Fantasy Unlishing Hell on My Auntie

[Abirkkz]

Part 1
My name is Akash, and the memories of my childhood still stir a restless ache in my heart. I was barely seven or eight when my parents would take me to my uncle’s house in Halisahar. It was a modest single-story home, with a small courtyard kissed by the shade of a mango tree in the back. My cousin Rima, a tiny bundle of mischief at three or four, and I would spend our days chasing each other across the courtyard, our laughter echoing under the sun. We’d play hide-and-seek beneath the mango tree’s sprawling branches, or share sticky bites of my aunt’s homemade sweets, giggling as we plotted our next prank. Rima, with her sparkling eyes and naughty grin, would tug at my shirt, her small hands pulling me into her whirlwind of joy. I’d scoop her up, spinning her around until she squealed with delight. My aunt, her face glowing with warmth, would watch us, sometimes teasing, “Akash, don’t spoil Rima too much, or she’ll climb all over you!” My uncle, always busy with his small shop, would chuckle softly, his presence a quiet anchor in our carefree world.
Those days were a dream, drenched in innocence and golden light. But dreams, like fragile glass, shatter too easily. I was thirteen when the world I knew crumbled. It was a rainy afternoon, the sky heavy with dark, brooding clouds. My parents were driving from Kolkata to Halisahar to pick me up, their second-hand Maruti humming along the slick roads. My mother, I was told, was humming a tune, her voice soft against the patter of rain. My father, focused on the wheel, didn’t see the truck until it was too late. The roads, treacherous with rain, betrayed him. The brakes screamed, but the car skidded, crashing into the truck with a sickening crunch. The security officer later said it was instant—my parents didn’t suffer. But I did. When the news reached me, I turned to stone, my mind refusing to process the truth. My small, perfect world shattered into a million jagged pieces.

The emptiness in my chest was a void, swallowing everything. The neighbor who broke the news held me as she sobbed, but my eyes stayed dry, as if tears would make it real. I sat in silence, clinging to the hope that this was a nightmare I’d wake from, that I’d see my parents again, smiling, waiting. But the nightmare never ended. At their funeral in Halisahar, my uncle pulled me into his arms, his voice thick with grief. “Akash, don’t worry. We’re here for you.” But my aunt’s face, once so warm, was distant, her eyes carrying a strange coldness. She moved through the rituals in silence, and when she looked at me, it was as if she saw a stranger.
With my parents gone, I had nowhere else to go. Our old house was rented out, the meager income meant for my education. My uncle insisted I stay with them. “Akash, this is your home now,” he said. So, at thirteen, burdened with grief and resentment, I moved into their home in Halisahar. The house, once a haven of joy, felt different now. The walls bore damp stains, the courtyard seemed smaller, and the mango tree’s shade no longer felt inviting. My uncle’s shop was struggling, and the air in the house grew heavy with unspoken tension.
At first, my uncle was kind, enrolling me in college, buying my books, and checking on me with a gentle concern. But my aunt’s behavior gnawed at me. Her smiles were gone, replaced by a coldness that made my skin prickle. When I entered a room, she’d fall silent or busy herself with chores, her eyes avoiding mine. One night at dinner, I ventured, “Auntie, did you cook meat today?” Her gaze sharpened, her voice cutting like a blade. “Akash, you’re growing up now. We have a household to run. Do you think we can afford meat every day?” The words sliced through me, and I lowered my head, swallowing my hurt with the bland dal and rice. That night, alone in bed, tears finally came, soaking my pillow as I drifted into a restless sleep.
Her coldness wasn’t a one-time sting. My aunt’s words and glances made it clear: I was a burden. When my shoes tore, I asked my uncle for a new pair. My aunt overheard and snapped, “Akash, do you think we have a money tree? Your uncle’s shop is barely surviving!” I said nothing, but the words burned into me. My uncle quietly bought me the shoes, but her resentment lingered, a constant reminder that I was an outsider. I began to feel like a guest in a house that was never truly mine.
Even Rima, my once-inseparable companion, had changed. At nine or ten, she was no longer the mischievous girl who clung to me. Her playful tugs at my shirt were gone, replaced by shy smiles and averted eyes. One day, I tried to rekindle our old games. “Rima, let’s play hide-and-seek in the courtyard!” She shook her head, her voice soft. “No, Akash da, I have to study.” Her eyes held a distance I couldn’t bridge, and I wondered if it was her own shyness or my aunt’s influence. I overheard my aunt once, her voice low but firm: “Rima, don’t spend too much time with Akash. He’s grown now.” Those words cut deeper than I could admit, and slowly, Rima and I stopped talking. The courtyard, once alive with our laughter, became a silent reminder of what I’d lost.
I felt like a ghost in that house, invisible yet heavy with presence. My uncle’s kindness couldn’t fill the void left by my aunt’s coldness or Rima’s withdrawal. I retreated into myself, my days a cycle of college and silence, my nights haunted by the weight of being unwanted. I knew I couldn’t stay.

So I decided to leave. The rent from my parents’ house and a small job I’d applied for gave me a sliver of independence. After college, I told my uncle, “I want to stand on my own feet.” He looked sad but nodded. “Do what feels right, Akash.” My aunt said nothing, her silence louder than words. Rima’s eyes met mine as I packed, a flicker of something unspoken in her gaze, but she stayed quiet. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I left behind the house that held my childhood memories, stepping into the unknown.
In the city, I tried to bury the past. Contact with my uncle’s family faded, but the sting of my aunt’s words and the ghost of Rima’s shy smile lingered. I told myself I’d move forward, unaware that fate would one day pull me back to them, igniting desires and secrets that would unravel everything.


Part 2
Leaving my uncle’s house felt like plunging into an uncharted sea, the waves of the city threatening to swallow me whole. I was twenty-one, armed only with a college degree and the meager rent from my parents’ old house. Kolkata was a beast—crowded, merciless, a concrete jungle that cared nothing for a village boy like me. I knew no one, had no place to call home, and the weight of survival pressed against my chest like a stone.
The first days were a blur of desperation. My first night was spent on a cold bench at a bus stand, the city’s pulse throbbing around me—honking buses, shouting hawkers, and the damp chill of the night air sinking into my bones. My shirt clung to my skin, soaked with sweat and fear. By day, I survived on cheap tea and bread from a roadside stall, each bite a reminder of my hunger—for food, for belonging, for a life that didn’t feel like punishment. At night, the city’s chaos quieted, but my mind roared with memories of the accident, my parents’ faces, and the coldness of my aunt’s voice. I whispered to myself, “Akash, you’re not alone. You’ll survive.”
After days of wandering, I found refuge in a slum—a cramped, tin-roofed room shared with six others. The walls were stained with damp, the floor covered with a thin sheet of plastic. In summer, the room was a furnace, the air thick with the stench of sweat and rotting drains. In the rains, water dripped through the roof, pooling on the floor. A broken latrine in the corner reeked, forcing me to cover my face to breathe. At night, the sounds of my roommates’ snores, groans, and the distant barking of dogs kept sleep at bay. I felt like a prisoner in a cage of poverty, my heart heavy with the weight of my aunt’s words and Rima’s distant eyes.
My roommates were men broken by the city. One, a rickshaw puller, drowned his exhaustion in cheap liquor, collapsing into a stupor each night. Another, a construction worker with calloused hands, wept for his wife back in the village, her silence a wound he couldn’t heal. I tried to connect with them, but my own grief kept me distant. I lay awake, wondering if this was my fate—a life of struggle in a city that didn’t want me.
Survival meant work, and I took whatever I could find. My first job was as a delivery boy, racing through Kolkata’s labyrinthine alleys on a rickety bicycle. The sun scorched my skin, sweat soaking my shirt until it clung to my chest like a second skin. My legs burned, my lungs heaved, but I pushed on. In the rains, the streets turned to sludge, my torn shoes squelching with every step. Once, I slipped on a slick road, my knee splitting open, blood mixing with the mud. I gritted my teeth, delivered the parcel, and kept going. The pay was barely enough for the slum’s rent and sparse meals—watery dal, stale rice, or a thin fish curry where the water outnumbered the fish. My body weakened, but my resolve didn’t. “Akash, you won’t break,” I told myself, clinging to a stubborn spark of defiance.

Months later, I found work at a construction site, hauling bricks and mixing cement from dawn to dusk. My hands grew rough, my fingers cracked and bled, my shoulders ached under the weight of heavy sacks. The other workers became my companions—Ramesh, who sang through the pain, and Shyamal, who cried for his distant wife. I laughed with them, but inside, I was hollow. I had no one waiting for me, no one to call my own.
Then I met Mina. She worked at the site, cooking for the laborers. Her dusky skin glistened with sweat, her saree clinging to her curves, accentuating the swell of her full breasts and the soft roll of her hips. At thirty, she carried a raw, earthy sensuality, her smile a flicker of warmth in my cold world. When she brought me tea, her saree would slip, revealing the smooth expanse of her thigh, the curve of her waist, or the deep valley between her breasts. My eyes lingered, my body stirring with a heat I couldn’t ignore. Her laughter was a tease, her voice soft as she said, “Akash, why do you work so hard? Smile a little!” Her words sparked a fire in me, a longing that pulsed through my veins. In my mind, I saw myself peeling her saree away, my hands kneading her heavy breasts, my tongue tracing the heat between her thighs, my cock pressing against her lush ass. My erection strained against my pants, but I held back, torn between desire and restraint.
The slum’s filth wore me down. The tin roof trapped heat, the dripping rain, the stench of the latrine—it was a prison of despair. One night, fever gripped me, my body trembling, my head spinning. I had no money for a doctor, only a stale paracetamol to dull the pain. As I lay on the plastic-covered floor, the sounds of the slum—groaning roommates, barking dogs, the reek of decay—closed in around me. I felt like I was dying, alone in a world that didn’t care.

Mina came to me that evening, her presence a sudden burst of light in my fevered haze. She knelt beside me, her hand cool against my burning forehead. “Akash, why didn’t you tell me you’re this sick?” she murmured, her voice laced with concern. Her touch sent a shiver through me, her saree slipping to reveal the curve of her breasts, the dark shadow of her cleavage. Her scent—sweat mixed with something primal—stoked the fire in my loins. As she dbangd a tattered blanket over me, her fingers brushed my chest, igniting a raw, aching need. I imagined tearing her saree away, sucking her taut nipples, licking the slick heat of her pussy until she moaned my name. My cock throbbed, but my fevered body was too weak to act.
She sat beside me, her hand stroking my hair, her thigh exposed under the bunched-up saree. Her skin was smooth, glistening, and I fantasized about spreading her legs, sliding my fingers into her wet folds, tasting her essence. “Akash, why do you suffer so much? I’m here for you,” she whispered, her voice a sultry promise. My hand trembled as it grazed her waist, slipping under her saree to caress the soft curve of her belly. Her breath hitched, her body yielding to my touch. I tugged her saree higher, my fingers brushing the damp heat of her pussy, her warmth making my cock pulse. But then she pulled away, her eyes flashing with fear. “Akash, this isn’t right. I have a husband,” she said, her voice trembling. My heart sank, but the fire in my body raged on. “Mina, I want you,” I rasped, my voice raw with need. She looked away, then left, her saree’s rustle echoing in my ears as shame and desire warred within me.
The fever passed, but Mina’s rejection lingered. I threw myself into work, trying to bury the ache. One day, she invited me to her home in the slum, a small, crumbling room as grim as mine. She cooked for me—rice, dal, a thin fish curry—her body moving with a grace that made my blood hum. Her saree clung to her curves, her breasts swaying as she worked, her ass a tantalizing curve under the fabric. I imagined pinning her against the wall, ripping her saree away, fucking her until she screamed my name. As she served me, her breast brushed my arm, sending a jolt through me. My cock strained, my mind clouded with lust.

Then the door burst open. Her husband, Kalu, stumbled in, reeking of liquor, his eyes bloodshot, his muscular body slick with sweat. “Who the fuck is this?” he roared, his voice a primal growl. Before I could speak, he grabbed Mina’s hair, yanking her toward him. “You’re fucking this bastard, aren’t you? Your pussy’s so hot you need this fucker to satisfy it!” Mina trembled, tears streaming down her face. “No, I was just feeding him!” she pleaded, but Kalu’s rage was unstoppable. He shoved her onto the bed, tearing her saree up to her waist, ripping her panties off. Her dusky thighs parted, her dark pubic hair glistening with sweat, her pussy exposed. My breath caught, my cock throbbing at the sight.
Kalu dropped his pants, his thick, veined cock springing free, the head swollen and red. He spread Mina’s legs and thrust into her, his hips slamming against her with brutal force. “You think this bastard fucked you like this?” he snarled, each thrust shaking the bed. Mina’s cries turned to moans, her body betraying her as pleasure overtook her shame. Her breasts bounced under her saree, her ass grinding against the mattress, her pussy glistening with arousal. “Oh… Kalu… stop…” she gasped, but her moans told a different story. My cock ached, my mind screaming with the urge to take her, to fuck her harder, to spill my cum across her trembling body. But I sat frozen, a voyeur to their raw, animalistic coupling.

Kalu finished with a grunt, his cum splattering across Mina’s pussy and belly, a filthy mark of possession. He collapsed, drunk and spent, his snores filling the room. The air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and liquor, the damp walls and creaking bed amplifying the depravity. Mina rose, her saree clinging to her cum-slicked skin, her breasts heaving, her nipples hard against the fabric. She looked at me, her eyes a storm of shame and need, then threw herself into my arms. Her breasts pressed against my chest, her nipples grazing my skin, her scent driving me wild. My cock pulsed, my hands roaming her waist, her thighs, her wet pussy. “Mina, your body’s burning for me,” I whispered, my fingers teasing her slick folds. Her body trembled, her breath hot against my ear.
But then she shoved me away, her hand cracking across my face. “I thought you were different, Akash! You’re just like him, a filthy bastard!” she screamed, her eyes blazing with betrayal. “Get out!” Her words cut deeper than any knife, and I stumbled out into the slum’s filthy alleys, my body still throbbing with unspent desire, my heart heavy with shame.
Mina avoided me after that, her gaze cold when our eyes met at the site. The pain of her rejection fueled my resolve. I vowed to escape the slum’s grip. Years of toil led to a clerk’s job in a government office, the pay modest but steady. I left the slum for a small one-bedroom flat, a sanctuary of my own. My days were routine—tea and bread in the morning, work, then home to my quiet world. At night, I lost myself in porn, the screen filled with writhing bodies, women’s moans fueling my fantasies. I’d strip off my lungi, stroking my cock as I imagined fucking a woman senseless, her pussy gripping me, her ass shuddering as I came. My cum would stain the sheets, and I’d collapse, exhausted, into sleep.

But Mina’s touch, her scent, her moans—they haunted me, a forbidden fire that refused to die. I swore I’d rise above the slum, above the pain, but deep down, I knew the city had marked me, its desires and cruelties etched into my soul.

[Projectmp]

Interesting plot

[Abirkkz]

Part 3

I settled into a small one-bedroom flat on the edge of the city—a modest sanctuary with a single bedroom, a cramped dining area, and a tiny bathroom. My needs were few, and this space was enough to cradle my solitary existence. By day, I toiled in the office, my life a predictable rhythm of paperwork and routine. But when night fell, I retreated to my private world, where the walls seemed to pulse with the weight of my unspoken desires.
Living alone birthed a new habit, one that consumed me. As darkness enveloped the city, my mind grew restless, craving release. At first, I filled my evenings with movies, their flickering images a distraction from the void. But a colleague’s casual mention of porn sites—XVideos, Pornhub, and others—ignited a spark of curiosity. “Akash, you’re alone,” he teased, his voice low with mischief. “What’s the fun in life without indulging a little?” The names of those sites lingered in my mind, and in the quiet of my flat, I surrendered to temptation.
The first time I watched porn, it was as if lightning coursed through my veins. On the screen, a woman stripped bare, her body a canvas of curves, her moans a siren’s call as she writhed beneath a man’s relentless thrusts. Her full breasts bounced, her hips arched, and her cries of pleasure seared into my brain. My hand moved instinctively, gripping my hardening cock, stroking it as waves of heat surged through me. When I came, my body shuddered, the release washing away the weight in my chest. From that night, it became my ritual. Each evening, I’d lie in bed, phone in hand, lost in a world of naked flesh and primal lust. A dusky woman’s heavy breasts would set my pulse racing; a fair-skinned beauty’s round ass would make my cock iron-hard. I’d stroke myself, imagining my hands squeezing their flesh, my tongue tasting their slick heat, my cum painting their trembling bodies.
Sometimes, I explored my own body in the privacy of my bathroom. Standing before the mirror, I’d grip my cock, marveling at its hardness, testing how long I could tease myself before the pleasure became unbearable. One night, inspired by a video of a man slicking his cock with oil, I tried it myself. I poured coconut oil over my shaft, the slick warmth amplifying every stroke. My body trembled, every nerve alight with ecstasy, my cock pulsing as I pushed myself to the edge. But even in these moments of pleasure, a conflict gnawed at me. I was drowning in this world of lust, yet the thought of relationships—or worse, marriage—filled me with dread. To fuck a woman was one thing, but to be bound to her would chain my freedom. So I kept my desires confined to the screen, where there were no consequences, only endless nights of forbidden release.
My flat was my fortress, a place where I answered to no one. Days were spent in the office, nights in the glow of my phone, stroking myself to the rhythm of moans and flesh. One afternoon, a colleague, Ramesh, approached me with a request. “Akash, my cousin from the village is in town for work, but his lodging fell through. Can he crash at your place for a night?” I hesitated—my flat was small, my privacy sacred—but Ramesh was a friend. “Sure, one night’s fine,” I said. He grinned, relieved. “You’re a lifesaver! I’ll send him over this evening.”
At dusk, a knock rattled my door. I opened it to find a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a Tamil film’s villainous shadows. Mostafa, Ramesh’s distant cousin, was a towering figure, his skin a deep, inky black, his long hair falling to his shoulders, his face half-hidden by a scruffy beard. He was around forty, his eyes murky yet glinting with a predatory spark that sent a shiver down my spine. His smile was sly, as if he could read my every thought. Clad in a stained kurta and lungi, he carried a small bag, his muscular frame radiating a raw, animalistic energy. There was something unsettlingly magnetic about him, a dangerous allure that made my skin prickle.
Ramesh introduced us briefly. “This is Mostafa, my cousin. And this is Akash, my friend.” Mostafa’s grin widened, his voice a low rumble. “Hey, little brother, how’s it going?” I managed a nervous smile, caught off guard by his familiarity. Ramesh thanked me and left, promising Mostafa would join him in the morning. I led Mostafa inside, my small flat suddenly feeling smaller under his imposing presence.
Mostafa tossed his bag aside and disappeared into the bathroom, emerging in a tight vest and lungi. His dark, muscled body gleamed, his chest covered in a thick mat of hair that made him look like a beast carved from midnight. Yet his easy banter disarmed me. “Nice place you’ve got, little brother,” he said, sprawling on my sofa. “You live alone?” I nodded. “Yeah, just me.” His grin turned wicked. “Good. No one to disturb the fun, right?”
We chatted idly, but Mostafa’s conversation soon veered into dangerous territory. His eyes gleamed as he leaned closer. “Tell me, little brother, do you bring any girls here? You know, some hot piece to warm your bed?” My face flushed, words stumbling. “Uh, no, I… don’t do that.” He laughed, a deep, throaty sound. “Come on, don’t be shy! We’re men. At your age, a tight pussy feels like heaven, doesn’t it? Ever been to a brothel?” My cheeks burned hotter, and I stammered, “No, I don’t go to those places.” Mostafa roared with laughter. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Bet you jerk off to porn every night, though.” I looked away, shame and a strange thrill twisting inside me. His words were crude, but they stirred something primal, my cock twitching in my pants. “Back in my village,” he continued, “I fucked a widow a few times. Her ass was so round, it’d make your head spin. Got any girls like that here?” I mumbled, “No, I just… keep to myself.” His sly grin returned. “Alright, little brother. How about you show me the city? The night’s still young.”
I hesitated. It was nearly ten, and his intensity unnerved me. But his insistence won out. “Fine, let’s go for a walk,” I said, and we stepped into the neon-lit streets of Kolkata. The city pulsed with life—flickering signs, honking cars, and the hum of nightlife. Mostafa walked beside me, his long hair swaying, his grin a constant shadow. His presence made my skin tingle, a mix of unease and fascination. Suddenly, he stopped by a woman leaning against a wall. Her tight black top hugged her full breasts, her jeans clinging to her round ass, every curve screaming temptation. She smiled at us, and my body ignited, my cock stirring at the sight of her.
Mostafa approached her, his voice dripping with charm. “What’s a beauty like you doing out here alone?” She laughed, her eyes playful. “Just soaking in the city.” Mostafa glanced at me, winking. “Look at those tits, little brother. So fucking ripe. Imagine a night with her, huh?” My face burned, but I forced a laugh, too embarrassed to respond. The woman giggled at his boldness, her eyes daring him to continue. Mostafa leaned in, whispering something that made her blush and laugh harder. I couldn’t hear, but the heat in her gaze told me it was filthy. My cock throbbed, but shame kept me rooted a few steps away.
After a moment, Mostafa suggested we grab food. We stopped at a small kebab stall, the air thick with the scent of sizzling meat and spices. My stomach growled as we sat with plates of steaming kebabs. Mostafa’s crude talk resumed between bites. “These kebabs are hot, but nothing beats a woman’s body when she’s burning for you, right? Ever squeezed a pair of juicy tits?” I choked on my food, mumbling, “Stop it, man.” He laughed, undeterred. “In my village, I fingered a girl’s pussy once. Her juices soaked my hand. You telling me you’ve never done that here?” My cock stiffened, his words painting vivid images in my mind. I focused on my kebab, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my groin.
We walked on, and Mostafa struck up a conversation with another woman, her sheer saree revealing every curve of her body. He flirted shamelessly, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. She gasped, slapping him hard. “You filthy bastard!” she snapped, storming off. Mostafa laughed, rubbing his cheek. “City girls are so dramatic! In my village, my cock would’ve been in her pussy by now.” I stood frozen, torn between shock and a dark amusement, my body buzzing with arousal.
At a sweet shop, Mostafa’s charm targeted the woman behind the counter, her fair skin glowing under the lights, her kajal-lined eyes and pink lips a vision of allure. “Your smile’s sweeter than these rosogollas,” he teased. She laughed, playing along. “Less talk, how many do you want?” As we ate the syrupy sweets, Mostafa kept up his game, hinting at her “sweetness” beyond the counter. Her playful retorts only fueled my growing arousal, his magnetic vulgarity pulling me into his orbit.
By eleven, we returned to my flat, my mind a storm of his words and the images of the women we’d seen. We settled in—Mostafa on the sofa, me in my bedroom—but sleep wouldn’t come. My cock throbbed, my mind replaying the curve of that woman’s ass, Mostafa’s filthy stories, and the electric pulse of the city’s nightlife. I closed my eyes, but the heat in my body refused to fade, my hand itching to relieve the ache.
In the dead of night, I jolted awake, my breath catching. A hand was on my cock, stroking it softly, sending a shockwave of pleasure through me.

[Abirkkz]

Interesting plot

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Part 4: A Night of Forbidden Flames

The night had swallowed the city whole, its inky darkness seeping into my small Kolkata flat, a cocoon of solitude now heavy with unspoken tension. I lay sprawled across my narrow bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath me, my body drained from our earlier wanderings through the city’s neon-lit chaos. Mostafa, Ramesh’s enigmatic cousin, was camped out on a worn mat in the cramped dining hall, his presence a lingering disturbance in my sanctuary. We’d stumbled back around eleven, the city’s pulse still throbbing in my veins, its scents of street food and exhaust clinging to my skin. Exhaustion had pulled my eyelids shut, and I’d slipped into a restless slumber, assuming Mostafa had done the same after washing off the night’s grit. But in the witching hours—perhaps two or three in the morning—a jolt tore me from sleep, my body electrified by a sensation both alien and intoxicating.

Without opening my eyes, I felt it: a hand, warm and deliberate, grazing my cock through the thin fabric of my lungi. The touch was gentle yet probing, fingers tracing the outline of my shaft, teasing it to life. My body shuddered, a primal heat surging through me, but I froze, feigning sleep, my heart hammering in my chest. My mind spiraled into a storm of questions. Who was this? The flat was empty save for me and Mostafa, a man whose dark charisma had already unsettled me. Was it him? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of dread and a forbidden curiosity I couldn’t name.

I cracked my eyes open, just a sliver, and there he was—Mostafa, crouched beside my bed like a predator in the shadows. His dark face, framed by wild, shoulder-length hair, bore that sly, wolfish grin, his eyes glinting with a dangerous hunger that made my skin prickle. His hand moved with purpose, slipping beneath my lungi, fingers brushing the sensitive head of my cock. My shaft twitched, hardening under his touch, betraying me as a wave of shame crashed against a rising tide of arousal. I stayed still, my breath shallow, pretending to sleep as my body burned. What was he doing? Why was I letting this happen? The questions drowned in the heat pooling in my groin.

Emboldened by my silence, Mostafa tugged my lungi aside, exposing my cock to the cool night air. His fingers danced over the swollen head, circling it with a teasing pressure that sent sparks through my nerves. My cock stiffened fully, throbbing under his touch, a traitor to my racing mind. Then, in a move that stole my breath, he lowered his head, his warm, wet lips closing around my shaft. His tongue swirled, lapping at the sensitive tip, then sliding down the length, coating it in slick heat. My body trembled, every nerve alight as he sucked with a slow, deliberate rhythm, his mouth a furnace of pleasure. The sensation was overwhelming, a lightning bolt of ecstasy that drowned out my shame. My hips twitched involuntarily, my cock pulsing in his mouth. I couldn’t hold back—my cum erupted, a hot, shuddering release that flooded his mouth, spilling over his lips. I bolted upright, my face burning with a cocktail of rage, shame, and a dark, undeniable thrill. “What the fuck are you doing?” I stammered, my voice trembling.

Mostafa leaned back, his grin wider, my cum glistening on his teeth, a perverse trophy of his conquest. “Awake now, little brother?” he said, his voice a low, throaty rumble. “Come on, grab my cock. Feel it.” My heart pounded, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. “What is this? Why?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. He laughed, a deep, guttural sound that sent a shiver through me. “City life’s for fun, Akash. Don’t be shy. Take it.” His eyes locked onto mine, daring me to cross a line I’d never imagined. My hand trembled, caught between fear and a strange, magnetic pull. Hesitant, I reached for his lungi, my fingers brushing the coarse fabric before finding his cock. It was massive, a thick, black rod of flesh, its swollen head glistening with precum, pulsing under my touch. The sheer size of it—long, veined, and heavy—made my hand shake. Dense, wiry hair surrounded it, and a musky, animalistic scent hit me, raw and overwhelming, stirring a mix of revulsion and fascination. My cock twitched again, hardening despite myself.

I tried to pull back, but Mostafa grabbed my hand, guiding it along his shaft. “Don’t be a coward. Stroke it,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. My fingers moved, trembling, sliding up and down his iron-hard cock, feeling it throb under my touch. The sensation was electric, a forbidden heat igniting in my core. His groan filled the room, low and primal, as he leaned closer, his breath hot against my neck. Suddenly, he grabbed my cock, still slick from his mouth, and pressed it against his own. The friction of our cocks grinding together sent a jolt through me, a fire that consumed every rational thought. His thick shaft rubbed against mine, the heat and pressure driving me wild. He nudged my balls with a playful tap, making me gasp. “Feels good, doesn’t it, little brother?” he teased, his grin wicked. Disgust clawed at my mind, but my body surrendered, lost in the primal rhythm of his touch.

Without warning, Mostafa pulled me close, his lips crashing against mine in a rough, possessive kiss. His beard scbangd my face, coarse and unyielding, his breath hot and sour with the faint tang of my cum. I tried to pull away, my hands pushing against his broad chest, but his strong fingers gripped my head, holding me in place. His tongue invaded my mouth, thick and insistent, tangling with mine in a dance that made my body quake. My mind screamed in protest, but my cock throbbed, betraying me as pleasure drowned out shame. His hands slid down my body, yanking my lungi off completely, exposing my naked ass. His fingers kneaded my soft cheeks, squeezing with a possessive hunger that made my breath hitch. “Fuck, this ass is making my cock ache,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. He tore off my vest, leaving me bare, and his fingers found my nipples, pinching them until they stiffened. Then his mouth descended, sucking one nipple hard, his tongue flicking over it, sending shocks of pleasure through me. My body arched, a moan escaping despite myself, as disgust and ecstasy waged war within.

He flipped me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the mattress, the sheets rough against my cheek. His hands spread my ass cheeks, exposing my tight hole to the cool air. Then I felt it—his hot, wet tongue circling my hole, probing with a slow, deliberate rhythm. My body shuddered, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of violation and raw pleasure. His tongue pushed deeper, slick and insistent, making my cock throb against the sheets. “Your ass is like fucking butter,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Gonna feel so good when I fuck it.” My mind reeled, shame screaming at me to stop this, but my body was no longer mine. My cock hardened again, pulsing with need as his tongue worked my hole, softening it, preparing it.

He sat up, his grin wicked in the dim light. “Your turn, little brother. Suck my cock.” My heart stopped, my head spinning. “I can’t,” I protested, my voice weak. But his eyes held a stubborn glint, a predator’s certainty. He grabbed my head, pulling it toward his groin. His massive cock loomed before me, its swollen head glistening, the thick hair around it reeking of musk and sweat. The scent hit me like a wave, revolting yet strangely intoxicating, stirring a dark hunger I didn’t understand. “Just lick it,” he urged, his grip unyielding. My trembling lips brushed his cockhead, the salty, bitter taste flooding my senses. My stomach churned, but his hand tightened, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth. It filled me, thick and heavy, nearly gagging me as he rocked his hips, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. Tears pricked my eyes, my throat burning, but my cock pulsed, hard and aching. “That’s it, suck it like a pro,” he groaned, his voice a low growl. My body burned with shame, but the heat of his cock in my mouth, the rhythm of his thrusts, pulled me into a haze of twisted pleasure.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled out, his cock glistening with my saliva, a string of it connecting my lips to his shaft. He flipped me onto my stomach again, spreading my ass cheeks wide. His cockhead pressed against my hole, hot and unyielding, sending a jolt of fear through me. “No, please, I don’t want this!” I begged, my voice cracking. He ignored me, his grip tightening on my hips. “Relax, it’ll hurt a bit, then you’ll be in fucking paradise,” he said, his voice thick with lust. With a brutal thrust, he pushed his thick cock inside me. Pain seared through me, a white-hot burn as if my body were being torn apart. I screamed, “Stop, it hurts!” but he didn’t. His cock filled me, stretching my tight hole to its limit, the burn excruciating. He began to thrust, slow at first, then faster, each movement igniting a strange, growing pleasure beneath the pain. My cock hardened against the sheets, my body betraying me as the rhythm took over. “Your ass is fucking perfect,” he growled, slapping my cheeks hard, the sting mingling with the pleasure. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock, each thrust deeper, harder. After ten minutes of relentless pounding, he gave a final, brutal thrust, his hot cum flooding my insides, a searing warmth that pushed me over the edge. My own cum spilled onto the sheets, my body shaking with the intensity of it. He pulled out, panting, his grin triumphant. “You’re a damn good fuck, little brother.”

Exhausted, I collapsed, my ass throbbing, the ghost of his thick cock still lingering inside me. My mind was a storm of shame, disgust, and a dark, undeniable pleasure that refused to fade. Mostafa lay beside me, his dark, sweat-slicked body gleaming in the dim light, his chest heaving, his grin that of a hunter who’d claimed his prize. I stayed silent, drained of words, my body still humming with the aftershocks of our encounter. But Mostafa wasn’t done. Minutes later, he turned to me, his eyes gleaming with unquenched hunger. “One round’s not enough, is it?” he said, his hand stroking my ass, fingers tracing the tender skin. “I’m too sore,” I protested, my voice weak, but he ignored me, his sweat-slicked body pressing against mine, his hardening cock grazing my stomach. The contact reignited the fire in my veins, my cock twitching despite the ache in my body. He kissed me again, his beard scbanging my face, his tongue claiming my mouth with a possessive hunger. His fingers teased my nipples, pinching them until they stiffened, then his mouth descended, sucking them hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive buds. “Your body’s like a woman’s,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “These tits could drip honey.” My body trembled, lost to his touch, my cock hardening fully as shame and pleasure collided.

He flipped me onto my stomach once more, spreading my ass cheeks with a rough grip. “Still so fucking hot,” he said, his cock pressing against my sore, cum-slicked hole. “No, it hurts!” I pleaded, my voice desperate, but he laughed, a low, wicked sound. “Pain’s part of the pleasure, little brother.” His thick cock slid in, the burn intense but softened by the slickness of his earlier cum. My body adjusted, the pain giving way to a twisted ecstasy as he fucked me, his thrusts deep and relentless. His hands gripped my ass, slapping it hard, the sting amplifying the pleasure. I clutched the sheets, my cock throbbing as I stroked myself, lost in the rhythm of his pounding. Each thrust shook my core, his cock stretching me, filling me with a heat I couldn’t resist. After fifteen minutes of brutal fucking, he gave a final, savage thrust, his hot cum flooding me again, the sensation pushing me over the edge. My cum soaked the sheets, my body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. “Your ass is a fucking dream,” he panted, collapsing beside me, his dark body slick with sweat, his long hair splayed across the pillow.

My ass throbbed, the pain and pleasure intertwined, my mind a haze of conflicting emotions—shame, disgust, and a dark, intoxicating satisfaction. The sheets were stained with our cum, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex. Mostafa’s grin lingered, his eyes still hungry, but I was spent, my body and mind teetering on the edge of collapse. I lay there, silent, as the night stretched on, a prisoner of my own desires, caught in a web of lust and self-loathing.

Morning came, heavy and surreal. My ass throbbed, the sheets stained with our cum. Mostafa was gone, his bag and mat vanished. Relief mixed with an odd emptiness. In the bathroom, hot water washed over me, but the memories lingered—his thick cock, his relentless thrusts, his sly grin. I scolded myself, “Get a grip, Akash. He’s gone. Move on.” But my body still hummed with the night’s intensity.

[Abirkkz]

Part 5: The Forbidden World of the Dark Alley ([b]Crossover)[/b] 

As dusk bled into night, the air in my tiny Kolkata flat grew thick with anticipation. A sharp knock shattered the silence. I opened the door, my heart lurching at the sight of Mostafa, his towering frame filling the doorway. His inky black skin glistened under the dim bulb, his long hair swaying like a dark curtain, his kurta worn and clinging to his muscled chest. That sly, predatory grin curled his lips, his murky eyes glinting with a hunger that sent a shiver down my spine. “You?” I stammered, my voice betraying a mix of shock and reluctant arousal. “I thought you’d left!” He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through the room. “Leave so soon, little brother? The city’s too sweet to abandon. I’ve got more fun planned for us tonight.” My gut twisted—fear, shame, and a dark, undeniable excitement coiling together. I nodded mutely, my throat tight, as he strode in, tossing his bag onto the floor with a careless thud.

“Last night was just the start,” he said, his voice dripping with promise. “Let’s hit the streets again. Show me more of this city’s secrets.” I hesitated, my body still aching from the previous night’s debauchery, but his magnetic pull was inescapable. By eight, we were weaving through Kolkata’s neon-lit chaos, the city’s pulse thrumming in my veins. Walking beside Mostafa, his long strides and that wicked glint in his eyes made my skin prickle with unease and anticipation. Every glance from him felt like a challenge, as if he were plotting something darker, something that would push me further into his world of raw, unbridled lust.

The Forbidden Alley

 He led me down a narrow, shadowed alley, where the air grew heavy with the scent of decay and desire. Crumbling buildings loomed on either side, their faded facades barely lit by flickering streetlights. My pulse quickened. “Why here?” I asked, my voice trembling. Mostafa’s grin widened, his teeth flashing in the gloom. “This is where the city hides its real pleasures, little brother. Wait and see.” My stomach churned, but I followed, drawn by his dangerous charisma. At the alley’s end stood a woman, her petite frame cloaked in shadow. Mostafa leaned in, whispering to her, his voice low and conspiratorial. Her eyes flicked to me, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Come on,” Mostafa said, turning to me. “We’re taking her to your place. The three of us are gonna fuck like animals tonight.” My heart pounded, my cock twitching despite the shame flooding my mind. I trailed behind as he led her back to my flat, her hips swaying with a promise that set my blood on fire.
Inside, under the harsh glow of my bulb, I studied her. Shiuli, she called herself, her dusky skin shimmering like polished bronze. Barely twenty-six, her petite body was a masterpiece of curves—her tight red kurti clung to her 34-size breasts, round and impossibly firm, their outline straining against the fabric. Her black leggings hugged her hips, accentuating an ass so lush and round it seemed to pulse with every step, begging to be touched. Her shoulder-length hair was tousled, framing a face that radiated raw sensuality—full lips lightly glossed, kajal-lined eyes sparkling with mischief, and a sweet, heady perfume that hit my nose like a drug, making my cock throb in my lungi. She caught my gaze and smirked, her voice a sultry purr. “You’re a shy one, aren’t you? I’m Shiuli. No need to be nervous, baby.” My face burned, but my body betrayed me, my cock hardening painfully as I looked away.

Mostafa locked the door with a deliberate click, his grin predatory. “Look at this fucking goddess, little brother. That ass, those tits—city girls like her are built for sin.” Shiuli laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a jolt through me. She stepped closer, her hand grazing my thigh, her touch igniting a fire in my groin. “Don’t be shy,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. Mostafa sprawled on the sofa, his dark frame dominating the room. “We’re gonna tear her apart tonight,” he said, his voice thick with lust. My cock pulsed, my mind screaming with shame but drowning in desire as Shiuli’s fingers traced higher, brushing the bulge in my lungi.
We moved to the bedroom, the air thick with the promise of debauchery. Shiuli stood before me, her eyes locked on mine as she peeled off her kurti, revealing a black bra that barely contained her full, heavy breasts. They jiggled as she moved, her dark nipples faintly visible through the lace, begging to be sucked. She slid her leggings down, her black panties clinging to her pussy, the fabric outlining her swollen lips, already damp with arousal. Her ass was a vision—round, soft, like molten butter, each cheek quivering with every step. My cock strained against my lungi, aching for release. She tugged it off, my hard shaft springing free, the tip glistening with precum. “Fuck, you’re ready,” she purred, her fingers wrapping around my cock, stroking it with a slow, teasing rhythm that made my knees buckle.
I pushed her onto the bed, my hands trembling as I yanked off her panties. Her dusky pussy was a revelation—framed by a thick bush of dark hair, her lips glistening, slick with desire. I pressed my cock against her entrance, the heat of her pussy radiating against my tip. “Fuck me, baby,” she moaned, spreading her legs wide, her thighs trembling with anticipation. I thrust inside, her tight, wet pussy gripping me like a vice, her walls pulsing around my shaft. Each thrust sent her breasts bouncing, their heavy weight swaying in rhythm with my hips. Her moans filled the room, raw and desperate—“Harder, fuck my pussy raw!”—driving me into a frenzy. I pounded her, my balls slapping against her ass, her slick juices coating my cock as her pussy clenched tighter, milking me.

Mostafa stood beside us, his massive cock in hand, stroking its thick, black length as he watched. His eyes burned with lust as he stepped closer, shoving his cock toward Shiuli’s mouth. “Suck it, you filthy slut,” he growled. Shiuli opened her lips, her tongue swirling around his swollen cockhead, her mouth stretching to take his girth. She sucked him greedily, her moans muffled as his cock slid in and out, her saliva dripping down his shaft. The sight of her lips wrapped around his massive cock, her pussy clenching around mine, pushed me over the edge. My cum erupted, flooding her pussy, hot and thick, spilling out as her walls pulsed around me. I collapsed onto her, panting, her breasts pressed against my chest, her nipples hard against my skin.
Mostafa pulled out of her mouth, his cock glistening with her spit. “My turn,” he growled, flipping her onto her stomach. Her ass arched high, still trembling from my cum dripping from her pussy. He slammed his thick cock into her, her pussy stretching to take him, her moans turning to screams. “Your cock’s fucking splitting me!” she cried, her ass shaking with each brutal thrust. I knelt beside her, grabbing her heavy breasts, my fingers sinking into their soft flesh. I sucked her nipples, hard and pebbled, my tongue swirling as she moaned louder, her body writhing between us. I kissed her, our tongues tangling, her lips sweet and slick, her breath hot with lust.
Mostafa fucked her relentlessly, his hands slapping her ass, leaving red marks on her dusky skin. “Lick her pussy,” he ordered, pulling out, his cock slick with her juices and my cum. Shiuli grabbed my head, guiding it to her cum-soaked pussy. The scent hit me—salty, musky, intoxicating. I buried my face in her, my tongue lapping at her swollen clit, tasting the mix of our cum, her juices bitter-sweet on my lips. She moaned, her hips grinding against my face, “Eat my pussy, suck it dry!” Mostafa shoved his cock back into her mouth, fucking it with slow, deliberate thrusts, her throat bulging as she took him deep. Her moans vibrated against his shaft, her body trembling as we ravaged her—me devouring her pussy, him fucking her mouth.
The room was a symphony of lust—Shiuli’s muffled moans, the wet slap of Mostafa’s cock in her mouth, the squelch of my tongue in her dripping pussy. Her body was our playground, her dusky skin glistening with sweat, her breasts bouncing, her ass quivering. “You’re fucking killing me!” she gasped, her pussy gushing against my tongue, her juices flooding my mouth.
Mostafa pulled back, his cock throbbing. “Let’s fuck her proper,” he said, his voice thick with hunger. “Missionary, you take her pussy, I’ll take her mouth.” I spread Shiuli’s legs, her pussy still dripping with our cum, her lips swollen and inviting. I slid inside, her heat enveloping me, her walls clenching as I thrust deep. Her breasts jiggled with each pump, her moans—“Fuck me deeper, tear my pussy apart!”—spurring me on. My balls slapped against her ass, the wet sound of her pussy filling the room. Mostafa knelt by her head, his thick cock sliding into her mouth, her lips stretching around him as she sucked, her tongue swirling over his shaft. “Your mouth’s a fucking pussy,” he groaned, his hips rocking.
We switched—Shiuli went doggy-style, her ass high, her pussy glistening. Mostafa slammed into her, his cock stretching her wide, her screams echoing—“Your cock’s ripping my pussy!” I sucked her breasts, my teeth grazing her nipples, then kissed her, her tongue dancing with mine, her moans vibrating against my lips. Her body shook between us, her pussy and mouth claimed by our relentless hunger.

Shiuli climbed onto Mostafa, straddling him, her pussy swallowing his cock as she rode him. Her breasts bounced wildly, her moans shaking the room. I stroked her ass, its soft curves trembling under my hands, but she stopped me. “Just my pussy,” she panted. I lay beside Mostafa, and she rode me next, her pussy gripping my cock, her breasts swaying as she bounced. I came again, my cum flooding her, mixing with Mostafa’s.
He took her again, his cock pounding her pussy as she screamed, her body quaking. “Your pussy’s fucking heaven,” he growled, spilling inside her. Her pussy dripped with our cum, pooling on the sheets.
Mostafa wasn’t done. “Let’s double-team her,” he said, lying back. Shiuli straddled him, his thick cock pressing against her tight asshole. She screamed as he pushed in, her ass stretching around his girth. “Your cock’s tearing my ass apart!” she cried, her body trembling. I spread her legs, her pussy dripping, and slid inside, her walls clenching me. We fucked her in unison, my cock in her pussy, Mostafa’s in her ass, her body shaking between us. “You’re fucking killing me!” she screamed, her moans a raw, primal symphony. I pulled out, shoving my cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling as she sucked me. Mostafa pounded her ass, his hands slapping her cheeks. We came, my cum flooding her mouth, his filling her ass, her body quaking with pleasure.
Shiuli collapsed, her body slick with sweat, our cum dripping from her pussy, ass, and mouth. “One more,” she panted, her eyes gleaming with insatiable lust. Mostafa stood, lifting her leg, and fucked her pussy standing, her moans echoing. I took her ass from behind, her tight hole gripping me as I thrust. We switched, my cock in her mouth, Mostafa’s in her pussy, until we came again, her body trembling, soaked in our cum.
Exhausted, Shiuli sat up, her dusky skin glistening, her hair a wild mess, her smile pure sin. “You’ve fucking ruined me,” she purred, grabbing her bra and panties. Mostafa tossed her crumpled notes, tucking them into her bra. “Your pussy and ass are worth more than this,” he said. She dressed, her curves still tantalizing in her tight kurti and leggings, and left with a sultry, “See you again, boys.”
Alone, the air was thick with the stench of sex and sweat. Mostafa lay beside me, his dark body gleaming, his grin triumphant. “How was her pussy and ass?” he asked, his hand grazing my still-hard cock. “Not done yet, huh?” He kissed me, his beard scratching, his tongue claiming my mouth. Our naked bodies pressed together, our cocks rubbing, reigniting the fire in my veins. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he whispered. “Live, little brother. Fuck every chance you get.” His words seared into me as we drifted to sleep, our cocks still pressed together, my mind a storm of lust and doubt.
In my dreams, Shiuli’s dusky body merged with memories of my village—my parents’ hard lives, my childhood, Rima’s innocent smile. The city’s raw, lustful pull clashed with the simplicity of my past, leaving me drowning in desire and uncertainty.

[Abirkkz]

Part 6

I woke around 7:30 in the morning, my body heavy, my asshole throbbing with a dull ache from the night before, my mind a whirlwind of the previous night’s depravity. Shiuli’s dusky body, her pussy and ass stretched by our relentless thrusts, her moans echoing like a siren’s call, Mostafa’s thick, black cock—everything felt like a feverish, obscene dream. I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. Beside me, Mostafa lay sprawled, his dark skin still glistening with sweat, his long hair fanned across the pillow. A faint, satisfied smirk lingered on his face, as if the night’s savage lust was just another day for him. Looking at him, a storm of emotions churned inside me—shame, disgust, and a twisted gratitude. This man had dragged me into a hidden world of the city, one I’d never imagined, one that both terrified and electrified me.

Mostafa stirred, his murky eyes snapping open, that familiar predatory glint flashing in them. He sat up, his muscled frame dominating the small room. “Awake, huh? You were a fucking beast last night, little brother,” he said, his voice low and teasing. I dropped my gaze, shame burning my cheeks, unable to respond. He laughed, a deep, guttural sound. “Why so shy? This is life, man. You’re in the city now—fuck like this or what’s the point?” I stayed silent, my mind torn between memories of my village—my parents’ struggles, Rima’s innocent smile—and the raw, primal pull of this new world. Mostafa seemed to read my thoughts. “Listen,” he said, leaning closer, “you’re in the city. Grab every chance to fuck, every tight pussy or ass you can get. Back in the village, you won’t find this kind of fun.” His eyes gleamed with that dangerous spark, and he slid closer, his naked body brushing against mine. The heat of his skin sent a jolt through me. Suddenly, his rough hand gripped my cock, squeezing it firmly. My body shuddered, a spark of electricity shooting through me. “What the fuck are you doing?” I stammered, my voice trembling.
He grinned, his teeth flashing. “Morning’s gotta start with some dirty fun, right? Just shut up and enjoy it.” Before I could protest, he pulled me down onto the bed, his dark hands roaming my body. His fingers wrapped around my cock, stroking it with slow, deliberate motions. My shaft hardened under his touch, betraying my shame. He pressed his thick, black cock against mine, the hot, rigid length grinding against me. The sensation was electric, my body trembling as our cocks rubbed together, the friction igniting a primal fire in my veins. “This isn’t right,” I whispered, but my voice lacked conviction. Mostafa laughed. “Right? Wrong? In the city, it’s all about pleasure, little brother. Just feel it.” He ground his cock harder against mine, the slick heat of our shafts sliding together, my body quaking with forbidden arousal.
Then he climbed on top of me, his weight pinning me down. His lips crashed against mine, his coarse beard scbanging my face, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, tangling with mine in a hungry dance. Disgust warred with desire, but my body surrendered, my cock pulsing against his. He moved lower, his hot tongue flicking over my nipples, sucking them hard, making me gasp. “Fuck,” I moaned, my voice breaking. His mouth descended to my cock, his tongue swirling around the sensitive head, teasing the tip until my body arched off the bed. I couldn’t hold back—my cum erupted, flooding his mouth, hot and thick. Mostafa grinned, my cum glistening on his lips. “Sweet fucking load,” he said, leaning in to kiss me again, the salty taste of my own cum coating my tongue as his lips claimed mine.

He flipped me onto my stomach, my heart racing. “No more, my ass hurts,” I pleaded, the ache from last night still raw. He chuckled darkly. “Just a little fun, little brother.” His thick cock grazed my asshole, the hot, hard tip teasing my sore entrance. My body trembled, caught between pain and a twisted craving. He pressed forward, his massive cock sliding into my ass, stretching me painfully. I screamed, “Fuck, stop!” but he didn’t. He thrust slowly, his cock filling me, the burn melding into a strange, intoxicating pleasure. Each stroke sent waves of agony and ecstasy through me, my body shaking as his thick shaft claimed my ass. After a few minutes, he groaned, his hot cum flooding my insides, the warmth spreading through me. I collapsed, exhausted, my ass throbbing, my mind a haze of conflicting sensations.
Mostafa wasn’t done. He grabbed my cock again, his dark fingers stroking the sensitive head. “What the fuck, man? It’s morning!” I protested, but he just grinned. “Morning’s for hard, dirty fucking, little brother. I’m gonna show you something new.” He pulled a chair into the center of the room and sat, spreading his legs, his knees drawn toward his chest. His massive, black cock stood erect, the swollen head glistening, surrounded by a thick jungle of hair. The sight made my cock twitch, despite my shame. “Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Turn around and sit on my cock. You’re gonna ride me.”
I trembled, my body aching but burning with desire. I turned, my back to him, and positioned my sore asshole over his cock. The hot, hard tip pressed against my entrance, sending a shiver through me. I lowered myself slowly, his thick cock stretching my ass, the pain sharp but laced with pleasure. I groaned, “Fuck, it hurts!” but Mostafa just laughed. “Take it slow, you control it.” I began to move, my hips rising and falling, his cock sliding deep into my ass, my tight walls gripping him. Each thrust sent his shaft deeper, the pain melting into a raw, primal ecstasy. My cock bounced, hard and throbbing, and I wrapped my hand around it, stroking furiously. Mostafa groaned, “Fuck yeah, ride it like that! You’re a fucking pro!” I thrust harder, his cock filling me completely, my body trembling with every movement.
He grabbed my hips, guiding me, making me bounce faster. His cock hit deep inside, my ass clenching around him. “Fuck, I can’t take it!” I gasped, but he didn’t stop. He pulled me close, kissing me hard, his beard scbanging my face, his tongue invading my mouth. His fingers pinched my nipples, his hot tongue flicking over them, sending sparks through my body. My cum erupted again, splattering the bed, as Mostafa’s hot load filled my ass, the warmth spreading through me. We collapsed onto the bed, panting, our bodies slick with sweat.
Mostafa wasn’t finished. “Now I’m gonna eat your ass,” he growled, lying back. I straddled his face, my sore, cum-soaked asshole hovering over his mouth. His rough hands grabbed my nipples, squeezing them as his hot, wet tongue probed my hole. The sensation was overwhelming, his tongue swirling inside my ass, licking his own cum from my depths. I moaned, “Fuck, what are you doing?” my body shaking. His tongue fucked my ass, his hands working my nipples, driving me wild. My cock hardened again, pulsing with need. He grabbed it, stroking it hard as his tongue plunged deeper. “Fuck, stop, I can’t take it!” I begged, but he didn’t. My cum spilled again, soaking the sheets, as he pulled back, grinning. “Your ass tastes like fucking honey.”

He wasn’t done. “One more,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Stand over my face.” I stood, my legs trembling, my asshole positioned above his mouth. He grabbed my hips, pulling me down until his tongue met my hole again. The hot, slick sensation sent me reeling, his tongue probing deep, fucking my ass as I shook. His hand stroked my cock, the rhythm relentless. “Fuck, stop!” I screamed, but my body betrayed me, my cum spilling onto the bed as his tongue worked my ass. “Your ass is a fucking delicacy,” he growled, licking his lips.
We collapsed, exhausted, our bodies tangled in the sheets. Mostafa panted, “Fucking hell of a morning, right? Now let’s get ready. I’ve gotta head back to the village.” We cleaned up, the hot water of the shower soothing my aching ass but doing little to calm the storm in my mind. Mostafa dressed in his worn kurta and lungi, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk,” he said, and we stepped out into the chaotic morning streets of city .
The city buzzed with life—crowded streets, honking cars, the hum of vendors. We stopped at a small hotel for breakfast—paratha, eggs, and tea. Mostafa ate with relish, grinning at me. “You’re a good kid, Akash. Live it up in the city, fuck everything you can. But don’t forget the village.” His words sank into me, heavy with truth and temptation. After breakfast, we walked to the bus stand. His departure loomed. At the stand, he turned to me, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “I’m off, little brother. Stay good. And fuck like your life depends on it.” He clapped my shoulder, flashed that sly grin, and boarded the bus. I watched his dark figure disappear through the window, a strange emptiness settling in my chest. He’d stormed into my life, turned two nights into a whirlwind of lust, and left.


The day dragged on at the office, my mind replaying Mostafa’s words, his touch, Shiuli’s body. By evening, as I left work, the city’s neon glow beckoned, stirring that restless fire in my veins. I knew where I was going. The dark alley called to me, its shadows promising more forbidden pleasures.


As dusk bled into the sultry  evening, I found myself drawn back to that dark, seedy alley, its shadows whispering promises of forbidden ecstasy. The city’s streets shimmered under a haze of neon lights and twilight, the air thick with the hum of crowds, the flicker of shop signs, and the raw pulse of urban life. The alley was a world apart—filthy, reeking of open drains, its cracked pavement crowded with beggars and street girls whose hungry eyes gleamed in the dim glow. My body thrummed with a restless fire, my cock already twitching in my lungi as I scanned the faces for Shiuli, her dusky curves and wicked moans still haunting my mind. But she was nowhere to be found. My gaze snagged on other women, their torn saris clinging to sweat-slicked bodies, their seductive smiles promising dark delights. My shaft stirred, aching with need, as their eyes locked onto me, each one a siren luring me deeper into the city’s underbelly.

A woman stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, her dusky skin glowing under the faint streetlight. Her sari, threadbare and slightly askew, parted to reveal the deep, tantalizing cleavage of her full breasts, the curves barely contained by the fabric. Her voice was a low, sultry purr, dripping with promise. “Hey, want to have some fun? I’ll make you feel pleasures you’ve never dreamed of.” My cock leapt, straining against the thin fabric of my lungi, a primal heat surging through my veins. I swallowed hard, my voice rough. “Where’s Shiuli?” Her lips curled into a knowing smile, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Shiuli’s not here, babu. But I’m Rita, and I’ll give you more than she ever could—pleasures to burn your soul.” Her words ignited me, her slim waist and voluptuous hips swaying as she stepped closer, her scent—a mix of cheap perfume and raw sensuality—hitting me like a drug. My cock throbbed, my mind drowning in lust. “Alright, Rita,” I growled, my voice thick with desire. “Show me what you can do.”

She grabbed my hand, her fingers warm and teasing, and led me to a cramped, dingy room tucked behind the alley. The space was a shrine to decay—walls stained with damp, their peeling paint glistening in the dim light of a single, flickering bulb. A worn mattress lay on the floor, its faded fabric reeking of past sins. The air was heavy, thick with the musk of sweat and sex. Rita shut the door with a soft click, her eyes locking onto mine, that wicked glint promising untold depravity. “Babu,” she purred, her voice a velvet caress, “you’re about to taste a pleasure you’ll never forget.” My cock pulsed, hard and aching, as I stepped toward her. She moved with a predator’s grace, her fingers deftly untying the knot of my lungi. It fell away, my eight-inch cock springing free, thick and rigid, its red tip glistening with precum. Rita knelt before me, her eyes widening, her breath catching. “Fuck, babu, what a cock,” she murmured, her voice dripping with hunger. “This beast is gonna fill my mouth whole.”
Her tongue darted out, a slick, hot tease that flicked across the sensitive head of my cock. The sensation was electric, a jolt of raw pleasure shooting through my body as her tongue swirled over the tip, tracing the pulsing veins. My knees trembled, my breath hitching. “Suck it hard, you filthy slut,” I growled, my voice rough with need. “My cock was made for your fucking mouth.” She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Don’t worry, babu. I’m gonna drain every drop from this monster.” Her lips parted, enveloping my cock in a warm, wet embrace, her mouth tight and greedy as she took me deep. Her tongue danced around the head, teasing the slit, while her teeth grazed lightly, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through me. Her hand gripped the base, fingers curling around my shaft, her thumb brushing my heavy balls, coaxing a low moan from my throat. I grabbed her head, my fingers tangling in her hair, and thrust into her mouth, my cock sliding deep into her throat. Her muffled moans—“Mmm, mmm”—vibrated against my shaft, driving me wild. “Suck it, you whore,” I groaned, my hips rocking. “Drink my fucking cum.” Her lips tightened, her tongue swirling faster, her saliva coating my cock, making it glisten under the dim light. She sucked harder, her mouth a relentless vacuum, her throat constricting around my shaft as I fucked her face. The pressure built, my balls tightening, but I pulled back, my cock pulsing with need. “Rita,” I growled, “I’m gonna fuck your ass now.”

She rose, her movements slow and deliberate, her sari slipping down to reveal her round, dusky ass—soft yet firm, each cheek a perfect curve that begged to be claimed. She grabbed a small bottle of lube from the mattress, her fingers slick as she coated her asshole, sliding them in and out with a teasing rhythm that made my cock throb harder. “Babu,” she purred, her voice thick with lust, “shove that fat cock in my ass. It’s starving for you.” I spread her cheeks, her tight, black hole glistening with lube, pulsing slightly as if inviting me in. “I’m gonna rip your ass apart,” I growled, my voice raw with hunger. She laughed, a sultry sound that fueled my desire. “Do it, babu. My ass is fucking ravenous for your cock.”
I pressed my cock against her hole, the tight ring resisting, clenching against my tip. I slicked my shaft with lube, the cool gel mixing with the heat of my arousal, and pushed hard. My cock breached her, sliding into her impossibly tight ass, the sensation like a vice gripping my shaft. She gasped, her body tensing, her voice a sharp cry. “Fuck, babu, slow! Your cock’s fucking huge!” I ignored her plea, my hands gripping her hips as I thrust slowly, savoring the way her ass stretched around me, the friction sending waves of pleasure through my body. “Your ass is fucking perfect,” I groaned, slapping her cheek hard, the sharp crack echoing in the room as a red mark bloomed on her dusky skin. She moaned, her body trembling, her voice a desperate plea. “Fuck me harder, babu. My ass belongs to you.” I pounded her, my cock plunging deep, her tight hole gripping me with every thrust. My balls slapped against her ass, the wet sound mingling with her moans, a symphony of raw lust. I reached around, grabbing her full breasts through her sari, my fingers sinking into their soft weight, pinching her hard nipples until she cried out, her body shaking under my touch.

I slid my hand lower, seeking her pussy, but she grabbed my wrist, pushing it away. Surprised, I growled, “What’s wrong, Rita? I can’t touch your pussy?” Her lips curled into a wicked smirk, her eyes glinting with a secret. “Babu, my pussy’s a mystery. Touch it, and you’ll lose your fucking mind.” Her words sent a fresh surge of arousal through me, my cock throbbing inside her ass. I fucked her harder, my shaft driving deep, her tight hole clenching around me as the pressure built. “I’m gonna cum in your ass,” I growled, my voice thick with need. She trembled, her moans shaking the room. “Do it, babu. Fill my ass with your hot cum.” I thrust faster, my cock slamming into her depths, my balls tightening as my cum erupted, flooding her tight hole with thick, hot spurts. The sensation was overwhelming, my body shuddering as pleasure ripped through me. Rita collapsed onto the mattress, her body quaking, her ass dripping with my cum.
Panting, I wasn’t done. “Rita, I want to eat your pussy,” I said, my cock still hard, pulsing with need. She laughed, her eyes gleaming with that same mysterious glint. “Babu, my pussy’s a secret. Once you start, you’ll be addicted, unable to stop.” Her words only fueled my hunger. “I don’t care,” I growled. “I’ll suck your pussy dry, drink every fucking drop.” She smirked, her fingers slowly peeling off her sari and panties, revealing her body inch by inch.

 I froze, my breath catching as I saw it—where her pussy should’ve been was a big, black cock, soft and nestled in a thick patch of hair, its musky scent hitting me like a wave. Shock tore through me. “What the fuck, Rita? You’re a hijra?” I shouted, my voice breaking. But she didn’t give me a chance to process, grabbing my head with a fierce grip and shoving her cock into my mouth, the salty, musky taste overwhelming as she thrust, her hips rocking with relentless hunger.