In the serene, tree-lined suburbs of Pune, where old bungalows hid behind high compound walls and bougainvillea crept over iron gates, Mahesh Sharma lived with his 22-year-old daughter, Bhavya. He had raised her alone after her mother left when Bhavya was barely three. Now, fresh out of college and staying home while she figured out her future, the house felt smaller, warmer, and far more dangerous than it ever had. Mahesh was 45, still powerfully built from years in the construction business. Salt-and-pepper hair, strong arms, and quiet confidence. Bhavya had grown into a breathtaking young woman — long, wavy auburn hair, bright green eyes she inherited from her mother, and a body that curved generously in all the right places. She moved around the house in tiny shorts and loose tank tops, completely at ease, unaware — or perhaps fully aware — of the effect she had on him. It began innocently. Late-night movies on the large sofa in the living room. Bhavya would curl into his side li...
I was stuck in the usual evening madness on the Western Express Highway, returning from my office in Andheri to my flat in Goregaon. The traffic was barely crawling at 20 kmph, horns blaring everywhere, when my phone lit up. It was Neha — my long-time friends-with-benefits. Her contact picture popped up, the one I secretly took: just her juicy lips parted and her big, soft breasts fully bare.
A big smile spread across my face as I answered on speaker. “Hey Neha, kya scene hai baby?”
Her voice came out all breathy and needy, “Arjun… hi jaan.” She let out a soft giggle mixed with a moan. “Wait, am I on speaker? Tu car mein hai kya?”
“Haan yaar, traffic mein fase hue hoon. Alone hoon though.”
She let out a relieved sigh that turned into a low, sexy moan. “Thank god. Main bahut horny hoon aaj… teri awaaz sunke mann kar raha hai.”
I adjusted myself in the seat, my cock already twitching in my pants. “Toh aa jaa na. Main tujhe achhe se thanda kar dunga.”
“Kaash aa paati… main abhi parents ke ghar pe hoon in Thane. Bas phone pe hi masti karna hai.”
“Naughty ladki,” I chuckled. “Lagta hai tune already shuru kar diya hai.”
I could hear the wet sounds of her fingers moving between her legs. She was breathing heavier now. “Haan… par tere bina maza nahi aa raha. Help me please…”
“Accha sun,” I said, my voice getting lower, “ek game khelte hain. Ghar tak jitni baar tu cum karegi, sab count karke batana hai. No stopping till I reach home.”
Neha moaned loudly, clearly loving the idea. “Oh fuck yes… main already bohot close hoon…”
“Pehle permission maang,” I commanded. “Aur zor se moan kar, main sunna chahta hoon.”
Traffic was almost at a standstill, but I didn’t care anymore. I listened as her breathing became faster. Wet, slippery sounds filled my car. She started whimpering, “Arjun please… mujhe jaane de… main aa rahi hoon…”
“Cum for me, Neha. Chut mein ungliyan daal ke zor se cum kar.”
“Fuckkk… One! Ahhh… ONE!” she cried out, her voice shaking.
My cock was rock hard now, pressing painfully against my jeans. I could clearly imagine her lying on her bed at her parents’ house, legs spread wide, two fingers pumping in and out of her tight, wet pussy while her thumb rubbed her swollen clit.
She didn’t stop. Again and again she built up, begging me each time, “Please Arjun… allow me… main phir aa rahi hoon…” And every time I gave her permission, she exploded, counting louder and sluttier than before.
“Three… oh shit… Four! Fuck me harder in your mind baby!”
By the time I crossed the flyover near Malad, she was on her seventh orgasm. Her voice was getting hoarse, words slurring, but she kept going like an obedient little slut. I was leaking precum just listening to her.
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