The Sharma flat was a furnace of silence and heat, the ceiling fan spinning lazily like it knew what was coming. Sunlight sliced through the lace curtains, striping the marble floor in gold. Rohan’s toolkit lay open on the kitchen counter, forgotten. His cock strained against his jeans, already leaking at the sight of Neha bhabhi leaning against the fridge—crimson silk saree plastered to her curves, pallu slipped low, black lace bra barely containing her heavy tits. Her kohl-rimmed eyes burned with raw hunger.
“Router toh theek hai, Rohan,” she purred, voice dripping filth. “Par yeh lund… yeh toh mujhe abhi chahiye.”
Rohan’s breath caught. “Bhabhi, main—”
“Chup.” She stalked closer, jasmine and wet pussy filling his lungs. Her nails raked his chest through his shirt, then lower, palming his cock. “Sharma ji office mein hain. Ghar khali hai. Ab bol—meri chut mein daalega ya nahi?”
He groaned, hands shaking as she unzipped him. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, precum dripping like a faucet. Neha licked her lips. “Arre waah, itna mota lund. Sharma ji ka toh aadha bhi nahi.”
She dropped to her knees, saree pooling like blood. One slow lick from balls to tip, then she swallowed him whole, throat tightening, gagging softly. Saliva poured down her chin, soaking her tits. She pulled off with a filthy pop. “Mmm, taste karo apna ras. Ab meri chut ka number hai.”
Neha stood, spun, and hiked the saree to her waist—no panties, just slick, swollen lips glistening. She spread herself with two fingers. “Dekho, kitni bheegi hoon. Teri wajah se. Ab daal, haramzaade. Pura andar.”
Rohan gripped her hips and slammed in—one brutal thrust, balls-deep. Neha’s scream echoed off the tiles. “Haan, aise! Meri chut phaad do!” Her pussy clenched like a vice, juices splashing his thighs. He fucked her raw, counter rattling, her tits bouncing wild.
“Zor se, Rohan! Sharma ji ka naam bhool ja!” she gasped, pushing back. “Meri chut ko apna bana do!”
“Bhabhi, tumhari chut… itni garam, itni tight,” he growled, pounding harder. “Tumhe roz chodna hai.”
“Haan, roz! Subah, dopahar, raat—jab mann kare, meri chut mein daal dena!”
She reached back, spreading her ass. “Dekh, kitna andar ja raha hai. Ab jaldi, mujhe apna maal de!” Her pussy spasmed, gushing down his balls. Rohan roared, flooding her—thick, hot ropes painting her womb, leaking out in creamy streams.
They stayed locked, panting. She clenched around him. “Abhi khatam nahi. Bedroom. Teri bhabhi ki chut abhi bhookhi hai.”
Round two – Sharma ji’s bed.
Neha shoved Rohan onto the cologne-scented sheets. She straddled him reverse-cowgirl, saree bunched at her waist, ass bouncing as she sank down. The headboard thumped like a war drum.
“Dekho,” she hissed, spreading her cheeks. “Tera lund meri chut ko kaise kheech raha hai. Sharma ji ka bed—ab tera hai.”
Rohan gripped her hips, bruising, thrusting up. “Bhabhi, tum… tum randi ho,” he groaned.
“Haan, teri randi! Ab chod mujhe jaise kutiya ko chodte hain!” She slammed down, clit grinding his balls. “Feel kar—teri bhabhi ki chut mein tera hi maal baha hai.”
He sat up, fingers brutal on her clit. “Tumhe pregnant kar dunga. Sharma ji ko bol dena Wi-Fi theek kar diya.”
“Haan, bhar de! Mera pet bhar de apne bacche se!” she screamed, riding harder.
He flipped her onto her back, legs over his shoulders, and destroyed her—bed creaking, springs screaming. Her tits bounced, nipples scraped raw. He sucked one, biting. “Teri chut… meri hai ab.”
“Haan, teri! Roz chodna, samjhe? Subah uth ke pehle meri chut!”
She came—squirting, soaking the sheets, pussy milking him. “Rohan! Bhar do! Pura!” He erupted, flooding her again, cum overflowing, pooling beneath her ass.
They collapsed, her legs still wrapped around him.
“Kal phir aa jana,” she whispered, licking his ear. “Router phir se kharab ho jayega. Aur meri chut bhi.”
The doorbell buzzed—Sharma ji, early.
Neha fixed her saree, wiped the cum from her thighs, and opened the door with a sweet smile.
Rohan slipped out the back, cock still hard, her taste on his tongue, her dirty promises ringing in his ears.