The Punjab morning sun filtered through the small barred window of the haveli kitchen, painting golden stripes across the tiled floor where Aryan and Anjali had collapsed hours earlier. The air still carried the faint, musky scent of their night—sweat, cum, pussy juice, and the sharp tang of her accidental pee squirt. Aryan woke first, cock already half-hard and sticky from drying cum, pressed against Anjali’s thick thigh.

She stirred, eyes fluttering open. Bruises bloomed dark purple on her neck where he’d bitten her, and faint red fingerprints marked the soft undersides of her enormous boobs. Her nipples were still swollen, raw from his teeth. She looked at him with a mix of shame, fear, and deep, twisted hunger.