05-02-2026, 04:30 PM
Divya set the steel glass of water down on the low concrete bench near the water tank — careful not to spill, the clink of metal on cement loud in the dark rooftop silence.
She straightened, tugging the hem of her tight white nighty down again.
Her voice came out firm but quiet, the same tone she used with Monu when bedtime was non-negotiable.
“Roti kha li… ab jaaiye.”
She turned to leave — back toward the staircase, toward the safety of the lit house below.
But before she could take two steps—
The beggar moved.
Fast. Stronger than his frame .
His arms wrapped around her from behind — one filthy forearm locking across her waist..
He pulled her back hard against his body. Divya’s breath punched out in a sharp gasp.
She froze. Shocked. Body rigid.
His stink hit her instantly — road dust, old sweat, sour breath against her neck. His tattered kurta rasped against the thin cotton of her nighty.
then she felt it — unmistakable — his cock, hard and pressing insistently against the cleft of her ass through the layers of rag and fabric.
Thick enough to feel even through his dirty lungi. Hot. Throbbing.
Divya’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“N-nahi… chhodiye…!”
Her voice cracked — small, panicked.
But he didn’t let go.
Instead his rough hands moved.
The arm around her waist slid higher — calloused palm cupping one breast fully through the nighty. Fingers squeezed — not gentle, not tentative — possessive.
The other hand joined the first, both now kneading her soft mounds, thumbs brushing over her nipples that had already hardened from the cool night air and the shock.
Divya’s body jerked.
“Ahh…!”
A small, involuntary sound escaped her. Her hands flew up to his wrists — trying to pull them away — but his grip was too strong, arms like twisted ropes from years of carrying loads and surviving streets.
He pressed his face into the crook of her neck — stubble scbanging her skin, breath hot and ragged.
“Beti… roz dekhta hoon tujhe… aaj haath lagaaya… ab poora haath laga raha hoon…”
His hips rocked forward once — grinding his hardness against her ass — slow, deliberate.
She straightened, tugging the hem of her tight white nighty down again.
Her voice came out firm but quiet, the same tone she used with Monu when bedtime was non-negotiable.
“Roti kha li… ab jaaiye.”
She turned to leave — back toward the staircase, toward the safety of the lit house below.
But before she could take two steps—
The beggar moved.
Fast. Stronger than his frame .
His arms wrapped around her from behind — one filthy forearm locking across her waist..
He pulled her back hard against his body. Divya’s breath punched out in a sharp gasp.
She froze. Shocked. Body rigid.
His stink hit her instantly — road dust, old sweat, sour breath against her neck. His tattered kurta rasped against the thin cotton of her nighty.
then she felt it — unmistakable — his cock, hard and pressing insistently against the cleft of her ass through the layers of rag and fabric.
Thick enough to feel even through his dirty lungi. Hot. Throbbing.
Divya’s heart slammed against her ribs.
“N-nahi… chhodiye…!”
Her voice cracked — small, panicked.
But he didn’t let go.
Instead his rough hands moved.
The arm around her waist slid higher — calloused palm cupping one breast fully through the nighty. Fingers squeezed — not gentle, not tentative — possessive.
The other hand joined the first, both now kneading her soft mounds, thumbs brushing over her nipples that had already hardened from the cool night air and the shock.
Divya’s body jerked.
“Ahh…!”
A small, involuntary sound escaped her. Her hands flew up to his wrists — trying to pull them away — but his grip was too strong, arms like twisted ropes from years of carrying loads and surviving streets.
He pressed his face into the crook of her neck — stubble scbanging her skin, breath hot and ragged.
“Beti… roz dekhta hoon tujhe… aaj haath lagaaya… ab poora haath laga raha hoon…”
His hips rocked forward once — grinding his hardness against her ass — slow, deliberate.
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