The room smelled like sex and cooling sweat. The lube bottle lay on its side. The RGB strip had died sometime before dawn. Sheets were a wreck. Puja’s hair was stuck to Sanjay’s mouth.
Morning came in a hard white line across the floor.
Raja woke first and made a sound like a man discovering his spine had been removed.
“Madarchod,” he whispered to the ceiling. “What time is it.”
Nobody answered.
Vivek groaned into the pillow. Sanjay’s fingers tightened on Puja before he was fully awake. Puja was already smiling with her eyes still closed, as if she had been waiting for them to surface so she could start again.
She sat up.
The sheet fell. Daylight made last night honest—bite marks, dried streaks on her stomach, a swollen mouth, hair wrecked on purpose. She looked at the three of them and grinned, full battery, zero mercy.
“Utho. Morning. You look like extras from a funeral.”
Raja, without opening his eyes: “I am the funeral.”
Puja got on her knees on the mattress and shook her shoulders once.
Her breasts swung. Heavy. Soft. Nipples tight in the AC. The left one slapped the right and came back. She did it again, slower, watching Sanjay.
“Bhaiya. Eyes up here. These are the same ones your blessed hand held last Raksha Bandhan. In this light they look worse. Look anyway.”
She turned, set her palms on the headboard, and rolled her ass. Cheeks lifting, dropping, a lazy jiggle, then a sharper bounce. She reached back and spread herself once, just to be cruel, morning wet still shining.
Vivek whispered, “I cannot feel my soul.”
“You can feel that.”
She sat across Vivek’s thighs, tits in his face, and bounced twice without taking him in. Soft weight slapping his chest.
“See. Alive.”
She crawled to Raja, took the wrist she had tied last year, and put it on her breast.
“Squeeze. Morning rules. You don’t get to fuck. You get to suffer.”
He squeezed. She moaned on purpose, loud, theatrical, then laughed and jiggled into his palm until he hardened against his own stomach, sore, helpless.
Sanjay tried to stay still.
She would not allow it.
She straddled his lap and did not sink down. She dragged herself along him while she held her own breasts and shook them in his face.
“Last night you came in me and drank it back out. This morning you watch. Hands on my ass, Bhaiya. Both. Spread. Feel it move.”
His hands went. She rolled her hips. Ass flexing in his grip, breasts swinging against his mouth. He got hard so fast he cursed.
“Good boys.” She slid off before anyone could get stupid. “Now mutthi. All three. I want you jerking while I stand here. No touching me unless I say. I bathed in you for hours. I’m done being a towel.”
They stared.
She stood at the foot of the bed and put on a show that was half dance and half insult. Hands under her breasts—lift, drop, fall. Turned sideways so the curve hung. Bent to pick up her phone so her ass split and closed. Looked over her shoulder.
“Raja, tighter. Vivek, slower or you’ll embarrass yourself again. Bhaiya—look at my face, not only my chest. Last year this was holy. This year you’re pumping your cock in the morning because I bounced.”
