1 hour ago
(This post was last modified: 1 hour ago by SilverArrow. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Ranga broke the kiss only long enough to lift her clean off the counter. Monica’s legs were still half-wrapped around him when he carried her the few steps into the living room and dropped her onto the sofa. The impact knocked a short breath out of her.
“Ranga—wait—” she started, voice sharp and sassy even while her mouth was still swollen from the kiss. “You can’t just—”
He didn’t let her finish. He came down over her, one knee between her thighs, and grabbed the front of her kurti with both hands.
Monica’s eyes widened..
“Don’t you dare—”
The fabric gave with a hard, tearing sound. Buttons scattered across the sofa and onto the floor. The kurti ripped open down the middle in one brutal pull, leaving her upper body exposed under the low television light.
She stared down at herself, shocked.
“You ripped it— Ranga, this was—”
Her bra was still on, but barely. It was a deep black, cotton Bra, the kind of expensive, underwired bra that looked deliberate rather than decent. The cups were full and slightly translucent where the lace stretched over the soft upper curves of her breasts. The straps sat clean against her shoulders, and the centre gore pressed the two heavy shapes together, creating a deep, shadowed line of cleavage.
Monica tried to adjust the torn halves of the kurti closed. Ranga caught both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. His other hand yanked the ruined fabric further open and threw the kurti completely off her body. She was in just a Bra now!
“Stop—” she hissed, twisting under him. “Rakesh is right there— we can’t—”
.
Ranga laughed “Just Look at your breasts ..they are asking me to suck it ..”
He lowered his head and put his mouth on the upper curve of her right breast, right above the lace. The heat of his mouth and the scbang of his teeth made her back arch despite the protest still leaving her lips.
“Ranga— don’t—”
He ignored the words. His mouth moved lower, dragging over the Bra, then closed over the covered nipple and sucked hard through the thin material. Monica’s breath broke into a short, unwilling sound. She struggled again, wrists twisting in his grip, hips shifting under his weight, but the resistance had already started to lose force.
The Bra was only a matter of time. One pull on the straps or a hard tug at the front clasp and it would be gone. Ranga’s mouth stayed on her, working her through the Bra, while his free hand slid under her back, fingers finding the hook. Monica felt the first release of tension as the clasp began to give.
“Not the bra— please .” she managed to say, voice tight as her body pushed up into his mouth. “Ranga, I’m serious—”
The second hook gave. The black Bra loosened. Her breasts shifted, heavier now without the full support, the soft flesh spilling obscenely out as the cups started to fall away. Ranga lifted his head just long enough to look at what he had uncovered, then lowered his mouth again, this time with nothing between them.
Monica’s head tipped back against the sofa cushion. The protest was still in her throat, but the sound that came out was no longer only refusal. Down the hall, Rakesh slept on. In the living room the torn kurti lay fell on the ground and then slowly, the expensive black bra went off to the ground. Ranga’s mouth was already taking what the last of her resistance could no longer keep.
The television continued its muted glow across the living room, the forgotten movie flickering over their bodies. Ranga’s mouth stayed locked on Monica’s breast, sucking with slow, deliberate hunger. He drew the soft flesh deep, teeth grazing the sensitive skin around her nipple before closing and pulling hard enough to make her back arch off the sofa.
“Ranga—stop—ah—” Monica’s voice came out tight and broken. She twisted her shoulders, trying to pull away, but his hand held the other breast firmly, fingers sinking into the heavy curve and squeezing until the flesh spilled between them. “You’re hurting— Rakesh will hear—”
He only shifted to the other side. His mouth opened wide over the full underside of her left breast, sucking the soft weight upward, tongue pressing flat and slow against the nipple before he bit down just enough to sting. Monica’s breath hitched into a sharp sound. He stayed there, working the same spot with wet, dragging pulls, the kind that left the skin flushed and red almost immediately. Spit glistened on the breasts. When he released it with a soft pop, the nipple was darker, swollen, and he immediately took it back in, sucking harder, slower, as if determined to leave a mark she would feel the next day.
“Enough—” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re going to leave marks— stop mauling them—”
.Ranga lifted his head only long enough to look at her. His mouth was wet. Without a word he stood, unbuckled his belt, and shoved his pants and underwear down in one motion. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
Ranga was fully naked in an instant!!
Monica’s eyes dropped and widened. His cock stood thick and heavily erect, the dark shaft rigid, veins standing out along the length, the head already flushed and wet at the tip. The sheer size of it sent a visible jolt through Monica again. She had taken it before, but seeing it like this again— fully hard, completely exposed in her own living room while her husband slept down the hall— still shocked her.
“No—” she started, trying to sit up. “We’re not doing that. Put your clothes back on. Ranga, I’m serious—”
He pushed her back down by the shoulders and climbed over her, knees bracketing her waist. His cock hung heavy between them, the heat of it brushing the soft skin of her stomach.
“Hold them,” he said, voice low and rough.
“What?”
“Your tits. Hold them together.”
“I will not—”
He took both her wrists and forced her hands to the sides of her breasts. When she still resisted, he pressed her palms inward until the soft, heavy flesh pushed together, creating a deep, warm channel. Monica’s face burned with a mix of anger and something darker.
“Ranga, don’t you dare—”
He shifted forward and pushed the thick head of his cock into the tight space between her breasts. The first slow thrust made her breath catch. He was hot, heavy, and far too big for the soft tunnel she was being forced to create. He began to move, short and deliberate strokes at first, the shaft sliding between the compressed flesh while his hands stayed over hers, keeping her breasts tightly closed around him.
“Fuck—” Monica turned her face to the side, voice shaking with protest and something she refused to name. “This is disgusting— stop— Rakesh is right there—”
Ranga only pushed deeper, the head of his cock emerging from the top of her cleavage with every upward stroke, brushing close to her chin. He leaned over her, one hand still forcing her breasts together, the other braced on the sofa back, and began to fuck the soft channel in earnest. The wet sound of skin on skin mixed with the low murmur of the television. Monica’s protests continued— short, sassy, furious fragments— but her hands stayed where he had put them, holding her own breasts tight around his cock as he used them with slow, relentless thrusts.
“Look at it,” he muttered. “Look how well they take me.”
“Shut up—” she hissed, eyes squeezed shut for a second before they opened again against her will. The sight of his thick shaft disappearing between her breasts and reappearing glistening made her stomach twist with shame and heat. “You’re an animal— this is— ah—”
He kept going, the pace steady and deep, the head of his cock nudging higher with each stroke. Monica’s breathing had turned ragged. Every protest still left her mouth, but the force of her resistance had begun to fray under the relentless, filthy use of her body in the middle of her own living room.
Monica’s resistance thinned faster than she wanted to admit. The thick, hot slide of Ranga’s cock between her breasts pulled something unwilling but real from her body. Her hands, which had first been forced into place, stayed there on their own. She pressed the soft, heavy flesh tighter around him, creating a warmer, narrower channel.
Ranga took full advantage. He planted one knee deeper into the sofa cushion beside her hip and began thrusting with deliberate, controlled power. Each upward stroke dragged the full length of his thick shaft through the tight valley of her cleavage. The flared head emerged wet and flushed near her collarbone before he pulled back and drove forward again. His hips moved in a steady, rolling rhythm, the muscles in his thighs and stomach flexing with every push. He kept one hand locked over both of hers, forcing her to maintain the pressure, while his other hand gripped the back of the sofa for leverage so he could give her the best possible boobs job she ever got from anyone!
“Fuck…” Monica breathed, the word half protest, half surrender. “This is so wrong… Rakesh is right there…”
Ranga only leaned over her more, changing the angle so the underside of his cock dragged heavily against her with every stroke. ..
After another long minute he pulled back suddenly. His cock left the tight space between her breasts with a slick, audible sound, bobbing heavily in the air, shiny with the friction. Monica’s hands fell away, her chest rising and falling hard, the skin of her breasts flushed red and marked from his earlier mouth and the continuous rubbing.
Ranga stood fully upright over her for a second, naked, the thick length of him still rigidly erect and glistening. Then he reached down with both hands. His fingers hooked hard into the waistband of her sweatpants on either side of her assl. In one clean, powerful motion he yanked the fabric down. The pants slid over her hips, along her thighs, and off her legs in a single continuous pull. He tossed them aside without looking where they landed.
Monica shuddered hard at the abrupt exposure.
Ranga did not touch her panties. He left the dark cotton panties exactly where it was — already damp, stretched slightly over the soft mound of her cunt. He climbed back onto the sofa, knees bracketing her thighs, and lowered his body over hers again. The heavy, hot weight of his cock settled directly against the thin, wet fabric of her panties, pressing the damp cloth into her. With both hands he took her wrists once more and guided her palms back to the sides of her breasts.
“Keep them together, I am not done yet” he ordered, voice rough and low.
..
Monica swallowed, still trembling from the sudden removal of her pants, and obeyed. She pressed her breasts firmly around his cock again. Ranga immediately resumed the thrusting, this time with even less restraint. Every forward stroke drove his thick shaft up through the tight, warm channel of her cleavage while the base and underside of his cock rubbed heavily against the soaked crotch of her panties. The dual sensation — the soft compression of her breasts and the thin, wet barrier against her cunt — made the movement filthier and more deliberate.
He fucked the space between her breasts with long, measured strokes, hips rolling, the head of his cock appearing and disappearing above her cleavage while the rest of him ground against the last piece of clothing he had allowed her to keep. Monica’s head tipped back against the cushion. A low, unwilling sound left her throat as she held herself open for him, completely topless, and the single layer of damp panties the only things left between her body and the relentless use Ranga was making of her in the middle of her own living room.
“Ranga—wait—” she started, voice sharp and sassy even while her mouth was still swollen from the kiss. “You can’t just—”
He didn’t let her finish. He came down over her, one knee between her thighs, and grabbed the front of her kurti with both hands.
Monica’s eyes widened..
“Don’t you dare—”
The fabric gave with a hard, tearing sound. Buttons scattered across the sofa and onto the floor. The kurti ripped open down the middle in one brutal pull, leaving her upper body exposed under the low television light.
She stared down at herself, shocked.
“You ripped it— Ranga, this was—”
Her bra was still on, but barely. It was a deep black, cotton Bra, the kind of expensive, underwired bra that looked deliberate rather than decent. The cups were full and slightly translucent where the lace stretched over the soft upper curves of her breasts. The straps sat clean against her shoulders, and the centre gore pressed the two heavy shapes together, creating a deep, shadowed line of cleavage.
Monica tried to adjust the torn halves of the kurti closed. Ranga caught both her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand. His other hand yanked the ruined fabric further open and threw the kurti completely off her body. She was in just a Bra now!
“Stop—” she hissed, twisting under him. “Rakesh is right there— we can’t—”
.
Ranga laughed “Just Look at your breasts ..they are asking me to suck it ..”
He lowered his head and put his mouth on the upper curve of her right breast, right above the lace. The heat of his mouth and the scbang of his teeth made her back arch despite the protest still leaving her lips.
“Ranga— don’t—”
He ignored the words. His mouth moved lower, dragging over the Bra, then closed over the covered nipple and sucked hard through the thin material. Monica’s breath broke into a short, unwilling sound. She struggled again, wrists twisting in his grip, hips shifting under his weight, but the resistance had already started to lose force.
The Bra was only a matter of time. One pull on the straps or a hard tug at the front clasp and it would be gone. Ranga’s mouth stayed on her, working her through the Bra, while his free hand slid under her back, fingers finding the hook. Monica felt the first release of tension as the clasp began to give.
“Not the bra— please .” she managed to say, voice tight as her body pushed up into his mouth. “Ranga, I’m serious—”
The second hook gave. The black Bra loosened. Her breasts shifted, heavier now without the full support, the soft flesh spilling obscenely out as the cups started to fall away. Ranga lifted his head just long enough to look at what he had uncovered, then lowered his mouth again, this time with nothing between them.
Monica’s head tipped back against the sofa cushion. The protest was still in her throat, but the sound that came out was no longer only refusal. Down the hall, Rakesh slept on. In the living room the torn kurti lay fell on the ground and then slowly, the expensive black bra went off to the ground. Ranga’s mouth was already taking what the last of her resistance could no longer keep.
The television continued its muted glow across the living room, the forgotten movie flickering over their bodies. Ranga’s mouth stayed locked on Monica’s breast, sucking with slow, deliberate hunger. He drew the soft flesh deep, teeth grazing the sensitive skin around her nipple before closing and pulling hard enough to make her back arch off the sofa.
“Ranga—stop—ah—” Monica’s voice came out tight and broken. She twisted her shoulders, trying to pull away, but his hand held the other breast firmly, fingers sinking into the heavy curve and squeezing until the flesh spilled between them. “You’re hurting— Rakesh will hear—”
He only shifted to the other side. His mouth opened wide over the full underside of her left breast, sucking the soft weight upward, tongue pressing flat and slow against the nipple before he bit down just enough to sting. Monica’s breath hitched into a sharp sound. He stayed there, working the same spot with wet, dragging pulls, the kind that left the skin flushed and red almost immediately. Spit glistened on the breasts. When he released it with a soft pop, the nipple was darker, swollen, and he immediately took it back in, sucking harder, slower, as if determined to leave a mark she would feel the next day.
“Enough—” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re going to leave marks— stop mauling them—”
.Ranga lifted his head only long enough to look at her. His mouth was wet. Without a word he stood, unbuckled his belt, and shoved his pants and underwear down in one motion. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside.
Ranga was fully naked in an instant!!
Monica’s eyes dropped and widened. His cock stood thick and heavily erect, the dark shaft rigid, veins standing out along the length, the head already flushed and wet at the tip. The sheer size of it sent a visible jolt through Monica again. She had taken it before, but seeing it like this again— fully hard, completely exposed in her own living room while her husband slept down the hall— still shocked her.
“No—” she started, trying to sit up. “We’re not doing that. Put your clothes back on. Ranga, I’m serious—”
He pushed her back down by the shoulders and climbed over her, knees bracketing her waist. His cock hung heavy between them, the heat of it brushing the soft skin of her stomach.
“Hold them,” he said, voice low and rough.
“What?”
“Your tits. Hold them together.”
“I will not—”
He took both her wrists and forced her hands to the sides of her breasts. When she still resisted, he pressed her palms inward until the soft, heavy flesh pushed together, creating a deep, warm channel. Monica’s face burned with a mix of anger and something darker.
“Ranga, don’t you dare—”
He shifted forward and pushed the thick head of his cock into the tight space between her breasts. The first slow thrust made her breath catch. He was hot, heavy, and far too big for the soft tunnel she was being forced to create. He began to move, short and deliberate strokes at first, the shaft sliding between the compressed flesh while his hands stayed over hers, keeping her breasts tightly closed around him.
“Fuck—” Monica turned her face to the side, voice shaking with protest and something she refused to name. “This is disgusting— stop— Rakesh is right there—”
Ranga only pushed deeper, the head of his cock emerging from the top of her cleavage with every upward stroke, brushing close to her chin. He leaned over her, one hand still forcing her breasts together, the other braced on the sofa back, and began to fuck the soft channel in earnest. The wet sound of skin on skin mixed with the low murmur of the television. Monica’s protests continued— short, sassy, furious fragments— but her hands stayed where he had put them, holding her own breasts tight around his cock as he used them with slow, relentless thrusts.
“Look at it,” he muttered. “Look how well they take me.”
“Shut up—” she hissed, eyes squeezed shut for a second before they opened again against her will. The sight of his thick shaft disappearing between her breasts and reappearing glistening made her stomach twist with shame and heat. “You’re an animal— this is— ah—”
He kept going, the pace steady and deep, the head of his cock nudging higher with each stroke. Monica’s breathing had turned ragged. Every protest still left her mouth, but the force of her resistance had begun to fray under the relentless, filthy use of her body in the middle of her own living room.
Monica’s resistance thinned faster than she wanted to admit. The thick, hot slide of Ranga’s cock between her breasts pulled something unwilling but real from her body. Her hands, which had first been forced into place, stayed there on their own. She pressed the soft, heavy flesh tighter around him, creating a warmer, narrower channel.
Ranga took full advantage. He planted one knee deeper into the sofa cushion beside her hip and began thrusting with deliberate, controlled power. Each upward stroke dragged the full length of his thick shaft through the tight valley of her cleavage. The flared head emerged wet and flushed near her collarbone before he pulled back and drove forward again. His hips moved in a steady, rolling rhythm, the muscles in his thighs and stomach flexing with every push. He kept one hand locked over both of hers, forcing her to maintain the pressure, while his other hand gripped the back of the sofa for leverage so he could give her the best possible boobs job she ever got from anyone!
“Fuck…” Monica breathed, the word half protest, half surrender. “This is so wrong… Rakesh is right there…”
Ranga only leaned over her more, changing the angle so the underside of his cock dragged heavily against her with every stroke. ..
After another long minute he pulled back suddenly. His cock left the tight space between her breasts with a slick, audible sound, bobbing heavily in the air, shiny with the friction. Monica’s hands fell away, her chest rising and falling hard, the skin of her breasts flushed red and marked from his earlier mouth and the continuous rubbing.
Ranga stood fully upright over her for a second, naked, the thick length of him still rigidly erect and glistening. Then he reached down with both hands. His fingers hooked hard into the waistband of her sweatpants on either side of her assl. In one clean, powerful motion he yanked the fabric down. The pants slid over her hips, along her thighs, and off her legs in a single continuous pull. He tossed them aside without looking where they landed.
Monica shuddered hard at the abrupt exposure.
Ranga did not touch her panties. He left the dark cotton panties exactly where it was — already damp, stretched slightly over the soft mound of her cunt. He climbed back onto the sofa, knees bracketing her thighs, and lowered his body over hers again. The heavy, hot weight of his cock settled directly against the thin, wet fabric of her panties, pressing the damp cloth into her. With both hands he took her wrists once more and guided her palms back to the sides of her breasts.
“Keep them together, I am not done yet” he ordered, voice rough and low.
..
Monica swallowed, still trembling from the sudden removal of her pants, and obeyed. She pressed her breasts firmly around his cock again. Ranga immediately resumed the thrusting, this time with even less restraint. Every forward stroke drove his thick shaft up through the tight, warm channel of her cleavage while the base and underside of his cock rubbed heavily against the soaked crotch of her panties. The dual sensation — the soft compression of her breasts and the thin, wet barrier against her cunt — made the movement filthier and more deliberate.
He fucked the space between her breasts with long, measured strokes, hips rolling, the head of his cock appearing and disappearing above her cleavage while the rest of him ground against the last piece of clothing he had allowed her to keep. Monica’s head tipped back against the cushion. A low, unwilling sound left her throat as she held herself open for him, completely topless, and the single layer of damp panties the only things left between her body and the relentless use Ranga was making of her in the middle of her own living room.
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