22-04-2026, 05:08 PM
Chapter 60: Vanitha Ravaged
Scene 1
She sat up on the lounge bed.
His cock was right in front of her face, hungry.
She knew, he is about to ravage her. She wanted him to. She was scared of how much she wanted him to.
She wanted to control him a little bit, she did the thing she knew. She leaned forward on the cushion.
He grabbed his bouncing thick shaft… his waxed balls so smooth.
He made a sound.
She spoke to his cock.
“There.. there.. sorry to make you wait…”
She kissed his cock, as if it has it’s own mind and soul.
It came out of him low and broken, not a word, a breath forced out through his teeth, and his hand came down on the top of her head, and his fingers closed in her hair, and he did not push. He held. He held, the way a man held a rope he was afraid of letting go.
She took his cock in her sweet little mouth, slow. She had to. He was thick and the cock head too large, her jaw had to work to open around him.
She got the head in first and she closed her lips behind the rim and she sucked, soft, a small careful pull, the way she had learned he liked, and she heard the breath go out of him again above her.
“Vanitha.”
She did not answer. She could not. Her mouth was full. She watched his stomach above her go tight.
She took another inch. She slid her lips down the smooth freshly waxed shaft, slow, and she felt the small ridge of a vein under her tongue and she dragged the flat of her tongue against it on the way down, and he made the sound a third time.
Her hand came up and wrapped around the base of him, where her mouth could not reach.
His eyes were closed. His head had tipped back.She had decided she was going to make him come this way. She was going to take control of this the only way she knew how.
“Vanitha.”
She looked up once more. She wanted him to see her. She wanted him to see her shy face with her mouth full of his cock. She saw in his face when their eyes met that he had seen it, and she saw in his face that it had not worked.
It had not worked at all. He was no way close to being satisfied.
“Enough.”
She did not let him go. She did not want to let him go. She kept sucking.
He grabbed her braid and her cheeks.
He pulled her off.
Not gentle. His hand in her hair closed and he drew her head back off his cock in one clean pull, and her mouth came off him with a wet sound, and a thin line of her saliva stretched from her lip to the tip of him and broke against her chin.
She looked up at him. Her lips were swollen. Her chin was wet. Her eyes were wide.
“Mama.”
“This is not enough, Vanitha.”
His voice had gone low and flat. He was not looking at her mouth. He was looking at her eyes and through them, past them, at something he had been holding back for weeks.
“Mama, let me...”
“No.”
“Just a little more, I can...”
“No.” His hand came under her chin. His thumb dragged across her wet bottom lip. “I need to fuck you, Vanitha. Now. I can’t wait. You made me wait too long.”
She made a small sound. She did not have a word ready.
He did not wait for one. His hands came down on her shoulders and he pushed her back, flat, onto the cushion of the lounge bed, and her braid went one way and her arms went the other and she landed with a soft breath out.
He grabbed her ankles. Both of them. One in each hand. He pulled her toward him, hard, and her ass slid across the cushion until the half of her ass hung off the edge, and her thighs fell open on either side of his hips because he made them, because his hands had already opened her and he had already stepped between.
He looked down at her. His chest was heaving. His cock was against her thigh, hot, wet at the tip from her mouth.
“Mama, wait, I...”
“No more waiting.”
He lined himself up with one hand. She felt the head of his thick cock push against her sweet little vaginal opening, wet meeting wet, and she had one second of small pure panic, he was too thick, she was not ready, it had been two weeks, and then he was inside her.
He did not ease in. He did not give her the slow first inch. He pushed, hard, one long rough thrust from the tip of him all the way to the base, and her pussy, which had been ready in a way she had not known a body could be ready, opened and stretched and took him in one go. With that one push his full length, from his swollen cock head all the way to his waxed smooth base met her soft skin.
She screamed.
It was a small scream. It came out of her high and broken and she did not cover her mouth because her hands were fisted in the cushion on either side of her hips. Her whole body arched. Her ass came off the edge. Her head went back into the cushion.
“Mama... oh god... mama...”
He groaned. A long deep sound torn out of his chest. His hands clamped on the backs of her thighs and he pushed them up and out, wider, until her knees were almost at her shoulders, and he slammed into her again.
“Ah! Mama...”
Again. Harder. The lounge bed slid an inch on the flagstone.
“You’re so tight, Vanitha.” His voice was in his teeth.
“Two weeks. Two goddamn weeks.”
“Mama, slow, please, you’re so...”
“No.”
He slammed again. And again. He found a rhythm that was not a rhythm, a rough pounding drive, his hips smacking against the back of her thighs with a wet slap on each thrust, the sound of skin on skin carrying across the pool.
She clung to the cushion. Her fingers dug into the fabric. Her head rolled to the side and her open mouth pressed against her own bicep. The shock of him was still moving through her in waves and under the shock a deep hot pull was starting, the thing her body had been waiting for for two weeks, the thing she had been pretending she did not need.
“Mama,” she gasped. “Oh god, mama, you’re so deep...”
“Take it, Vanitha.”
“Mama...”
“Take it.”
Her legs fell wider on their own. Her ass worked itself further off the edge of the cushion to meet him. Her moans came out of her in small broken cries, one on each thrust, and she did not know she was making them until she heard them echo back off the far wall of the yard.
Scene 2
He did not pull out.
He bent his head down over her and he put one arm under her lower back and the other under her ass feeling her soft skin and he lifted, and she came up off the cushion with him, still full of him, her legs scrambling for him until they wrapped around his waist and crossed at the small of his back.
Her full weight came down on his cock. She felt every inch of him settle a half inch deeper into her and she made a sound that had no shape to it.
“Mama, what are you...”
“Hold on.”
“Mama...”
“Hold on, Vanitha.”
Her arms went around his neck. She had to. He was already moving. He walked. He walked with her legs wrapped around him, bare feet on the warm flagstone, and each step sent a small hard bounce through her body that drove his cock up into her from below, and she bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.
“Mama.” She breathed it against his skin. “Every step.”
“I know.”
“Mama, I can’t...”
“You can.”
He walked her around the near end of the pool. The sun was on her back. Her braid was a wet weight against her spine from her own sweat. His hands under her ass held her up and each time his foot came down her body dropped a half inch on him and slid back up and she could feel the ridge of his of cock dragging against the front wall of her pussy on every small fall.
“Mama,” she gasped. “Oh god. Oh god, mama.”
“You’re so wet, Vanitha.”
She was. She could feel it running down where they were joined, down the inside of his thigh, a slow hot line of her own wetness mixed with his saliva from earlier and nothing else, not yet. She was dripping on him. She was dripping on the flagstone.
He walked her to the fence.
It was the tall wooden one at the back of the yard, thick cedar planks running vertical, the grain weathered rough by two summers of sun. He pushed her against it. Her back hit the wood and she gasped, a small sharp sound, not pain, the shock of rough dry wood on sweat-damp skin, and he pinned her there with his hips. His cock went another half inch into her when he pinned her. She sobbed once.
“Mama...”
“Brace.”
He put one of her hands flat on the fence above her head and held it there by the wrist. His other hand came under her ass. He pulled his hips back.
He slammed in.
The fence shook. Her back dragged up the rough wood an inch on the impact and dragged back down on the pull-out, and she felt the grain of it catch at her skin, small fine rasps across her shoulder blades, and she did not care, she did not care, his cock was all the way in her and he was pulling back out and slamming in again and the fence was rattling in its posts.
“Mama. Oh my… ah….”
“You feel like this. You feel like this after two weeks.”
“Mama, slow... please”
“No.”
The sound from the slap of his hips on her ass came back off the fence behind her and off the garage wall across the yard, two beats each thrust, his skin on hers and then the echo, and her moans came out of her in a broken chain she could not control.
He was making up for lost time. She could feel it in every thrust. He was not fucking her the way he had fucked her in Chennai. He was fucking her the way a man fucked a woman he had watched another man kiss in his son‘s own living room, and she understood it, and she opened wider for him against the fence, and she took it.
“Mama, I can feel you so deep...”
“Good.”
“Mama, mama...”
He pulled her off the fence.
The wood had left faint pink lines across her back. He did not look. He walked her three steps to the patio table, the round metal one with the glass top where she and Ashok had eaten breakfast yesterday, and he laid her down on it on her back, spine first.
The metal was warm. Sun-baked. She screamed, small, the heat of it searing across her shoulder blades and her ass, and she arched up off it to get away and her arching drove her hips up onto his cock and he groaned and pinned her down with one hand flat on her breastbone.
“Stay.”
“Mama, it’s… mama, it’s too big today... I can’t”
“Stay, Vanitha.”
He held her down on the warm metal with one hand on her chest, grabbing a breast. His other hand caught her right leg behind the knee and pushed it up toward her shoulder, opening her wider, and he started fucking her again, and the table moved on the flagstone with each thrust, a small metal screech on each pull and a small metal clang on each slam.
She was crying now. Not sad crying. The other kind. Her eyes were wet and her mouth was open and she was watching him above her through a wet blur.
“Look at me, Vanitha.”
She looked.
His face was not his face. It was darker. His hair had fallen across his forehead. His chest was slick with her sweat and his sweat mixed and a small bead of it was running down the center of him and dropping onto her belly on each thrust and the cool of it hitting her hot skin made her gasp.
“You feel this.”
“Yes, mama.”
“You feel me, Vanitha.”
“Yes, mama, yes, mama, yes.”
“You feel, how hungry this cock is for you?”
“I feel it deep in my belly… you are so big, mama.. please….”
He kept his eyes on hers. He kept pounding her. The table slid another inch on the stone. The glass top rattled under her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, hard enough that the sting of it crossed her chest on every drive, and her nipples still swollen from his mouth earlier sent a small sharp pleasure up into her throat on each bounce.
She came.
She was not ready for it. It built in her belly in two thrusts and broke on the third and she arched up off the hot metal and her pussy clamped on his cock and she screamed into the open sun.
“Mama!.. I… I’m cumming… ahhhh.. please… slow…”
He groaned and held still inside her, not coming, just holding, his jaw set, his eyes on her face.
“That’s one,” he said, low. “That’s one, Vanitha.”
“Mama...”
Her legs were shaking from the orgasm.
“I’m not done.”
She thought, he was going to cum with her, but he was far from done.
He pulled out of her with a wet sound. She cried out at the empty of it. He lifted her off the hot table and her back was slick with sweat and her skin peeled off the metal with a small soft suck and she hung limp in his arms for a second.
He carried her four steps and set her down on the low stone wall that ran along the flower bed.
The wall was river stone, flat on top, a foot wide, knee-high, the half of it in sun baking warm and the half of it in the shade of the maple tree cool. He set her ass on it so that one cheek was on the hot side and one cheek was on the cool, and she gasped at the split of it, the two different temperatures biting into the same body, and he spread her knees apart with his hands.
“Mama, not here, not against the...”
“Here.”
He pushed back into her in one stroke.
She threw her head back. Her spine arched. The stone under her ass was rough in places, small sharp edges catching her skin where her weight ground against it, and each of his thrusts dragged her an inch across the wall and dragged her back, and she felt the hot stone on her left cheek and the cool stone on her right and the rough of both grinding into her, and it was too much, it was exactly enough. Her newly orgamsed pussy was still trembling, but the pounding continued.
“Mama, this is...”
“What.”
“I can’t... I can’t believe how good this feels, mama...”
He slammed into her harder.
The flower bed was right there beside them. The marigolds Latha had planted last week. A bee came up out of one of them and circled her shoulder and flew off. She did not see it. Her eyes were on his face.
“You like it, Vanitha.”
“Yes, mama.”
“You like it rough.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Say it.”
“I like it rough, mama, I like it rough, mama, please don’t stop, mama...”
Words came out but she didn’t know if she meant it. She didn’t know if she can take anymore pounding.
Her ass was on the stone with each of his thrusts, the pattern of it gripping her ass cheeks, the hot side stinging, the cool side scbanging, and the two sensations were running up her spine in alternating jolts and meeting in her belly where his cock was driving.
And, her vaginal walls started pulsing and she came again, small this time, a tight shivering rush that ran through her thighs and up into her chest, and she clung to his shoulders and she panted into his neck.
“Mama, again, I came again, mama...”
“I know.”
“Mama, I can’t keep...”
“Yes you can.”
Scene 3
He bent his head down to her while he was still inside her and he kissed her.
His mouth came down on hers hard and open and her lips parted under him because they had no choice. His tongue went into her mouth the way his cock was inside her body, deep, claiming, not asking. She tasted herself on his tongue from earlier and a trace of her own pussy and the salt of his sweat and she made a small helpless sound into his mouth and kissed him back.
His cock twitched inside her with the kiss. She felt it. Every time she flicked his tongue inside his mouth, his cock flicked the inside of her pussy. She liked it but she knew it’s dangerous.
He broke the kiss. He did not pull out. He put his hands under her ass and he lifted her off the stone wall and her legs came up and locked around his waist and her arms went around his neck and he walked her across the flagstone toward the house with his cock buried in her on each step.
“Mama,” she whispered against his jaw. “Mama, where...”
“Inside.”
“Mama, the neighbors...”
“Let them.”
He walked her through the open sliding door. The cool of the air-conditioned house hit her sweat-slick back and she shivered so hard her pussy clenched on him and he groaned into her hair.
He walked her to the kitchen. He set her down on the marble of the island.
She screamed. The cold of the marble on her overheated ass was a clean bright shock and her whole body jerked off it and back down and she sobbed once and her pussy spasmed on his cock.
“Mama, it’s cold, mama...”
“Good.”
He pulled out of her. She cried at the sudden emptying of her vagina. He did not give her time to finish crying.
His hands came down on her shoulders and he flipped her, one clean rough motion, and she was face-down on the marble with her feet on the floor and her ass up and her tits mashed against the cold stone.
“Mama.. what are you… ahhh “
Her breasts pressed against the cold marble. The marble under her breasts was freezing. Her nipples, already swollen from his mouth earlier, went tight to the point of pain on the cold. She gasped. Her cheek was pressed flat on the marble. Her braid had fallen across her shoulder onto the stone.
His hand caught the braid. He wound it around his fist once. He pulled. Not hard. Enough that her head came back off the marble and her throat stretched and her back arched.
He grabbed his throbbing cock and he positioned it between her ass cheeks and her vaginal opening.
He slammed back into her.
“Ahhh… Mama!”
The angle was different. He was deeper than he had been on the lounge bed, deeper than he had been against the fence, the head of him hitting a place inside her that made her eyes roll back. She clawed at the marble for purchase and found none and her palms slid on the stone and she went flat again, tits first.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
“You feel this.”
“Yes, mama.”
He fucked her hard. The slap of his hips against her ass was loud in the empty kitchen. Her cries bounced off the cabinets, off the high ceiling, off the steel of the range hood across the room. His hand in her braid kept her head up. Her other hand tried to reach back for him and he caught it and pinned it to the small of her back and kept going.
“Mama, I can’t, mama, I’m going to...”
“Come on my cock, Vanitha.”
She did. She broke apart on him for a third time, her pussy locking on him in a long hard clench, and she sobbed into the marble and her hips shook and he did not stop, he kept driving through her orgasm, making her ride it out on his cock.
He saw how his cock pulled her vaginal opening skin around his cock, pulled out and then he slammed again, with more force.
After steady pounding through her orgasm, he pulled out.
She moaned at the loss. He did not let her rest. He pulled her off the island by the hips and she went limp against him and he picked her up again.
“Where.”
“The study.”
He knew a sofa in that room can we perfect to position her. She has no idea what’s coming.
He carried her down the hall and through the door of Ashok’s small study-lounge, the room with the books and the long low brown leather couch where Ashok read on Sundays.
He placed her knees on the on the couch with her hands on the headrest, facing the back of it, her palms flat on the leather, her ass up, her grabbed and spread her knees.
“mama.. what are you..”
He looked down at her.
Her back was marked now. Faint pink lines from the cedar fence across her shoulder blades. A red square from the hot metal table low on her back. Small patterns from the stone wall on her ass. Sweat running down her spine into the cleft of her. Her pussy swollen and dark from him, dripping.
He put a hand flat on the small of her back. He pushed. Her spine arched the way he wanted it and her ass came up higher.
“I wanted to fuck you on this couch for week”
He placed one hand on the base of his cock.
He ran the tip of it up the seam of her pussy, all the way to her ass, once.
He lined it up and as if he had no time, he thrusted his cock into her and he watched it disappear.
“Ahhhh…. Mama!”
He took her harder now. He had been holding back. He let go. His hand came up and found her braid again and he wound it around his fist and he pulled, and her head came back, and her back arched deeper, and she took him, she took every inch of him on every thrust, and the couch moved against the wall with each drive of his hips.
He reached under her. His hand found her breast. He squeezed hard. His fingers dug into the soft full weight of her and she cried out and her pussy clamped on him.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
“Turn your heas… look at me.”
She turned her head. Her cheek was against her own shoulder. Her eyes were wet. Her lips were parted. He was looking at her over the curve of her back, over the slick of her spine, his hand in her braid, his cock buried in her, and his eyes were wild and dark and she had never loved him more than she loved him in that second.
“You’re mine, Vanitha.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Every part.”
“Yes, mama.”
He pulled out. She whimpered. His hand came down and spread her ass open and she understood and her breath caught and she did not stop him. He had been there before. In Chennai. On a bed she was not supposed to think about. He lined the head of his cock up against her tight puckered hole, slick from her own wetness and his.
“Mama,” she breathed. “Mama, slow, slow...”
“No.”
He pushed. Not slow, this time, even harder, the only slow thing he had done in twenty minutes is look at her eyes. The head of him breached her and she made a small wrecked sound and her fingers clawed the leather and he kept going, hard, inch by inch, until he was seated all the way in her ass.
Once his cock is all the way inside, he held still. He breathed.
“Look at me.”
She turned her head again. He was looking down at her over her shoulder. The line between his brows was deep. His jaw was tight. He looked like a man holding something at the very edge.
“Mama, I can feel you, so deep, mama...”
“I know.”
He pulled back out halfway and pushed back in. Slow at first. She whimpered. He did it again. Faster. And again. And soon he was fucking her ass the way he had been fucking her pussy, hard, rough, his hand in her braid, her head pulled back, her mouth open, her small broken cries filling the quiet study.
“Mama, mama, mama...”
He kept her turned so she had to look at him. He wanted her eyes on him. She gave him her eyes and he watched her come apart on his cock in her ass, a small shivering shocked orgasm that rolled through her and made her shake from her shoulders to her knees.
He pulled out.
He lifted her off the couch, limp, boneless, and carried her out of the study and into the living room.
He laid her down on the rug. Gentle. So gentle after all of it that she started to cry, small quiet tears sliding into her hair.
He went down on his knees over her. He did not enter her. He looked at her first. He looked at her face. He put his hand on her cheek and he wiped the tears with his thumb.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
He bent. He kissed her forehead. He kissed her left eye. He kissed her right eye. He kissed the bridge of her nose. He kissed her mouth, soft, long, his tongue sliding against hers without hurry. He kissed the hollow of her throat where the thali (mangalsutra) lay. He kissed the top of her left breast and the top of her right. He took one nipple into his mouth, gentle now, and he sucked, slow, and she made a small soft sound that was almost a whimper of relief at the gentleness of it after the rough.
He came back up to her face. He looked at her.
“Ready..?”
She wimphered.
He slid into her pussy.
Slow. All the way. She gasped and her hands came up to his back and her nails dug in and she held him inside her.
“Mama.”
“Vanitha.”
“Hmmmph… mama.”
He started to move. Slow. Deep. The whole length of him pulling almost out and pushing all the way back in, a long steady rhythm, his eyes on hers the entire time.
He fucked her like that for a long time. She did not know how long. Her orgasms built and broke and built and broke, one rolling into the next, small shivering waves that kept her pussy clamping on him in soft rhythmic pulses.
His face changed.
She saw it. The line between his brows deepened. His jaw set. His hips picked up speed. His hand came up and cupped her face and he held her eyes.
“I want to cum inside you!” He almost shouted it, not a question, a statement, rough and loud in the quiet living room. “Vanitha, I want to cum inside you.”
“Yes, mama, yes, inside me, please, mama, inside me...”
He drove in one more time, hard, and he held there, and she felt him swell, and then she felt the first pulse.
It was a full hard pulse of him inside her and she felt the hot wet of his cum hit somewhere deep and she cried out. Another pulse came. Another. He groaned, long, his whole body locked above her. Another pulse. His cock kept twitching inside her. Another. She had never felt him come this long. Another. His eyes were closed. His mouth was open. A small line of spit at the corner. Another pulse. Another.
Minutes passed. He kept coming. Pulse after pulse, his cock jerking inside her, hot wet spilling into her womb and running out around him and down between her cheeks onto the rug.
“Mama,” she whispered. “Mama, you’re still...”
“I know.”
Another pulse. Another. Five minutes, she thought, wild, he has been coming for five minutes. He was making up for two weeks of lost time in one long endless release inside her and she lay under him and she held him and she let him do it.
The last pulse came. Weaker. Then nothing.
He collapsed on her. His full weight came down and she caught him and wrapped her arms around him and held him. His face was in her neck. His breath was shaking against her throat.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
“Vanitha, Vanitha, Vanitha.”
She held him. She stroked his hair. His cock was still inside her, softening slow, his cum still warm and full and deep in her. She closed her eyes. Her thali lay against his cheek. The gold waist chain was warm between their bellies.
Outside, backyard, a bird called once but it’s quiet from her scream and pounding noise.
He can only hear her heart beat. He felt a little peaceful, not angry anymore at watching someone else caress her. She’s hers. His semen was flowing inside her, only his semen.
Scene 1
She sat up on the lounge bed.
His cock was right in front of her face, hungry.
She knew, he is about to ravage her. She wanted him to. She was scared of how much she wanted him to.
She wanted to control him a little bit, she did the thing she knew. She leaned forward on the cushion.
He grabbed his bouncing thick shaft… his waxed balls so smooth.
He made a sound.
She spoke to his cock.
“There.. there.. sorry to make you wait…”
She kissed his cock, as if it has it’s own mind and soul.
It came out of him low and broken, not a word, a breath forced out through his teeth, and his hand came down on the top of her head, and his fingers closed in her hair, and he did not push. He held. He held, the way a man held a rope he was afraid of letting go.
She took his cock in her sweet little mouth, slow. She had to. He was thick and the cock head too large, her jaw had to work to open around him.
She got the head in first and she closed her lips behind the rim and she sucked, soft, a small careful pull, the way she had learned he liked, and she heard the breath go out of him again above her.
“Vanitha.”
She did not answer. She could not. Her mouth was full. She watched his stomach above her go tight.
She took another inch. She slid her lips down the smooth freshly waxed shaft, slow, and she felt the small ridge of a vein under her tongue and she dragged the flat of her tongue against it on the way down, and he made the sound a third time.
Her hand came up and wrapped around the base of him, where her mouth could not reach.
His eyes were closed. His head had tipped back.She had decided she was going to make him come this way. She was going to take control of this the only way she knew how.
“Vanitha.”
She looked up once more. She wanted him to see her. She wanted him to see her shy face with her mouth full of his cock. She saw in his face when their eyes met that he had seen it, and she saw in his face that it had not worked.
It had not worked at all. He was no way close to being satisfied.
“Enough.”
She did not let him go. She did not want to let him go. She kept sucking.
He grabbed her braid and her cheeks.
He pulled her off.
Not gentle. His hand in her hair closed and he drew her head back off his cock in one clean pull, and her mouth came off him with a wet sound, and a thin line of her saliva stretched from her lip to the tip of him and broke against her chin.
She looked up at him. Her lips were swollen. Her chin was wet. Her eyes were wide.
“Mama.”
“This is not enough, Vanitha.”
His voice had gone low and flat. He was not looking at her mouth. He was looking at her eyes and through them, past them, at something he had been holding back for weeks.
“Mama, let me...”
“No.”
“Just a little more, I can...”
“No.” His hand came under her chin. His thumb dragged across her wet bottom lip. “I need to fuck you, Vanitha. Now. I can’t wait. You made me wait too long.”
She made a small sound. She did not have a word ready.
He did not wait for one. His hands came down on her shoulders and he pushed her back, flat, onto the cushion of the lounge bed, and her braid went one way and her arms went the other and she landed with a soft breath out.
He grabbed her ankles. Both of them. One in each hand. He pulled her toward him, hard, and her ass slid across the cushion until the half of her ass hung off the edge, and her thighs fell open on either side of his hips because he made them, because his hands had already opened her and he had already stepped between.
He looked down at her. His chest was heaving. His cock was against her thigh, hot, wet at the tip from her mouth.
“Mama, wait, I...”
“No more waiting.”
He lined himself up with one hand. She felt the head of his thick cock push against her sweet little vaginal opening, wet meeting wet, and she had one second of small pure panic, he was too thick, she was not ready, it had been two weeks, and then he was inside her.
He did not ease in. He did not give her the slow first inch. He pushed, hard, one long rough thrust from the tip of him all the way to the base, and her pussy, which had been ready in a way she had not known a body could be ready, opened and stretched and took him in one go. With that one push his full length, from his swollen cock head all the way to his waxed smooth base met her soft skin.
She screamed.
It was a small scream. It came out of her high and broken and she did not cover her mouth because her hands were fisted in the cushion on either side of her hips. Her whole body arched. Her ass came off the edge. Her head went back into the cushion.
“Mama... oh god... mama...”
He groaned. A long deep sound torn out of his chest. His hands clamped on the backs of her thighs and he pushed them up and out, wider, until her knees were almost at her shoulders, and he slammed into her again.
“Ah! Mama...”
Again. Harder. The lounge bed slid an inch on the flagstone.
“You’re so tight, Vanitha.” His voice was in his teeth.
“Two weeks. Two goddamn weeks.”
“Mama, slow, please, you’re so...”
“No.”
He slammed again. And again. He found a rhythm that was not a rhythm, a rough pounding drive, his hips smacking against the back of her thighs with a wet slap on each thrust, the sound of skin on skin carrying across the pool.
She clung to the cushion. Her fingers dug into the fabric. Her head rolled to the side and her open mouth pressed against her own bicep. The shock of him was still moving through her in waves and under the shock a deep hot pull was starting, the thing her body had been waiting for for two weeks, the thing she had been pretending she did not need.
“Mama,” she gasped. “Oh god, mama, you’re so deep...”
“Take it, Vanitha.”
“Mama...”
“Take it.”
Her legs fell wider on their own. Her ass worked itself further off the edge of the cushion to meet him. Her moans came out of her in small broken cries, one on each thrust, and she did not know she was making them until she heard them echo back off the far wall of the yard.
Scene 2
He did not pull out.
He bent his head down over her and he put one arm under her lower back and the other under her ass feeling her soft skin and he lifted, and she came up off the cushion with him, still full of him, her legs scrambling for him until they wrapped around his waist and crossed at the small of his back.
Her full weight came down on his cock. She felt every inch of him settle a half inch deeper into her and she made a sound that had no shape to it.
“Mama, what are you...”
“Hold on.”
“Mama...”
“Hold on, Vanitha.”
Her arms went around his neck. She had to. He was already moving. He walked. He walked with her legs wrapped around him, bare feet on the warm flagstone, and each step sent a small hard bounce through her body that drove his cock up into her from below, and she bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.
“Mama.” She breathed it against his skin. “Every step.”
“I know.”
“Mama, I can’t...”
“You can.”
He walked her around the near end of the pool. The sun was on her back. Her braid was a wet weight against her spine from her own sweat. His hands under her ass held her up and each time his foot came down her body dropped a half inch on him and slid back up and she could feel the ridge of his of cock dragging against the front wall of her pussy on every small fall.
“Mama,” she gasped. “Oh god. Oh god, mama.”
“You’re so wet, Vanitha.”
She was. She could feel it running down where they were joined, down the inside of his thigh, a slow hot line of her own wetness mixed with his saliva from earlier and nothing else, not yet. She was dripping on him. She was dripping on the flagstone.
He walked her to the fence.
It was the tall wooden one at the back of the yard, thick cedar planks running vertical, the grain weathered rough by two summers of sun. He pushed her against it. Her back hit the wood and she gasped, a small sharp sound, not pain, the shock of rough dry wood on sweat-damp skin, and he pinned her there with his hips. His cock went another half inch into her when he pinned her. She sobbed once.
“Mama...”
“Brace.”
He put one of her hands flat on the fence above her head and held it there by the wrist. His other hand came under her ass. He pulled his hips back.
He slammed in.
The fence shook. Her back dragged up the rough wood an inch on the impact and dragged back down on the pull-out, and she felt the grain of it catch at her skin, small fine rasps across her shoulder blades, and she did not care, she did not care, his cock was all the way in her and he was pulling back out and slamming in again and the fence was rattling in its posts.
“Mama. Oh my… ah….”
“You feel like this. You feel like this after two weeks.”
“Mama, slow... please”
“No.”
The sound from the slap of his hips on her ass came back off the fence behind her and off the garage wall across the yard, two beats each thrust, his skin on hers and then the echo, and her moans came out of her in a broken chain she could not control.
He was making up for lost time. She could feel it in every thrust. He was not fucking her the way he had fucked her in Chennai. He was fucking her the way a man fucked a woman he had watched another man kiss in his son‘s own living room, and she understood it, and she opened wider for him against the fence, and she took it.
“Mama, I can feel you so deep...”
“Good.”
“Mama, mama...”
He pulled her off the fence.
The wood had left faint pink lines across her back. He did not look. He walked her three steps to the patio table, the round metal one with the glass top where she and Ashok had eaten breakfast yesterday, and he laid her down on it on her back, spine first.
The metal was warm. Sun-baked. She screamed, small, the heat of it searing across her shoulder blades and her ass, and she arched up off it to get away and her arching drove her hips up onto his cock and he groaned and pinned her down with one hand flat on her breastbone.
“Stay.”
“Mama, it’s… mama, it’s too big today... I can’t”
“Stay, Vanitha.”
He held her down on the warm metal with one hand on her chest, grabbing a breast. His other hand caught her right leg behind the knee and pushed it up toward her shoulder, opening her wider, and he started fucking her again, and the table moved on the flagstone with each thrust, a small metal screech on each pull and a small metal clang on each slam.
She was crying now. Not sad crying. The other kind. Her eyes were wet and her mouth was open and she was watching him above her through a wet blur.
“Look at me, Vanitha.”
She looked.
His face was not his face. It was darker. His hair had fallen across his forehead. His chest was slick with her sweat and his sweat mixed and a small bead of it was running down the center of him and dropping onto her belly on each thrust and the cool of it hitting her hot skin made her gasp.
“You feel this.”
“Yes, mama.”
“You feel me, Vanitha.”
“Yes, mama, yes, mama, yes.”
“You feel, how hungry this cock is for you?”
“I feel it deep in my belly… you are so big, mama.. please….”
He kept his eyes on hers. He kept pounding her. The table slid another inch on the stone. The glass top rattled under her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, hard enough that the sting of it crossed her chest on every drive, and her nipples still swollen from his mouth earlier sent a small sharp pleasure up into her throat on each bounce.
She came.
She was not ready for it. It built in her belly in two thrusts and broke on the third and she arched up off the hot metal and her pussy clamped on his cock and she screamed into the open sun.
“Mama!.. I… I’m cumming… ahhhh.. please… slow…”
He groaned and held still inside her, not coming, just holding, his jaw set, his eyes on her face.
“That’s one,” he said, low. “That’s one, Vanitha.”
“Mama...”
Her legs were shaking from the orgasm.
“I’m not done.”
She thought, he was going to cum with her, but he was far from done.
He pulled out of her with a wet sound. She cried out at the empty of it. He lifted her off the hot table and her back was slick with sweat and her skin peeled off the metal with a small soft suck and she hung limp in his arms for a second.
He carried her four steps and set her down on the low stone wall that ran along the flower bed.
The wall was river stone, flat on top, a foot wide, knee-high, the half of it in sun baking warm and the half of it in the shade of the maple tree cool. He set her ass on it so that one cheek was on the hot side and one cheek was on the cool, and she gasped at the split of it, the two different temperatures biting into the same body, and he spread her knees apart with his hands.
“Mama, not here, not against the...”
“Here.”
He pushed back into her in one stroke.
She threw her head back. Her spine arched. The stone under her ass was rough in places, small sharp edges catching her skin where her weight ground against it, and each of his thrusts dragged her an inch across the wall and dragged her back, and she felt the hot stone on her left cheek and the cool stone on her right and the rough of both grinding into her, and it was too much, it was exactly enough. Her newly orgamsed pussy was still trembling, but the pounding continued.
“Mama, this is...”
“What.”
“I can’t... I can’t believe how good this feels, mama...”
He slammed into her harder.
The flower bed was right there beside them. The marigolds Latha had planted last week. A bee came up out of one of them and circled her shoulder and flew off. She did not see it. Her eyes were on his face.
“You like it, Vanitha.”
“Yes, mama.”
“You like it rough.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Say it.”
“I like it rough, mama, I like it rough, mama, please don’t stop, mama...”
Words came out but she didn’t know if she meant it. She didn’t know if she can take anymore pounding.
Her ass was on the stone with each of his thrusts, the pattern of it gripping her ass cheeks, the hot side stinging, the cool side scbanging, and the two sensations were running up her spine in alternating jolts and meeting in her belly where his cock was driving.
And, her vaginal walls started pulsing and she came again, small this time, a tight shivering rush that ran through her thighs and up into her chest, and she clung to his shoulders and she panted into his neck.
“Mama, again, I came again, mama...”
“I know.”
“Mama, I can’t keep...”
“Yes you can.”
Scene 3
He bent his head down to her while he was still inside her and he kissed her.
His mouth came down on hers hard and open and her lips parted under him because they had no choice. His tongue went into her mouth the way his cock was inside her body, deep, claiming, not asking. She tasted herself on his tongue from earlier and a trace of her own pussy and the salt of his sweat and she made a small helpless sound into his mouth and kissed him back.
His cock twitched inside her with the kiss. She felt it. Every time she flicked his tongue inside his mouth, his cock flicked the inside of her pussy. She liked it but she knew it’s dangerous.
He broke the kiss. He did not pull out. He put his hands under her ass and he lifted her off the stone wall and her legs came up and locked around his waist and her arms went around his neck and he walked her across the flagstone toward the house with his cock buried in her on each step.
“Mama,” she whispered against his jaw. “Mama, where...”
“Inside.”
“Mama, the neighbors...”
“Let them.”
He walked her through the open sliding door. The cool of the air-conditioned house hit her sweat-slick back and she shivered so hard her pussy clenched on him and he groaned into her hair.
He walked her to the kitchen. He set her down on the marble of the island.
She screamed. The cold of the marble on her overheated ass was a clean bright shock and her whole body jerked off it and back down and she sobbed once and her pussy spasmed on his cock.
“Mama, it’s cold, mama...”
“Good.”
He pulled out of her. She cried at the sudden emptying of her vagina. He did not give her time to finish crying.
His hands came down on her shoulders and he flipped her, one clean rough motion, and she was face-down on the marble with her feet on the floor and her ass up and her tits mashed against the cold stone.
“Mama.. what are you… ahhh “
Her breasts pressed against the cold marble. The marble under her breasts was freezing. Her nipples, already swollen from his mouth earlier, went tight to the point of pain on the cold. She gasped. Her cheek was pressed flat on the marble. Her braid had fallen across her shoulder onto the stone.
His hand caught the braid. He wound it around his fist once. He pulled. Not hard. Enough that her head came back off the marble and her throat stretched and her back arched.
He grabbed his throbbing cock and he positioned it between her ass cheeks and her vaginal opening.
He slammed back into her.
“Ahhh… Mama!”
The angle was different. He was deeper than he had been on the lounge bed, deeper than he had been against the fence, the head of him hitting a place inside her that made her eyes roll back. She clawed at the marble for purchase and found none and her palms slid on the stone and she went flat again, tits first.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
“You feel this.”
“Yes, mama.”
He fucked her hard. The slap of his hips against her ass was loud in the empty kitchen. Her cries bounced off the cabinets, off the high ceiling, off the steel of the range hood across the room. His hand in her braid kept her head up. Her other hand tried to reach back for him and he caught it and pinned it to the small of her back and kept going.
“Mama, I can’t, mama, I’m going to...”
“Come on my cock, Vanitha.”
She did. She broke apart on him for a third time, her pussy locking on him in a long hard clench, and she sobbed into the marble and her hips shook and he did not stop, he kept driving through her orgasm, making her ride it out on his cock.
He saw how his cock pulled her vaginal opening skin around his cock, pulled out and then he slammed again, with more force.
After steady pounding through her orgasm, he pulled out.
She moaned at the loss. He did not let her rest. He pulled her off the island by the hips and she went limp against him and he picked her up again.
“Where.”
“The study.”
He knew a sofa in that room can we perfect to position her. She has no idea what’s coming.
He carried her down the hall and through the door of Ashok’s small study-lounge, the room with the books and the long low brown leather couch where Ashok read on Sundays.
He placed her knees on the on the couch with her hands on the headrest, facing the back of it, her palms flat on the leather, her ass up, her grabbed and spread her knees.
“mama.. what are you..”
He looked down at her.
Her back was marked now. Faint pink lines from the cedar fence across her shoulder blades. A red square from the hot metal table low on her back. Small patterns from the stone wall on her ass. Sweat running down her spine into the cleft of her. Her pussy swollen and dark from him, dripping.
He put a hand flat on the small of her back. He pushed. Her spine arched the way he wanted it and her ass came up higher.
“I wanted to fuck you on this couch for week”
He placed one hand on the base of his cock.
He ran the tip of it up the seam of her pussy, all the way to her ass, once.
He lined it up and as if he had no time, he thrusted his cock into her and he watched it disappear.
“Ahhhh…. Mama!”
He took her harder now. He had been holding back. He let go. His hand came up and found her braid again and he wound it around his fist and he pulled, and her head came back, and her back arched deeper, and she took him, she took every inch of him on every thrust, and the couch moved against the wall with each drive of his hips.
He reached under her. His hand found her breast. He squeezed hard. His fingers dug into the soft full weight of her and she cried out and her pussy clamped on him.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
“Turn your heas… look at me.”
She turned her head. Her cheek was against her own shoulder. Her eyes were wet. Her lips were parted. He was looking at her over the curve of her back, over the slick of her spine, his hand in her braid, his cock buried in her, and his eyes were wild and dark and she had never loved him more than she loved him in that second.
“You’re mine, Vanitha.”
“Yes, mama.”
“Every part.”
“Yes, mama.”
He pulled out. She whimpered. His hand came down and spread her ass open and she understood and her breath caught and she did not stop him. He had been there before. In Chennai. On a bed she was not supposed to think about. He lined the head of his cock up against her tight puckered hole, slick from her own wetness and his.
“Mama,” she breathed. “Mama, slow, slow...”
“No.”
He pushed. Not slow, this time, even harder, the only slow thing he had done in twenty minutes is look at her eyes. The head of him breached her and she made a small wrecked sound and her fingers clawed the leather and he kept going, hard, inch by inch, until he was seated all the way in her ass.
Once his cock is all the way inside, he held still. He breathed.
“Look at me.”
She turned her head again. He was looking down at her over her shoulder. The line between his brows was deep. His jaw was tight. He looked like a man holding something at the very edge.
“Mama, I can feel you, so deep, mama...”
“I know.”
He pulled back out halfway and pushed back in. Slow at first. She whimpered. He did it again. Faster. And again. And soon he was fucking her ass the way he had been fucking her pussy, hard, rough, his hand in her braid, her head pulled back, her mouth open, her small broken cries filling the quiet study.
“Mama, mama, mama...”
He kept her turned so she had to look at him. He wanted her eyes on him. She gave him her eyes and he watched her come apart on his cock in her ass, a small shivering shocked orgasm that rolled through her and made her shake from her shoulders to her knees.
He pulled out.
He lifted her off the couch, limp, boneless, and carried her out of the study and into the living room.
He laid her down on the rug. Gentle. So gentle after all of it that she started to cry, small quiet tears sliding into her hair.
He went down on his knees over her. He did not enter her. He looked at her first. He looked at her face. He put his hand on her cheek and he wiped the tears with his thumb.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
He bent. He kissed her forehead. He kissed her left eye. He kissed her right eye. He kissed the bridge of her nose. He kissed her mouth, soft, long, his tongue sliding against hers without hurry. He kissed the hollow of her throat where the thali (mangalsutra) lay. He kissed the top of her left breast and the top of her right. He took one nipple into his mouth, gentle now, and he sucked, slow, and she made a small soft sound that was almost a whimper of relief at the gentleness of it after the rough.
He came back up to her face. He looked at her.
“Ready..?”
She wimphered.
He slid into her pussy.
Slow. All the way. She gasped and her hands came up to his back and her nails dug in and she held him inside her.
“Mama.”
“Vanitha.”
“Hmmmph… mama.”
He started to move. Slow. Deep. The whole length of him pulling almost out and pushing all the way back in, a long steady rhythm, his eyes on hers the entire time.
He fucked her like that for a long time. She did not know how long. Her orgasms built and broke and built and broke, one rolling into the next, small shivering waves that kept her pussy clamping on him in soft rhythmic pulses.
His face changed.
She saw it. The line between his brows deepened. His jaw set. His hips picked up speed. His hand came up and cupped her face and he held her eyes.
“I want to cum inside you!” He almost shouted it, not a question, a statement, rough and loud in the quiet living room. “Vanitha, I want to cum inside you.”
“Yes, mama, yes, inside me, please, mama, inside me...”
He drove in one more time, hard, and he held there, and she felt him swell, and then she felt the first pulse.
It was a full hard pulse of him inside her and she felt the hot wet of his cum hit somewhere deep and she cried out. Another pulse came. Another. He groaned, long, his whole body locked above her. Another pulse. His cock kept twitching inside her. Another. She had never felt him come this long. Another. His eyes were closed. His mouth was open. A small line of spit at the corner. Another pulse. Another.
Minutes passed. He kept coming. Pulse after pulse, his cock jerking inside her, hot wet spilling into her womb and running out around him and down between her cheeks onto the rug.
“Mama,” she whispered. “Mama, you’re still...”
“I know.”
Another pulse. Another. Five minutes, she thought, wild, he has been coming for five minutes. He was making up for two weeks of lost time in one long endless release inside her and she lay under him and she held him and she let him do it.
The last pulse came. Weaker. Then nothing.
He collapsed on her. His full weight came down and she caught him and wrapped her arms around him and held him. His face was in her neck. His breath was shaking against her throat.
“Vanitha.”
“Mama.”
“Vanitha, Vanitha, Vanitha.”
She held him. She stroked his hair. His cock was still inside her, softening slow, his cum still warm and full and deep in her. She closed her eyes. Her thali lay against his cheek. The gold waist chain was warm between their bellies.
Outside, backyard, a bird called once but it’s quiet from her scream and pounding noise.
He can only hear her heart beat. He felt a little peaceful, not angry anymore at watching someone else caress her. She’s hers. His semen was flowing inside her, only his semen.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)