Incest Alpha male who controls there women

[Tajkundan]

The air in the gym was thick with the scent of iron and the rhythmic grunt of exertion. Tilak and I, Subhash, moved in a synchronized dance we’d perfected since our days in Dehradun. As I pushed through a final set of heavy bench presses, Tilak stood over me, his massive hands spotting the bar, his own chest heaving from his previous set.

We were more than friends; we were an extension of one another. In our shared room, modesty didn't exist. We’d grown up seeing each other’s bodies evolve from scrawny collegeboys into the massive, muscular frames we now carried—broad shoulders, thick thighs, and chests that strained against any fabric. We took pride in our shared progress, often critiquing each other’s form or comparing the hardness of our muscles with a casual, brotherly touch that never felt out of place. We shared everything: secrets, victories, and even our deepest hungers.

The bond between us wasn’t just forged in the gym; it was tempered in the dark, cramped dorms of our Dehradun boarding college. Even back then, we were bigger than the other boys, two young bulls growing into frames that felt too large for our beds. There was no shame between us. We’d sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a single mattress, the blue light of a smuggled phone illuminating a porn scene, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

It became a ritual. We’d reach for each other, our hands wrapping around each other’s growing heat. I’d pump Tilak’s length, marveling at the raw power even then, while his massive hand gripped my thick, trunk-like shaft, jerking me with a rhythmic intensity that left us both shaking. We’d blow our loads together, a shared explosion of brotherhood and biology, wiping the mess away with a laugh before falling asleep, limbs tangled.

We grew up showering together after practice, navigating the awkwardness of puberty until it gave way to a casual, naked confidence. We knew each other’s measurements as well as our own—especially the heavy, thick weight between our legs that marked us both as outliers.

While my own length was substantial, my thickness was what set me apart—a heavy, trunk-like girth that felt like solid muscle. Tilak, however, was a force of nature. He carried even more size, but it was his energy that shifted when the lights went low. He was a predator, a man who craved control, drawn to the seasoned curves of older women and the sharp, stinging rhythm of a well-placed palm

The bond between us wasn’t just forged in the gym; it was tempered in the dark, cramped dorms of our Dehradun boarding college. Even back then, we were bigger than the other boys, two young bulls growing into frames that felt too large for our beds. There was no shame between us. We’d sit shoulder-to-shoulder on a single mattress, the blue light of a smuggled phone illuminating a porn scene, our heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

It became a ritual. We’d reach for each other, our hands wrapping around each other’s growing heat. I’d pump Tilak’s length, marveling at the raw power even then, while his massive hand gripped my thick, trunk-like shaft, jerking me with a rhythmic intensity that left us both shaking. We’d blow our loads together, a shared explosion of brotherhood and biology, wiping the mess away with a laugh before falling asleep, limbs tangled

The Housewife and the Double Team

As we got older and our bodies turned into the hulking masses of muscle they were now, Tilak’s dominant streak led him to the local gym’s MILFs. He’d lured in Mrs. Sharma, a woman with a classic hourglass frame—wide hips and a heavy chest that begged to be handled. But Tilak never kept his prizes to himself.

He brought her back to our shared space one humid afternoon. She was a seasoned woman, but her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw the two of us standing there, shirtless, our pectorals twitching and our massive cocks already straining against our gym shorts.

"She’s a screamer, Subhash," Tilak growled, his hand already tangled in her hair, forcing her onto the bed. "Let’s show her what a real workout looks like."

The night was a blur of sweat and filth. We stripped her bare, her mature, soft curves a perfect contrast to our hard, granite-like frames. Tilak took command of her top half, his monstrous cock sliding down her throat as he slapped her face with his heavy balls, his eyes dark with that BDSM edge he loved. I moved behind her, my thick, trunk-like member slick with her juices.

I entered her back door without a drop of mercy. She let out a muffled shriek into Tilak’s groin as my girth stretched her puckered hole to its absolute limit. We had her pinned—a true double-plugging. Tilak rammed into her mouth while I hammered into her ass, our movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine.

"Look at her, Subhash," Tilak grunted, his voice a guttural roar as he watched my thick shaft disappear into her. "She’s being split open by the two of us."

We DP’d her for hours, swapping ends, letting her taste the difference between my heavy thickness and his dominating length. By the time we were done, she was a quivering mess, covered in layers of our thick, hot seed.

The shared bond between us was a fortress of muscle and secrets, but even within those walls, Tilak carried a shadow I could sense but never touch. While we pushed each other to physical extremes, Tilak’s intensity—that dark, predatory need to dominate and his fixation on older, hourglass women—was rooted in a ghost from his childhood.

The Hidden Scar

Years before Dehradun, a young Tilak had stood in the shadows of his own home, watching through a cracked door as his mother—a woman of lush, devastating curves—surrendered to men who looked nothing like the soft, academic man she had married. She craved the raw power of muscle, the scent of iron and sweat. Tilak had watched her back arch, her screams of pleasure filling the hallways as she was handled by men with the kind of hulking physiques he and I would eventually build.

He looked in the mirror even then and saw a stranger. He didn't have his father's features; he had the frame of a titan in the making. He grew up knowing he was the product of a secret, a seed planted by one of his mother's muscular conquests. It was why he worshipped the gym—he was building himself into the image of the men who had claimed his mother. It was why he needed to dominate; he refused to be the man watching from the door. He was the one who would hold the whip now.

The Evening of Revelation

The courtyard was a blur of emerald silk and jasmine. Priya, Tilak’s sister, moved with a provocative grace that made my blood simmer. Nearby, I watched Tilak’s gaze linger on my sister, Anjali. There was no jealousy between us—only a mirrored intensity.

Later that night, in the privacy of our room, the air was heavy with more than just humidity. We were both stripped down to our briefs, the cooling fans whirring overhead as we relaxed after the day's heat. I watched Tilak rub a hand over his massive pectoral muscle, his eyes distant.

"You're looking at Anjali differently, brother," I said, my voice low.

Tilak didn't flinch. He looked at me, his eyes dark and honest. "And you haven't taken your eyes off Priya. Her sari was practically painted on her today."

I leaned back, the honesty between us acting as a catalyst. "It’s more than just looking, Tilak. I want her. I want to know the weight of her in my arms."

Tilak nodded slowly, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Then we are in the same storm. Because I want to see how Anjali’s curves feel against these muscles we've worked so hard for."

The Library Encounter

A few days later, the rain was a torrential roar on the roof. I found Priya in the library, the dim light casting long shadows over her emerald sari. The moment I entered, the air became electric.

"Subhash," she whispered, her voice a velvet caress.

I didn't hesitate. I walked toward her, my large frame dwarfing her delicate form. I reached out, my calloused fingers—roughened by years of lifting—tracing the soft, sensitive line of her jaw. She shivered, leaning into my touch.

"I’ve spent my life building strength, Priya," I groaned, my voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming need. "But I’ve never felt as weak as I do when I'm near you."

I pulled her closer, the soft silk of her sari sliding against my skin. I captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but tentative. It was a claim. My tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of jasmine and the fire of her response. She gasped, her hands wandering over the hard ridges of my back, her fingers digging into the muscle.

I let my hand slide down the curve of her spine, pulling her hips flush against mine. The contrast was intoxicating—her soft, yielding heat against the unyielding hardness of my body. As the kiss deepened, becoming more primal and urgent, I felt a sense of completion.

The bond between Tilak and me wasn't breaking; it was evolving. We weren't just brothers in arms anymore; we were becoming the architects of a new, intertwined destiny, bound by a passion that was as powerful and unstoppable as the monsoon itself.

The Weight of Desire

Back in our room that rainy evening, Tilak stood by the window, his massive back a map of muscle fibers. He was wearing nothing but a loose towel slung low on his hips, the fabric barely containing the heavy silhouette of his length.

"Priya told me you found her in the library," he rumbled, his voice vibrating through the floorboards. "She said your hands felt like iron on her skin."

I sat on the edge of the bed, my own towel discarded, my thick, trunk-like member resting heavy against my thigh. "She’s soft, Tilak. More than I expected. It made me want to be careful... and then it made me want to be the opposite."

Tilak turned, a dark, dominant glint in his eyes. He let the towel drop, revealing the massive, intimidating scale of his arousal. He looked at me, then at his own hands—the hands of a man who liked to leave marks.

"I know that feeling," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "But Anjali... she has that look in her eyes. The same look the older women at the club have. That hourglass frame of hers? It’s built to be handled firmly. I don't want to just kiss her, Subhash. I want to command her. I want to hear the sound of my hand against her skin before I show her exactly what I’m carrying."

A Brotherhood Bound by Heat

The honesty between us was a physical weight. There was no shame, only the shared understanding of two men built for excess.

"You've always been the one to push the limits," I said, looking up at him. "In the gym and out of it."

"And you've always been the one with the stamina to anchor it all," Tilak countered, stepping closer. He put a heavy hand on my shoulder, his grip tight, showing a flash of that dominant streak. "We’re going to change this family, brother. We’re going to take what we want, and we’re going to do it with the same discipline we use on the iron."

The rain outside intensified, a rhythmic drumming that matched the pulsing heat in the room. We stood there—two hulks, two brothers, two forces of nature—completely exposed and utterly united. The path ahead was scandalous, tangled in the silks of our sisters’ saris and the heavy scent of jasmine, but as we looked at each other, we knew there was no turning back.

The monsoon was just beginning, and neither of us intended to stay dry.

The following night, the humidity was a physical weight, pressing against the skin until every pore leaked sweat. The house was silent, save for the violent thrum of the rain. Tilak and I had already shared our intentions; there were no secrets between us, no shame in the raw, carnal hunger we felt for the women downstairs. We had stood naked together just an hour before, our massive frames shimmering in the lamplight, comparing the heavy, pulsing weight of our cocks—mine a thick, vein-mapped trunk, and his a monstrous, intimidating length that spoke of his need to conquer.

Tilak and Anjali: The Lesson in Control

Tilak found Anjali in the darkened drawing room. She was staring out at the rain, her hourglass figure emphasized by the tight wrap of her silk sari. She didn't hear him move; despite his massive size, Tilak moved like a predator.

He didn't start with a whisper. He grabbed her from behind, one huge, calloused hand wrapping around her throat—not to choke, but to command. His other hand came down hard, a stinging crack against the silk covering her ample backside. She let out a sharp, shocked gasp that was half-sob, half-moan.

"You've been begging for a master, Anjali," Tilak growled into her ear, his voice a low, terrifying vibration.

He didn't waste time with gentleness. He hiked her sari up to her waist, exposing her trembling thighs. He spun her around and forced her to her knees. When he dropped his trousers, his massive, dark cock sprang free, throbbing with a violent heat. Anjali’s eyes widened, her breath hitching at the sheer scale of him.

"Take it," he commanded, his fingers tangling in her hair to guide her. He wasn't asking. He pushed himself deep into her mouth, savoring the wet heat of her throat as she struggled to accommodate his girth. When he grew tired of that, he flipped her over, bracing her against the heavy mahogany table.

He entered her from behind in one brutal, singular thrust. Anjali screamed as he filled her completely, his massive balls slapping against her with every rhythmic, punishing shove. He reached around, grabbing her breasts, squeezing them until she cried out, his thumb flicking her nipples with a cruel intensity. He was a beast, a dominant force of nature, fucking her with a raw, dirty desperation that left her shattered and begging for more.

Subhash and Priya: The Deep Stretch

While Tilak was conquering Anjali, I had Priya pinned against the library wall. My shirt was gone, my sweat-slicked chest heaving against her soft breasts. My cock, thick as a tree limb, was straining against my zip, leaking a bead of pre-come that soaked through the fabric.

"Subhash, please," she whimpered, her legs already wrapping around my waist.

I didn't speak. I ripped the silk of her blouse, exposing her to the cool air before my mouth covered her nipple, sucking hard until she arched her back. I reached down, unbuttoning my jeans and letting my trunk-like cock swing free. It was purple-headed and pulsing, so thick it looked impossible.

I guided the head to her soaking wet entrance. I pushed slowly, savoring the way her tight walls stretched and groaned to make room for my girth. She was tiny compared to me, and as I buried myself to the hilt, she let out a long, guttural wail of both pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

I began to pump, long, slow, deep strokes that bottomed out in her womb. Every time I thrust, I felt her internal muscles clenching around my thickness, trying to hold onto me. I leaned in, my mouth inches from hers. "You’re mine now, Priya. My brother and I... we’re taking everything."

I reached down, sliding a finger into her puckered star as I continued to ram my thick cock into her. The sensation of being filled in every way broke her. She came violently, her body shaking as she clamped down on me, sending me over the edge. I let out a roar, my seed exploding deep inside her in hot, thick pulses that felt like they would never end.

The monsoon roared on, but inside, the air was foul with the scent of sex, sweat, and the musk of two hulking men who had finally claimed what was theirs.

Back to the Present: The Family Secret

That shared history was why, back in the present, there was no hesitation as we claimed our sisters. We were used to sharing the weight of our desires.

The morning after our first encounters with Priya and Anjali, Tilak and I met in the kitchen. We were both naked, our massive bodies still radiating the heat of the night before. I could see the faint red marks of his fingers on his own skin, and I knew Anjali was likely covered in them.

"Priya’s tight, brother," I said, pouring a glass of water, my thick cock hanging heavy and relaxed. "She took all of me, but she was shaking the whole time."

Tilak leaned against the counter, his intimidating member twitching as he thought of the night. "Anjali has a spine of steel, but I broke it. I spanked her until her ass was a deep rose, and then I buried myself so deep I think I touched her soul. She’s addicted now."

He stepped closer, clapping a heavy hand on my bicep. "We’ve always shared everything, Subhash. Maybe soon, we bring them both in here. Let them see what we’ve known since Dehradun."

I grinned, the thought of a four-way, family-shattering explosion of lust making my trunk-like cock stir again. "The monsoon isn't over yet, Tilak. Not by a long shot.”

The Monsoon Peak: A Collision of Blood and Lust

The air in the grand estate was suffocatingly hot as the four of us finally converged in the master suite. The pretense was gone. Tilak and I stood in the center of the room, two naked giants, our cocks pulsing with a violent, heavy life. My trunk-like shaft was slick with pre-cum, while Tilak’s monstrous length stood like a weapon of war, dark and intimidating.

Anjali and Priya stood before us, their saris discarded, leaving them in nothing but lace that strained against their curves. Tilak’s eyes were fixed on Anjali, but his mind was back in that darkened hallway, reliving the power he now wielded.

"On your knees. Both of you," Tilak barked. The dominance in his voice was absolute.

They obeyed instantly. I stepped toward Priya, my thick, heavy girth slapping against my abdomen. I grabbed her hair, tilting her head back as I shoved my trunk into her mouth. She gagged as my thickness filled her to capacity, her small hands clutching my massive quads for balance.

Across from me, Tilak was a beast unleashed. He didn't just want sex; he wanted a confession of his own power. He grabbed Anjali—his sister, his blood—and threw her across the bed. He rained down a series of heavy, stinging slaps across her backside until the flesh was a glowing, angry red.

"Who do you belong to?" he roared, his voice cracking like a whip.

"You, Tilak! Only you!" she wailed, her hourglass body bucking in anticipation.

Tilak flipped her over and drove himself into her. It wasn't a soft entry; it was a violent colonization. He hammered into her with a dirty, rhythmic brutality, his huge balls thumping against her clitoris. He looked over at me, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

"Subhash! Give it to her!"

I didn't need to be told twice. I moved behind Anjali while Tilak held her from the front. I guided my thick, trunk-like cock toward her tight, puckered rear. With one heavy, sweating lunge, I buried myself deep inside her. She let out a scream that was muffled by Tilak’s mouth as he devoured her cries.

We were DP’ing her—two brothers, two hulks, splitting her wide open. Tilak’s length was hitting her womb from the front while my girth was stretching her back door to the breaking point. The friction was incredible, the scent of sweat, musk, and raw filth filling the room.

Priya wasn't left out; she crawled toward us, her tongue dancing over our joined bodies, tasting the sweat and the fluids leaking from her sister. Tilak reached down, his massive hand gripping Priya’s throat, forcing her to watch as we ruined Anjali.

As we reached the peak, Tilak let out a guttural, tortured roar—a sound that carried all the trauma of his childhood and the triumph of his present. We both exploded at the same time, flooding Anjali’s insides with gallons of hot, thick seed.

We collapsed into a heap of tangled muscle and spent lust. Tilak sat back, his dark secret still buried deep inside him, but as he looked at the wreckage of the women and the strength of his brother, the ghost of his mother finally seemed to fade into the rain.

London