The last evening of Rajesh's trip arrived like a held breath. Outside, the monsoon had quieted to a whisper, the city washed clean and shimmering under a rare patch of clear sky. Inside, the apartment smelled of sandalwood incense Priya had lit hours ago, its smoke curling lazily around the low glow of a dozen tea-lights she'd scattered across the bedroom floor.
Aryan stood in the doorway, towel slung low on his hips, watching her. She knelt in the center of the rug, naked, hair loose and damp from an earlier bath. Between her thighs, her pussy glistened—swollen, flushed, a steady drip of arousal pooling on the cotton beneath her. She hadn't touched herself; she'd waited.
"Come here, beta," she said, voice soft as the candle flames. "One more night. Let's make it last until the sun finds us again."
He dropped the towel. His cock, thick and heavy with anticipation, bobbed as he crossed the room. Instead of reaching for her, he knelt too—facing her, knees brushing hers. For a long moment they simply breathed, eyes locked, the heat between them thicker than any touch.
Priya lifted a small vial of warm coconut oil from beside a candle. She poured a thin stream into her palm, then reached for him. Her oiled hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking slow from root to crown, thumb swirling over the slick head. Aryan's breath hitched; his own hands mirrored hers, oil dripping over her breasts, down the slope of her belly, until his fingers slid between her folds.
They touched each other in silence—long, languid strokes, learning every ridge and valley by heart. When she leaned in to kiss him, it was feather-light: lips brushing, tongues barely tasting. The oil made their bodies glide; when she finally guided him inside her, it was with a sigh that sounded like surrender.
She rode him seated in his lap, arms around his neck, hips rolling in a rhythm older than words. No frantic thrusts, no race to the edge—just the slow, wet drag of his cock through her clenching heat, the soft slap of oiled skin, the flicker of candlelight on sweat-slick curves.
Minutes stretched into an hour. Her pussy fluttered endlessly, small orgasms rippling through her like aftershocks, each one drawing a quiet groan from him. When he finally came, it was with his face buried in her neck, seed spilling in gentle pulses that she milked with deliberate squeezes of her inner walls.
They didn't separate. Priya eased them down onto the rug, still joined, his cock softening inside her but never leaving. She traced lazy circles on his back, feeling his heartbeat slow against her breast.
"Tomorrow he comes home," she whispered into the dark. "But this—us—doesn't end. It just learns to hide in plain sight."
Aryan pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Every glance, every accidental brush of hands… it'll be foreplay."
Outside, the first bird called. Inside, the last candle burned to a stub, wax pooling like their mingled release on the floor. The night wasn't over; it had simply slipped into something quieter, deeper, endless.
Rajesh's key scraped in the lock at 7:42 AM, earlier than expected. Priya heard it from the kitchen, where she stood at the counter in a simple cotton saree, blouse modestly buttoned, hair in a loose bun. The scent of fresh filter coffee masked the faint trace of sandalwood and sex still clinging to her skin. Her pussy gave one last, traitorous pulse beneath the petticoat—sore, satisfied, and already missing the stretch of her son.
Aryan was in the living room, pretending to scroll through his phone, every muscle coiled tight. He'd showered twice, but the memory of oil-slick skin and candlelit moans lingered in his bloodstream.
Rajesh stepped in, travel bag thudding to the floor. "Surprise! Flight landed early." He opened his arms for a hug.
Priya moved first—smooth, practiced. She pressed against him briefly, the swell of her breasts hidden beneath the pallu, then pulled back with a warm smile. "Welcome home, ji. Coffee?"
Rajesh nodded, oblivious, already loosening his tie. Aryan rose, offering a casual fist-bump. "Hey, Dad. Good trip?"
"Exhausting. Delhi traffic is murder." Rajesh yawned, sinking into the couch. "God, I need a nap."
Priya's eyes met Aryan's over the rim of the steel tumbler—just a flicker, a shared secret. The air between them crackled, invisible but electric. She turned back to the stove, hips swaying just enough beneath the saree to make Aryan's cock stir against his will.
Breakfast passed in small talk: Rajesh's meetings, the monsoon delays, Aryan's fake college update. Priya served idlis and chutney, bending slightly to place Rajesh's plate—her blouse gaping just enough for Aryan to glimpse the faint red mark on the swell of her breast, a souvenir from last night's teeth. His fork paused mid-air.
Rajesh never noticed. He ate quickly, kissed Priya's cheek (dry, perfunctory), and announced he'd shower and crash. "Don't wake me before noon."
The moment his bedroom door clicked shut, the apartment exhaled.
Priya wiped her hands on a towel, then crossed to Aryan where he loaded the dishwasher. She didn't speak—just leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. "Laundry room. Five minutes."
She walked away, saree rustling. Aryan's pulse thundered.
The tiny laundry room smelled of detergent and warm cotton. Priya was already inside, door ajar. When he slipped in, she pulled him close, back pressed to the vibrating washing machine. Her saree was hiked to her thighs, petticoat bunched, no panties. Her pussy glistened, lips parted and ready.
"Quick," she whispered, guiding his hand between her legs. "But quiet."
Aryan freed himself with trembling fingers, cock springing hard against her slick heat. One thrust and he was inside—buried to the hilt in the tight, wet clutch he'd claimed for a week. The machine rumbled beneath them, masking the soft slap of hips.
Priya bit his shoulder to muffle her moan, legs locked around his waist. They moved in frantic silence: short, deep strokes, her walls fluttering around him like a secret heartbeat. When she came, it was with a shudder that vibrated through both of them, pussy milking him in rhythmic pulses.
Aryan followed seconds later, spilling inside her with a choked groan, forehead pressed to hers. They stayed joined, breathing hard, the washer's spin cycle winding down like their stolen moment.
Footsteps in the hallway—Rajesh, probably heading to the bathroom. Priya straightened her saree, smoothed Aryan's hair, and pressed a finger to his lips. *Later,* the gesture said.
She slipped out first, humming under her breath as she passed her husband in the corridor. "Need anything from the market, ji?"
Aryan leaned against the dryer, heart racing, cum still dripping from his cock into his boxers.
The game had changed.
But it hadn't ended.
The doorbell rang at 11:27 AM, sharp and insistent. Priya froze in the hallway, a damp dishcloth still in her hand. Rajesh was snoring behind the closed bedroom door; Aryan was in his room, pretending to study. She wiped her palms on her saree and opened the door.
Standing on the mat, drenched from the sudden afternoon drizzle, was her younger sister, **Meera**.
"Di!" Meera beamed, shaking rain from her umbrella. "Surprise! My connecting flight got cancelled—stuck in Mumbai till tomorrow. Can I crash?"
Meera was 38, widowed two years, and the polar opposite of Priya in looks: petite, sharp-featured, with perky C-cup breasts and a tight, yoga-toned ass that turned heads. But the family resemblance was in the eyes—dark, hungry, always laughing at some private joke. And right now, those eyes flicked past Priya into the flat, landing on Aryan as he emerged from his room in a tight t-shirt and track pants.
"Aru beta!" Meera squealed, dropping her bag to hug him. Her damp kurti clung to her curves; Aryan's arms went around her automatically, hands brushing the small of her back. Priya caught the way his fingers lingered a fraction too long.
Rajesh shuffled out, bleary-eyed. "Meera? Arre, come in, come in." He yawned. "I'll take the couch—girls can share the guest room."
Meera waved him off. "No no, I'll take the couch. You need proper sleep after travel." She turned to Priya, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Besides, I want to catch up with Di all night."
The day passed in a blur of chai, gossip, and Meera's effortless charm. Rajesh napped again. Aryan kept stealing glances at his aunt—how her wet hair curled at the nape, how her leggings hugged the cleft of her ass when she bent to pick up her phone. Priya noticed. Her pussy clenched with a wicked thrill.
Dinner was quiet. Rajesh retired early. The women lingered at the table, wine glasses in hand. Meera leaned in. "Di, you're glowing. What's your secret?"
Priya smiled into her glass. "Good sleep."
Meera's foot nudged Aryan's under the table—accidental, maybe. His cock twitched.
Later, lights dimmed. Rajesh snored. Meera claimed the couch, but at 1:06 AM, Priya heard the soft creak of floorboards. She slipped from bed, barefoot, and found Meera in the kitchen, pouring water in a thin cotton nightie that left nothing to imagination—nipples dark against the fabric, the shadow between her thighs visible when she reached for a glass.
"Couldn't sleep?" Priya whispered.
Meera turned, startled, then grinned. "Jet lag. And… I saw the way Aru looks at you, Di. Like he wants to eat you alive."
Priya's breath caught. She stepped closer. "And how does he look at *you*, Meera?"
Meera's eyes dropped to Priya's lips, then lower, to the hard points of her nipples beneath the silk robe. "Like he's starving."
The air thickened. Priya reached out, thumb brushing Meera's lower lip. "We share everything, don't we?"
Meera's nod was slow, deliberate.
Behind them, Aryan stood in the doorway, silent, cock already straining against his shorts. The three of them frozen in the moonlight—Priya's hand on Meera's mouth, Meera's eyes wide and dark, Aryan's chest rising fast.
Priya broke the silence. "Guest room. Now."
The door clicked shut behind them. Candles flickered—leftover from last night. Meera's nightie hit the floor first, revealing smooth skin, a trimmed patch above her slick, pink pussy. Priya's robe followed. Aryan stripped last, cock springing free, thicker than either woman had imagined.
Priya pushed Meera gently onto the bed, spreading her thighs. "Let him taste you first, baby sister. Then we'll take turns."
Aryan knelt, tongue dragging slow up Meera's slit. She gasped, back arching, hands fisting the sheets. Priya watched, fingers circling her own clit, then leaned down to kiss Meera—deep, filthy, tasting wine and want.
The night unraveled in slow motion: Aryan's cock sliding from Meera's tight cunt to Priya's dripping one, back and forth, both women riding his face, his fingers, each other's mouths. No rush. No sound but wet licks, muffled moans, the soft slap of flesh.
When dawn crept in, they lay tangled—Priya in the middle, Meera's head on her breast, Aryan's cock still half-hard against her thigh, cum drying on all three of them.
Rajesh would wake in two hours.
But the secret had grown teeth.
And it was hungry.
The guest-room clock glowed 4:58 AM.
Outside, the city was still asleep under a thin veil of pre-dawn mist. Inside, the three of them lay in a warm, sticky knot on the narrow bed: Priya on her back, Meera curled against her left side with one leg thrown over Priya's thigh, Aryan spooned behind Meera, his cock soft but heavy against the cleft of her ass. The air was thick with the scent of cum, coconut oil, and the faint jasmine of Meera's shampoo.
Priya's fingers traced lazy spirals on Meera's hip. "We have ninety minutes before your husband stirs," she whispered. "Then we become the perfect family again."
Meera's lips curved against Priya's collarbone. "Ninety minutes is plenty." She shifted, sliding down the bed until her mouth hovered over Priya's swollen pussy. "Let me clean you, Di. Taste what my nephew left inside you."
Aryan's breath hitched. He watched, cock already thickening, as Meera's tongue parted Priya's folds with deliberate slowness—lapping at the creamy mess he'd pumped into her hours ago. Priya's hips lifted off the mattress, a soft moan swallowed by the pillow she pressed to her face.
Aryan moved behind Meera, hands spreading her tight ass. Her pussy glistened—still puffy from his earlier thrusts, a slow drip of his cum pearling at her entrance. He leaned in, tongue dragging up her slit, savoring the mingled flavor of all three of them. Meera whimpered into Priya's cunt, the vibration making Priya's thighs tremble.
They formed a silent chain: Meera eating Priya with long, loving strokes; Aryan eating Meera with the same unhurried devotion; Priya's free hand reaching back to stroke Aryan's hair, urging him deeper. No words. Just wet sounds, muffled gasps, the rustle of sheets.
When Priya came, it was gentle—a rolling wave that left her pussy fluttering against Meera's tongue. Meera followed seconds later, grinding back onto Aryan's face, her smaller body shaking. Aryan pulled away only to slide up the bed, guiding his newly rigid cock between Meera's lips. She sucked him clean, eyes locked on Priya's, sharing the taste.
Priya sat up, pushing Meera onto her back. "One more," she murmured. She straddled Meera's face, lowering her dripping cunt onto her sister's eager mouth, then leaned forward to take Aryan into her own. They rocked together—Priya riding Meera's tongue, Aryan fucking Priya's throat in slow, deliberate thrusts. The rhythm built like a tide: steady, inevitable.
Meera's muffled cry vibrated through Priya's clit. Priya swallowed Aryan to the root, throat working around him. Aryan groaned, hips stuttering, and spilled down her throat in thick, hot pulses. Priya came again, grinding hard, flooding Meera's mouth with fresh nectar.
They collapsed in a limp, glistening heap, chests heaving. The clock read 5:47 AM.
Priya kissed Meera's swollen lips, then Aryan's. "Shower. Separately. Then coffee and normal faces."
Meera licked a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. "Normal is overrated."
Aryan's grin was slow, wicked. "We'll practice in the kitchen. Quietly."
They slipped out one by one—ghosts in the hallway, leaving the guest room reeking of sin and the promise of many more stolen mornings.
6:29 AM.
The kitchen smelled of cardamom and fresh coffee, the grinder's whirr masking the soft click of the guest-room door as Meera slipped out last. Rajesh's snores still rumbled from the master bedroom like distant thunder.
Priya stood at the stove in a crisp cream saree, pallu draped modestly, blouse buttoned to the throat. She stirred sambar with one hand; the other, hidden behind the counter, pressed two fingers into her still-throbbing pussy, scooping out the last of Aryan's early-morning deposit. She brought them to her lips, licking clean with a flick of tongue just as Meera padded in.
Meera wore an oversized college T-shirt (Aryan's, stolen from the laundry) and nothing else. The hem skimmed mid-thigh, riding up whenever she reached for a cup. Her nipples poked against the cotton; a faint bruise bloomed on her collarbone—Aryan's teeth.
"Morning, Di," she chirped, loud enough for the hallway. She poured coffee, then leaned back against the counter, legs slightly apart. A slow trickle of cum slid down her inner thigh, stark against her dusky skin.
Priya's eyes flicked to it. She set the ladle down, stepped close under the pretense of reaching for cloves, and swiped the trail with her thumb. She sucked it clean, gaze locked on Meera's. "Careful, baby sister. Floors are slippery."
Aryan appeared in the doorway, hair damp from his shower, track pants slung low. He carried a basket of laundry—perfect cover. As he passed Meera, his knuckles brushed the back of her thigh, collecting another bead of cum on his finger. He popped it into his mouth without breaking stride, then dumped the clothes into the washer like nothing happened.
Rajesh shuffled in at 6:41, yawning, newspaper under his arm. "Morning, family." He kissed Priya's cheek (dry, dutiful), ruffled Aryan's hair, clapped Meera on the shoulder. "Flight's at four, Meera?"
"Five-thirty," she answered, voice syrupy. "Plenty of time."
Rajesh settled at the table with his coffee. The three conspirators moved around him in choreographed normalcy:
- Priya served idlis, bending just enough for Aryan to glimpse the wet patch darkening her petticoat.
- Meera buttered toast, "accidentally" dropping a knife; when she bent to retrieve it, the T-shirt rode up, flashing the curve of her ass and the glisten of fresh arousal. Aryan's cock jerked against his zipper.
- Aryan refilled Rajesh's cup, his free hand sliding along Priya's lower back, fingers dipping beneath the saree to trace the cleft of her ass. She didn't flinch.
Under the table, Meera's bare foot found Aryan's ankle, then slid higher, toes curling around the bulge in his pants. Priya's hand, pretending to adjust her pallu, brushed Meera's knee, then higher, until her fingertips grazed the slick heat between her sister's thighs. Meera's breath hitched; she covered it with a cough.
Rajesh flipped a page. "Rain's stopped. Good for traffic."
"Perfect," Priya said, voice steady even as her fingers circled Meera's clit once, twice, then withdrew. She brought them to her mouth, tasting her sister while smiling at her husband. "Everything's under control."
Breakfast ended. Rajesh retreated to pack. The moment his door shut, the kitchen exhaled.
Priya turned off the stove. Meera hopped onto the counter, legs spread. Aryan stepped between them, cock already out, sliding into Meera's tight heat with one slow push. Priya watched, hand inside her own saree, rubbing in time.
"Quiet," she warned, voice velvet. "Two minutes."
Aryan fucked Meera in short, silenced thrusts, her small tits bouncing under the T-shirt. Priya leaned in, kissing Meera to swallow her moans, then dropped to her knees. She licked where they joined—Aryan's shaft, Meera's clit, the slick of their combined juices.
Meera came first, pussy clenching hard, a muffled cry lost in Priya's mouth. Aryan pulled out, spinning Meera to face the counter. Priya took his place, guiding him into her own cunt from behind while Meera watched, fingers buried in herself.
Thirty seconds of frantic, silent thrusting and Aryan groaned into Priya's shoulder, spilling deep. Priya followed, thighs shaking, saree bunched at her waist.
They separated, breathing hard. Priya straightened her clothes, wiped a smear of cum from Meera's thigh with a dish towel, and tossed it into the washer.
"Laundry's done," she said calmly.
Meera hopped down, kissed them both—soft, lingering. "Until next layover."
Aryan tucked himself away. "Or next power cut."
Rajesh's door opened. "Ready for lunch before the airport?"
The three of them turned, faces serene, the taste of each other still on their tongues.
"Starving," Priya said.
3:17 PM.
The Uber idled at the departure curb of Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminal 2, wipers flicking away the last stubborn drizzle. Rajesh had insisted on coming along "for family time," so the five of them squeezed into the backseat: Rajesh by the left window, Priya in the middle, Aryan on her right, Meera folded into the jump seat facing them, knees brushing Aryan's.
Traffic had been brutal. Forty-five minutes of stop-start heat, AC struggling, the scent of wet vinyl and Meera's perfume thick in the air. Rajesh scrolled emails. No one else spoke.
Under the cover of Priya's pallu, her hand rested on Aryan's thigh—innocent to anyone watching. Except her fingers were slowly, deliberately tracing the ridge of his cock through his jeans. Each bump in the road pressed her palm harder; each red light let her squeeze. Aryan's jaw clenched. He stared out the window, counting billboards to keep from groaning.
Across from them, Meera's legs parted just enough for her skirt to ride. No panties—she'd whispered it in the elevator. The shadow between her thighs glistened whenever the car passed under sodium lamps. She met Priya's eyes, then Aryan's, and let one finger trail idly along her inner thigh, collecting a bead of wetness before bringing it to her lips. A quick, secret suck.
Rajesh yawned. "Almost there."
Priya's hand stilled. She shifted, letting the pallu slip "accidentally," revealing the top swell of her blouse—two buttons undone since morning. The lace edge of her bra peeked out, damp with sweat. Aryan's cock throbbed against her wrist.
At the drop-off, porters swarmed. Rajesh stepped out first, stretching. Meera followed, bending to retrieve her bag—skirt hiking high enough to flash the curve of her ass and the slick shine on her inner thighs. Aryan's eyes locked there for one heartbeat too long.
Priya hugged Meera goodbye in the crowd—public, chaste. But her mouth brushed Meera's ear: "Text when you land. Send proof."
Meera's reply was a soft bite to Priya's earlobe, hidden by hair. "Only if you send first."
Rajesh shook Meera's hand, oblivious. Aryan got a quick auntie-nephew hug—Meera's hips rolling once, deliberately, letting him feel how soaked she still was. His cock pressed briefly against her belly; she smiled into his shoulder.
They watched her disappear through the glass doors. Rajesh checked his watch. "Home?"
Priya's fingers found Aryan's in the backseat of the returning cab. Rajesh sat up front, chatting with the driver about cricket.
The moment the car pulled away from the curb, Priya unzipped Aryan under the fold of her pallu—just enough to free his cock. Her hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking slow and firm, using the slick of precum as lube. Aryan's head fell back against the seat, eyes half-lidded.
Rajesh laughed at something the driver said. Priya's thumb circled the head, smearing wetness. Aryan's hips lifted a fraction—barely noticeable.
Ten minutes in, she leaned over as if to retrieve her phone from the floor. Her mouth replaced her hand: one quick, deep suck, tongue swirling, then back up like nothing happened. Aryan's hand fisted in the seat cushion.
At a signal, the cab braked hard. Priya's lips brushed his ear. "Hold it, beta. We're almost home."
They pulled into the building at 4:52 PM. Rajesh paid and headed for the elevator. Priya and Aryan lagged behind, her hand still in his pocket, fingers teasing the tip.
The elevator doors closed on the three of them. Rajesh pressed 15.
Priya pressed herself to Aryan's side, whispering so low only he could hear: "As soon as he naps, I want you in the shower. Meera's taste is still on you. I'm going to lick it off… then add mine."
The elevator dinged. Rajesh stepped out, yawning. "I'll lie down for an hour."
Priya's smile was angelic. "Take two."
The door to the master bedroom shut.
The shower was already running.
5:03 PM.
The bathroom door locked with a soft *click* that sounded like a starting gun. Steam already billowed from the half-open shower stall; Aryan had turned the heat high, water pounding the tiles like the monsoon they'd left outside. Rajesh's snores filtered faintly through the wall—deep, rhythmic, oblivious.
Priya stepped in first, saree already unpinned, letting the damp cotton pool at her feet. No bra. No panties. Just skin—flushed, glistening, nipples dark and tight from the cool hallway air. She didn't speak. She simply walked backward into the spray, eyes locked on Aryan, crooking one finger.
He followed, stripping as he went. Shirt, jeans, boxers—each piece hitting the floor with a wet slap. His cock sprang free, heavy and veined, a bead of precum already pearling at the slit. The water hit his shoulders, running in rivulets down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, and along the length of his shaft.
Priya sank to her knees on the warm tile, water cascading over her back, plastering her hair to her spine. She looked up at him through the steam, lips parted. "I can still taste her on you," she murmured. "Let Mommy clean her nephew's cock."
Her tongue started at the base—slow, flat licks up the underside, tracing every throbbing vein. When she reached the head, she swirled around it, sucking gently, drawing out the salt of Meera's pussy and the faint sweetness of her own earlier release. Aryan's hands threaded into her wet hair, not guiding, just holding—anchoring himself as his hips twitched.
She took him deeper, inch by inch, throat relaxing until her nose pressed to his pelvis. Water poured over them both; she swallowed around him, humming low. The vibration made his thighs tremble. When she pulled back, strings of saliva and precum stretched between her lips and his cock, breaking under the shower's assault.
Priya stood, turning to brace her hands against the wall. The position arched her back, ass jutting out, pussy lips swollen and glistening beneath the stream. "Now taste *me*," she said over her shoulder. "See if you can tell where Meera ends and I begin."
Aryan dropped behind her, hands spreading her cheeks. His tongue plunged into her without hesitation—long, filthy strokes from clit to entrance, lapping at the mixed flavors of their morning frenzy. Priya's moan echoed off the tiles; she pushed back, riding his face, water sluicing between her thighs.
He stood only when she was shaking, cock nudging her entrance. One smooth thrust buried him to the hilt. The angle was perfect—deep, relentless, the head kissing her cervix with every slow push. Priya's tits bounced against the wall, nipples scraping tile; her fingers clawed for purchase.
"Slow," she gasped. "Make it last. We have…" —she glanced at the fogged mirror clock— "forty-three minutes."
Aryan obeyed, hips rolling in a lazy, torturous rhythm. His hands roamed: one sliding up to cup a heavy breast, rolling the nipple; the other dipping to circle her clit in tight, slippery strokes. The shower drowned their sounds—wet skin, muffled groans, the occasional slap of his balls against her.
Priya came first, pussy clamping down in rhythmic waves, a low keen swallowed by the water. Aryan followed seconds later, thrusting deep and holding, cock pulsing as he filled her again—hot, thick ropes painting her walls. They stayed locked, trembling, until the aftershocks faded.
She turned in his arms, kissing him under the cooling spray. "Meera lands at 11:47 PM," she whispered against his lips. "She'll message when she's through customs."
Aryan's grin was slow, wicked. "We'll leave the balcony door open."
Priya shut off the water. "And the spare key under the mat."
They stepped out, toweling dry in silence. Rajesh's snores hadn't faltered.
The game wasn't over.
It had only changed venues.
11:52 PM.
The apartment was dark except for the blue glow of the muted television in the living room. Rajesh had passed out on the couch hours ago, tie loosened, a half-empty glass of whiskey balanced on his belly. The cricket highlights droned on, volume low enough to mask the soft *snick* of the front door unlocking.
Meera slipped inside on silent feet, rolling her carry-on behind her. She wore a fitted black travel dress—stretchy, short, clinging to every curve. No luggage check; just the one bag and a wicked smile. The spare key glinted between her fingers before she tucked it into her bra.
Priya waited in the shadows of the hallway, silk robe tied loosely, nipples already hard against the fabric. She didn't speak—just crooked a finger and led Meera past the snoring Rajesh, past Aryan's closed bedroom door, to the balcony.
The city glittered below, wet asphalt reflecting neon. The monsoon had paused, leaving the air thick and electric. Aryan stepped out from the master bedroom, barefoot in low-slung pajama pants, cock already tenting the cotton. He carried three glasses and a bottle of chilled rosé.
Meera's eyes raked over him, then Priya. "Miss me?"
Priya answered by untying her robe. It slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Moonlight painted her heavy breasts silver, the curve of her hips, the slick shine between her thighs. "We left the shower running," she said. "Thought you'd want to rinse the flight off."
Aryan poured the wine. Meera took a sip, then set her glass on the railing. She reached behind her neck, unzipped the dress in one slow pull. It whispered down her body, revealing nothing underneath but smooth skin and the faint red marks of seatbelt and desire. She stepped out of it, naked, and pressed herself to Priya—breast to breast, belly to belly, mouths meeting in a slow, wine-sweet kiss.
Aryan watched, stroking himself lazily through the fabric. When they broke apart, Meera turned to him, sank to her knees on the cool tile, and tugged his pants down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed. She took him into her mouth without preamble—deep, wet, throat working around him while Priya knelt behind her, spreading Meera's ass to lick a slow stripe from clit to hole.
The balcony rail creaked as Meera braced against it, moaning around Aryan's shaft. Priya's tongue fucked into her, tasting airplane dryness and fresh arousal. Aryan's fingers tangled in Meera's hair, guiding her rhythm—slow, steady, relentless.
Minutes blurred. They shifted like shadows:
- Meera bent over the railing, Aryan sliding into her from behind while Priya straddled the chaise, fingers buried in her own cunt, watching.
- Priya on her back on the outdoor rug, Meera riding her face, Aryan fucking Priya's tits, cock sliding between sweat-slick cleavage.
- All three tangled—Aryan in Priya, Priya's tongue in Meera, Meera's fingers in Aryan—until the lines blurred and it was just heat, breath, release.
When they came, it was together: Meera first, squirting over Priya's chin; Priya clenching around Aryan's cock; Aryan pulling out to paint both their faces in thick, pearly ropes. They licked each other clean under the stars, wine forgotten, city lights flickering like paparazzi.
2:14 AM.
Rajesh shifted on the couch, mumbling in his sleep. The three of them froze, then dissolved into silent laughter. Meera dressed quickly, kissed them both—soft, lingering. "Next layover's in three weeks," she whispered. "Book the guest room."
She slipped out as quietly as she'd arrived.
Priya and Aryan returned to bed, bodies humming, the taste of rosé and each other on their tongues.
Rajesh never stirred.
The spare key stayed under the mat.
**Day 1 – 3:00 AM**
Priya lay awake beside Rajesh's steady breathing, phone glowing under the sheet.
**Meera [3:01 AM]:** *Land safe. Already wet thinking about the balcony. Send me tomorrow's proof.*
Priya's reply was a 7-second video: her fingers sliding slow through her cum-slick folds, Aryan's spent cock twitching in the background.
**Meera [3:02 AM]:** *Fuck. Save that pussy for me.*
**Day 4 – Lunchtime**
Rajesh at the office. Aryan "studying" in his room.
Priya sent Meera a photo: the kitchen counter, her saree hiked, pussy spread wide, a single idli balanced on her clit. Caption: *Your seat's warm.*
Meera's reply: a voice note—breathless, fingers squelching. *Counting hours, Di.*
**Day 10 – Power Cut**
Evening blackout. Rajesh grumbling about the inverter.
Priya texted Meera a live location pin: *Laundry room. Now.*
Aryan met her there, door locked. She bent over the washer, petticoat bunched, no panties. He slid in slow, hand over her mouth. The machine's rumble hid every wet slap.
They came together—Priya biting his palm, Aryan flooding her in silence.
Photo sent: his cum dripping down her thigh onto the spinning drum.
**Meera [8:47 PM]:** *I'm touching myself in the airport lounge. Don't clean up.*
**Day 17 – Parent-Teacher Meeting**
Rajesh away till late.
Priya wore a sheer nightie, no robe. She FaceTimed Meera from the couch, legs spread, Aryan's head between her thighs.
Meera watched from her hotel bed in Singapore, fingers plunging in sync.
"Tell him what you want when you land," Priya gasped.
Meera's voice cracked: "I want both of you in my mouth at once. Then I want to watch him fuck you while I sit on your face."
Aryan groaned into Priya's cunt. They came in waves—Meera's screen shaking, Priya's thighs clamping Aryan's head, his cock untouched but leaking onto the rug.
**Day 20 – The Tease**
Rajesh home early. Family dinner.
Under the table:
- Priya's foot in Aryan's lap, toes curling around his cock through his shorts.
- Aryan's hand up Meera's skirt via FaceTime (she'd joined virtually, claiming "video call with colleagues").
Meera muted herself, but her camera caught her biting her lip as Aryan's thumb circled her clit on screen.
Rajesh asked for more dal. Priya served it with a smile, pussy clenching around nothing.
**Day 21 – 4:00 AM**
Meera's flight landed.
Text: *Gate 12. Wear the red dress. No panties.*
Priya was already in the car, Aryan driving. Rajesh thought they were picking up "groceries before the market rush."
**5:11 AM – Airport Parking, Level 3**
The SUV's tinted windows fogged instantly.
Meera slid into the backseat in the red dress—silk, backless, hem barely covering her ass. She smelled like duty-free perfume and desperation.
No words.
Priya climbed over the console, straddling Meera, dress rucked to her waist. Their mouths crashed—hungry, filthy. Aryan watched from the driver's seat, cock out, stroking slow.
Meera's fingers found Priya's soaked cunt. "Three weeks," she hissed. "I'm collecting interest."
She pushed Priya onto her back across the seats, head in Aryan's lap. Meera's tongue plunged deep, lapping three weeks of pent-up need. Aryan fed Priya his cock—slow, steady thrusts into her throat while Meera ate her like a starving woman.
When Priya came, it was with a muffled scream around Aryan's shaft, hips bucking into Meera's face.
Meera sat up, lips glistening. "Drive," she ordered Aryan. "I'm not done."
He pulled out of the parking, cock still hard, Priya's saliva shining on it.
Meera straddled Priya reverse, guiding Aryan's hand between her legs from the front seat.
They came again on the empty highway—Priya licking Meera's clit while Aryan finger-fucked her from the wheel, city lights strobing over their sweat-slick skin.
**6:02 AM – Home**
Rajesh still asleep.
The three of them slipped inside, Meera's dress left in the car.
They didn't make it past the living room rug.
Priya on her knees, Meera behind her, Aryan in front—
A perfect circuit.
Mouths, cocks, cunts, fingers.
Slow.
Endless.
Silent except for breath and the soft *squelch* of bodies that had waited twenty-one days to reconnect.
When the sun rose, they lay tangled on the floor, cum drying on skin, the taste of each other thick on their tongues.
Rajesh's alarm buzzed at 7:00 AM.
They separated with soft kisses and a whispered promise:
**Night 1 – 9:17 PM**
Rajesh's flight to Bangalore had lifted off at 7:05 PM.
Text to the family group: *Boarded. See you Sunday night. Love you.*
Priya's reply: *Safe travels ❤️*
Aryan's reply: *Take care, Dad.*
Meera's reply (sent from the guest bathroom, door locked): *Don't hurry back.*
The moment the Uber disappeared around the corner, the apartment transformed.
Lights dimmed to a single string of fairy bulbs draped over the living-room curtain rod.
A bottle of chilled prosecco sat in an ice bucket on the coffee table.
Three silk robes lay folded on the couch—black for Priya, crimson for Meera, charcoal for Aryan.
They didn't speak.
They undressed in the hallway, clothes dropped like breadcrumbs to the master bedroom.
The king-size bed had been stripped to a single fitted sheet—easy to change, easier to stain.
Meera went first.
She pushed Priya gently onto the mattress, climbed over her in a slow crawl, and settled with her knees on either side of Priya's head.
Priya's tongue found Meera's clit immediately—long, languid circles, tasting the faint salt of travel and the sweetness of anticipation.
Aryan stood at the foot of the bed, stroking himself, watching the way Meera's back arched, the way her small tits swayed with every roll of her hips.
After the first orgasm rippled through Meera (soft, shuddering, her thighs clamping Priya's ears), she slid down Priya's body until they were face-to-face.
"Missed these," she whispered, cupping Priya's heavy breasts, thumbs flicking the nipples until Priya whimpered.
Aryan moved behind Meera, hands spreading her ass, cock nudging her soaked entrance.
One slow push—he was inside her, stretching her tight channel while Priya watched from inches away, fingers circling her own clit.
They set the pace together:
Aryan's deep, deliberate thrusts rocking Meera forward into Priya's mouth.
Priya's tongue flicking between Meera's clit and Aryan's shaft whenever he pulled back.
Meera's moans muffled against Priya's breast as she sucked a nipple hard enough to leave a mark.
When Aryan came, he stayed buried, pulsing, flooding Meera until it leaked around his base.
Priya lapped it up—greedy, thorough—until Meera was trembling through a second climax.
They rearranged without breaking contact.
Priya on her back, legs over Aryan's shoulders.
Meera straddling Priya's face again, this time facing Aryan so they could kiss over her sister's body.
Aryan slid into Priya slow—inch by inch—watching Meera's fingers spread Priya's lips wider, guiding him.
The rhythm built like a tide:
Aryan's hips snapping, Meera grinding, Priya's muffled cries vibrating into Meera's cunt.
They came in a chain reaction—Meera first, squirting over Priya's chin; Priya clenching hard around Aryan; Aryan pulling out to paint both their faces in thick, lazy stripes.
**Night 2 – 2:43 AM**
The shower ran cold; they didn't care.
Priya pressed Meera against the glass wall, hands cupping her ass, lifting her so Meera's legs wrapped around Priya's waist.
Aryan stood behind Priya, cock sliding between her thighs, teasing her entrance before pushing in.
The water sluiced over them, carrying away sweat and cum, only for more to replace it.
They moved to the kitchen at dawn—naked, sticky, ravenous.
Meera bent over the island, Aryan fucking her from behind while Priya knelt beneath, tongue flicking Meera's clit and Aryan's balls in turn.
Breakfast was prosecco and mango slices licked from skin.
**Sunday – 6:12 PM**
Rajesh's flight would land in two hours.
The apartment was spotless—sheets in the wash, surfaces wiped, fairy lights coiled away.
The three of them stood in the hallway in fresh clothes, hair damp from a final group shower.
Meera's carry-on waited by the door.
Priya kissed her first—soft, lingering, a promise.
Aryan next—deeper, hand cupping the back of Meera's neck.
Meera's fingers brushed both their crotches through fabric, a final tease.
"Next layover," she whispered. "I'm bringing toys."
The door closed behind her.
Priya and Aryan turned to each other, eyes dark with the same thought:
*Forty-eight hours was just the warm-up.*