Chapter-98: serving father in law and brother in law on the second day of wedding
Her saree (She is wearing traditional today), a deep emerald green, was draped gracefully over one shoulder, but it was what it contained that always stole his breath and her melons.
They were a breathtaking handful, full and heavy, their weight evident in the way the silk strained across the smooth and generous curves.
The fabric clung to their undeniable swell, the dark outline of her cherries just visible beneath the material, a tantalizing promise of what lay underneath. His eyes, as always, were helplessly drawn to them, a moth to the most glorious flame.
"Long day, my husband?" she asked, her voice a low, melodic purr. Martin simply nodded, dropping his bag by the door. "The work is… endless. I need to wash the dust away."
He moved past her, his arm brushing accidentally against the soft, yielding warmth of her bosom. The contact was fleeting, but her reaction was instantaneous and dramatic. A sharp, delicious gasp escaped her lips, a sound so erotically sudden and needy it made his knees weak.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a beat too long, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Oh!" she breathed out, a shudder running through her. "You're… so tense." He swallowed hard, the carefully constructed facade of a tired husband firmly in place.
"I'll feel better after a bath." The cool water did little to quell the anticipation coiling in his gut. He scrubbed mechanically, his ears straining for sounds from the main house. He didn't have to wait long.
The deep, rumbling cadence of his father, Markus, soon joined the higher, sharper tones of his brother, Brutus. Their laughter was too loud, too forced. The pretense had begun. He found them in the sitting room, a carafe of dark red wine already open on the low table.
Mohini was pouring, her movements fluid, her body a symphony of curves beneath her saree. Both men's eyes were locked not on her face, but on the deep valley of her cleavage that was exposed as she leaned forward.
"Martin! Join us," Markus boomed, his gaze flicking up to his son with a predatory gleam. "Celebrate your new life. You work too hard."
"A quick glass," Martin said, forcing a weary smile. "I'm dead on my feet." He accepted the goblet from Mohini. Their fingers touched. Another sharp, breathy moan escaped her, this one softer, more of a whimper.
"Mmm… your hands are still cold from your bath," she murmured, her eyes dark and wide. He drank. The wine was rich and spiced, but he barely tasted it. He played his part perfectly, exaggerating the effects after just two glasses.
He let his speech slur, his head droop. He slumped forward onto the sturdy wooden table, his cheek pressed against the cool grain, feigning a deep, drunken stupor. Through slitted eyes, he watched them.
The moment they were convinced, the air in the room changed. The pretense of family bonding vanished, replaced by a thick, hungry tension. Markus and Brutus shared a look a look of pure, unrestrained conquest.
Without a word, they rose and moved toward the hallway that led to the bedroom. Mohini followed, not with reluctance, but with a slow, swaying gait that was an invitation in itself. Martin waited, counting his heartbeats in the silence.
Then the soft click of the bedroom door closing was heard. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The performance was over. The main event was beginning and his true role that of the watcher, the listener, the cuckold had now begun.
He didn't have to strain to hear. Their voices, her voice, carried. "He's finally asleep," Brutus said and his voice husky. "The poor, hardworking man…" Markus chuckled, the sound devoid of any real pity. Then he heard a gasp from Mohini.
"Oh! Both of you… so eager…" Martin could picture it perfectly. They would have her on the bed, the emerald saree pooled around her waist. They would each take a side, like devoted worshippers at a lush, voluptuous altar.
In the bedroom, the scene unfolded exactly as he imagined. Markus is on her right, his large, calloused hands cupping her jaw, tilting her face to his for a rough, possessive kiss.
Brutus, on her left, was already working the pins from her hair, letting the dark, silken cascade fall across the pillows. But their true goal was singular, unified. As one, they bent their heads to her chest.
Markus's mouth found her right cherry through the thin fabric of her choli, his tongue circling the already pebbled bud, sucking strongly. A moment later, Brutus's lips closed over the left, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub with deliberate, gentle pressure.
Mohini's back arched off the bed in a violent curve, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat. "Yes! Gods… Yessss…!" Their hands were not idle.
Markus's rough fingers, skilled from a lifetime of labor, pushed the hem of her skirt up, sliding effortlessly over the smooth skin of her inner thigh. He found her center, already slick with wanton anticipation.
He didn't tease. One thick finger plunged into her depths, curling inward, stroking a spot that made her scream into the quiet room. Simultaneously, Brutus's hand slid lower, over the swell of her hip, his thumb finding the delicate little pink hole of her butt.
He pressed against it, a slow, insistent pressure, working a spit slicked finger into the tight, clenching heat. The dual penetration was too much. Mohini's body became a taut bowstring, vibrating with sensation.
Her magnificent melons, the focus of their mouths, jiggled and bounced with every ragged breath and convulsive shudder. "Don't stop! Please! More! I need more!" she begged, her voice cracking, her hands tangling in their hair, pressing their faces harder against her chest.
Markus withdrew his finger, and the sound of his belt buckle clinking was lewdly loud. He positioned himself at her soaked entrance, and with a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her to the hilt.
....
please read the complete novel at my patreon page at: patreon.com/Fatenovels.
you can buy my books chapters in patreon at
https://www.patreon.com/c/Vidhifate
...