Fantasy Lavani of a Marathi Mulgi

[JackOfTortuga]

I am back with yet another erotic story based on Mrunal Thakur's character from 'Vitti Dandu". I apologize for any culturally insensitive remarks in the story and readers can correct me in PM(Private Message). Let's start the story.

Chapter 1: The Enchantress of Mor-gaon

In the heart of Maharashtra lies the quaint village of Mor-gaon, where tradition and culture are woven into everyday life. It is here that Sandhya Jain, a 22-year-old Lavani dancer, has found her place. Her family kicked her out when she chose to dance, calling it shameful. Now she lives with her dance troupe, who've become her real family.

Sandhya isn't just any dancer. With her graceful moves and stunning looks, she's caught everyone's eye. Her dark skin glows in the sunlight, and her curves make the traditional costume look even more beautiful. When she ties jasmine flowers in her hair bun, men can't help but stare.

"She's the prettiest girl in our village," locals often say, nudging each other when she walks by.

The other women in the troupe taught her everything - not just dancing but also how to handle the attention she gets. Some admire her, others envy her, but nobody can ignore Sandhya when she enters a room.

"Sundar chehera ani mast badan," the men would whisper as she walked through the village market, their eyes trailing her every move. Beautiful face and exquisite body - a phrase that followed Sandhya wherever she went.

Her slender yet curvaceous figure, adorned in the traditional attire of Maharashtra, makes her stand out. The ghagra hugged her hips perfectly, and her choli accentuated her bust, making heads turn whenever she passed by. "Fulasarkhi sundara" - beautiful like a flower - the village women would say, some with admiration, others with envy.

With her hairbun laden with jasmine and an expressive face that tells stories of its own, Sandhya is the dream girl of every man in Mor-gaon. Her "dolé" (eyes) spoke volumes, bright and expressive, drawing people into her performances with just a glance.

The dance troupe was her real family now. After her parents threw her out, calling her "besharam" (shameless) for choosing to dance, the older women in the troupe took her under their wing. They taught her not just to dance, but to survive in a world that both desired and judged her.

Despite her fame, she remains a virgin, holding onto her chastity with the hope of one day surrendering it to her secret lover. Only the moon knew about their stolen glances and whispered promises under the village banyan tree.

Sandhya's beauty was more than just her physical appearance. Like the soft glow of dawn after which she was named, her presence lit up every space she entered. Her skin, the warm color of "tambada mati" (red earth) gleamed with youthful vitality. Her features resembled those of a delicate doll – large, expressive eyes framed by thick lashes, a straight nose, and full lips that curved easily into a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.

"Aichi shapath" (I swear on my mother), many men would say, "there's no woman more beautiful than Sandhya in all of Maharashtra." Her resemblance to a famed actress from the city made visitors do a double-take, wondering if they were seeing a vision.

When she danced, her body moved like a "nagin" (female cobra), fluid and hypnotic. The ghungroos on her ankles kept rhythm with the drums, and her "kambar" (waist) swayed with such grace that even the wind seemed to pause to watch. The kohl in her eyes made them even more striking, and when she fixed her gaze on someone during her performance, that lucky soul felt blessed by a goddess herself.

"Mulgi navachi, pan tila pahun rokde hote" (She's young, but looking at her makes one feel rich), the old men would joke, referring to how her beauty seemed to enrich the soul of anyone who beheld her.

But beneath the adoration and desire that followed her, Sandhya harbored a soft heart. She longed for "prem" (love) beyond the lustful stares. Every night, after her performances, she would look at the stars and whisper her dreams to the heavens, hoping they would carry her wishes to her beloved.

[JackOfTortuga]

Chapter 2: The British Officer's Arrival

Word spread through Mor-gaon like wildfire one humid morning. A British officer was coming! The village square buzzed with excited whispers and nervous chatter.

"They say he collects Indian art," said the local chai-wala, pouring steaming tea for the gathering crowd.

"No, no! He studies our culture," corrected the shopkeeper's wife.

By midday, everyone knew his name - Captain William Blackwood - a man whose reputation preceded him. He had traveled across Maharashtra, collecting artifacts and experiencing local performances.

Sandhya was arranging jasmine flowers in her hair when her mother burst into their modest home.

"Sandhya! The village elders want to see you immediately!"

When she arrived at the panchayat hall, the five elderly men sat solemnly around their wooden table. Headman Patil, with his thick white mustache, spoke first.

"Captain Blackwood has offered fifty gold coins for a private Lavani performance."

Sandhya's eyes widened. "Fifty coins?"

"For just one dance," added another elder, his eyes gleaming with greed.

"But I don't perform private shows," Sandhya protested, adjusting her pallu nervously.

Headman Patil leaned forward. "Think of the village, Sandhya. The rains have been poor. This money could feed many families."

Reluctantly, Sandhya raised her chin and met Headman Patil's gaze. "I have conditions," she said, her voice stronger than she felt.

The elders exchanged glances.

"What conditions?" asked Patil, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.

Sandhya's fingers nervously twisted the end of her pallu. "First, there will be no touching. The Captain must remain at a proper distance throughout my performance."

One of the younger elders snickered but fell silent under Patil's stern look.

"And second," Sandhya continued, "my entire dance troupe must accompany me to the performance."

"Impossible!" Patil thumped his fist. "The Captain requested you alone. He pays for privacy!"

Sandhya stood her ground, though her heart raced. "Then I will dance alone, but my troupe members must stay in the same building until the dance ends. They can wait in another room."

The elders huddled together, whispering urgently. Sandhya caught fragments - "fifty gold coins" and "can't risk losing this" - before they turned back to her.

"Very well," Patil said reluctantly. "We will present your terms to the Captain."

Sandhya nodded her consent, unaware that behind closed doors, the Captain would be told a very different version of these conditions.

What she didn't see was the letter Captain Blackwood had sent earlier. In it, he'd written about Sandhya's beauty in ways that went far beyond appreciation for dance. The elders had carefully hidden this part from her.

The Captain arrived two days later in a polished carriage, his uniform pristine despite the dusty roads. Tall with penetrating blue eyes, he scanned the village until his gaze fixed on Sandhya, who stood among other women.

"So this is the famous dancer," he said in broken Marathi, his voice thick with an accent.

"She is our village's treasure," said Headman Patil proudly.

Captain Blackwood circled Sandhya, taking in her slender waist, the curve of her hips beneath her traditional dress, and the delicate features of her face. His eyes lingered too long, his smile too confident.

"Perfect," he whispered, then louder, "The performance will be tonight. In my quarters."

As Sandhya prepared for the dance, her childhood friend Radha helped with her costume.

"I don't trust him," Radha whispered, pinning Sandhya's dupatta.

"It's just a dance," Sandhya replied, though uncertainty filled her voice.

What neither woman knew was that Captain Blackwood had already prepared his quarters with imported wine and silken sheets. On his table lay a document - orders for his transfer back to England in a month's time. Tonight would be just the beginning of what he planned to be a month-long conquest of Mor-gaon's most beautiful dancer.

[JackOfTortuga]

Chapter 3: The Dance of Desire

The night of the performance finally arrived, casting a mystical glow over Mor-gaon. Sandhya's heart pounded in her chest as she applied the final touches to her makeup. Her reflection stared back at her – kohled eyes emphasized with a small red bindi, lips painted a deep red, and jasmine flowers adorning her neatly tied bun.

"Are you sure you want to go alone?" Lata, her senior dance member, asked with concern etched on her face.

"The gold coins will help our troupe for months," Sandhya replied, adjusting her green and gold padar. "Besides, you all will be right in the next room."

The British officer's temporary residence stood illuminated with oil lamps. As Sandhya approached, her anklets announced her arrival with their melodious tinkling. A servant guided her to a spacious room where Captain William Blackwood sat on an ornately carved chair, dressed in his military uniform that highlighted his broad shoulders.

"Ah, the famous Sandhya of Mor-gaon," he said, his deep voice carrying a hint of anticipation. His blue eyes traveled over her form, lingering on the curves accentuated by her tight choli and the exposed midriff that showcased her smooth dusky skin.

Sandhya bowed slightly, keeping her gaze lowered. "Captain Blackwood," she acknowledged, noting how her heart fluttered unexpectedly at his intense stare.

The musicians began playing in the corner of the room – the dholki creating the rhythm while the harmonium added melody. Sandhya took her position, her mind calming as she surrendered to the music.

Her first movements were demure, eyes flashing coyly at the Captain before darting away. Her hands moved in practiced patterns, telling stories of love and longing. As the tempo increased, so did her movements – her hips swaying in perfect harmony with the beat, feet striking the floor with precision.

Captain Blackwood leaned forward, completely entranced. He had seen dancers in London, in Paris, even in Delhi, but none possessed the raw sensuality that this village dancer exuded. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he watched her twirl, the green fabric of her sari flaring out to reveal glimpses of her shapely legs.

Sandhya was lost in her performance, yet strangely aware of the Captain's gaze burning into her. There was something different about dancing for him compared to the village men. His foreign features, the power he wielded, the mystery he represented – it awakened something within her that she had never felt before.

As the music reached its crescendo, Sandhya's movements became more passionate, more abandoned. She spun faster, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes now boldly meeting the Captain's. The room seemed to disappear around them, leaving just the two of them connected by something primal and unspoken.

"Beautiful," Blackwood whispered, his voice barely audible over the music.

Following tradition, Sandhya approached him for the final part of her performance – a respectful bow to signal the end. As she came closer, the scent of her jasmine flowers mixed with her natural feminine musk reached the Captain's nostrils, intoxicating him.

Unable to control his overwhelming desire, Captain Blackwood reached out suddenly, his strong fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip, pinching hard. Sandhya gasped, the unexpected pain cutting through her dance-induced trance.

"Captain!" she exclaimed, jumping back, her hand instinctively covering the spot where his fingers had bruised her.

"Forgive me," he said, not sounding particularly sorry. His eyes were dark with lust, his breathing heavy. "Your beauty... it's too much for any man to resist."

Confusion washed over Sandhya. She should feel violated, outraged at his breach of their agreement. Yet beneath her shock, a small, unfamiliar warmth had blossomed where he had touched her. The realization frightened her more than his action.

"Ahhh," she moaned softly, the sound escaping her lips before she could stop it. It was a mix of pain from his firm grip and something else entirely - a tingling sensation that radiated from her hip through her entire body.

His touch, rough as it was, had awakened something primal within her. No man had ever dared to touch her like this before. The village men worshipped her from afar, placed her on a pedestal, but never treated her as a woman of flesh and blood with desires of her own.

Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment at her body's betrayal. She pressed her thighs together, trying to quell the strange ache that had begun to pulse between them. The spot where his fingers had dug into her hip still burned, but not unpleasantly.

"I... I don't understand," she whispered, more to herself than to him, confused by the way her body responded to his touch. Her breath came in short, quick pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her tight choli.

The Captain's eyes darkened as he noticed her reaction. He'd expected outrage, perhaps tears, but this - this vulnerable confusion - was far more enticing. He could see it in her eyes - the battle between propriety and newfound desire.

"I should leave," she whispered, gathering her composure and the scattered pieces of her resolve.

"Stay," Blackwood commanded softly, reaching for the pouch of gold coins. "You haven't received your payment."

As he held out the pouch, their fingers brushed, sending an electric current through Sandhya's body. In that moment, standing before the powerful foreigner who looked at her with undisguised desire, Sandhya felt the careful boundaries she had built around herself beginning to crumble.

[JackOfTortuga]

Chapter 4: A Test to Sandhya's Chastity

As Sandhya hurriedly left the performance area, her heart still racing from the Captain's touch, she heard a servant call out to her. Her steps faltered, each footfall heavy with confusion. The ghost of his fingers lingered on her hip, sending ripples of warmth through her body that made her bite her lower lip in shame.

What was happening to her? This wasn't love—this was something baser, something that made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to calm the traitorous beating of her heart.

"This isn't me," she whispered to herself, adjusting her dupatta that suddenly felt too constraining. Her body hummed with a strange electricity that both frightened and excited her.

Sandhya thought of her secret lover—the gentle village boy whose poetry had captured her heart, whose promises of forever felt pure and sacred. That was love, wasn't it? The innocent longing that filled her chest when he spoke of their future?

Yet here she was, her thighs trembling slightly, her breath shallow, all from a single touch from a man she should despise. A foreigner. An invader. A man who saw her as nothing more than another exotic flower to pluck.

"Why do I feel this way?" she questioned inwardly, pressing her cool palms against her flushed cheeks. Her body's response felt like betrayal—a mutiny against everything she believed about herself. Her soul yearned for the tender touches and whispered promises that spoke of love and commitment, yet her flesh responded to the Captain's commanding presence with an intensity that left her dizzy.

She paused in the dim corridor, leaning against the wall to steady herself. For a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to summon the image of her lover's face, but instead, she saw only the Captain's hungry gaze. The realization made her gasp aloud.

"Miss Jain, Captain Blackwood requests your presence. He wishes to speak with you privately."

Sandhya froze, clutching her dupatta tighter around her shoulders. "I... I should return to my quarters. The performance is complete."

The village headman approached, his expression stern yet pleading. "Sandhya, the British officer has been most generous. It would be impolite to refuse a simple conversation."

"But—"

"Just a brief meeting," he insisted, his eyes conveying the unspoken pressure. "We cannot afford to offend him."

Reluctantly, Sandhya followed the servant to Captain Blackwood's temporary quarters. The room was luxuriously furnished with imported items that seemed out of place in their humble village.

Captain Blackwood stood by the window, still in his formal attire, swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass. He turned as she entered, his eyes lighting up with that same hungry look that had unsettled her during the performance.

"Ah, the enchanting Miss Jain. Please, sit." He gestured to a cushioned chair.

Sandhya remained standing near the door. "The headman said you wished to speak with me, Captain. I cannot stay long."

"Just a moment of your time." His voice was smooth, cultured. "I wanted to express my... appreciation for your performance. Truly captivating."

"Thank you, sir." Sandhya kept her gaze lowered, fighting the strange flutter in her stomach whenever their eyes met.

Captain Blackwood moved closer, his tall frame towering over her. "Perhaps you could wait a while. I'd like to speak my mind freely."

Something in his tone made Sandhya look up. The door behind her had been quietly closed by the servant.

"Your dancing," he continued, circling her slowly, "has awakened something in me. Do you know how many women I've had across the Empire?"

Sandhya stiffened. "Captain, I should—"

"Princesses in Delhi, courtesans in Calcutta, noblewomen from London," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Each one a conquest, a trophy, a feather in my hat, so to speak."

His directness shocked her. No man in the village would dare speak to her this way.

"But you..." he reached out to touch a loose strand of her hair, "you are different. Wild, untamed yet innocent. I knew it the moment I saw you dance."

Sandhya stepped back. "This conversation is inappropriate, Captain."

"Is it?" His eyes were intense, probing. "Then why did you tremble when I touched you? I felt it, Sandhya."

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she remembered her body's betrayal. "You violated our agreement."

He laughed softly. "Agreements change when desire enters the equation."

"I have no such desire," she lied, hating how her voice wavered.

Captain Blackwood moved closer again, backing her against the wall. "Your eyes tell a different story. Your body speaks truths your lips deny."

His proximity was overwhelming—the scent of cologne, tobacco, and something distinctly male. Sandhya thought of her secret lover, the promises whispered in the darkness, but those memories seemed distant, foggy compared to the visceral presence before her.

"I can give you experiences beyond your imagination," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "Things your village boys could never provide."

His hand reached up to trace the outline of her face, and though everything in her mind screamed to push him away, her body remained frozen, caught between disgust and a shameful curiosity.

"I am just another conquest," she managed to say, her voice barely audible.

"Perhaps," he admitted, his fingers trailing down to her collarbone. "Or perhaps you're the one who will conquer me."

Sandhya closed her eyes, feeling her resolve weakening under his experienced touch. The warmth that had started during her performance now spread through her body like wildfire.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

Against her better judgment, she opened her eyes, meeting his lustful gaze. In that moment, something shifted inside her—a dam breaking, releasing feelings she'd never allowed herself to acknowledge.

The Captain seemed to sense her surrender. His lips curved into a triumphant smile as he leaned closer, wrapping his arm firmly around her hip. His strong hand settled just above the curve of her firm buttocks, pulling her body against his with unexpected force.

"Captain, I—AHHGH" Sandhya's protest died in her throat, transforming into an involuntary moan that escaped her lips. The sound shocked her as much as his touch did.

Her body betrayed her again, shuddering against him as waves of unfamiliar pleasure coursed through her. The warmth of his palm seeped through her thin costume, igniting sensations she had never experienced before.

"You see?" he whispered against her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind resists."

Sandhya closed her eyes, mortified by her reaction yet unable to pull away. His grip tightened, fingers pressing into the flesh of her hip, and another moan— "AHHH!", louder this time—broke from her lips.

"Such a responsive little dancer," he murmured, his accent thickening with desire. "I knew from the moment I saw you move on stage."

[JackOfTortuga]

Chapter 5: Lost Innocence

Captain William Blackwood's private chamber was bathed in amber candlelight that danced across the ornate colonial furniture. Sandhya stood trembling before him, her eyes downcast, her breath shallow.

Her mind flashed back to moments ago - how they'd arrived here from the performance hall, his hand firmly guiding her elbow. The memory of Ravi's warning echoed distantly as the heavy door clicked shut behind them.

"Such beauty shouldn't hide itself," Blackwood murmured, stepping closer. The scent of expensive cologne and whiskey surrounded her.

Before she could respond, his fingers caught her chin, tilting her face upward. His lips crashed against hers without warning - rough and demanding. Sandhya's eyes widened, her hands pushing weakly against his chest.

"No... please..." she gasped when he briefly released her.

"Shh," he whispered, his thumb tracing her trembling lower lip. "We both know why you're here."

His mouth claimed hers again, more insistent this time. The resistance in her arms melted away despite the voice in her head screaming to fight. Her body betrayed her as his experienced hands found the curves beneath her ornate costume.

"I shouldn't allow this," she whispered, even as her body arched toward his touch.

"Yet you will," he replied, his voice husky with desire. "I've seen how you dance... how your body speaks. It's speaking to me now."

The ghungroos at her ankles jingled softly as he backed her toward the bed. Her thoughts of Ravi grew fainter with each skilled caress. The captain's hands moved with practiced confidence, making her feel things she'd never experienced.

"Please," she whispered, no longer certain if she was begging him to stop or continue.

Blackwood smiled against her neck. "I intend to, my exotic flower. All night long."

His fingers found the knot of her choli, tugging at it with deliberate slowness. The fabric loosened, and he peeled it away from her body, his breath catching as her breasts came into view.

"Magnificent," he murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of her dusky skin. "Like ripe fruit waiting to be tasted."

His palm cupped the weight of one breast, thumb brushing across her nipple. Sandhya shivered, a small gasp escaping her lips.

He continued undressing her methodically, leaving only her lehenga to cover her lower half. His fingers traced the curve of her waist, dipping into her navel with curious fascination.

"Your body is a temple," he whispered, his accent thickening with desire as he explored the swell of her hips. "One I intend to worship thoroughly."

"Please, look at me," he said softly, his British accent curling around each word. "You dance like no woman I've ever seen."

Sandhya raised her eyes reluctantly. The officer wasn't what she'd expected—tall with kind eyes that contrasted with his authoritative demeanor.

"I'm not here for... that," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Yet here you are," he replied, his tone shifting to something harder. "Kneel."

The command startled her. She hesitated, confusion crossing her features.

"Kneel before me," he repeated, his voice leaving no room for refusal. "Look at me while you do it."

Slowly, Sandhya sank to her knees, the remaining fabric of her lehenga pooling around her. The ghungroos jangled softly, an incongruous reminder of her dance.

Blackwood's hands moved to his own clothing. He shed his military jacket, then his shirt, revealing a chest marked with scars from past campaigns. His trousers followed, and Sandhya's eyes widened at the sight of his naked body, his manhood standing proud and ready.

Without warning, he stepped forward, the tip of his arousal brushing against her cheek. She flinched, trying to turn away, but his hand caught her chin.

"Stay still," he ordered, slapping her other cheek with his hardness. The shock of it froze her in place.

"This is what you've done to me since the first moment I saw you dance," he said, rubbing himself against her lips. "Now open."

When she hesitated, his grip tightened slightly. "Open your mouth, Sandhya."

Her lips parted reluctantly, and he pushed forward, groaning as he entered her mouth.

"Look at me," he commanded, his hands tangling in her hair, dislodging some of the jasmine flowers. "Keep your eyes on mine."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as he moved, teaching her rhythm with his hands in her hair, showing no mercy for her inexperience. Sandhya's mind reeled with shock as she found herself face-to-face with a man's arousal for the first time in her life. The size of it terrified her, thicker than she had imagined possible, with prominent veins running along its length. The musky scent filled her nostrils, foreign and intimidating.

"That's right," Blackwood groaned above her, mistaking her wide-eyed fear for amazement.

As he pushed deeper, her throat constricted involuntarily. A muffled "hnngh" escaped her as she gagged, her body fighting against the intrusion. Saliva pooled in her mouth and dripped down her chin.

"Breathe through your nose," he instructed, not pausing his movements.

She tried to follow his command, but when he thrust forward again, another violent gag wracked her body. "Hurk—" The sound was wet and desperate as her eyes watered heavily now, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her hands gripped the fabric of his trousers at his thighs, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer – frozen in her confusion and shock.

"You'll learn," he assured her, his thumbs wiping away her tears even as his hips continued their relentless rhythm. "The first time is always difficult."

Another thrust, another choking sound – "gluck" – as her body rebelled. Blackwood moaned at the sensation of her throat tightening around him.

"That's it," he encouraged as she struggled to accommodate him. "Your first lesson in pleasing a man. There will be many more tonight."

Blackwood pulled away from her mouth, his breath ragged with desire. He stood to his full height, looking down at Sandhya's tear-streaked face with undisguised hunger.

"Enough of that," he said, his accent thickening as he began to strip away his remaining clothing. "I need more of you."

His manhood stood proudly before her, still glistening from her mouth. Sandhya averted her eyes, but Blackwood grasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

"Let me see all of you," he commanded, his hands moving to the ties of her remaining garments. With practiced efficiency, he removed the rest of her clothing, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed dusky skin.

When she stood naked before him, he walked around her slowly, appreciating her from every angle. When he reached her back, his hands grabbed her buttocks firmly, squeezing the flesh with obvious appreciation.

"Perfect," he murmured, then suddenly slapped her right cheek hard.

Sandhya yelped, stumbling forward. Before she could recover, he slapped her other cheek, leaving a red handprint on her skin.

"Such firmness," he said, kneading the flesh roughly. "Like ripe fruit."

He pushed her toward the bed, and she fell forward onto the silk sheets. Turning over, she tried to cover herself, but Blackwood shook his head.

"Don't hide from me," he said, sitting beside her on the bed. He reached for a crystal decanter on the bedside table. "Here, drink more. It will help."

He poured another glass of the amber liquid and held it to her lips. "I have a proposition for you, Sandhya."

She sipped reluctantly, the alcohol burning less this time as it slid down her throat.

"Your village struggles, does it not? The taxes, the drought..." His fingers traced patterns on her bare thigh as he spoke. "I could change that. One month of my company – just one month – and I will ensure Mor-gaon receives special consideration. New wells, reduced taxes, protection from bandits."

Sandhya's eyes widened. "What are you asking?"

"Give yourself to me. Completely. For one month." His hand squeezed her thigh. "This is just desire, Sandhya. Lust. It needn't touch your heart." His fingers moved higher. "Your love for whoever waits for you can remain pure. This is separate – a transaction that benefits everyone."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "Think of your village. Think of your family. All it costs is a few weeks of pleasure." His hand slid between her thighs. "Pleasure for both of us."

He offered her the glass again, and this time she took it, drinking deeply.

"One month," he repeated, taking the glass from her trembling hands. "And I promise, you might even come to enjoy it."

Blackwood pushed Sandhya onto the bed, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. She trembled beneath him, her breathing shallow as he knelt before her.

"You're a treasure," he murmured, taking her foot in his hands. To her surprise, he brought her mehndi-adorned toes to his mouth and began to suck them gently. The sensation was strange yet oddly pleasurable, sending unfamiliar tingles up her legs.

His lips traveled upward, tracing a path along her calves to her thighs. His beard scratched against her sensitive skin as he kissed and nipped at her flesh. Sandhya bit her lip, fighting the unwelcome waves of pleasure.

"Such perfect hips," he whispered, his hands gripping the meaty curves of her waist. "Made for a man's hands." His mouth followed, teeth grazing her hip bones, leaving marks that branded her as his conquest.

He moved to her breasts, taking each dark nipple between his lips and sucking until Sandhya couldn't help but arch into his touch. Her body was betraying her, responding to his skilled attention despite the protest in her heart.

"Exquisite," he murmured as his fingers traced circles around her navel. Without warning, he dipped his tongue into the small depression, swirling it in ways that made her squirm. Then he bit gently at the flesh around it, causing her to gasp.

When his exploration led him between her thighs, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"What's this?" he asked, fingers tracing her smooth mound. "How unusual... and delightful."

Sandhya flushed with embarrassment. Her monthly ritual of removing hair with a paste of turmeric and besan was her private custom, something she'd never expected a foreign man to see.

"Indian women typically don't..." he murmured, clearly pleased. "You are full of surprises."

Before she could respond, his mouth was on her most intimate place. His tongue traced her entrance, teasing the intact barrier that marked her virginity. The sensation was overwhelming—both frightening and electrifying.

"So sweet," he whispered against her flesh, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. "And still untouched. Not for long."

His tongue worked skillfully, finding places Sandhya didn't know could bring such pleasure. He alternated between gentle licks and firmer pressure, watching her reactions to learn what made her gasp.

His hands gripped her ample buttocks, lifting her slightly to give him better access. The dual sensation of his mouth between her legs and his strong hands kneading her ass sent waves of uncontrollable pleasure through her body.

"Let go," he commanded between licks. "Give yourself to me."

Something was building within her, a tension unlike anything she'd ever felt. She fought against it, ashamed of her body's response to this foreign invader. But Blackwood was relentless, his tongue and fingers working in tandem until Sandhya could no longer resist.

The tension broke suddenly, waves of pleasure washing over her with unexpected force. Her back arched off the bed, a cry escaping her lips as her first orgasm claimed her. The sensation was so intense tears sprang to her eyes, her body shuddering uncontrollably.

"That's it," Blackwood said, satisfaction evident in his voice as he watched her come undone beneath him. "And I haven't even properly taken you yet."

The bed welcomed her weight as he lowered her down. Each touch was both foreign and thrilling—his pale skin against her dusky complexion, the scratch of his beard against her neck, the weight of him pressing her into the sheets.

Blackwood positioned himself between her trembling thighs, his manhood rigid and imposing against her entrance. Instead of entering her immediately, he began sliding his length along her wetness, coating himself in her arousal. The friction against her sensitive flesh made Sandhya whimper.

His mouth found her neck, teeth scbanging against her pulse point before he bit down hard enough to mark her. The sudden pain mingled with pleasure made her gasp.

"You're mine now," he growled against her skin, his accent thickening with lust. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

He continued to rub himself against her, teasing her entrance while his teeth left purple marks across her collarbone and nape. Each bite was like a brand, claiming territory that had never known a man's touch.

Without warning, Blackwood gripped her hips and thrust forward with brutal force. Sandhya's scream echoed through the room as her virginity was claimed in one savage motion. Tears sprang to her eyes as pain bloomed between her legs.

"So tight," he groaned, not giving her time to adjust before beginning to move. "Like you were made for me."

The burning sensation gradually transformed as he established a punishing rhythm. Each thrust drove deeper than the last, hitting places inside her that sent confusing signals of pain mixed with unexpected pleasure. The wet sounds of their joining filled the room along with Sandhya's whimpers.

"That's it," Blackwood encouraged as her body began responding involuntarily. "Take all of me."

His hands roamed her body possessively, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples as he continued his relentless pace. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall with each powerful thrust.

To her shame, Sandhya felt the same tension building again, stronger than before. Her hips began moving of their own accord, meeting his thrusts as pleasure overtook pain.

"You're close again," Blackwood observed with satisfaction. "I can feel you tightening around me."

When the wave crashed over her, it was more intense than the first. Her back arched off the bed as she cried out, her inner walls clenching around his invasion. Wetness gushed from her, soaking the sheets beneath her hips.

"Such a responsive little dancer," he praised, slowing his thrusts to feel her pulsing around him.

Before she could recover, Blackwood withdrew and flipped her over with surprising strength. Sandhya found herself on her stomach, her round buttocks exposed to his gaze.

"Your ass is magnificent," he murmured, kneading the flesh roughly. "I want to taste every part of you."

Confused by his words, Sandhya tried to look back at him. The sensation of his beard between her cheeks made her jolt in surprise. His tongue circled her puckered opening, an area she never imagined could be touched this way.

"What are you—" she began, cut off by her own gasp as his tongue pushed insistently against the tight ring of muscle.

"Relax," he commanded, spreading her cheeks wider. "This is just the beginning of what I'll teach you."

Blackwood pulled away, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. Sandhya felt his weight shift as he positioned himself behind her. The bed dipped with his movements as he knelt between her spread legs.

"Such a beautiful sight," he murmured, his fingers digging into the flesh of her buttocks, spreading her wide.

She felt something hard and slick pressing against her rear entrance. With horrifying clarity, she realized his intentions.

"No, please," she whimpered, trying to crawl forward. "Not there."

His grip tightened, holding her in place. "Shhh," he soothed, though his voice held no real comfort. "Every part of you belongs to me now. Remember our arrangement."

She felt his manhood, still wet with her blood and arousal, rubbing against her puckered opening. The sensation was alien and frightening. He pressed forward, meeting resistance from her untried body.

"Relax," he commanded, his accent thickening. "Fighting only makes it worse."

Without further warning, he thrust forward with brutal force, more savage than when he'd claimed her maidenhead. Sandhya's scream echoed off the walls, her fingers clawing at the silk sheets. The burning, stretching pain was overwhelming.

"God, you're tight here too," he groaned, his fingers digging deeper into her hips, surely leaving bruises.

He began to move, each thrust more punishing than the last. The pain gradually blended with something else – not quite pleasure, but a strange fullness that sent confusing signals through her body.

"That's it," he encouraged as her screams transformed into choked moans. "Your body learns quickly."

The wet sounds of their coupling filled the room as Blackwood increased his pace. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall, matching the brutal tempo of his hips. His breathing grew ragged, his movements more erratic.

"I'm going to fill you completely," he growled, his fingers reaching around to find her sensitive bud, rubbing roughly.

The dual sensation sent unexpected sparks of pleasure through Sandhya's body. Her mind rebelled even as her body responded, shame and arousal warring within her.

With a guttural groan, Blackwood drove himself deep one final time. Sandhya felt the hot pulse of his release inside her, an intimate violation that marked her as thoroughly conquered.

He collapsed beside her, his chest heaving with exertion. Sandhya lay motionless, afraid to move as pain radiated through her lower body.

When she finally gathered the courage to shift, she caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. Her hair, once neatly adorned with jasmine flowers, now lay in disarray, white petals scattered across the crimson sheets. Blood from her lost virginity stained her inner thighs and the expensive bedding.

The woman in the reflection was a stranger – eyes wide and haunted, neck and breasts covered in purpling marks, body glistening with sweat and other fluids. Just hours ago, she had been Sandhya Jain, the celebrated dancer of Mor-gaon. Now she was something else entirely.

She reached for a fallen jasmine flower, its white petals now bruised and broken. Like her.

[JackOfTortuga]

I hope you all will like this short story. I kindly request the moderators to allow me post pics here for making the reading experience more pleasurable. Tell your honest opinions here or in PM. Thanks in advance.