The marriage preparations were abruptly stopped. As usual, there was no provocation for it beyond a sharp exchange of words, and egos were bruised on all sides. The boy’s father, Thakur Hari Singh, flew into a rage when his plans for the young couple’s future were challenged by the girl in front of her father and other family elders.
But what really set the stage for what happened next was the way in which the disagreement became a war of words. In the typical swaggering style of a feudal lord, the Thakur had pronounced that he would wait for exactly 9 months to become a grandfather and that his newly married son should set about propagating the clan forthwith.
This announcement was made at a gathering of the two extended families. Binita, the bride-to-be was expected to sit in on the proceedings only to know what was expected of her and not to respond, react or offer comment. But her father had not brought her up in that manner, even though socially they were from a family that would be expected to be subservient to the Thakur. To her father, the escape from the social inferiority lay in higher education. He sent his daughter Binita to the best of schools in the town and later to a larger city in a hostel. Now, at the age of twenty, she was among the best educated from the village.
Her reaction to being treated as a commodity in marriage was predictable. She stood up as the Thakur concluded his desire to become a grandfather, and with eyes blazing with anger, she proclaimed loudly, “I have no intention of motherhood for the first five years. I am going to work and so is Pritam. We are going to build our own base before we build a family.”
As she said this, her tension rose and her breathing became pronounced and ragged. Her face flushed red and her head was turned up in defiance. Now she slowly realized that the deafening silence that enveloped the gathering was shock at her defiance of the ultimate authority in their village. Yet, she held her head high, glaring at her father-in-law to-be.
“Hey, girl!” the Thakur bellowed, “How dare you refer to your fiancé by name? And who are you to decide what will happen and what will not in my household?”
“Ask your son,” she replied acidly. “When he was chasing me around to marry him, it was he who said I should call him by name and think and do as I please!”
Binita’s father could see the situation slipping out of control and rose with folded hands and bowed head to try mediating the two extreme positions. “Thakur sahib, the girl wishes to work for a few years and it would not be possible if she were to get pregnant. However, once she marries into your family it is your choice and you can discuss it amongst yourselves,” he suggested.
“I do not see the need to discuss!” raged the Thakur. “In our family we do not discuss the obvious. Is there anything you are hiding from me about this girl of yours that you are supporting her? Is she capable of bearing children or not? Or are the women in your family not complete women?”
The reference to the womanhood of his clan brought Binita’s father’s entire family to its feet. And from there it was downhill all the way. Heated words were exchanged, things which were not meant were said, and in about half an hour, just after sunset, when preliminary celebrations should have started, Binita and her family were back in their modest home, pondering next moves.
At the Thakur residence, Hari Singh was taking his son to task for going around publicly with a girl he was not yet betrothed to. Undoubtedly that was what had given the girl the courage to stand up to him.
And Binita, sitting on the roof of her home, was indignant over the aspersion cast on her womanhood. That man needed to be taught a lesson. As she reflected on her choices she realized that there was nothing any one would dare do against the Thakur. Whatever needed to be done would have to be done by her. And what better lesson to teach him than to make him accept the superiority of her womanhood.
Under the cover of darkness, Binita made her way to the Thakur’s mansion. She was let in by the guards who recognized her and she found her way through the maze of corridors and rooms, through to the back yard. There, under the mango trees, near the cowsheds, sat the Thakur, surrounded by a few of his cronies, smoking a hookah.
The animated conversation fell to a hush as the men saw Binita make her way towards them. She stood there, looking at Hari Singh, her chest heaving from the exertion of her walk and the tension of the moment. By the light of the lamps, her curves were accentuated and her tight choli (blouse) showed her breasts to her advantage. Her ghagra (skirt) with its mirror work glinted by the light of the lamps. Those dark angry eyes flashed at him, and it took the Thakur a while to realize he was looking at his prospective daughter-in-law and not just any woman for him to lust after.
He signaled his men to leave them alone.
“What have you come for now?” he asked, thinking that she might possibly want to apologize for her behavior earlier in the evening.
“I have come here to tell you that having a moustache as large as yours does not guarantee the masculinity of your clan. So you should watch it before you talk about our womanhood,” she said with a taunting smile.
The woman he had chosen to be his son’s wife looked bewitching with that saucy, taunting smile. The warm glow of lamps, the hide and seek of shadow and light, just made her seem all the more haunting. The challenge was not only in her words but also in her body language. He felt aroused and his male chauvinist instinct was to respond with a demonstration of his manhood.
He covered up his loss of control with a show of anger. He got up from the low slung cot made of rope, and strode forward towards Binita, his arm outstretched as if to strike her across the face.
For the first time, Binita took note of his tall stride, his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and sinewy body as the man overshadowed her. She felt panic inside her, but was not about to show it and continued to play her game of nerves.
“Violence? Is that what you use to hide your impotence?” she asked laughingly, knowing the relaxed smile on her face would infuriate him.
He grabbed her throat and pushed her back till she her back came up against the trunk of the mango tree. As he touched her, he was taken aback by the softness of her skin. His grip on her throat relaxed from a stranglehold to an open hand just pushing her back. Something about his animal vigor in that shove struck a chord in Binita. She noticed the strong hands with rough calloused fingers. She allowed herself to be pushed back, bracing herself for a fall and then she came to rest against the tree trunk with a hard whack.
They were now in the shade of the tree and away from the circle of light and the seating area where the Thakur had sat with his hookah. As their eyes grew accustomed to the lesser lighting, both the man and the maiden took in each other with their eyes. The lighting here was pale with the glow from the lamps reaching only partly, and the tube light from the pump house providing another ray of faint glow.
And yet, her eyes sparkled. She knew she had him where she wanted him. Hari Singh’s hand completely relaxed as he realized what the girl was up to. He was now touching her on her neck, just above her bosom and his thumb ran over her chin.
“I wish I could ask you to demonstrate your womanhood in identical fashion,” he muttered.
Her hand gripped his wrist as she tried to move his hand from her body, but she merely ended up captivated with the strength of his body. “Maybe you will not ask me to demonstrate my womanhood because you would then be exposed totally,” she said spontaneously, and instantly regretted what she said. She knew that you could go only so far with a Thakur without arousing the worst ire in him.
And she was right. Blinded with rage, Hari Singh gripped the top of her choli (blouse) and pulled down and in one swift ripping motion the front of her blouse tore, and hung down, held only by the strong band of cloth that went around the lower border of the blouse. Her breasts, brown, young, firm and proud, stood there bathed in the pale light fully exposed, heaving up and down from the anger she felt.
She reached with her left hand to slap him but Hari Singh was too quick for her and fended her off. Binita lunged lower and grabbed at his crotch and was successful this time, getting a full hand of his semi aroused cock. It had been that way ever since she walked up to his charpoy. Now she knew more about his manhood than she wanted to know. In seconds, Hari Singh’s cock filled with blood and he had a full blown erection. It was years since he had been grabbed so authoritatively by a young woman and his body was instantaneous in its response to the stimulus.
The situation was erotic. His cock was in the grip of a young woman, whose breasts were exposed and heaving and he and she were both under the low branches of a mango tree, outside the circle of direct light, even though they could very well be spotted by anyone looking on. Her grip relaxed and immediately the cock swelled to its largest ever dimensions in recent times. As she felt it fill out more, she instinctively closed in on it again. It had the effect of pumping the cock. The Thakur groaned and involuntarily pumped his hips as the fist provided him with relief.
The girl stared down at her hand. She had in her grip a handful of the Thakur’s garment and in it was wrapped an obscenely large cock. Her pussy juiced up even as she realized the enormity of the situation she had let herself in for. She let of the cock and rested back on the trunk of the tree, both hands behind her, gripping the trunk. The hands behind her back only served to thrust out her proud and heaving breasts some more.
She looked into the Thakur’s face who looked right back. And then his eyes wandered down to the breasts, succulent and topped by magnificent nipples. All bathed in pales shades for the lack of full lighting. Her eyes flickered, her throat dried up and her lips parted ever so slightly. She didn’t move; she didn’t dare to move.
Hari Singh’s hands came up to gently rest on the breasts, cupping them lightly, as if weighing the precious booty. Binita gasped, her body shivered and she gripped the trunk of the tree behind her ever more tightly. Her chest was now thrust out and up, and her awareness and control of the situation melted away.
The rough, coarse hands of the Thakur held the breasts and the thumbs flicked the nipples. “So this is the woman who my son was to marry,” he whispered.
Binita nodded. Then, realizing that her might-have-been father-in-law was taking the original discussion further, she let her hand drop back to his dhoti (sarong-like lower garment.) Her hand found a way in and she touched the bare skin of his thigh. Navigating from there she felt around for that monster of a cock. From her position her hand could not claim it. She shifted the position of her wrist; with the palm facing upward she was able to take the shaft in her hand the way she would hold a bat. Her fingertips touched his balls and the palm of her hand had the trunk of his cock. The head touched her wrist.
“And this is the specimen of manhood your clan has to offer,” she whispered in reply. She ran her thumb along the length of the cock, back to front, and then she encountered wetness, followed by the head. As her thumb rounded the head of his cock, Hari Singh shuddered. His hands gripped the breasts firmly in his hands as a reflex action. The pinching effect on her nipples hurt her and she winced, but bolts of pain felt so pleasurable!
She gripped his cock and masturbated him, stroking forward and back, gently but firmly. Hari Singh kneaded the breasts and soon his hands ran down the sides of her body and he was stroking the roll of flesh at her bare hips. Binita shifted from one foot to another as she felt her pussy start to flow.
“Babuji!” she whispered her first acknowledgement that day of his seniority as she referred to him as she would refer to her father-in-law.
Thakur leaned over her, his head hunched over her head as his hips jerked and pumped as the fisting caused ripples of sensations through this body. He slowly lifted up the skirts and bunched them in his hands, pulling up more and more, baring his son’s fiancé’s strong legs. His hands went under and cupped her ass. She was wearing nothing under her skirts and with both hands he gripped her ass, lightly lifting her, testing her weight to see if he could lift her completely.
She rested back on the trunk and made it easier by bending her knees. Instinctively, this young woman who had no previous sexual experience worth mentioning lifted her legs.
She pulled at his garment, undoing it to the point his cock was bare and exposed. He lifted her level up to where his cock was nosing at her pussy. The wetness between them was obvious as cock and cunt kissed. Binita held on to her Babuji’s shoulders to hoist herself. Hari Singh maneuvered his hips to try and snag his cockhead in her crotch.
And as the manhood that she had so challenged touched her, Binita knew that she was going to be torn asunder by the monster. She grunted and squealed as she tried to spread herself more. The cockhead nosed apart the wet but inexperienced cunt. Hari Singh’s strong hands held her in his grip. He brought her over the cock and wiggled her. It had the effect of smearing her cunt on his cock head. But he held her there, like a threat. He was unsure of what to do next.
Through the haze of intense excitement, she too realized that this was the father of the man she was to marry. She could not fuck him. At least, she ought not to.
“Babuji?” she asked.
“What shall we do beti?” he asked, addressing her in the fashion a man would address his daughter-in-law (beti).
“Let go of me!” she whispered, as she hoisted herself up further, and with wet lips spoke into his ear.
“And your challenge?” he asked.
“I have been answered, I think,” she replied, “and have also shown you how womanly I am.”
“What kind of man and woman could control themselves in this situation?” he asked her, his head bending to lip her nipples. He brushed his proud moustache against her skin and lips ran over the sweet, fruit-like offerings.
“A father-in-law and a daughter-in-law?” she asked, reaching between them and painting her furrow with the dripping wet cock.
“Should I let you marry my son?” he asked, tasting the salt of the day’s sweat on her breasts. He continued licking at her and tonguing her nipples. Those breasts felt so full, so ripe and so tasty!
She looked down at the man devouring her and felt shots of electricity race to her cunt from her nipples. The question of marriage lay unresolved.
Binita reached up for the lower branches of the mango tree and pulled herself up. Hari Singh felt his large powerful hands lose control of her as her weight rose off him. She hovered over his cock now, completely in charge of her own body, ready to resolve the issue of her marriage by conquering him.
The new raised position of her body allowed him to suck in more of her breasts and she was wet now with his saliva. His fingers, free from holding up her weight, pulled at her cuntlips from either direction. The moment Binita felt the cockhead at her gateway, she let her body down and impaled the waiting monstrosity that his cock was.
It was a brave thing to do, for a virgin cunt to slam down on such a weapon of a cock. But ignorance is bliss and the deed was done. The pain was unbearable as her cunt seared open to the hot cock plunging up. Her weight carried her on and she could not stop herself. The cunt sank fully and he was up in her womb, twitching and pulsating before she could even register the fuck.
Hari Singh howled with pleasure as he felt the velvet sleeve of the virgin cunt grip his cock. Sensations ripped through his being and he briefly felt her hymen resist even as he tore into her. Now more of her weight transferred to his hands and he held her as she quivered and shuddered on her crucifix. The insides of her thighs tensed to an unbearable point of pain in reflex. She let her body settle and relax, shivering and shuddering.
As she whimpered he held her steady, knowing she must be in pain. Her virginity was torn apart in brutal fashion. She clung to him. Tears welled up in her eyes and as the sensations gave way to pleasure, she actually wanted to feel all of that again. It seemed impossible, why would anyone want to feel that brutal pain and stretching again? But nature took over and her instincts made her want more. Once again, her weight transferred to her hands and his hands were freer now to manipulate her body again. Hari Singh ripped off what was left of her blouse and let it drop to the bed of leaves below.
As she lifted herself up, her body stretched out magnificently. He saw the ripple of well toned arms as her hands stretched upward. The arms led to the round of her shoulders. Her muscles were taut with the stress of lifting up her body and flowed into her breasts which were stretched and pouting upward as her body was one long stretch of flesh from torso to fingertips.
Light played games on the curves, the hills and valleys of her breasts, shoulder, stomach and thighs. Her body glistened and Hari Singh marveled at the woman’s young taut and flexible body.
She sank down on his cock for the second time, this time with more assurance and she felt a surge of fluid flow out of her. Hari Singh felt his own pubic hair soak and the fluid race down his balls and thighs. It could have been blood or it could have been her juices. He did not have any way of knowing and he did not care.
His hands cupped her ass and gratefully accepted her weight, while her flesh opened out fully once again and settled down around his aching cock.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” she hissed as her cunt distended and filled up to the neck of her womb. She laughed and threw her head back, her eyes closed, savoring the massaging of flesh on flesh.
Now she lifted and dropped herself again. And again, and again. “Take that, Babuji! Take that you animal! Take that, father of my man!” she repeated over and over again with every thrust and parry of her body down on his waiting cock.
As she lifted and dropped herself, the branches of the mango tree sagged and bowed. Her thrusts were met by the rustle of leaves as she humped him. The branches shook and the leaves told their own tale with every thrust down of Hari Singh’s daughter-in-law down on her father-in-law’s cock.
Hari Singh gave himself up to the intense pleasure of being sheathed by a tight virgin cunt. His cock was broad and head round and was well gripped by most of the pussies he had encountered. But this was a near-first and the tightness was maddening.
He gripped her asscheeks and decided that he must drive the pleasure process for a few thrusts. He lifted her up, higher, aided by her own efforts, and when she least expected it, let her down with no support on her way down. The thrusting of the cock into her cunt was more powerful than ever and Binita started to sob in pleasure.
Her back was raw from the abrasions from the tree trunk. Her thighs aching from the impossibly wide stretch. Her muscles were sore from the sudden and brutal exercise. But her cunt wanted more. And more she took. And gave.
The fucking became more and more violent as each tried to undo the other. Soon the grunts and cries, and the rustling of leaves was joined by the thumping sound of mangoes hitting the ground. Young mangoes were being dislodged by the vigorous shaking of branches and the fruit were landing on the bed of leaves below with thumps.
The wild couple tried to slow down their tempo and bring some rhythm to try save the mangoes, and more importantly, to avoid attracting attention. But the sexual chemistry was too violent to tame.
And soon they had attention.
“Who is that stealing our mangoes?” called out Hari Singh’s wife.
Both of them froze. Binita let go of the branches and put her arms around Hari Singh’s shoulders and hoisted herself on, but in the process she was almost entirely off his cock. Her legs were no longer spread out as she had managed before. Therefore she clung on to his shoulder and tried to avoid slipping down on his cock. She was sure she would be torn apart if she did not spread herself out and she didn’t want to risk that.
She tried to let her legs down but Hari Singh would have none of it. He gripped her thighs hard and kept her around his hips. There was a struggle of him wanting to plunge back into her hut throbbing pussy and she wanting to avoid getting plundered open.
As she tried to keep off and he tried to thrust up into her, he looked towards the house only to see his wife peering towards the mango tree. He walked with girl wrapped around him away from the house, beyond the mango tree, towards the cowshed at the back. With each step was a shuffle of feet and leaves gave away his movements. With each step was the bouncing of her body and the cunt nosed, rode, or sank, to varying extents at varying times on his bobbing cock.
The wife walked towards the mango trees, “Who is there?”
“Haaaah!” came a low scream from Binita as in one his steps Hari Singh speared her fully. He felt good when he sank in fully, for he could hardly bear the waiting. For the next few steps he was nestled in her and the progress to the shed was slower. But it was more pleasurable as they jiggled and fucked with every move. Binita’s eyes were on the moving form of her mother-in-law and she quickly whispered to her Babuji, “Take us away quickly, we will fuck later, elsewhere. Stop now!”
The urgency in her voice was not lost on Hari Singh, he lifted her off his cock and staggered towards the cowshed. As soon as they were in, he rested his aching arms by letting her lean on a buffalo. Binita let her arms rest and spread herself back on the buffalo, her ass still in Hari Singh’s hands. Immediately, the Thakur fucked her hard and fast giving himself relief from the build up caused by the interruption at the mango grove.
The squelching sounds and the whimpering from the fucking filled the shed and the buffalo shuffled its feet under the powerful thrusts from Thakur. Binita grabbed Hari Singh’s shoulders as she lost balance. Once again she was wrapped around his hips fucking him hard.
Nothing, it seemed nothing, could hold them back from fucking. They just had to try to tame one another and intense lust had gripped them.
Now they heard footsteps outside the cowshed. There was only one way for Thakur to prevent his wife from entering the shed. He carried Binita to the door of the shed so that she leaned on the door, making it difficult, if not impossible for anyone to push it in and enter.
It also allowed him to continue to fucking her, for he felt he would go mad if the thrusting were to stop. He just had to have that hot, wet, bubbling cunt ride him. Now, as he thrust, the thump of her body against the metal door became the drumbeat of their lust. Their fucking tapped its rhythm on the metal. Binita’s fingers were over the top of the door as she reached up and behind to steady herself.
“Thakur! You animal!” she hissed.
“You whore!” he snarled at her, fucking her up twice harder for good measure.
“Who is that?” came up a voice from real close.
“It’s me! Go away from here!” replied the Thakur gruffly.
The wife recognized the voice of the man who no one dared defy and stopped short. Those fingers which she spotted on the top of the door were not a man’s. The feet which she could see at the foot of the door were pointing towards the door and were here husbands.
The door itself was bending as if pressure were being applied on it and with each bend, came a thump. The thumps came in a rhythm she had once been accustomed to, though not lately, leaving her in no doubt as to what was going on. What she did not, and could not know, was who.
But that was not such a big matter for she knew her husband fucked at will. Discreet, and resigned over the years to the ways of his feudal lordship she moved off, and maintained a watch from afar.
As the footsteps receded, both Thakur and Binita needed to rest their limbs and he allowed her to slide down, all along the metal door. Her descending body yanked his cock downwards till it eventually slid out, and sprang up when released, smearing itself on her belly. Then as she slid further, it nestled against her breasts. Hari Singh held her by her armpits, luxuriating in the warmth of the valley of her breasts. And then her face was in his groin.
She stared in fascination at the magnificent specimen of maleness. “This is worth losing my virginity for,” she thought to herself. And she did something she had seen the porn movies that the girls at the college hostel had once brought. She kissed the cock, tasting herself and him, but of course, not knowing which flavor was male and which female. She opened her lips and allowed him to sink into the wet warm recess of her mouth. Thakur put his hand on her pretty head of beautiful hair and fucked her face. “God! This woman knows it all. This has been worth the debauchery!” he thought to himself. “I must have her in my house.”
Binita’s hand closed over the cylinder of flesh as she pumped in and out of her mouth and then suddenly she let go. She sank to the straw on the floor of the cowshed and now was kneeling to make a thick enough bed of hay for them to lie on and fuck. As she knelt and went about this task, she could see from the gap at the foot of the door Hari Singh’s wife standing at the rear veranda of the house looking towards the cowshed.
Hari Singh was meanwhile transfixed by the sight of his son’s fiancé on all fours in front of him. Her hips were provocatively wiggling and her knees were sufficiently apart. He knelt behind her and raised her skirt, exposing her once again. A hand went under her and he held her soft stomach. With his other hand he guided his cock, slathering the valley between her legs. It touched her anus, her perineum and her coarse haired pussy. The slit was gaping open and wet and took but a moment to absorb his cock.
Binita gasped as new spots in her pussy were now caressed by that knobby monster. She braced herself on all fours allowing Thakur to ride her. Soon his hands came up to grip her breasts. He held her hard, pinching her nipples. Then he raised himself on one knee. From this position of strength, he fucked her hard.
With each thrust, Binita sobbed out her pleasure. Her eyes were closed as she concentrated on the hot pillar pounding her. Waves of orgasms poured out of her cunt. When her eyes were open they naturally wandered to the wife standing on the veranda. Her would be mother-in-law stood there, picking up wafts of sounds emanating from the cowshed.
Binita’s eyes opened with shock with Hari Singh changed the angle and the rearing cock head touched her g-spot. She blabbered out loud and wildly, “ Babujeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Oh fuck! Yes, take me. Make in me that child which you wanted. Yah, yah, yah!”
She started to buck and thrash back at Thakur. His cock twisted and turned and he felt her pussy walls contracting and ravaging his cock. The throes of her orgasm had her bucking like a cow mounted by a bull and he gripped her breasts hard to hang on to her. His fingers were surely making their mark on her tender skin but those breasts were so ripe, and so asking to be eaten!
Binita noticed the Thakur’s shuddering and loss of control when she moved and twisted on that cock. Now was the time for her to drive her point. She leaned forward and allowed his cock to slide almost entirely out.
Hari Singh wildly lunged forward to find the hot wet nesting place again. Binita skillfully avoided him. As she leaned further forward, the angle of cunt to cock changed and the Thakur risked losing her pussy completely. He stopped so that at least he wouldn’t lose the positioning.
She now gently rode back, the pussy only gliding over the exposed and raging head. Thakur shuddered. He thrust his hips forward, allowing his cock to project outward, fully exposed, ready to take the gripping cunt’s caress on his cock. But it never came.
Binita had turned her head and was looking back at him. Her lustrous black hair was undone and framed her face, her shoulders, and her breasts. She smiled at him. He groaned and caressed her buttocks, kneading them and running his fingernails all the way up to her shoulders. She shuddered and shivered from the touch.
But her hips stayed perfectly still. “This,” she said with a quick backward jab of her pussy, “is what you want, isn’t it?”
Thakur shuddered and his neck and head went into spasms. “Y…ye…… yessssssssss!” he hissed.
“Then,” she continued with a harder jab, “how will you get it” – and here she fucked him really hard- “if I am not in your house?” and in conclusion she rotated her cunt pulling his cock in all directions.
“You can be in my house. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah! You bitch! You whore! You slut!” shouted Thakur as his nails dug into the fleshy ass.
“But how?” pushed on Binita, holding her cunt away from him and leaning forward to the edge of a ‘slip-out’.
“Marry – uh- my- yaah- sonnnnnnnnnnnnnn!” wailed Hari Singh, each grunt being his response to her expert jabbing fucks backward.
“Then you can have me anytime you want,” panted Binita as she felt the waves rising up in her again.
“Can I fuck you like the bitch you are?” implored Hari Singh, his hands gripping her hips as she lowered her head and presented her ass upward to him. She was giving him control once again, now that they had a deal.
“Yes, take me! As much as you want! I cannot do without your fulfilling cock!” begged the woman who was at least 30 years younger than her Babuji, Thakur Hari Singh.
Thakur needed to spill his seed and cum and fill her now. He just had to. This girl’s tight and gripping cunt, her gymnastics, her sauciness and the sheer illicitness of their mating was all too much for Hari Singh.
He moved into the mating rhythm and started to pound in and out mercilessly. Binita was reduced to a whimpering and quivering mass of exploding flesh as orgasm after orgasm wrenched out of her poor, ravaged pussy. From virgin to an hour (or more?) long fuck in one night was a bit too much.
Then as her own pleasure subsided and her mind started to notice what stage he was in she realized he was going to fill her with his seed. Could she allow that? Impregnation by a man other than her husband. That too his father? She thought about pulling out at the time that he would start to cum. But she also felt her own need to feel that hot boiling semen surge in her.
Her pussy was aching from the pounding they had given each other and she figured the surging fluids would help. But pregnancy?
“I am going to fill you with my seed, beti!” groaned Thakur as he felt his cock respond to the incessant pounding. From deep within his body, everything seemed to be gathering up to pour out his lust into this young woman who was kneeling in front of him. His hands reached under and felt the soft, hanging breasts jiggle as the fucking continued unabated. “You are now going to give us the next generation of Thakurs!” he declared triumphantly.
Binita had the answer in a moment of hearing that. Yes, it was the same genetic line, father or son she rationalized to herself. Any explanation would have done, she needed just something to allow her to take what she so desperately wanted.
She leaned forward and Thakur slipped out.
“What the……………!” he bellowed. His cock lurching and jerking wildly as it missed its warm clutching cunt.
Binita lay down and opened her legs wide. Her breasts lay open, spread and mauled with finger nail marks and saliva smeared. Her cunt was wide, red and ravaged. Her eyes were sparkling with desire. And her arms were outstretched inviting Thakur Hari Singh.
“Come, fill me the way a woman is supposed to be filled!” she invited him.
Thakur kneeled between her legs and sank in the pool of wetness. The cunt which had been gripping and tight was now open and lubricated. He pulled out and used the cloth of his dhoti to dry himself and did the same with her outer lips.
She braced herself. He thrust. The pleasure was searing as her cunt received the hot pillar and the nerves carried the message of thrill to her brain. She bucked her hips and hollered, “Fuck me Thakur. Fill me! Take me! Take your son’s fiancé! Yes, fuckkkkkkkkkk!”
Thakur rested his chest on those magnificent breasts and his hips pistoned in and out of her cunt. His seed boiled up and when his first spurt came, he pressed himself deep inside, his back arched, his head thrown back, so that at the time of the shooting of semen he was as deeply embedded in her as could be.
The head of the cock was almost at her womb and when the semen came it splashed out deep into her recesses.
As the warm surge spread inside her, Binita’s nails violently dug into the Thakur’s ass. She squeezed and yanked, pulled and cajoled. She wanted every drop.
Thakur pulled back and thrust back in harder. Another big dollop of semen released into her. She gasped. This was a huge flooding. And with another thrust he filled her more, this time the mixed juices flowing outwards as he pulled to fuck again.
The violent thrusting made her shudder and wail as she too came.
“Babujeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Make me yours! Make us that child!” she wailed
“Beti. Beti. Yes, beti” he panted in short terse words as his spurting cock became the centre of his world. It was as if he was entirely pouring into her.
Her hands ran up and down his back, his ass and his hips as she caressed him. They shook and shuddered. Juices exchanged and released. The jerking and thrusting slowly gave way to shudders and shivers. She sighed in contentment. This was going to be a happy marriage if she had Thakur Hari Singh, sexually and authoritatively, on her side.
Her reasons for getting into this, and now her hopes as she completed it, were different. What had started as a challenge and then become a control game, was now to be sought out for the pleasure.
“Come into my house as a bride!” he whispered into her ear, as his cock receded, losing the powerful hardness which she had made it acquire.
“But not yours,” she replied wiggling her hips. Thakur spasmed as her muscles squeezed out the edges of his rapidly diminishing orgasm.
“I didn’t say that. But I want you in my house. To take and be taken as we please,” he insisted.
“Is that a promise?” she asked, the thrill of this man’s strong fucking making her fuck him now. Her pounding cunt found only a small jut of tender flesh where a large rampant cock had been. He was sensitive as ever still, and quivered.
“Aaah! What do you want now?” he mumbled.
“You!” she replied shamelessly.
“You have me!” he confessed.
“When is the wedding?” she asked.
“As planned.”
“And us?”
“As and when we can.”
Hari Singh’s wife noticed the quiet descend on the cowshed. The rustling, the thumping on the metal door, the shuffling of hay, the cows stomping their feet and the occasional mooing, and the muffled moans and mumbling had all subsided.
It was quiet once again. She watched as the woman opened the door of the cowshed. The woman waited, and peered about. Hari Singh’s wife could not see who it was. But she clearly had no blouse on and was just clutching the remnants of the blouse to her chest. As the woman ran, she was briefly visible in the light of the tube at the pump house. Her ghagra (skirt) seemed crumpled and what were those brown stains on the back?
Thakur stepped out, smoothing his long flowing kurta. He seemed to stagger. It was too late for his wife to discreetly vanish from the scene. She called out to him, “Listen! Dinner is served! Come on in!”
“Yes, coming!” replied the Thakur as he bent to pick up a half ripe mango from the scattering of raw fruit that now lay on the leaves below the trees. It certainly was a good evening to have in the season when fruit ripens, he mused.