Incest THORN OF INNOCENCE

[rupak24]

Hey guys!
Long time lurker,veteran exbii user. Been missing out these years, i waned write a story adding my thoughts/observation/perspective. Here it goes!

**Chapter 1: THEORY OF INNOCENCE**
Year : 2007

The bell rang at 1:30 PM sharp, and Arjun practically ran the last stretch home through afternoon heat.  Backpack thumping against his back, uniform shirt half-untucked, tie loosened like a noose he couldn't wait to escape. The auto ride had been bumpy, sweaty, and loud - now all he wanted was food, and sleep. The driver shouting at cows blocking the narrow lane, but now the sight of their small two-storey house with its green-painted gate felt like relief.

He pushed open the front gate tiredly. The house smelled like fresh summer. Dad was at work till late, as usual. The living room fan hummed low, curtains drawn against the sun, making everything soft and dim. Mom Madhurima was already at the door, wiping her hands on the anchal of her yellow saree. Her hair was in a loose bun with a few strands escaping, a small red bindi on her forehead, She smiled wide the moment she saw his bubbly eyes at the corners.

(Arjun! aww you look so tired!? Come inside.)

She opened her arms. Arjun dropped his bag right there on the veranda and ran into her hug. She wrapped him tight—soft, warm, smelling of Pond’s talcum powder and the faint jasmine from her hair oil. Her saree was breezy against his sweaty cheek, the cotton slightly damp from the kitchen heat. She rocked him gently side to side, one hand stroking his hair.

(How was your class today? Any interesting thing happen?)

Arjun pulled back just enough to talk, still half-hugged. The usual rambling, Mom listened with that patient, loving smile—nodding at all the right places. When he finished, she ruffled his hair. Lunch was already laid out on the dining table along with Arjun's favorite Rasamalai.

(Ah that's enough she stopped him. Now go, wash your hands and face and eat. I’ll lie down for a bit too)

Arjun ate fast - hungry from the morning.  

She walked to the bedroom. The dark brown wooden bed had a thin mattress and a cotton bedsheet printed with tiny blue flowers. Mom lay down on her side, facing the wall, saree pallu became loose with her position, two arm tucked under her cheek. She sighed contentedly as the fan stirred the air. Arjun washed his face, changed into a vest and shorts padded in after her. He climbed onto the bed, mattress dipping lightly under his weight. Mom didn’t wake, she had light peaceful snore. He hesitated for a second, then lay down close behind her and slowly rested his head on her tummy.

Instant peace.

That soft, warm pouch under the saree was like the best pillow ever-gentle rise and fall with every breath, warmth seeping through the cotton straight into his cheek. He nuzzled in a little deeper - innocent, sleepy, just like he’d done since he was six. Nose brushing lightly over the fabric and the skin. It was safe. It was home. No thoughts, no exam worries, no traffic horns just the steady thump of her heartbeat under his ear and the faint scent of her skin mixed with the saree’s starch.

[xfirefox]

good start

[opendoor]

Madhurima

[PELURI]

beautiful opening bro!...keep up !

[PELURI]

Madhurima

celestial bro!.... perfect for a sunday brunch!

[rupak24]

Chapter 1 Contd...
  
Arjun didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. The afternoon light had shifted—golden now, slanting through the half-closed shutters, painting long stripes across the bed. The ceiling fan still spun its lazy circles, stirring the humid air just enough to keep things bearable. He was still on Mom’s waist-cheek pressed directly to her warm, light brown skin, right where the saree was tucked low lightly above her navel. The  dip of her navel hollow was just inches from his nose, soft pouch curving gently under his face. His arms loosely wrapped around her midriff, fingers brushing the edge of her saree tuck.

Madhurima stirred first. She blinked awake slowly, glowing faintly in the golden light. Her dark maroon lips parted in a tiny yawn. She looked down and saw Arjun’s messy hair, his peaceful face smushed right against her bare waist, little hands clutching gently at her midriff like he never wanted to let go. A soft smile spread across her face. Eyes crinkling with pure love. She lifted one hand-slow, careful not to wake him and brushed her fingers lightly across his cheek. Traced the curve of his ear, then smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He sighed in his sleep, nuzzled closer, nose pressing a little deeper into the soft skin just above her navel dip.
Madhurima’s heart squeezed. “my little prince…"

She sat upright, saree pleats shifting and rustling against her thighs. Arjun’s head slid gently to the pillow; he mumbled something sleepy but didn’t wake. She stood carefully. First she gathered her long black hair—still loose from the nap—twisted it with both hands, and tied it into a quick, messy bun at the nape of her neck, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Then she smoothed her saree: tugged the pallu up over her shoulder, adjusted the folds at her low waist so they sat neatly again, tucking the pleats firmly against her petticoat string. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. She swept the courtyard, watered the tulsi plant, prepared evening tea. Arjun woke up eventually, rubbed his eyes, wandered out yawning. Mom gave him a glass of milk with elaichi and told him to do his homework. 

Dad came home around 7:30—tired, shirt damp with sweat from the office and the bus ride. He dropped his bag by the door, loosened his tie, and sank into the armchair with a sigh.
"What a day…” he muttered. Madhurima set the dinner, they all ate together at the dining table, lamp flickering because power was still spotty. Dad ate quietly, mostly listening to Mom and Arjun talk about the day. Mom teased Arjun about falling asleep on her waist again “Still my little boy!” and Arjun giggled, cheeks pink.
After plates were cleared, Mom washed up while Dad lay on the bed scrolling through the newspaper by lamplight. Arjun brushed his teeth, changed into his night vest and shorts, and climbed onto the big bed beside Mom.

She always read him a story before sleep. It was their thing. Tonight she picked up the old storybook—faded red cover, pages soft from years of turning. She settled against the headboard, Arjun curled beside her, head on her shoulder, one small hand resting on her saree-covered waist. She opened to a story about a brave knight and a queen trapped in a dark castle.

“Listen, beta.” she began softly, voice warm and low.

There was a brave knight… his name was Sir Rajveer. One day he heard news—a beautiful princess was trapped in a black fortress.

Arjun’s eyes widened. "What did the black fortress look like, Ma?"

Mom smiled, stroking his hair. "Very scary… all black stone, clouds gathering above. The princess was in a high tower, arms tied to each side, hair wet… but she wasn’t afraid. She knew the knight would come"

Arjun shifted closer, hugging her arm. “What did the knight do?”

“He rode his horse to the fortress… fought the monsters… defeated them one by one. Finally he reached the tower. Seeing the princess, his heart filled. He cut the ropes, lifted her in his arms.”

Mom’s voice softened even more. “The princess said, ‘You came… I knew you would come.”

Arjun looked up, eyes big. “Ma… was the princess beautiful?”

Mom kissed his forehead again “Very beautiful… but her heart was even more beautiful. That’s why the knight loved her so much."

Dad, from the other side of the bed, gave a tired chuckle. “Is this story done? Now let both of you sleep.”

Mom laughed quietly. “Yes, Baba is right. Arjun, close your eyes.”

Arjun snuggled closer, head on her shoulder now, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

“Good night, Ma…”

“Good night, my love…”

She turned off the lamp. Darkness settled, only the faint moonlight through the shutters.


Arjun drifted off—dreams already stirring. That night the dreams came again. The dream started blurry, like looking through fogged glass.

A meadow—golden grass, warm sun. He saw a women, sitting. It was Ma-Madhu-Madhurima as queen, she was wearing a red lace , tight blouse embroidered with gold zari vines. It hugged her full chest, pushing her heavy breasts upward, the deep neckline dipping low to show the valley between them. Her deep navel dip sat exposed in the center, shadowed like a small dark jewel, framed by the gold waist chain that rested low on her hips, tiny bells tinkling faintly with every breath. The bottom was a separate flowing lehenga-skirt. A small ruby nose stud glinted on her left nostril. Bangles—red and gold—covered her wrists, chiming softly. Her hair was loose, flowing down her back like black silk. She looked like a queen from one of his storybooks, but warmer, gentler—Ma’s face, Ma’s eyes, Ma’s smile.

She sat, patted her lap. Arjun lay down, head on her thigh, lace brushing his cheek. She stroked his hair.

“Stay here… close to Ma…”

He nuzzled closer—innocent, safe. Her fingers moved in slow circles. The lace felt cool against his skin. 

Then the vision vibrated, blur—colors swirling.

The black tower rose sharp, midnight stone. He saw a women knelt on the balcony, arms tied to the railing on each side. Hair loose and wet, clinging to her back and shoulders. her dress damp, She looked out over the dark valley, breathing fast, chest rising and falling. No fear, just quiet waiting. Wind lifted her wet hair. It was "her". 

Arjun stood below, heart pounding. He wanted to climb, untie her, hold her. But his feet wouldn’t move.

The dream faded—black tower dissolving into darkness, grey noise.

He woke once in the night—room still dark, power not back. Mom’s silhouette on the bed beside him—sleeping on her side, facing the wall. Arjun stared at the faint outline in the moonlight, confused. He pulled the sheet over himself, turned on his side, and tried to go back to sleep.  

------End of Chapter 1----

[rupak24]

Chapter 2 :


Scene 1 : 

The first light was barely creeping through the curtains when the old landline shrilled—sharp, insistent, like it knew no one wanted to hear. 
Dad bolted upright on the bed, sheets tangled around his legs. Madhurima stirred beside Arjun. The ringing pierced the quiet house like a bad omen. Dad fumbled for the receiver on the side table. “Hello? … Yes, this is Sudhir.”
Madhurima’s eyes fluttered open at the tone. She propped herself on one elbow, hair tousled, loose strands framing her face.

The village doctor’s voice crackled through the line—old, tired, matter-of-fact. “Sudhir, your father had a stroke. The right side is completely paralyzed. He's bedridden now. Come as soon as you can.”

Dad's face went pale. “A stroke? But we spoke to him just last night… he sounded fine.”

“He was fine last night. This morning he couldn't get up. The villagers are worried. You should leave today.”

Dad hung up, hand shaking. He turned to Madhurima, voice low and strained. “It's Dad. Stroke. He's paralyzed on one side—can't move. We have to go.”

Madhurima was shocked, she sat up fully. 

Dad rubbed his face roughly. “I told him a hundred times—come stay with us in the city. We could've arranged doctors, a proper room, everything. But no—he's always so stubborn. ‘This is my village, my haveli, I'll die here.’ Stupid pride. Look what it's come to now.”

She glanced down at her son—still asleep. “Father will be okay. We'll take him to a good doctor, get treatment. Everything will be fine.”

Dad let out a heavy breath, shoulders dropping. “Yeah… we need to catch the morning train from Howrah."

Madhurima nodded, but her eyes looked far away—something shadowed flickering behind them. She stroked Arjun's hair softly. “Beta… wake up. We're going to see Grandpa.”

Arjun blinked awake slowly, rubbing his eyes. “What happened, Mom? It's so early…”

“Grandpa isn't feeling well. We're all going to the village. Get ready quickly.”

Arjun sat up, still half in her lap. Madhurima pulled him into a quick hug.

The house felt smaller in the rush—drawers opening and closing, footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. Madhurima moved quickly, folding clothes into the old blue suitcase on the living room floor. She packed the clothes, a few medicines, and the small tin of homemade pickles Grandpa always asked for.

Scene 2 : 

Howrah Station was already alive with morning chaos by the time they arrived—porters shouting, announcements booming overhead, families dragging suitcases through the crowd. The air smelled of hot oil from roadside stalls, tea, and the faint metallic tang of train tracks.
Dad led the way, tickets clutched in one hand. “Platform 12. General compartment—should be less crowded this early.”
It wasn’t. The platform teemed with people: women balancing tiffin carriers on hips, men reading newspapers folded under arms, children darting between legs. A sudden rush of passengers from an incoming train swept toward them like a wave. Madhurima grabbed Arjun’s hand instantly. “Stay close, beta. Don’t let go.” Arjun felt her fingers tighten—warm, firm. She pulled him against her side as they pushed forward, shielding him from the elbows and bags bumping past. Her saree brushed his arm with every step. “Over here,” Dad called, spotting a small space near the window.
They squeezed in—Dad sitting first, then Madhurima pulling Arjun down beside her. She kept him close on the bench seat, thigh to thigh, her arm still loosely around him like he might disappear in the crowd.The train jerked forward with a hiss of steam and metal. The platform slid away—first slowly, then faster—city buildings blurring into green patches beyond.


Hours later the train slowed with a long, weary sigh, brakes hissing as it eased into the quiet junction platform. Sunlight filtered through thin mist over endless paddy, carrying the scent of wet earth and distant river.The platform half-deserted, only a few vendors hawking bananas and chai under tin roofs. 

Dad stepped off first, bags in hand. “Taxi stand is that way. Let's move.”

Madhurima followed, gripping Arjun's hand. The journey had taken its toll—her face looked drawn, eyes heavy with worry for Grandpa, cheeks flushed from heat and lack of sleep. Her yellow cotton saree was no longer crisp: pleats creased and clinging damply to her skin, the fabric outlining every natural curve she usually kept modest. Stray strands of hair escaped her loose bun, sticking to her neck with sweat. She looked every bit the tired, beautiful mother on an urgent family trip.

A battered white Ambassador waited at the edge of the dirt road. The driver, lean and middle-aged, lungi hitched high, chewed paan as he loaded their luggage without much talk.

“Raipurkothi haveli?” he asked, spitting red paan to the side.

Dad nodded. “Quick as you can.”

Dad took the front passenger seat, phone out again—checking messages, murmuring about hospital arrangements. Madhurima slid into the back with Arjun. The narrow vinyl bench was hot, cracked in places, smelling faintly of old cigarettes and engine oil. She pulled her son close instinctively.

“Rest a bit, Arjun,” she said softly. “The road's long.”

Arjun, drained from the early start and excitement, leaned against her right away. His head found her shoulder, then slipped lower as the car lurched onto the unpaved track—cheek now resting against the soft warmth of her side. Within minutes his breathing deepened into sleep.

The road to Raipurkothi was brutal: rutted dirt, sudden potholes, occasional cattle crossings that forced sharp swerves. Every bump tossed the old Ambassador like a boat in choppy water. Madhurima tried to brace, but exhaustion made her body loose and heavy. 

Earlier at the crowded station, in the mad rush to board, she'd lost one safety pin—the one that usually secured her saree tuck at the waist. The shoulder pin was still there, holding the pallu loosely, but without the waist anchor, the fabric had more freedom to betray her.

The first big pothole hit hard. The car plunged; Madhurima's body jolted upward then down—her breasts heaving, jiggling noticeably inside the tight maroon blouse. The motion sent a fresh sheen of sweat blooming across her cleavage. The saree pleats sagged lower without the lost pin, riding down to expose more of her soft midriff—the gentle pouch of her tummy curving invitingly, faint stretch marks glinting like silver threads in the dappled light. The pallu, only half-secured by the shoulder pin, slid partially—slipping off her shoulder just enough revealing the cleavage dip.
She was half-dozing herself now, head lolling against the seat. Another sharp bump—her body bounced again, breasts quivering in hypnotic rhythm, hips swaying. In her drowsy state she shifted to adjust—lifting one arm slightly, tugging at the pallu.
 
From the rear-view mirror, the driver's eyes kept flicking back—greedy, unashamed (Along with the readers :-p). He adjusted the mirror slightly for a better angle, gaze tracing her breasts, the jiggle of her body with every rut. He licked his lips once, slow, then forced his eyes back to the road.
Madhurima felt the stare even in the flush of fatigue.She made one more sleepy attempt to fix the pallu—fingers brushing the shoulder pin, pulling the anchal back up a fraction.
 
Arjun slept through it all—cheek pressed to her, inhaling her womanly scent: sweat, jasmine, the faint salty musk of her growing arousal. His own body reacted unconsciously in sleep—a youthful hardness pressing subtly against her thigh through his pants, innocent and unaware.

Madhurima stared out at the misty fields blurring past,the haveli was close now.  

Scene 3 : 
 
The Ambassador crunched to a stop in front of the iron gates just as the afternoon light turned golden and hazy. Raipurkothi Haveli rose ahead—sprawling, two-storey zamindar mansion of faded red brick and white plaster, pillars chipped by decades of monsoons, wide verandas shaded by ancient banyans whose roots snaked across the courtyard like veins. The main gate creaked open by itself—pushed by a thin village boy who stared at the car with wide eyes before vanishing inside.

Dad paid the driver and stepped out. Madhurima followed, helping Arjun down. The air was cooler here, scented with wet soil, and something older—dust and aged wood. The house felt vast and empty, windows shuttered, only a few lamps flickering in the ground-floor rooms.

Two maids in simple cotton sarees hurried out—older women, faces lined, saris tucked high for work. One carried a brass tray with water glasses.
“Sudhir babu, Madhurima didi… welcome,” the older maid said softly. “Baba is upstairs. Doctor is with him.”

They followed her inside. The ground floor was dim—high ceilings with peeling frescoes of lotuses and gods, marble floors cool underfoot, echoes bouncing off empty corridors. A wooden staircase curved up to the first floor, banister worn smooth by generations of hands.
Grandpa’s room was at the end of the upper hallway—large, four-poster bed dominating the space, mosquito net dbangd like a veil. Grandpa lay motionless under a thin sheet, eyes closed, breathing shallow and uneven. An oxygen tube snaked from his nose to a small cylinder beside the bed. The room smelled of sandalwood incense.

The village doctor—a middle-aged man in a faded shirt and grey pant—stood by the window, checking notes on a clipboard.

Dad stepped forward. “Doctor… how is he?”

The doctor looked up, face grave but calm. “Stroke confirmed. Right side completely paralyzed. He regained consciousness briefly this morning but slipped back into deep sleep. Vitals are stable for now—no fever, no further deterioration. We’ve given him the necessary injections. Let’s wait and see over the next 24 hours. If he doesn’t improve, we’ll need to shift him to the district hospital.”

Madhurima knelt beside the bed, taking Grandpa’s limp hand. Her fingers trembled slightly. 
The doctor sat across. In the few words he managed, he kept repeating Arjun's name. Rest now—he needs quiet.”

Dad exhaled heavily. “We’ll stay as long as it takes.”

As the doctor packed his bag, footsteps echoed in the corridor. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a white kurta and dhoti appeared at the door—village headman, graying hair, serious eyes. 

“Sudhir babu… heard you arrived. I came as soon as I could.” His voice was low, respectful but edged with something heavier. “The whole village is worried. Your father was fine two days ago—walking, talking. Then suddenly this… some are saying it’s not natural.”

Dad frowned. “What do you mean?”

The headman glanced toward the bed, then lowered his voice. “Rumors are spreading. Old people in the village talk of black magic… witchcraft. Someone jealous of the family’s old land, or an old grudge. They say someone did tantra on him—made him fall like this. I don’t believe everything, but… be vigilant. Keep the house locked at night. Watch who comes and goes. These things… they happen sometimes in old families like yours.”

Madhurima looked up sharply, face paling. “That’s nonsense. It’s just illness. Age and stress.”

The headman bowed slightly. “Of course, didi. But caution is wise. I’ll send word if anything unusual is seen in the village.”

He left quietly. The room felt heavier after he went. Dad rubbed his temples. “Superstitious fools. Always some story.” Madhurima didn’t reply. She stayed by Grandpa’s side, eyes distant.

Scene 4 : 

Arjun, feeling out of place in the dim room, slipped away quietly. The maids’ two boys were playing in the courtyard below. He ran down the stairs to join them.

They chased each other around the banyan roots, laughing in the fading light. Soon bored of tag, Arjun wandered off alone—curious about the big old house. He climbed the narrow back stairs to the terrace—flat roof with water tank in one corner, clotheslines sagging, view of endless paddy and sugarcane fields and the distant river glinting silver.

The tank was large, concrete, half-hidden by overgrown creepers. Arjun crouched underneath it to hide—imagining himself a secret explorer. Dust and dry leaves crunched under his knees.

That’s when he saw it: half-buried in the dirt near the tank base, a green amulet, old-fashioned, engraved with faint scorpian patterns. Tarnished but beautiful. He picked it up. He stared at it, thumb tracing the engravings. A thousand questions flickered: Who lost it? How long had it been here? 

“Arjun! Beta, where are you?”
Mom’s voice floated up from the courtyard below—soft but clear, carrying that familiar mix of worry and love.

Arjun froze. The bangle felt heavier suddenly in his hand. He glanced toward the stairs—then back at the amulet. Pocket it? Leave it? 

The wind picked up again, rustling the creepers like a whisper urging him to decide.

“Arjun!” Her call came again, a little sharper this time. “Come down, it’s getting dark. We need to eat.”

End of chapter 2.

[rangeeladesi]

Good.

[tweeny_fory]

wow good narration..
enjoying the ride till now
it first felt like mom son, then is it other men, then finally feels like kind of erotic horror
lovley writing..
eager to know how hot this flows

[rupak24]

Chapter 3 

Scene 1 : 

After dinner the haveli fell quiet. Arjun had chosen to sleep beside Grandpa’s bed—curled on a mat under the mosquito net, lulled by the old man’s slow breathing and the steady rain tapping the roof. The lantern beside him was turned low; he drifted off quickly.

Sudhir stood alone on the balcony, white kurta loose and sleeves rolled up, hands braced on the railing like he was holding the night itself together. Madhurima came barefoot down the corridor, still in her deep green cotton saree from dinner. Her hair hung free now, long black waves cascading down her back. Her arms wrapped around his waist from behind—warm, comforting—her body pressing against his back. He exhaled shakily, leaning into her hold. After a long moment she gently turned him to face her. His eyes were tired, shadowed with worry. Madhurima cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, then guided his head down—nestling it against the soft swell between her breasts. “It’s going to be okay,” she murmured. “We’re here.”
The green saree and blouse cradled him there, warm and pillowy, her heartbeat steady under his ear. He wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers splaying across her back.

She stroked his hair slowly. “Come inside,” she whispered. “You’re cold.”

He exhaled shakily, leaning back into her. “I can’t stop thinking… if I’d brought him to the city sooner…”

“Shh,” she whispered, tightening her hold. “You did everything you could. He’s stubborn—just like you.”

She took his hand and led him to their room. The door closed softly. A single oil lamp glowed low, casting golden shadows across the bed.
In the past they tried for a second child—quiet hopes, but nothing had come. The disappointment had settled like dust between them, unspoken.

Madhurima kissed him softly, lips brushing gently. Then she sank to her knees on the mat beside the bed. Her face tilted up in the lamplight: dark eyes full of love, ruby nose stud glinting, jumkas swaying gently as she leaned in, full lips parted.

She eased his pajama pants and underwear down. His cock sprang free—modest, already half-hard. She wrapped her hand around it; three fingers were more than enough to encircle him completely, thumb stroking the head in gentle circles.

Sudhir caught her wrist lightly. “Madhu… it’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m not… in the mood.”

She shook her head, eyes warm and unwavering. “I want to. You need to feel loved tonight. Let me take care of you. Please.”

He hesitated, then nodded, fingers threading through her loose hair.

She leaned forward and took him into her mouth slow, careful. Lips sliding gently along, just tender suction and loving strokes. Her free hand rested on his thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles. Sudhir’s fingers threaded through her loose hair,  just holding—breaths coming faster, quiet groans escaping.

His breaths came faster, quiet groans escaping. “Madhu… that feels…”

But the tension wouldn’t build. Stress had coiled too tight in him; after several long minutes his hips twitched once, then stilled. He couldn’t finish.

Madhurima pulled back slowly, pressing one last soft kiss to the tip loving, unhurried then rose. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and smiled gently. "Sleepy little king" She teased. 
Sudhir pulled her close, kissing her back with devotion, forehead resting against hers.
As they stood there, his gaze dropped to her hand. A silver amulet-bangle dangled from her fingers.

“What’s that?” he asked softly.

Madhurima looked down at it, then up at him with a gentle, loving smile. “It’s a gift from Arjun. He gave it to me this evening.”
 
Sudhir touched the pendant lightly. “He’s a good boy.”

Earlier at evening, Arjun had come to her room, holding the small amulet he’d found on the terrace. He painted over the rusty part—covering the faint scorpion making it look fresh and pretty again. With shy pride, he’d placed it in her hand. She had hugged him tightly, kissed his forehead, and promised to wear it always.

Both Madhu and Sudhir moved to the bed together. She lay back, pulling him over her. They held each other close, his head pillowed on her chest again—until the rain and exhaustion carried them both to sleep.

The oil lamp had burned low, casting faint orange flickers across the room. Rain continued its steady drum on the roof, masking the occasional creak of the old haveli settling.
Madhurima lay on her back. The bangle rested cool against her skin, rising and falling with each breath. Her body still felt warm, heart beating a little too fast, her skin tingling where his lips and hands had been. But Sudhir’s touches had stayed tender, focused only on where he liked. To him—he never ventured lower with his mouth, never had, even in their most private moments years ago.

The gentle intimacy had been sweet, loving… but half-finished, a quarter spark that fizzled under his worry and exhaustion. Now a low, tangy ache lingered between her thighs—restless, unsatisfied.

She drifted on the edge of sleep, eyes already closed, mind foggy. Half-asleep, she reached blindly for the spare pillow at the head of the bed. Her drowsy—fingers fumbling until she pulled it down.

She rolled onto her side facing away from Sudhir, knees drawing up instinctively. In that hazy half-sleep she wedged the pillow between her thighs, pressing it snug against her inner thighs. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her lips.

[tweeny_fory]

Good going brio
But do keep updating continuously
Eager to know what is the next one

[garamrohan]

The story looks promising so far. Definitely there are some mystic elements that are not fully revealed; the erotic play on that horror backdrop will be fun to read. Waiting for your next updates, Rupak.