Incest Little sis Anjali and her friends

[prasannas2001]

 
"Oh, Rohan," Anjali murmured, her voice soft. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the irritated skin. "You tore it."
 
"I'm fine, Anju," he insisted, but his voice lacked conviction.
 
He was trying to maintain his facade of dominance, of being the one in control, but the small, painful wound was a stark reminder that he was just as vulnerable, just as new to this, as she was.
 
Neetu watched them, a strange, powerful emotion welling up inside her.
 
The fear had been replaced by something else, something warmer, more profound.
 
She had seen him as a conqueror, a god of pleasure who had taken her and claimed her.
 
But now, she saw him as a man, as a boy who was feeling the same sharp sting of first-time experience that she was.
 
He had pushed through his own pain to give her pleasure, to fulfill their shared, forbidden fantasy.
 
A wave of fierce, protective tenderness washed over her.
 
She wanted to comfort him, to soothe his pain, to make it better.
 
Without thinking, without a moment's hesitation, she moved.
 
She crawled across the rumpled sheets, her own body aching and sated, and knelt in front of him. She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.
 
His eyes were dark, clouded with pain and a vulnerability that he was trying desperately to hide.
 
"Let me," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "Let me take care of you."
 
Before he could protest, before Anjali could react, Neetu leaned in.
 
She didn't kiss his lips. She lowered her head, her dark hair falling like a curtain around them, and gently, reverently, pressed her lips to the small, bleeding wound at the base of his cock.
 
The touch was feather-light, a soft, warm caress.
 
She tasted the faint, coppery tang of his blood, mixed with the salty, musky flavor of his cum and her own juices.
 
It was a cocktail of their shared experience, a potent, intimate brew of pleasure, pain, and possession.