Incest Seeds of Sin

[Sengolan]

SUHAAGDIN IN THE MANDAP

The wedding mandap's floral garlands swayed in the humid breeze, their jasmine scent thick enough to mask the musk of sweat and sin. Gayathri's lehenga pooled around her knees like spilled ink as she braced her palms against the storage room shelves, Ravi's grip bruising her hips with each upward thrust. The sequins of her choli scbangd the metal shelving in time with their ragged breathing—a counterpoint to the distant dhol beats.



The hinges creaked—a sound Ravi would've missed if Gayathri hadn't suddenly gone rigid above him, her nails digging crescent moons into his shoulders. Tharika stood frozen in the doorway, her peach-colored lehenga glowing like forbidden fruit in the dim storeroom light. The floral garland around her wrist trembled with each shallow breath.


"Close the door," Ravi ordered, voice roughened by the slow roll of Gayathri's hips. He didn't stop moving beneath her, didn't even slow down as Tharika's knuckles whitened around the doorframe.


Gayathri turned her head just enough to see her cousin over her shoulder. "Th-Thari—" The name fractured into a moan as Ravi arched up into her, his hands tightening on her waist.


Tharika's eyes dropped to where they were joined—Gayathri's lehenga rucked up around her thighs, Ravi's dress pants pooled around his ankles. A bead of sweat traced the curve of Gayathri's spine before disappearing beneath the elaborate backless choli.


Tharika's peach-colored lehenga whispered against the doorframe as she swayed, her fingers still clutching the wood like she might collapse without its support. The scent of jasmine and sweat thickened the air between them, the distant wedding music muffled as if underwater.


Gayathri went perfectly still atop Ravi, her breath hitching—not in fear, but something darker. Her hips rolled once, deliberately, making Ravi groan as she tightened around him. "Thari..." she murmured, her voice syrup-thick, "...you're having the door open."


Tharika's lips parted, her gaze locked on where their bodies joined. A drop of sweat slid down Ravi's temple as he reached past Gayathri's shoulder, his fingers brushing Tharika's wrist. "You can watch," he said, low enough that the words vibrated through Gayathri's back, "or join."


The garland slipped from Tharika's arm, petals scattering across the concrete floor.


Tharika's fingers twitched against the doorframe, her peach lehenga rustling as she shifted her weight. The scent of crushed jasmine garlands clung to her skin, mingling with the musk of sweat and arousal that thickened the air in the storeroom. She ran away, and her forehead had perspiration not due to the Chennai heat or her running. But something that reflects the leak in her 18-year-old virgin  pussy.


The wedding music swelled outside—a frenzied dhol beat that matched the pounding in Tharika's chest as she stumbled into the ladies' restroom. Her reflection in the vanity mirror showed flushed cheeks, parted lips, and eyes dark with something she couldn't name. The sink's cold metal burned her palms as she gripped it, trying to steady her breathing.


Between her thighs, an unfamiliar heat pulsed. Tharika bit her lip, remembering the way Gayathri's back had arched, the way Ravi *Anna*'s fingers had dug into her hips—the raw, unfiltered hunger in their movements. Her own fingers trembled as they drifted beneath her lehenga's dupatta, brushing the damp silk of her panties.


*"You can watch... or join."*


Ravi's voice echoed in her mind, rough and commanding. Tharika's breath hitched as her fingertips pressed against the soaked fabric, a whimper escaping her lips.


———


Gayathri's laughter was breathless as she adjusted her lehenga, the sequins of her choli glinting in the storeroom's dim light. "Did you see her face?" she murmured, running her fingers through Ravi's hair as he fastened his pants.


Ravi smirked, catching her wrist to press a kiss to her pulse point. "Like a deer in headlights."


Gayathri's grin turned wicked. "She won't last the night."


———


Tharika jumped when the restroom door creaked open. Gayathri leaned against the frame, her lehenga perfectly arranged, her smirk knowing. "Thari," she purred, stepping closer, "you left so quickly."


Tharika's throat went dry. Gayathri's fingers traced the edge of the vanity, her bangles clinking softly. "Did we... scare you?"


"No!" Tharika's voice came out too high, too fast. She cleared her throat, gripping the sink tighter. "I just—I wasn't expecting—"


Gayathri's lips curved as she closed the distance between them. "Expecting what?" she whispered, her breath warm against Tharika's ear. "Hmm? Tell me."


Tharika's knees threatened to buckle. Gayathri's hand settled on her waist, guiding her back against the counter. "Did you like what you saw?"


A whimper was Tharika's only answer. Gayathri's laugh was low, victorious. "I thought so."


The restroom door swung open again. Ravi stepped inside, locking it behind him with a quiet click. Tharika's heart hammered against her ribs as his gaze locked onto hers—dark, predatory.


"Now," he murmured, stepping closer, "where were we?"


Tharika's breath caught as Gayathri's fingers intertwined with hers, pressing them against the cold mirror. Ravi's palm settled on her other hip, his thumb brushing the exposed skin above her lehenga's waistband.


"Still think you can walk away?" he asked, his voice a rumble against her neck.


Tharika's eyelids fluttered shut as his teeth grazed her pulse point. "N-No," she admitted, her voice breaking.


Gayathri's lips brushed her shoulder. "Good."


Outside, the wedding music reached a fever pitch—but in that moment, Tharika couldn't hear anything over the roar of her own heartbeat.


For the Readers: Tharika is another cousin of both Raji and Gayathri.