The cabin door creaked open.
Everything froze.
Ravi stopped mid-thrust, his hands still gripping Shalini's waist. Shalini, bent over the seat, her kurti hiked up, her bare ass flushed from the pounding she'd just taken, turned her head toward the door. Her breath hitched in her throat.
Prayush, kneeling nearby with parted lips and glazed eyes, froze like a guilty schoolboy caught in the act.
And there, standing in the doorway with one hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow, was Malika.
She scanned the scene slowly—Ravi still inside Shalini, her breasts swaying with every heavy breath, Prayush wide-eyed—and her smirk deepened.
"Oh, so here you are, Shalu," Malika said, her voice smooth, sharp with amusement. "And here I was, looking for you everywhere..."
She stepped inside, her presence filling the room like a stormfront. The air thickened with tension as she closed the door behind her with an easy click.
"You even ignored my call." Her eyes locked with Shalini's. "Very brave."
Shalini, cheeks flushed but smiling, didn't say a word. She just breathed hard and met Malika's gaze with a knowing look—half apology, half challenge.
Malika turned her attention toward Prayush, who still hadn't moved. She walked toward him slowly, boots clicking on the floor, her eyes dark and unreadable.
Then, calmly, commandingly, she said:
"Prayush. Come."
He looked at Shalini instantly, silently begging for direction, his lips parting but no words coming out.
Shalini, still bent over and filled by Ravi, turned her head just enough to lock eyes with him. Her expression softened—then she gave him a slow, deliberate nod.
"Go with her," she whispered, her voice breathy, glowing with post-climax heat. "Do whatever she tells you."
Malika extended her hand, and Prayush rose shakily to his feet, walking toward her like he was caught in a trance.
Without a word, she took his wrist in her hand and turned, leading him out of the cabin like a prized possession.
The door shut behind them with a soft click, then locked.
Inside, Ravi looked at Shalini.
"Should we stop?" he asked, breathless, unsure.
"Did I say stop?" Shalini growled, glancing over her shoulder with that same wild, wicked smirk—the kind that could make any man fall to his knees.
Ravi didn't answer. He couldn't.
All he could do was moan softly as he buried himself deep into her again, gripping her hips like a man drowning in want. Her heat surrounded him, slick and tight, drawing him in over and over. Each thrust sent a tremor through his spine.
And yet—his breathing changed.
It wasn't just lust anymore.
It was something deeper.
Desperate.
Painful.
"Ma'am..." he breathed, voice cracking mid-thrust. "Shalini…"
She glanced back again, catching the look in his eyes—not just hunger, but worship. Devotion.
"I love you," he whispered, chest shaking as he thrust slowly, deeply, trying to match the intensity of his words. "You're not just a fantasy. You're not just a woman to me."
He leaned forward, pressing his body against her back, sliding one hand around her stomach, holding her close.
"You're my goddess," he whispered into her ear. "My temple. My reason. I've never… I've never wanted anyone like this. Never felt anything like this. I don't even care if you love me back. Just let me stay close. Let me serve you. Let me… belong to you."
Shalini's breath hitched. She hadn't expected that. She'd seen lust in a thousand eyes—but this? This was reverence. Raw. Real.
His hand drifted from her stomach to her chest, cupping one breast, fingers trembling as he touched her like she was divine. His hips never stopped moving, sliding in and out of her with reverence—each thrust more like a prayer than a fuck.
"Every time I touch you… every time I hear your voice… it's like I'm alive for the first time," he whispered.
She turned her head, lips parting, a moan escaping her throat.
"Ravi…"
"Please don't stop me," he said. "Please don't tell me to forget this. Even if this is the only time you let me touch you like this… I'll carry it for the rest of my life."
His movements slowed, but grew deeper—like he was trying to leave a part of himself inside her.
And Shalini?
She let him.
She arched back into him and whispered, "Then worship me properly, Ravi. Make your goddess cum again."
And he did—gasping her name like it was sacred, fucking her like prayer, like devotion, like this moment was all that ever mattered.
Ravi thrust into her slowly, deliberately, like every movement was a vow. His hands roamed her body—worshipful, shaking—like he couldn't believe she was real.
"Your skin… your scent… your voice," he breathed, burying his face into her shoulder. "Everything about you, ma'am—it's burned into me. I can't get it out. I don't want to."
Shalini moaned softly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the seat. His words hit different now—not just because of their intensity, but because they were honest. Unfiltered. Uncontrolled.
She could feel him trembling behind her. Not from fear—but from need so deep it was breaking him apart.
And it thrilled her.
"You love me that much, baby?" she whispered, grinding her hips back into his, feeling the way his cock shuddered inside her with each roll of her hips.
"More," he gasped. "More than that. I dream about kneeling at your feet. I think about your voice when I touch myself. I don't just love you… I belong to you."
Shalini groaned, the confession hitting her right in the core. That kind of surrender… that kind of fire… it was addicting.
She straightened slightly, pulling his arms tighter around her waist, locking him to her body.
"Then prove it," she growled. "Make me cum again, and maybe I'll let you kiss my feet afterward."
Ravi let out a broken moan, hips pistoning faster now, deeper. His thrusts lost their rhythm, driven by hunger and reverence. Sweat dripped down his spine as he pounded into her, the sound of skin on skin raw and wet and shameless.
Shalini arched under him, her body tightening, her moans rising—sharp, breathless, uncontrollable. His hand slid between her thighs, fingers rubbing her clit in fast, desperate circles as he fucked her harder from behind.
"Fuuuck, yes—yes—Ravi—don't stop—don't fucking stop!" she cried.
Her legs started to shake, heat blooming across her core like fire.
And then she came—hard.
Her entire body convulsed around him, her pussy clenching so tight that he choked on his own moan, struggling not to cum right there with her. Her scream filled the cabin as she collapsed forward onto the seat, panting, soaked, wrecked.
Ravi froze inside her, breath catching.
She looked over her shoulder at him—sweaty, teary-eyed, dazed—and smirked.
"You're not done yet, lover boy," she purred. "Now pull out, get on your knees, and show me how worship really looks."
And he obeyed.
Without hesitation.
-----
As malika leading prayush toward the toilet reached it they entered. The door slammed shut behind them with a cold click.
The tiny train toilet suddenly felt suffocating, hot with tension.
Malika turned slowly, her body glowing under the flickering fluorescent light—a vision of sin and power in white.
Her kurti was skin-tight, transparent, and utterly unforgiving. Her dark nipples pressed boldly against the soaked fabric, sharp and erect, perfectly visible. The swell of her breasts moved with every breath she took, the dampness between her shoulder blades clinging the fabric tighter to her back.
Below that, her yoga pants were little more than a second skin—sheer, white, and panty-less. Her entire lower body was on display—every curve, every crease, every outline of her bare heat visible beneath the thin material.
She looked like a storm bottled into a goddess's body.
"Kneel," she said—flat, calm, dangerous.
Prayush dropped without hesitation, already panting, already hard, his eyes locked to her like a starving man gazing at his final meal.
She lifted one foot slowly, placing it just inches from his face. Wet footprints from her bare soles gleamed against the metal floor.
"Start at the ground. That's where you belong."
He kissed the tops of her toes first—soft, slow—then took each one into his mouth, sucking them, swirling his tongue between the gaps, whimpering against her skin. His lips dragged along her arch, sucking her heel, tongue lapping up every drop of her natural sweat.
"Good boy," she whispered, lifting her other foot onto his shoulder. "Now move up. Worship every inch of the body you'll never deserve."
She raised her right arm, resting it on the metal handrail, exposing the hollow of her armpit, glistening slightly with sweat beneath the kurti sleeve. She didn't lift the shirt—she didn't need to. The sheer fabric did nothing to hide the soft heat trapped beneath it.
"This too."
Prayush leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her pit, kissing it through the cloth, then dragging his tongue up in a long, trembling lick, tasting the salt of her body. The taste made him groan—feral, needy, consumed.
"Smell me. Lick deeper. I want your face buried in my scent."
He obeyed—lips sucking through the thin fabric, tongue working harder, breath fogging against her skin.
Malika pulled his hair roughly.
"Thighs next."
She reached down and peeled the kurti up and over her hips, revealing her bare, golden thighs, slick with sweat and glistening beneath the dim light. The sheer yoga pants gripped her thighs like they were melting into her skin.
Prayush's hands slid up her legs as his lips kissed higher and higher—kissing, licking, biting softly at the insides of her thighs, so close to the heat now radiating from between her legs he could barely breathe.
"Slow," she snapped. "Don't you dare skip. You want my peach? You earn it."
She turned around.
Her bare ass stared him in the face—round, high, framed perfectly by the clinging, see-through pants. The curve of her cheeks, the dip between them, the way the fabric pressed into her crack like floss—it was art. Porn. Divinity.
"Kiss my peach. Lick it through the fabric first."
He moaned as he leaned in, kissing each cheek gently, then messily, licking the stretched fabric, his tongue gliding over her ass like it was carved from marble. He gripped her thighs, face buried between her cheeks, tongue working over the cloth like a man possessed.
Malika arched back into him with a hiss.
"Off," she said.
She peeled down the yoga pants slowly, revealing her bare ass, glistening with sweat and natural arousal. She stepped out of them one leg at a time, then widened her stance.
"Now tongue-fuck it. You worship my peach? Prove it."
He obeyed—moaning as he spread her cheeks and buried his face between them, licking over and into her tight rim, slurping, panting, drunk on her. His nose grazed her dripping slit, but she shoved his head back down.
"Not yet. That comes last."
Her breathing grew heavier now—dominant, but not untouched.
She turned back around and leaned against the wall, spreading her legs, revealing her soaked, bare flower—open and glistening, her inner lips slick, folds flushed and pulsing.
"Now the final offering. Lick slowly. Every part. Don't waste a drop."
He didn't hesitate.
His tongue slid between her folds like he was tracing scripture—slow, reverent, dizzy with devotion. He moaned into her heat, licking her like a sacred fruit, flicking over her clit with maddening care. His hands held her thighs tightly, as if she might float away if he let go.
Malika exhaled shakily, one hand gripping the rail, the other twisted in his hair.
"Fucking worship me. Like your life depends on it."
And he did.
Face buried in her, tongue sliding deep, lips pressed to her soaked cunt as his moans echoed against her skin. Her juices dripped down his chin. He licked faster, hungrier, desperate to make her cum.
Malika tilted her head back and moaned, finally—deep, guttural, low. The kind that came from somewhere primal.
The train rumbled beneath them.
Malika leaned against the toilet wall, her legs shaking slightly, breath heavy, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. Her orgasm still pulsed in her core, Prayush's tongue gently licking the last traces of her climax from her thighs, from her folds, from everywhere his mouth could reach.
"Enough," she said at last, voice husky but composed.
Prayush pulled back, chin glistening, lips swollen, eyes dazed like he'd just tasted something forbidden and divine.
Malika didn't speak again.
She pulled her sheer, wet yoga pants back up slowly—her bare heat outlined perfectly in the transparent white—and walked out of the toilet barefoot, not bothering to adjust her soaked, clinging kurti. Prayush followed silently, eyes still fixed on the sway of her hips.
They reached the private cabin.
Inside, the scent of sex was unmistakable—raw, thick, humid.
Shalini lay back across the seat, legs spread, her kurti pulled up to her waist, and Ravi was between her thighs, tongue buried in her cunt, moaning like he was tasting heaven. Her hand was in his hair, guiding him with small, slow rolls of her hips.
Malika watched the scene with a lazy smile, then opened the door fully and walked in.
She locked it behind them with a click.
Ravi paused mid-lick, glancing up, face soaked with Shalini's arousal. Shalini looked toward the door with a glowing, sweat-slicked face—her lips curled into a lazy smile as Malika stepped in.
Without a word, Malika walked to the empty seat and sat down, spreading her legs casually. The soaked kurti clung to her skin, practically painted on, her dark nipples standing stiff beneath the transparent fabric. Her yoga pants still bore a deep, wet outline of her earlier climax.
She grabbed the water bottle, uncapped it, and raised it to her lips, drinking deeply. A slow trickle ran down her neck, gliding between the curve of her breasts and down her stomach.
Prayush followed silently, crawling on his hands and knees, like a loyal beast returning to his goddess. When he reached her, he rose slightly—face just below her arm, where sweat glistened along the soft skin of her raised armpit.
Without needing permission, he leaned in and pressed his tongue to the curve, licking the salt from her skin. He moaned softly against her, tongue dragging slowly, taking in the raw, post-orgasm taste.
Malika closed her eyes for a second, savoring it.
Then she looked across the cabin at Shalini and spoke, voice calm, commanding.
"Let's go, Shalu. If Avi wakes up and sees this mess, it'll be a problem."
Shalini exhaled a long, satisfied breath as Ravi rested his head between her thighs, still lazily kissing her inner thigh.
"Mmm, yeah... you're right," she murmured. "We pushed it enough for tonight."
Malika stood, placing the water bottle down, her soaked kurti now fully see-through from breast to hem. Her curves glistened in the low cabin light, sweat gliding across her body like worship itself.
She glanced at both boys—one drenched in Shalini's juices, the other trembling with her own scent still on his face.
"Clean yourselves up," she said with a smirk. "And remember... we didn't say this was over."
Then she turned to Shalini and added with a wicked smile:
"Next time, we make them beg together."