“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—Bhaiya—Raja—Vivek—fuck—”
She came on both of them, clenching so hard Sanjay swore and Raja had to grip her hips to keep from losing the rhythm. They fucked her through it. Lubricant and her own wetness running down Sanjay’s cock, down Raja’s balls, onto the sheets.
Vivek pulled from her mouth and came across her breasts. Raja lasted longer this time, pounding her ass in short deep strokes until he buried himself and came inside her with a groan that sounded like surrender. Sanjay held her face, kissed her through it, and came last—deep, pulsing, filling her cunt while she whispered Bhaiya against his lips like a dare and a kindness at the same time.
They did not stop at one round.
Positions changed. Puja on her side, Sanjay still inside her, Vivek taking her ass with more lube and slow careful thrusts while Raja recovered enough to put his mouth on her clit. Then Puja on her hands and knees, Sanjay behind her, talking into her spine—you wanted me last, you called me Bhaiya the whole time, now take it—fucking her hard and romantic at once, one hand on her throat, the other rubbing her clit until she came again sobbing into the pillow.
Raja and Vivek again. Then all three again. Double penetration a second time with Vivek in her cunt and Sanjay in her ass because she asked for it looking him in the eye.
“Bhaiya. I want you there.”
He went slow until she pushed back and took him. Then it was not slow. It was moaning, lube-slick, deep, the kind of hardcore that still had his mouth on her shoulder and her name in his throat.
When they finally collapsed, the RGB light had shifted from violet to blue and back again. Puja lay in the middle, marked, full, leaking, jeans and T-shirts in a wrecked pile on the floor. She turned her head toward Sanjay, lazy, wrecked, smiling.
“Still thinking, Bhaiya?”
He kissed her.
This time he did not hesitate.
They were wrecked.
Raja on his back, one arm over his eyes, still breathing like he had run. Vivek on his side, sticky, half-asleep, cock soft against his thigh. Sanjay flat in the middle of the mattress, staring at the ceiling like the ceiling had answers. The sheets were ruined. The bottle of lube lay on its side. The room smelled like sex and sweat and the cheap RGB glow that would not shut off.
There was no fresh thread on anyone’s wrist tonight.
They only remembered.
Last Raksha Bandhan. Her fingers knotting red-and-gold around Sanjay’s pulse while Raja made a joke and Vivek looked at the floor. The same hands that had taken the blessing were the hands that had been on her all night—on her waist, her mouth, her tits, inside her. Every year on that day it went like this. Not a tying. A remembering. The festival sat in the room like a ghost on bare skin.
Fifteen minutes. Nobody moved.
Puja sat up first.
She winced, laughed under her breath, and swung her legs off the bed. Bare feet on the floor. Cum already cooling on her stomach, between her thighs, a thin wet trail down the back of one leg.
“Don’t fall asleep like corpses,” she said. “I’m going to the washroom.”
