“Behenchod,” Raja muttered. “Look at them bounce. Two days from now Sonam’s will bounce like that on Vivek. Akriti’s will bounce on me. You’ll watch, Puja. You’ll tell us if we’re doing it right. Every Raksha Bandhan we remember this. Every year after, we do it again.”
“I’ll tell you,” she promised, breathless. “Vivek, you’ll fuck Sonam from behind first so you can see everything. She gets loud. You’ll cover her mouth with the same hand I tied last year. Raja, you’ll make Akriti sit on your face until she shakes, then you’ll put it in her ass because she likes pretending she doesn’t. I’ll be on the sofa. Naked. Sore. Coaching you like a terrible sister who never bought new thread tonight because she didn’t need to.”
Lube again. Too much. Running down.
Double penetration for the last time.
Sanjay on his back. Puja sank onto his cock in one wet, deep slide—cunt stretching around him, ass settling against his hips. Her breasts dropped toward his face. He caught one in his mouth and his bare wrist rested against the curve like a bracelet that had been cut away and still haunted the skin. She started to ride. Slow first. Romantic. Looking at him. Remembering the knot. Then the grind turned dirty—ass rolling in a circle, then higher bounces that made her tits slap together, flesh on flesh, nipples grazing his chest.
Raja pushed into her ass.
She gagged on the stretch even with no cock in her mouth yet. Full. Split. Her ass cheeks spread around his hips; every thrust shoved her forward so her breasts dragged across Sanjay’s chest and face, heavy swinging arcs, then flattened when she dropped her weight. Vivek stood over Sanjay’s head and fed her his cock. She gagged on it, spit dripping onto Sanjay’s throat, onto the wrist that last year had worn red and gold.
Slap. Ass. Slap. Tit.
“Haa—Bhaiya—chodo—madarchod aur tez—gala band mat kar Vivek—Raja meri gaand maar—haa—yeh last hai—har saal Rakhi ke baad yahi—”
“Hands,” she ordered, slurring around Vivek. “Abhi. Mutthi pakdo. Stroke your friend. I want last year’s blessed wrists on cock. I want to see bare skin where the thread was while you’re inside me.”
Sanjay, buried in her cunt, reached to the side and wrapped that remembered hand around Vivek wherever her mouth left room and pumped. Vivek groaned and grabbed Raja at the base where he disappeared into Puja’s ass, pumping the slick shaft. Puja’s smaller hand joined—guiding, making them do it properly, rubbing two heads together whenever they came free.
Her ass never stopped. Clenching. Rolling back onto Raja. Jiggling when he slammed in, cheeks rippling, hole stretched shiny around him. Her breasts swung on the opposite beat—forward when Raja drove deep, crushed to Sanjay when she sat, bouncing when Sanjay thrust up, his wrist trapped between mouth and nipple like a missing rakhi.
They gagged her every time the romance tried to make a speech.
Cock to the root. Throat bulging. Tears. Then off, a gasp—
“Haa Bhaiya chodo mujhe—saala dono ched bhar do—Vivek soch Sonam ke muh mein daal raha hai—Raja soch Akriti ki gaand—aur tu, Bhaiya, tu sirf mujhe dekh—jo haath maine last year baandhe the—”
