzaq turned to me, his eyes dark with desire. "Chaitali, Bhanu speaks highly of your... talents. Show me why." He removed his thobe slowly, revealing a toned body—hairy chest, strong arms, and a cock that sprang free, thick and uncut, veined like a work of art, easily 8 inches and girthy. My mouth watered. I stepped closer, my bikini feeling inadequate, and kissed him tentatively. His lips were soft but insistent, tongue invading my mouth with Arabic passion—deep, swirling, tasting of wine and spice. His hands roamed my body, untying my top with one tug, exposing my breasts. "Beautiful," he murmured, cupping them, thumbs circling my nipples until they hardened like pebbles. I moaned, arching into him, feeling Sammir's gaze burning into us.
He pushed me onto the bed gently, peeling off my bikini bottom. "Spread for me, habibti." I did, legs wide, pussy exposed and glistening. Razzaq knelt between them, his beard tickling my thighs as he inhaled my scent. "So sweet... like honey." His tongue flicked out—long, flat laps along my folds, savoring every inch. He sucked my clit gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make me yelp. "Ahh, Razzaq... yes!" I cried, hands in his hair. He fingered me with two thick digits, curling against my G-spot while his tongue circled my clit in figure-eights. Surprise two: he was a master oral artist, humming vibrations that built my orgasm fast. I came hard, squirting into his mouth—he drank it greedily, lapping every drop, his beard soaked. Sammir shifted in his chair, adjusting his bulge, but remained silent.
Razzaq stood, his cock throbbing. "Now, taste me." I knelt eagerly, taking him in my mouth—salty pre-cum on my tongue, the foreskin sliding back as I sucked. He was thick, stretching my lips, but I deep-throated him, gagging rhythmically while looking up at him. "Good girl... like that." His hands guided my head, fucking my face slow then faster. Sammir's breathing grew heavier—I glanced at him, seeing him rub his crotch discreetly. The voyeurism amped my arousal; I fingered myself while blowing Razzaq, moaning around his shaft.
He pulled out, flipping me onto all fours. "I want your ass, Chaitali. Bhanu said it's divine." Lube from the nightstand—cold at first, his fingers stretching me: one, then two, scissoring while he kissed my back. "Relax, habibti." His cockhead pressed against my hole—pressure building, burning as he inched in. "Oh fuck... big... slow!" I begged, but he was patient, whispering Arabic endearments. Once fully seated, he thrust—deep, rhythmic, his balls slapping my pussy. "Tight... perfect!" he groaned. I pushed back, meeting his slams, the fullness overwhelming. Surprise three: he reached around, rubbing my clit furiously, making me cum again—ass clenching around him like a vice. Sammir was openly stroking now, his pants unzipped, cock out—thick and dark, but he didn't join, just watched intently.
Razzaq pulled out, flipping me onto my back for missionary anal—legs over his shoulders, deeper angle. "Look at me while I fuck you." His thrusts were savage now, bed creaking, my moans filling the room. "Cum inside me!" I pleaded, and he did—roaring as hot spurts filled my ass, triggering my third orgasm, body shaking.
We rested briefly, but Razzaq wasn't done. Surprise four: he had toys in his bag—a vibrating egg, which he inserted into my pussy while eating my ass, rimming me deep. The vibrations plus his tongue made me squirt again. Then, he bound my wrists with silk scarves from Subiya's things (he'd brought them), tying me to the bedposts. "Now, you're mine." Blindfolded me with his thobe belt, heightening sensations. He teased—feather-light touches, then sudden slaps on my thighs, nipples in his mouth bitten gently. Fucked me vaginally now, slow builds to pounding, while Sammir's grunts indicated he was jerking off faster.
The biggest surprise: midway, Razzaq whispered, "Sammir, come closer. Watch her face." Sammir approached, standing by the bed, his cock inches from my blindfolded face. "Touch yourself while he watches," Razzaq commanded. I did, fingering my clit as Razzaq fucked me. Then, shock: Razzaq said, "Sammir, taste her." Sammir's tongue on my nipples—rough, eager—while Razzaq pounded. "Ahh! Yes!" I screamed, cumming from the double attention. Sammir didn't fuck me, but his presence, his licks, his heavy breathing added layers of forbidden thrill.
Hours blurred: positions from cowgirl (me riding Razzaq, grinding while Sammir held my hips from behind, not penetrating but guiding), to 69 (me sucking Razzaq while he ate me, Sammir rimming my ass from the side). Cum everywhere—on my tits, face, inside me. Surprises kept coming: Razzaq's stamina (he came four times), his dirty Arabic talk (translated later: "My little infidel slut"), and Sammir's eventual release—cumming on my belly while watching Razzaq ass-fuck me one last time.
By dawn, I was exhausted, sore, blissed out—cum-dried on my skin, ass throbbing, pussy aching. Razzaq kissed me tenderly: "Unforgettable, habibti." Sammir nodded respectfully, zipping up. Downstairs, Bhanu and Subiya emerged—her veil askew, limping slightly, grinning. "Wild night?" Bhanu asked. "You have no idea," I replied.
That Goa trip redefined my limits—pure, orgasmic memory. Want the sequel with Subiya joining? ?
It all started with a casual text from Bhanu Bhaiya about two weeks ago. "Bhabhi, pack your bikinis. I'm taking you to Goa for a weekend getaway. Just you and me—Manish can join if he's free, but I want some quality time with my favorite." My pussy tingled just reading it; Bhanu had that effect on me, his dominant vibe always promising adventures that pushed my limits. Manish was thrilled at first—"Finally, some beach fun!"—but then work hit. He had a big client meeting in Mumbai that same weekend, non-negotiable. "Go without me, jaan," he said, kissing my neck while fingering me slowly on the couch that night. "I trust Bhanu. Have fun... and send pics." Little did he know how much "fun" it would be. To my surprise, Kiran texted me the next day: "Heard about Manish's Mumbai trip. Mind if I tag along with him? We can 'work' together." I laughed—Kiran, our group's resident nympho, always ready for a side fling. "Sure, keep him company," I replied, imagining them fucking in some hotel room while I lounged in Goa. Perfect balance.
Bhanu arranged everything: flights, a luxury villa on a private beach in South Goa, away from the tourist crowds. I flew down with him on Friday morning, my heart racing as we boarded the plane. He looked so commanding in his linen shirt and shorts, his muscular arms brushing mine in the first-class seats. "This is going to be special, bhabhi," he whispered, his hand sliding up my thigh under the blanket the flight attendant provided. I was wearing a short sundress, no bra or panties—his request—and his fingers found my bare pussy easily, teasing my clit with slow circles while I bit my lip to stifle moans. "Bhaiya... people might see," I gasped, but he just smirked: "Let them. You're mine this weekend." By the time we landed, I was dripping wet, my nipples hard against the fabric, desperate for more.
The villa was breathtaking: a sprawling two-story haven with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Arabian Sea, a private infinity pool, lush gardens, and multiple bedrooms decked out in silk sheets and mood lighting. No staff on site—Bhanu said he'd hired a discreet service for meals and cleaning, but we'd have total privacy. "Perfect for what I have planned," he said, pulling me into a deep kiss as soon as the door closed. His tongue explored my mouth hungrily, hands roaming my body, pinching my nipples through the dress until I whimpered. We didn't even make it to the bedroom; he bent me over the living room couch, hiked up my dress, and ate my pussy from behind like a starving man. His tongue lapped at my folds, circling my clit, then probing my ass—rimming me deep while fingering my G-spot. "Ahh, bhaiya! Fuck... don't stop!" I cried, grinding back against his face. He made me cum twice like that—first a slow build to a shuddering release, squirting onto his chin, then a rougher one with his fingers pounding me while he sucked my clit hard. Only then did he stand, unzip, and slide his thick cock into me doggy-style—slow at first, letting me feel every inch, then slamming hard, his balls slapping my clit. "This is just the appetizer, bhabhi," he growled, spanking my ass red. He pulled out at the last second, cumming across my back in hot ropes that dripped down my crack. We collapsed laughing, sweaty, and satisfied—for the moment.
That afternoon, we lounged by the pool. I wore the tiniest bikini Bhanu had packed for me—barely covering my nipples and pussy, strings that could untie with a tug. He oiled me up personally, his hands massaging my breasts, ass, and inner thighs until I was moaning again. "Bhaiya, you're teasing me," I pouted, but he just smiled mysteriously. "Patience. I have a surprise tonight." We swam naked, fucked in the shallow end—me riding him while waves lapped at us, his cock hitting depths that made my toes curl. Dinner was delivered: fresh seafood, wine, candlelight on the terrace. Bhanu was unusually attentive, feeding me bites, whispering how sexy I looked, how much he craved my body. But his phone buzzed a few times, and he'd check it with a sly grin. "Business?" I asked. "Something like that. You'll see."
As the sun set, painting the sky in oranges and pinks, a car pulled up to the villa. I heard voices—deep, accented ones—and my curiosity piqued. Bhanu stood, adjusting his shirt. "Time for your surprise, bhabhi." He led me to the entrance, where two figures waited: a tall, imposing man in his early 40s, dressed in a crisp white thobe, exuding wealth and authority, and a stunning young woman veiled in a veil but wearing a form-fitting abaya that hinted at curves beneath. The man was Razzaq—Bhanu's business client from Dubai, 42 years old, with sharp features, a neatly trimmed beard, piercing dark eyes, and an aura of power that made my knees weak. Beside him was his third wife, Subiya, just 25, her face partially visible—porcelain skin, full lips painted red, eyes lined with kohl that screamed sensuality. And lurking in the shadows behind them? A burly bodyguard, Sammir—mid-30s, built like a tank, silent and watchful, his eyes scanning everything.
"Bhanu, my friend," Razzaq boomed in a thick Arabic accent, shaking hands firmly. "This villa is magnificent. And this must be the beautiful Chaitali you've spoken of." His gaze raked over me hungrily, lingering on my bikini-clad body, making my skin flush. Subiya smiled shyly, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. Bhanu introduced us: "Razzaq is a key investor in my Dubai projects. He's here for a quick meeting... and some relaxation. Subiya is his latest gem." I felt a thrill—and a twinge of nervousness. This wasn't just a business visit; Bhanu's "big plan" was unfolding.
We moved to the terrace for drinks. Razzaq was charming, regaling us with stories of his yacht parties in Dubai, his multiple wives (Subiya was the youngest, married just six months ago), and his appetite for "exotic experiences." Sammir stood nearby, arms crossed, not drinking—just watching, his presence both intimidating and oddly arousing. Subiya was quieter, but as the wine flowed, she opened up: "Razzaq loves surprises. When Bhanu mentioned this trip, he insisted we join." Her hand rested on Razzaq's thigh possessively, but her glances at Bhanu were flirtatious.
Bhanu clinked glasses. "To new partnerships." Then, leaning close to me, he whispered: "Bhabhi, Razzaq has a request. He wants a night with you—alone, to seal our deal. In return, I'll entertain Subiya. It's all consensual... and Sammir will be there to 'protect' him." My heart pounded. Swapping with a stranger? A powerful Arab sheikh-type, with his bodyguard watching? It was taboo, risky, exhilarating. I'd never been with someone from that world, and the thought of performing in front of Sammir added a voyeuristic edge that made my pussy clench. "Are you sure, bhaiya?" I asked, but my voice was breathy with excitement. He nodded: "For me... and for the thrill. Manish would approve—he loves when you explore." I texted Manish quickly: "Surprise guest. Going to spend night with Bhanu's client. Details later. Love you." His reply: "Hot! Be safe, send pics if you can."
We retired to separate rooms around midnight. Bhanu led Subiya to the master suite, her giggles echoing as he whispered promises in her ear. Razzaq took my hand, his grip firm and warm, leading me to a guest bedroom with Sammir trailing silently. The room was luxurious: a four-poster bed with sheer curtains, mirrors on the walls, soft lighting from lamps that cast golden hues. Sammir positioned himself in an armchair by the door, fully clothed, his eyes locked on us—watchful, expressionless, but I caught a bulge in his pants already. "Sammir is my shadow," Razzaq explained, his voice low and commanding. "He stays. No touching, just protecting. But he sees everything." The idea thrilled me—being fucked while this hulking man watched, perhaps getting off silently. Surprise element one: voyeurism on steroids.
Razzaq turned to me, his eyes dark with desire. "Chaitali, Bhanu speaks highly of your... talents. Show me why." He removed his thobe slowly, revealing a toned body—hairy chest, strong arms, and a cock that sprang free, thick and uncut, veined like a work of art, easily 8 inches and girthy. My mouth watered. I stepped closer, my bikini feeling inadequate, and kissed him tentatively. His lips were soft but insistent, tongue invading my mouth with Arabic passion—deep, swirling, tasting of wine and spice. His hands roamed my body, untying my top with one tug, exposing my breasts. "Beautiful," he murmured, cupping them, thumbs circling my nipples until they hardened like pebbles. I moaned, arching into him, feeling Sammir's gaze burning into us.
He pushed me onto the bed gently, peeling off my bikini bottom. "Spread for me, habibti." I did, legs wide, pussy exposed and glistening. Razzaq knelt between them, his beard tickling my thighs as he inhaled my scent. "So sweet... like honey." His tongue flicked out—long, flat laps along my folds, savoring every inch. He sucked my clit gently at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make me yelp. "Ahh, Razzaq... yes!" I cried, hands in his hair. He fingered me with two thick digits, curling against my G-spot while his tongue circled my clit in figure-eights. Surprise two: he was a master oral artist, humming vibrations that built my orgasm fast. I came hard, squirting into his mouth—he drank it greedily, lapping every drop, his beard soaked. Sammir shifted in his chair, adjusting his bulge, but remained silent.
Razzaq stood, his cock throbbing. "Now, taste me." I knelt eagerly, taking him in my mouth—salty pre-cum on my tongue, the foreskin sliding back as I sucked. He was thick, stretching my lips, but I deep-throated him, gagging rhythmically while looking up at him. "Good girl... like that." His hands guided my head, fucking my face slow then faster. Sammir's breathing grew heavier—I glanced at him, seeing him rub his crotch discreetly. The voyeurism amped my arousal; I fingered myself while blowing Razzaq, moaning around his shaft.
He pulled out, flipping me onto all fours. "I want your ass, Chaitali. Bhanu said it's divine." Lube from the nightstand—cold at first, his fingers stretching me: one, then two, scissoring while he kissed my back. "Relax, habibti." His cockhead pressed against my hole—pressure building, burning as he inched in. "Oh fuck... big... slow!" I begged, but he was patient, whispering Arabic endearments. Once fully seated, he thrust—deep, rhythmic, his balls slapping my pussy. "Tight... perfect!" he groaned. I pushed back, meeting his slams, the fullness overwhelming. Surprise three: he reached around, rubbing my clit furiously, making me cum again—ass clenching around him like a vice. Sammir was openly stroking now, his pants unzipped, cock out—thick and dark, but he didn't join, just watched intently.
Razzaq pulled out, flipping me onto my back for missionary anal—legs over his shoulders, deeper angle. "Look at me while I fuck you." His thrusts were savage now, bed creaking, my moans filling the room. "Cum inside me!" I pleaded, and he did—roaring as hot spurts filled my ass, triggering my third orgasm, body shaking.
We rested briefly, but Razzaq wasn't done. Surprise four: he had toys in his bag—a vibrating egg, which he inserted into my pussy while eating my ass, rimming me deep. The vibrations plus his tongue made me squirt again. Then, he bound my wrists with silk scarves from Subiya's things (he'd brought them), tying me to the bedposts. "Now, you're mine." Blindfolded me with his thobe belt, heightening sensations. He teased—feather-light touches, then sudden slaps on my thighs, nipples in his mouth bitten gently. Fucked me vaginally now, slow builds to pounding, while Sammir's grunts indicated he was jerking off faster.
The biggest surprise: midway, Razzaq whispered, "Sammir, come closer. Watch her face." Sammir approached, standing by the bed, his cock inches from my blindfolded face. "Touch yourself while he watches," Razzaq commanded. I did, fingering my clit as Razzaq fucked me. Then, shock: Razzaq said, "Sammir, taste her." Sammir's tongue on my nipples—rough, eager—while Razzaq pounded. "Ahh! Yes!" I screamed, cumming from the double attention. Sammir didn't fuck me, but his presence, his licks, his heavy breathing added layers of forbidden thrill.
Hours blurred: positions from cowgirl (me riding Razzaq, grinding while Sammir held my hips from behind, not penetrating but guiding), to 69 (me sucking Razzaq while he ate me, Sammir rimming my ass from the side). Cum everywhere—on my tits, face, inside me. Surprises kept coming: Razzaq's stamina (he came four times), his dirty Arabic talk (translated later: "My little infidel slut"), and Sammir's eventual release—cumming on my belly while watching Razzaq ass-fuck me one last time.
By dawn, I was exhausted, sore, blissed out—cum-dried on my skin, ass throbbing, pussy aching. Razzaq kissed me tenderly: "Unforgettable, habibti." Sammir nodded respectfully, zipping up. Downstairs, Bhanu and Subiya emerged—her veil askew, limping slightly, grinning. "Wild night?" Bhanu asked. "You have no idea," I replied.
That Goa trip redefined my limits—pure, orgasmic memory. Want the sequel with Subiya joining? ?
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