The morning sun filters through the gauzy curtains of my Dhaka apartment, casting a warm glow across my room. I slip into a fitted shalwar-kameez, the soft teal fabric hugging my curves, the dupatta a vibrant cascade of crimson that sways as I move. My long, dark hair spills down my back, framing my heart-shaped face, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—almond eyes sharp with anticipation, lips full and glossed, a flush on my high cheekbones. At 5’6”, my hourglass figure feels like a weapon: narrow waist, wide hips, and thighs that could stop traffic. I slide into high heels, the click of them on the hardwood grounding me as I grab my phone and head out.
TikTok has been my playground for months, my dance videos exploding with likes—thousands of strangers captivated by my fluid moves to Bollywood beats, my body swaying in perfect rhythm. No one knows my secret, the one tucked beneath the elegant folds of my outfits: I’m a trans girl, my 3½-inch cock and tight balls a private thrill I keep hidden. The rush of being seen, desired, without anyone suspecting—it’s intoxicating.
Today, though, something new hums in the air. A direct message from last night glows on my screen: StarVibe Agency. They want to meet, talk modeling. My heart skips. Modeling could be my ticket to something bigger, a way to flaunt my beauty beyond the confines of a phone screen. I agree to a coffee shop in Gulshan, one of those cozy spots with frosted glass and the scent of roasted beans.
I arrive early, the heels of my stilettos tapping a confident rhythm on the pavement. The cafรฉ is alive with chatter, the clink of cups, the hiss of the espresso machine. I slide into a corner booth, smoothing my dupatta over my shoulders, the fabric catching the light. My fingers drum lightly on the table, nerves and excitement tangling in my chest.
Then he walks in—Rahim, the agent. Mid-forties, slick in a tailored blazer, his dark hair streaked with silver. He’s got that polished charm, the kind that screams money and connections. His smile is warm but calculated as he slides into the seat across from me, ordering lattes with a wave of his hand.
“Nusrat,” he says, voice smooth like honey, “your videos are something else. You’ve got a presence—grace, fire. The camera loves you.”
I blush, my lips curving. “Thanks. I just… dance what I feel.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes glinting. “We can get you modeling gigs. Big ones. Fashion shoots, maybe commercials. But…” His voice drops, conspiratorial. “There’s another side to what we do. Something more… lucrative.”
My pulse quickens. I tilt my head, letting a strand of hair fall over one shoulder, inviting him to continue. He glances around, then lays it bare: a high-tier prostitution ring, run through Telegram, catering to wealthy clients who pay top taka for discreet encounters with stunning girls—models, actresses, influencers like me. The agency takes 25%, but the payouts are massive.
My breath catches. The idea sends a jolt through me—not fear, but a dark thrill. Sex with strangers, no strings, safe and paid? In Bangladesh, where hookups are a minefield, especially for someone like me, it’s a fantasy wrapped in danger. My cock twitches faintly under my kameez, a secret pulse of want. I meet Rahim’s gaze, my chin lifting.
“I’m in,” I say, voice steady.
He grins, all teeth. “Good girl. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Three days later, my phone pings with Rahim’s message: a client, a weekend gig in Sreemangal. Two men, Mohsin and Anis, want me and another girl, Farah, for a getaway at an exclusive resort. We’ll pose as married couples, sharing a villa with a private pool, hill views, the works. My cut: 37,500 taka after commission, for fulfilling every desire. I swallow hard, my fingers trembling as I type my agreement. Rahim sends train tickets for the Parabat Express and a photo of Mohsin—39, a banker from Sylhet, 5’8”, slightly overweight at 78kg, with a trimmed beard and a light complexion that gives him a soft, approachable charm. His WhatsApp details follow, and I save them, my stomach fluttering.
That night, I call him. His voice is warm, a little rough, like he’s just finished a long day. We chat easily—work, hobbies, the way Sylhet’s hills feel like home to us both. He laughs when I mention my love for spicy fuchka, and I can almost see his smile through the phone. Then, I take a breath, my heart pounding.
“Mohsin,” I say, voice low, “there’s something you need to know. I’m… a trans girl.”
Silence stretches, heavy. I brace for rejection, but then he speaks, voice huskier now. “Your pictures… they’re stunning. If you’re half as gorgeous in person, I don’t care. I want this weekend. Just—don’t tell Anis or the other girl, okay? He’d never let it go.”
I exhale, relief and excitement flooding me. “Promise,” I whisper. “It’s our secret.”
* * *
The next morning, I’m at Kamalapur Railway Station by 6:30 AM, the platform buzzing with travelers. I’ve traded my heels for practical flats, my shalwar-kameez a soft peach that flows comfortably, the dupatta draped loosely over my hair. My figure still draws eyes—my plump ass and shapely thighs accentuated by the fabric—but I keep my focus on the journey. Beside me is Farah, the other girl, 18 and radiant in a simple salwar suit, her round face framed by a messy bun. She’s all energy, chattering about Dhaka’s traffic, her favorite biryani spots, and the latest TikTok trends. I match her vibe, laughing, but my secret stays locked tight.
The Parabat Express rumbles through Bangladesh’s green heart, fields and rivers blurring past. Farah and I swap stories, our friendship sparking fast. By the time we pull into Sreemangal at 10:30 AM, I’m buzzing with anticipation.
Mohsin and Anis are waiting by a rented sedan. Mohsin’s exactly like his photo—medium height, a little soft around the middle, his beard neat and his eyes warm when they land on me. Anis is stockier, 5’6” and 85kg, his darker skin gleaming in the sun, an extended goatee giving him a roguish edge. His muscles flex under his shirt as he tosses our bags into the trunk, his grin wide and teasing.
“Welcome to Sreemangal, ladies,” Anis says, voice booming. “Ready for a weekend to remember?”
Farah giggles, already charmed. I smile, catching Mohsin’s gaze. His eyes linger on my curves, a flicker of hunger there, and I feel a spark low in my belly.
* * *
The drive to the resort is quick, Anis at the wheel, Mohsin and me in the back. Our knees brush, and he leans closer, voice low. “You’re from Sylhet too, huh? Ever miss the haors?”
I nod, my dupatta slipping slightly to reveal the smooth column of my throat. “Sometimes. The festivals, the food… it’s home.”
We swap stories of high school experiences, the chaos of street fairs, and I feel him relax, his hand resting casually on the seat, inches from mine. The villa, when we arrive, is breathtaking: sprawling, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing rolling hills. Two bedrooms, a private pool shimmering under the sun, and a sense of seclusion that makes my skin tingle.
We waste no time. I change in the bedroom, slipping out of my shalwar-kameez into a modest one-piece swimsuit, black and snug, hugging my small breasts and flaring hips. I keep my dupatta loosely draped for now, a nod to modesty, but the swimsuit’s cut makes my intentions clear. Mohsin’s in swim trunks, his chest broad if a bit soft, his eyes locked on me as I step out. Anis, in louder trunks, is already splashing with Farah, who’s in a bright red bikini, her laughter echoing.
The pool is cool, the water lapping at my skin as I dive in. We play, splashing and chasing, the mood light but charged. Mohsin swims close, his hand grazing my waist under the water, and I feel my cock stir faintly, hidden by the swimsuit. His touch lingers, and then he pulls me against him, his lips crashing onto mine. The kiss is hungry, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting of chlorine and want. His hands roam, squeezing my hips, then sliding lower to grip my ass, kneading the plump flesh through the swimsuit. I moan softly into his mouth, my arms looping around his neck, my long legs brushing his.
Nearby, Anis has Farah pressed against the poolside, her bikini top pushed up as he fucks her hard, her moans sharp and loud. The sight sends a jolt through me, but Mohsin’s protective, steering me toward the villa, his hand firm on my lower back. “Let’s take this inside,” he murmurs, voice thick.
* * *
In the bedroom, the air is cooler, a sharp contrast to the humid heat of the pool outside. The blinds cast slatted shadows across the hardwood floor, their pattern dancing over my skin as Mohsin shuts the door with a soft click, sealing us into this private world. The faint hum of the air conditioner hums in the background, but it does little to cool the fire already sparking between us. His presence fills the room, his broad shoulders and slightly soft frame looming as he steps toward me, eyes dark with intent. I stand there, my heart pounding, the black one-piece swimsuit clinging to my curves like a second skin, the fabric damp from the pool and stretched taut over my small breasts and flaring hips.
Mohsin’s on me in an instant, his mouth claiming mine with a roughness that steals my breath. His lips are firm, demanding, his beard scraping my chin as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting of chlorine and raw want. I melt into him, my arms looping around his neck, my long hair catching in his fingers as he grips the back of my head, pulling me closer. His hands, large and warm, tug at the straps of my swimsuit, peeling them down my shoulders with deliberate slowness, the fabric catching briefly on the swell of my small breasts before giving way. My nipples, already sensitive from the cool air, harden instantly as they’re exposed, and Mohsin groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates against my lips.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with hunger, his eyes devouring the smooth, olive-toned skin of my chest. His palms cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me. I arch into his touch, a flush of pride warming my cheeks at the way his gaze lingers, drinking in the heart-shaped curve of my face, the high cheekbones, the full lips parted in a soft gasp. My hourglass figure, with its narrow waist and wide hips, feels like a canvas under his hands, each touch painting me with desire.
He tugs the swimsuit lower, his fingers grazing the dip of my waist, the swell of my hips, until the fabric slides past my plump ass and pools at my feet, leaving me bare. My cock springs free, 3½ inches and achingly hard, my balls tight and sensitive beneath. Mohsin freezes, his breath hitching, and I hold my own, my heart thudding as I wait for his reaction. His eyes widen briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his light-complexioned face, but it’s quickly swallowed by a darker, hungrier look. “Goddamn,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe, his hand reaching out to stroke me gently. His fingers wrap around my shaft, warm and firm, and I shiver, my knees weakening at the tenderness in his touch. “You’re… fucking gorgeous.”
Relief floods me, mingling with the heat pooling in my belly. I smile, my full lips curving, and drop to my knees, the hardwood cool against my skin. My hands fumble with his swim trunks, tugging them down to reveal his cock—6 inches, thick and curved, the head glistening with precum. The sight makes my mouth water, and I lean in, wrapping my lips around the tip, tasting the salty heat of him. My tongue swirls slowly, tracing the ridge of his head, teasing the slit until he groans, his fingers tangling in my long, dark hair, pulling just hard enough to make my scalp tingle. I take him deeper, my mouth stretching to accommodate his girth, the weight of him heavy on my tongue. I bob my head, slow at first, savoring the way he fills me, then faster, my lips slick and sloppy, saliva dripping down my chin. One hand cups his heavy balls, rolling them gently, feeling their warmth, their slight give under my fingers. His hips buck, thrusting shallowly, and I gag softly, the sound raw and desperate, spurring him on.
“Shit, Nusrat,” he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. His grip tightens in my hair, guiding my rhythm, and I let him, my throat relaxing as he pushes deeper, the head of his cock brushing the back of my mouth. I moan around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath, his thighs tensing under my hands. I work him with purpose, my tongue swirling, my lips sucking hard, drawing out every shudder, every groan. My own cock throbs between my thighs, untouched but leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. The room is filled with the wet sounds of my mouth, the creak of the floor beneath my knees, and Mohsin’s ragged breathing, each sound amplifying the heat building inside me.
He pulls me up abruptly, his hands rough on my arms, and kisses me hard, his tongue plunging into my mouth, tasting himself on me. The kiss is messy, desperate, his beard scraping my cheeks as he presses himself closer, his cock brushing against my thigh. He pushes me towards the bed, my legs trembling as he guides me backward, his hands never leaving my body. His mouth finds my breasts again, latching onto one nipple, sucking hard until I whimper, the sensation sharp and electric. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, tugging gently, and I arch into him, my hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He moves to the other nipple, his tongue swirling, his lips pulling, and I’m panting now, my body alight with need.
Mohsin pushes me onto the bed, the mattress soft beneath my back, and I lie there, my legs falling open, my cock and balls exposed, vulnerable. He kneels between my thighs, his eyes locked on mine as he traces a slow path down my body with his mouth, kissing the dip of my navel, the curve of my hip. He lifts my hips, his hands strong under my ass, and spreads my cheeks, exposing my tight hole. His tongue dives in without warning, wet and relentless, probing deep into the sensitive ring of muscle. I squirm, gasping, my hands fisting the sheets as his beard scrapes the tender skin of my inner thighs, the contrast of rough and soft driving me wild. His tongue works me open, circling, thrusting, the wet heat of it making my toes curl, my moans spilling freely into the air.
“Fuck, Mohsin,” I gasp, my voice high and desperate, my hips bucking against his face. He growls against me, the vibration sending a jolt through my core, and I feel my cock twitch, leaking onto my stomach. His fingers join his tongue, one slipping inside, slick with his spit, stretching me with a slow, deliberate push. The intrusion burns faintly, but it’s a good burn, a promise of more. A second finger follows, scissoring inside me, opening me wider, and I moan, my head tipping back, my long hair spilling across the pillow. “So fucking tight,” he mutters, his voice muffled against my skin, his fingers curling to find that spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
He takes his time, his fingers pumping slowly, then faster, stretching me with a roughness that makes my body sing. My hole clenches around him, greedy for more, and I push back, fucking myself on his fingers, my moans growing louder, more desperate. He pulls back, his breath hot against my thigh, and I hear the crinkle of a condom packet, the slick sound of lube. My heart races as he positions himself, his cock pressing against my entrance, the blunt head teasing my stretched hole. I’m on my back, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other spread wide, my body open and aching for him. He pushes in, slow at first, the stretch intense, a burning fullness that makes me gasp. His curved cock slides deeper, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated, his balls pressed against my ass.
“Fuck,” I whimper, my hands gripping his arms, my nails biting into his skin. He pauses, letting me adjust, his eyes locked on mine, dark with lust. Then he moves, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, his cock dragging against my prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through me. The burn fades, blooming into a deep, pulsing ecstasy, and I moan, my hips rocking to meet him. He picks up the pace, his thrusts harder, deeper, the bed creaking under us, the headboard tapping the wall. My moans mix with his grunts, a raw, primal symphony, my cock bouncing against my stomach with each thrust, leaking steadily now.
“Take it, Nusrat,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me onto him with every thrust. His cock hits my prostate relentlessly, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through me, my body trembling under the onslaught. I’m lost in it, the heat, the fullness, the way his curved shaft stretches me just right. My small breasts bounce slightly with each thrust, my nipples aching, and I reach up, pinching one, the sharp sensation pushing me closer to the edge. Mohsin’s eyes darken, watching me, and he leans down, sucking the other nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing, making me cry out.
He shifts us abruptly, flipping me onto my stomach with a roughness that makes my breath catch. My face presses into the pillow, my long hair fanning out, and he pulls my hips up, my knees sinking into the mattress, my ass high and exposed. He slams back in, doggy-style, his cock driving deep, the angle even more intense, his curved shaft hitting my prostate with brutal precision. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and I know I’ll bruise, the thought sending a thrill through me. His thrusts are relentless, his balls slapping against my skin with a wet, rhythmic sound, and I push back, meeting him thrust for thrust, my moans muffled by the pillow.
“Fuck, take it,” he growls again, his voice raw, and I do, my body yielding to him, my hole clenching around his cock. My cock leaks onto the sheets, a steady drip of precum, my balls tight and aching with need. His thrusts are brutal, each one driving me forward, my hands clutching the sheets, my body rocking with the force of him. I feel the sweat beading on my skin, the heat of him behind me, his chest heaving as he fucks me harder, deeper, his grunts growing louder, more desperate.
He slows suddenly, pulling out, and I whimper at the loss, my hole clenching. But then he’s shifting us again, pulling me close, spooning me from behind. His chest presses against my back, his arm wrapping around my waist, one hand sliding up to squeeze my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. He enters me again, slower now, his cock sliding in with a smooth, intimate stroke, the angle perfect, hitting my prostate with a gentle, relentless pressure. His breath is hot on my neck, his beard scraping my skin, and I moan, my body melting into his, every nerve alight.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent, his lips brushing my ear. His thrusts are slow, deep, each one drawing a soft gasp from me, my body trembling with the intensity of it. His hand moves from my breast to my cock, stroking me gently, his fingers slick with my precum. The dual sensation—his cock inside me, his hand on me—pushes me closer, my moans growing higher, more desperate. I turn my head, kissing him, our tongues tangling, the intimacy of it overwhelming. His thrusts grow faster, more urgent, his hand tightening on my cock, and I feel the pressure building, my body teetering on the edge.
When he cums, it’s with a low groan, his cock pulsing deep inside me, filling the condom with a heat I can feel even through the barrier. His body shudders against mine, his arm tightening around my waist, holding me close. I follow moments later, my cock spilling over his hand, my release warm and sticky on my stomach, my moans soft and broken. We collapse, sweaty, tangled, his arm still draped over my waist, his heartbeat pounding against my spine. The room is quiet now, save for our ragged breathing, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
“You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender, his lips brushing my shoulder. I smile, my body still humming, every nerve alive with the afterglow. I feel his cock soften inside me, the condom still in place, a reminder of the boundaries we’ve set. My long legs are tangled with his, my plump ass pressed against his hips, and I let myself sink into the moment, the warmth of his body, the weight of his arm.
We lie there, the blinds still casting their slatted shadows, the air conditioner humming faintly. My heart-shaped face rests against the pillow, my full lips curved in a contented smile, my long hair a dark cascade across the sheets. Mohsin’s hand traces lazy circles on my hip, his touch gentle now, a contrast to the roughness of before. I feel the bruises forming on my hips, the ache in my hole, the lingering heat of his cum inside me, and it’s all perfect, a tapestry of pleasure and pain woven into this moment.
I shift slightly, my cock soft now, nestled against my thigh, my balls relaxed but still sensitive. Mohsin kisses my neck, soft and lingering, and I feel that tug again—something more than just sex, something I’m not ready to name. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low, and I nod, turning my head to meet his gaze.
“More than okay,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, my body still buzzing. We stay like that, tangled in each other, the world outside the villa fading away. The weekend’s only just begun, but already I know this—him, me, this raw, electric connection—is something I’ll carry long after we leave this room.
* * *
The afterglow lingers, my body still buzzing from Mohsin’s touch as we lie tangled in the sheets. His arm is heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the nape of my neck. The room smells of sweat and sex, the air thick with the intimacy we’ve just shared. I shift slightly, my plump ass brushing against his softening cock, and he lets out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my hip.
“Fuck, Nusrat,” he murmurs, voice rough with satisfaction. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
I smile, turning my head to catch his gaze. His eyes are warm, but there’s a hunger there still, banked but not gone. “Good,” I whisper, my lips brushing his. “I like you ruined.”
We linger a moment longer, but the villa’s clock ticks toward noon, and hunger—for food, this time—pulls us from the bed. I slip back into my swimsuit, adjusting it over my curves, my small breasts snug against the fabric. My long hair is a mess, damp from the pool and our exertions, so I twist it into a loose bun, letting a few strands frame my heart-shaped face. Mohsin pulls on his trunks, his eyes never leaving me, and I feel the weight of his desire like a physical touch.
We step out to find Farah and Anis by the pool, her bikini top still askew, his grin smug. Farah’s flushed, her round face glowing as she adjusts her suit, giggling when Anis swats her ass playfully. I catch her eye, and we share a knowing smile—two girls caught in the same wild current.
“Lunch?” Mohsin suggests, his hand grazing my lower back, guiding me toward the resort’s restaurant. The four of us head there, the sun high and unforgiving, my flats sinking slightly into the manicured lawn. The restaurant is open-air, with bamboo ceilings and a view of the hills. We slide into a booth, and I’m hyper-aware of Mohsin’s thigh pressed against mine, his warmth seeping through my shalwar-kameez, which I’ve slipped back on over the swimsuit.
Over plates of fragrant biryani and chilled lassi, Farah dominates the conversation, her bubbly energy infectious. “Anis was telling me about this crazy tea garden we’ve gotta see,” she says, her eyes bright. “And there’s this waterfall tomorrow—Hum Hum, right?”
Anis nods, his goatee twitching as he grins. “Gorgeous spot. You’ll love it. Muddy trek, though—hope you girls brought sneakers.”
I laugh, sipping my lassi, the cool tang soothing my throat. “I’m ready. Born for adventure.” Mohsin’s hand rests on my knee under the table, squeezing lightly, and I feel a spark low in my belly, my cock twitching faintly beneath my clothes.
The men excuse themselves for Jumma prayer, leaving Farah and me alone. She leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Okay, spill. How’s Mohsin? Anis is… wow. Like a machine.” She giggles, fanning herself.
I grin, leaning back, my dupatta slipping to reveal the smooth curve of my shoulder. “Mohsin’s… intense. Passionate. Like he’s been holding back forever and I just… unleashed something.”
Farah’s eyes widen, delighted. “Girl, you’re glowing. He’s got it bad for you.”
I shrug, but my cheeks warm, my full lips curving. I’m not sure if it’s the sex or the secret we share, but there’s something electric between Mohsin and me, something I’m not ready to name.
* * *
The resort’s lush sprawl is a sensory overload after lunch, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and grilled spices still lingering on my tongue. We wander through the spa first, dipping our toes into warm, rose-scented pools, the water lapping at my ankles, soothing the ache from our morning romp. My teal shalwar-kameez clings lightly to my curves, the fabric soft against my hourglass figure—narrow waist, wide hips, my plump ass swaying with each step. My long, dark hair cascades down my back, catching the sunlight, and I feel Mohsin’s eyes on me, a quiet heat in his gaze as we move through the resort’s manicured gardens. The flowers bloom in riots of color—crimson hibiscus, golden marigolds, violet orchids—their petals brushing my fingers as I trail behind Farah and Anis, my heart-shaped face flushed with the day’s warmth.
By 4:00 PM, the itch for adventure pulls us beyond the resort’s confines. We pile into the rented sedan, Anis at the wheel, his stocky frame filling the driver’s seat, his extended goatee twitching as he cracks a joke about the bumpy roads. Farah, in a simple salwar suit, bounces beside him, her round face alight with excitement, her messy bun bobbing with each laugh. Mohsin and I take the back seat, his thigh brushing mine, sending a spark through me. The drive to the tea gardens and Adi Nilkantha Tea Cabin is short, the road winding through Sreemangal’s rolling hills, the landscape a sea of green so vibrant it almost hurts to look at. The tea plants stretch endlessly, their leaves shimmering under the late afternoon sun, the air heavy with the earthy tang of soil and vegetation.
We park near a dirt path, and Anis leads the way, his muscular build moving with easy confidence, Farah skipping beside him, her laughter echoing. Mohsin and I trail behind, our steps slower, deliberate, as if the world is conspiring to give us space. His hand brushes mine, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver up my spine, my long legs trembling faintly beneath my shalwar. My dupatta, crimson and flowing, slips slightly, revealing the smooth curve of my shoulder, and I feel his gaze linger, a pull between us that’s more than just physical. I want to be closer, to feel his heat, his hunger, and I sense he feels it too.
The others wander ahead, their chatter fading into the rustle of leaves, and Mohsin seizes the moment. His fingers close around my wrist, tugging me gently but firmly off the path, behind a cluster of trees where the tea plants form a natural curtain. The air is thick with the scent of earth and leaves, the world narrowing to just us, the distant hum of insects and the faint trickle of a stream the only sounds. The rough bark of a tree presses against my back as he pins me there, his body close, his light complexion flushed with desire. His trimmed beard scratches my jaw as he leans in, his lips crashing onto mine in a kiss that’s fierce, almost desperate, his tongue plunging into my mouth with a hunger that makes my knees weak.
His hands are everywhere, roaming with a possessive edge—groping my hips, squeezing the plump flesh of my ass through the soft fabric of my shalwar, sliding up to cup my small breasts through my kameez. The sensation of his fingers, rough and urgent, sends a jolt through me, my nipples hardening under the thin bra beneath. “Fuck, I can’t stop wanting you,” he growls, his voice low and ragged, vibrating against my skin as he kisses down my neck, his beard scraping deliciously, leaving a trail of heat. My head tips back, my long hair catching on the bark, and I moan, the sound soft but reckless, my long legs trembling as he presses himself closer, his hard cock straining through his pants, grinding against my thigh.
I can feel my own cock, 3½ inches and throbbing, pressing against the confines of my shalwar, a secret pulse of want that only he knows. His hands tug at my dupatta, pulling it aside with a reverence that contrasts with his urgency, the crimson fabric pooling on the ground like spilled wine. His fingers are deft, unbuttoning my kameez just enough to expose the creamy swell of my cleavage, the delicate curve of my breasts barely contained by my bra. He groans, a low, primal sound, and his mouth finds my nipple through the thin fabric, sucking hard, his tongue swirling in a way that makes me gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his shirt.
The sensation is electric, a mix of pleasure and the faint sting of his teeth as he nips lightly, sending shivers down my spine. My full lips part, a whimper escaping as I arch into him, my narrow waist curving, my hips pressing forward, desperate for more. His hands slide lower, kneading my ass again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh until I’m squirming, my cock aching, my tight balls drawn up with need. The world beyond the trees fades—Farah’s laughter, Anis’s booming voice, the rustle of the tea gardens—all of it drowned out by the pounding of my heart, the heat of his touch.
“On your knees,” he says, his voice rough, edged with a command that makes my body obey before my mind catches up. I sink to the soft earth, the ground cool and damp beneath me, the scent of soil and leaves filling my lungs. My hands fumble with his zipper, trembling with anticipation, and I free his cock—6 inches, curved, thick, the head glistening with precum. It’s familiar now, but no less thrilling, the sight of it making my mouth water. I wrap my lips around him, my tongue swirling over the tip, tasting salt and heat, the musky scent of him intoxicating. I slide down, taking him deeper, my lips stretching wide, my throat relaxing to accommodate his length.
He groans, a guttural sound that sends a thrill through me, his hands fisting in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me moan around his cock. I suck harder, my tongue tracing the underside, swirling around the head before diving back down, my mouth a tight, wet heat. My hands grip his thighs, feeling the muscle tense beneath my fingers, and he thrusts, shallow at first, then deeper, fucking my throat with a rhythm that makes me gag softly, tears prickling my eyes. The roughness, the raw need in his movements, sets me on fire, my cock straining against my shalwar, leaking into my panties. I don’t pull back, instead pushing forward, taking him deeper, my throat constricting around him as I swallow, the sensation drawing a low curse from his lips.
“Fuck, Nusrat,” he growls, his voice thick with lust, his hips rocking faster now, each thrust pushing him deeper, my gags louder, wetter. My hands slide up, one cupping his heavy balls, rolling them gently, feeling their weight, the other gripping his thigh for balance. The earth is soft under my knees, the tea gardens silent around us, and I lose myself in the act—his cock filling my mouth, the taste of him, the way his hands tighten in my hair, guiding me, claiming me. My own arousal is a constant thrum, my cock aching, my balls tight, every nerve alive with the intensity of his desire.
He pulls me up, abrupt and urgent, his hands rough as he spins me to face the tree. My palms brace against the bark, the rough texture biting into my skin as I lean forward, my legs spread wide, my shalwar still clinging to my thighs. He yanks it down, the fabric pooling at my ankles, and my panties follow, tugged aside to expose my tight hole. The cool air hits my skin, a contrast to the heat of my arousal, and I shiver, my plump ass quivering as he steps closer. His hand cracks against my cheek, a sharp spank that makes me yelp, the sting blooming into a burn that radiates through me. “You like that, don’t you?” he growls, landing another smack, then another, each one harder, my skin reddening under his palm, the pain mingling with pleasure until I’m gasping, pushing my hips back, begging for more.
“Fuck, yes,” I moan, my voice raw, my body trembling as I press my ass toward him, desperate for his touch, his cock, anything to ease the ache building inside me. My long legs shake, my shapely thighs tense, and I feel the slickness of my own precum against my skin, my cock hard and leaking. He spanks me again, the sound echoing in the quiet grove, and I whimper, the burn of my ass a delicious counterpoint to the throbbing need between my legs. His fingers graze my hole, teasing, and I push back, needy, my breath hitching as he lubes up—condom on, a faint crinkle of foil in the silence—and presses the tip of his cock against me.
He doesn’t ease in, doesn’t tease. He slams into me, no preamble, his 6-inch cock stretching my ass wide, the burn intense, almost overwhelming, but so fucking good. I cry out, my voice echoing off the trees, my hands gripping the bark as he pounds me, each thrust driving me forward, my body rocking against the rough surface. My long hair swings, catching on the bark, and I feel every inch of him, the curve of his cock hitting my prostate with every brutal stroke, sending sparks of pleasure through me. My moans are loud, reckless, but the tea gardens are empty, the world ours, and I let go, giving myself to the rhythm of his thrusts, the raw power of his need.
“Take it, Nusrat,” he grunts, his voice a low growl, his hands gripping my hips so hard I know I’ll bruise, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist. I do, pushing back against him, meeting each thrust, my cock bouncing with the force, leaking onto the ground below. The sensation is overwhelming—the stretch of my ass, the pressure on my prostate, the sting of my reddened cheeks, the rough bark against my palms. My small breasts bounce slightly, free now as my kameez hangs open, my bra pushed up, my nipples hard and sensitive in the cool air.
He grabs my hair, pulling my head back, the tug sharp and delicious, forcing my back to arch further, my ass pushing higher. His other hand slaps my ass again, the rhythm of his spanks matching his thrusts, each one driving me closer to the edge. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his voice ragged, and I clench around him, drawing a curse from his lips. My moans turn to whimpers, my body trembling, every nerve alight with the intensity of it—the roughness, the rawness, the way he claims me with every thrust.
He shifts suddenly, pulling me upright, my back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapping around my waist to hold me steady. His cock stays buried inside me, fucking up into me now, standing doggy-style, the angle deeper, more intense. His free hand slides around, finding my cock, 3½ inches and slick with precum, and he strokes me, his grip firm, his thumb teasing the head. I cry out, the dual sensation—his cock stretching my ass, his hand on my cock—pushing me to the brink. My long legs tremble, my shapely thighs quivering as I lean back into him, my head resting on his shoulder, my full lips parted as I gasp for air.
“Fuck, Mohsin,” I moan, my voice breaking, my body rocking with his thrusts, his hand moving faster now, stroking me in time with his cock. The pleasure builds, a tidal wave I can’t hold back, and I feel my balls tighten, my cock pulsing in his hand. His thrusts grow harder, more erratic, his breath hot on my neck as he grunts, “You’re mine, Nusrat.” The possessiveness in his voice sends me over the edge, my orgasm crashing through me, my cock spilling over his hand, hot and thick, my body shaking with the force of it.
He’s not far behind, his thrusts faltering as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat, his cock pulsing deep inside me, filling the condom with his release. I clench around him, milking every drop, my body trembling, my ass burning, my cock still twitching in his hand. We stand there, panting, his arms still around me, his chest heaving against my back. The tea gardens are silent, the world holding its breath, and I feel the weight of his body, the warmth of his skin, the intimacy of the moment.
He kisses my neck, softer now, his lips lingering, his beard a gentle scrape against my skin. “You’re fucking incredible,” he whispers, his voice low, reverent, and I smile, my heart racing, my body still humming with the aftershocks. I lean into him, my long hair falling over his arm, my curves pressed against him, and for a moment, we’re just us—no secrets, no pretense, just the raw connection of two bodies intertwined.
Slowly, he pulls out, the sensation making me shiver, my hole clenching at the sudden emptiness. He helps me adjust my panties, tugging them back into place, my shalwar following, the fabric cool against my heated skin. My kameez is buttoned up, my bra adjusted, my dupatta retrieved from the ground and draped loosely over my shoulders. My hair is a mess, strands clinging to my flushed cheeks. I smooth it back, my fingers trembling slightly, and Mohsin watches, his eyes soft now, a contrast to the hunger of moments ago.
We rejoin the path, my legs still shaky, my ass sore but satisfied, the memory of his touch burned into my skin. Farah and Anis are at the tea cabin when we catch up, sipping sweet, milky tea, their eyes bright with their own adventures. Farah raises an eyebrow, her smirk knowing, but she doesn’t pry, just hands me a cup, the warmth of it grounding me. Mohsin’s hand brushes my thigh under the table, a quiet claim, and I feel the spark of him, the promise of more, as we sit in the fading light, the tea gardens stretching endlessly around us.
* * *
The tea cabin’s wooden benches creak under us as we settle in, the air thick with the sweet, earthy scent of chai and the faint musk of the tea gardens beyond. My shalwar is back in place, the soft peach fabric clinging to my hips, the panties beneath still damp from our earlier encounter. My dupatta, a vibrant crimson, drapes loosely over my shoulders, its hem brushing the tops of my thighs, hiding the flush that still warms my chest. My heart-shaped face feels hot, my full lips tingling from Mohsin’s rough kisses, and I adjust my posture, crossing my long legs to steady myself. Farah catches my eye across the table, her round face lit with a knowing smirk, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. I return a small smile, my high cheekbones catching the dim light of the cabin’s lanterns, but I say nothing, letting the moment pass.
The tea is sweet, milky, served in small clay cups that warm my palms. Anis is in full storyteller mode, his stocky frame leaning forward, his extended goatee twitching as he recounts a ridiculous tale about a friend’s misadventure in a Dhaka nightclub. His darker skin glows under the lantern light, his muscular arms flexing as he gestures wildly. Farah giggles, her simple salwar suit slightly rumpled, her messy bun bobbing as she leans into him, acting smitten. Mohsin, beside me, is quieter, his light complexion still flushed from our stolen moment in the tea garden. His trimmed beard frames a faint smile, but his hand, resting on my thigh under the table, is anything but casual. His fingers press firmly against the soft curve of my leg, a quiet claim that sends a shiver through me, my cock stirring faintly beneath the layers of fabric. The touch is possessive, deliberate, and I feel the heat of it pooling low in my belly, my narrow waist shifting slightly as I lean closer to him.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for me. His eyes, dark and warm, lock onto mine, and I nod, my lips parting slightly, the gloss catching the light.
“Never better,” I whisper, my voice husky, and his fingers tighten, squeezing the flesh of my thigh through my shalwar. The contact is electric, a promise of what’s to come, and I feel my pulse quicken, my small breasts pressing against the swimsuit as I breathe deeper.
The conversation flows around us—Farah’s chatter about TikTok trends, Anis’s booming laugh—but Mohsin and I are in our own world, the air between us charged. The tea cabin’s warmth, the clink of cups, the distant hum of crickets—it all fades, my focus narrowing to the weight of his hand, the way his thumb traces slow, deliberate circles on my inner thigh. My plump ass shifts on the bench, the panties riding up slightly, and I’m hyper-aware of my body: the curve of my hips, the smooth column of my throat, the way my long, dark hair spills over one shoulder, brushing the edge of my dupatta. I’m a vision, and I know it—Mohsin’s gaze tells me so, his eyes lingering on the swell of my hips, the dip of my waist, the faint outline of my nipples through the fabric.
We finish our tea, the cups clattering as we stack them, and pile back into the sedan. The drive to the resort is quick, the hills rolling past under a sky turning dusky, stars just beginning to prick through. Mohsin’s hand stays on my thigh, his touch bolder now, sliding higher until his fingers brush the seam of my shalwar, teasing the sensitive skin where my thigh meets my groin. I bite my lip, my cock twitching, my balls tightening within my panties. The anticipation is a living thing, curling through me, and I shift in my seat, pressing my thigh against his, inviting more.
Back at the resort by 8:00 PM, the villa feels like a sanctuary, its private pool shimmering under the starlit sky. The air is cooler now, a soft breeze carrying the scent of jasmine from the gardens. We shed our outer layers—my shalwar-kameez and dupatta tossed onto a lounge chair, leaving me once again in the black one-piece swimsuit that hugs my hourglass figure, accentuating my small breasts and flaring hips. Farah’s in her red bikini, her curves bouncing as she dives into the pool, her laughter echoing. Anis follows, his stocky frame cutting through the water, his swim trunks loud and garish. Mohsin’s in his trunks, his chest broad if a little soft, his eyes locked on me as I step toward the pool, my long legs gleaming in the moonlight, my shapely thighs flexing with each step.
The water is cool, a delicious shock against my skin as I slip in, the swimsuit clinging to every curve. We splash and play, the mood looser now, the day’s adventures—tea gardens, rough sex behind trees—binding us in a shared, reckless energy. Farah and I exchange a glance, our eyes meeting across the water, and without a word, we move with purpose, our bodies slicing through the pool toward the men. It’s instinctual, synchronized, like a dance we’ve choreographed without speaking. My heart pounds, my cock already half-hard under the swimsuit, my balls tight with anticipation.
I reach Mohsin, the water lapping at my waist as I kneel on the pool’s shallow steps, the tiled edge cool against my knees. The starlight reflects off the water, casting ripples across my skin, my long hair damp and clinging to my shoulders. Mohsin stands before me, his trunks already tenting, his 6-inch cock straining against the fabric. I tug the trunks down, freeing him, the curved shaft springing up, the head glistening in the moonlight. My lips part, my full mouth eager, and I lean forward, taking him into my mouth, the taste of salt and chlorine sharp on my tongue.
He’s hard instantly, a low groan rumbling from his chest as I seal my lips around his shaft, my tongue swirling slow and deliberate over the head, teasing the sensitive slit. The water amplifies every sound—the soft suck of my lips, the faint gag as I take him deeper, the splash of Farah nearby as she mirrors me with Anis. I work him slowly at first, savoring the weight of him, the way his cock fills my mouth, stretching my lips wide. My tongue traces the underside, following the thick vein, lingering on the curve that makes him shudder. My hands find his balls, heavy and warm, and I cradle them gently, rolling them in my palms, my fingers brushing the sensitive skin behind.
“Fuck, Nusrat,” he growls, his hands tangling in my hair, fingers tightening as he guides me. I let him, relaxing my throat, taking him deeper until my nose brushes his pelvis, his cock hitting the back of my throat. I gag softly, the sound muffled by the water, my eyes watering but locked on his, dark and burning with need. He thrusts, shallow at first, then deeper, fucking my throat with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation is overwhelming—my lips stretched, my throat full, the water lapping at my thighs, cool against the heat of my skin. My cock throbs under the swimsuit, my balls aching, and I press my thighs together, the pressure a sweet torment.
I shift my pace, faster now, my head bobbing, my tongue working furiously, swirling and flicking, teasing every inch of him. His groans grow louder, his hips bucking, and I feel the power of it, the way I’m unraveling him. My hands slide up his thighs, nails grazing the skin, and I squeeze his balls gently, tugging just enough to make him hiss. The water splashes around us, my long legs bent, my plump ass raised slightly as I lean forward, the swimsuit riding up, exposing the curve of my cheeks. My small breasts press against the fabric, nipples hard, and I feel every sensation amplified—the cool water, the heat of his cock, the tug of his hands in my hair.
Nearby, Farah’s moans are muffled, her lips wrapped around Anis’s cock, her head moving in rhythm with mine. The sounds blend—her soft gags, his low grunts, the splash of water—and it’s a symphony of raw desire, the starlit pool our stage. Mohsin’s thrusts grow erratic, his breath ragged, and I know he’s close. I double down, sucking harder, my tongue relentless, my lips tight as I take him deep, my throat constricting around him. His hands tighten in my hair, pulling hard, and I moan around his cock, the vibration pushing him over the edge.
“Shit, I’m—” he starts, but he doesn’t finish, his cock pulsing as his hot load shoots down my throat. The taste is sharp, thick, and I swallow every drop, my eyes never leaving his, my lips still sealed around him as he shudders, his hips jerking. The intensity of it sends a jolt through me, my own cock leaking into the swimsuit, my balls tight and aching. I pull back slowly, licking the head one last time, savoring the last drops, my full lips glistening in the moonlight.
Anis finishes too, his groan echoing across the pool, and Farah giggles, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her round face flushed with satisfaction. She catches my eye, and we share a grin, a silent acknowledgment of the shared thrill. Mohsin pulls me up, his hands gentle now, cupping my face as he kisses me, slow and deep, tasting himself on my tongue. The water swirls around us, cool against my heated skin, and I press myself against him, my long legs brushing his, my hips grinding faintly against his softening cock.
We climb out of the pool, dripping, the night air raising goosebumps on my skin. My swimsuit clings to every curve, the black fabric outlining my small breasts, my narrow waist, the flare of my hips. My long hair is a wet cascade down my back, my heart-shaped face glowing with the afterglow of exertion. Farah’s bikini is askew, her curves bouncing as she wraps a towel around herself, and Anis slaps her ass playfully, his grin wide. Mohsin’s hand finds my lower back, guiding me toward the villa, his touch a quiet promise.
We head to dinner, the resort’s restaurant candlelit and intimate, the tables draped in white linen, the air rich with the scent of grilled fish, warm naan, and spicy curries. I’ve slipped back into my shalwar-kameez, the peach fabric soft against my skin, my dupatta draped loosely to hide the faint marks Mohsin’s teeth left on my throat. My high heels are back on, the click of them on the tiled floor grounding me as we slide into a booth, Mohsin beside me, his thigh pressed against mine. The table hides our closeness, but his foot nudges mine, a secret spark that keeps my pulse racing.
The food is exquisite, the fish flaky and spiced, the curries burning my tongue in the best way. Farah and Anis keep the conversation light, trading stories about Sreemangal’s quirks, but Mohsin’s quiet, his eyes dark and intense as they meet mine. His hand rests on my knee under the table, his fingers tracing slow patterns, inching higher until they brush the seam of my shalwar again. My breath catches, my cock stirring, and I shift slightly, pressing my thigh against his, inviting more. My full lips part, my almond eyes locked on his, and I feel the heat of his gaze, the promise of what’s waiting back at the villa.
The meal stretches on, the candlelight casting shadows across my high cheekbones, my long legs crossed under the table, my shapely thighs flexing as I shift. Mohsin’s foot slides against mine, a deliberate caress, and I bite my lip, my body humming with anticipation. The weekend’s already been a whirlwind—rough sex in the tea garden, the thrill of our secret—but this moment, this quiet tension, feels like the calm before the storm. I’m already aching for what comes next, my body alive with want, my mind spinning with the memory of his cock in my throat, the taste of him still lingering.
As we finish dinner, the four of us laughing like old friends, I catch Mohsin’s eye again, and the spark there tells me he’s as ready as I am. The night’s not over, and the villa’s waiting, its private bedroom a canvas for whatever desires we unleash next.
* * *
The villa is a cocoon of quiet, the only sound the faint hum of crickets weaving through the warm night air. The bedroom glows softly, moonlight slipping through the slatted blinds, casting silver streaks across the bed where Mohsin and I stand, bodies inches apart, the air between us electric. I’m back in my black one-piece swimsuit, the fabric clinging to my curves like a second skin, accentuating the swell of my hips, the gentle rise of my small breasts, the plump curve of my ass. My long, dark hair spills over my shoulders, framing my heart-shaped face, and I catch Mohsin’s gaze—his eyes dark, hungry, tracing every inch of me with a reverence that makes my pulse race.
He steps closer, his hands finding my waist, fingers warm through the thin material. His lips meet mine, slow and deliberate, the kiss deep and searching, his tongue brushing against mine with a tenderness that belies the fire in his touch. I melt into him, my arms looping around his neck, my long legs shifting to press closer, the heat of his body igniting a spark low in my belly. His hands roam, tracing the dip of my waist, sliding up to cup the soft weight of my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples through the swimsuit until they harden, straining against the fabric. I gasp into his mouth, the sensation sharp and sweet, my cock twitching faintly beneath the tight constraints of my suit.
“I can’t get enough of you,” Mohsin murmurs, his voice low, rough with want, and I feel the truth of it in the way his fingers dig into my hips, possessive yet worshipful. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his light complexion flushed, his trimmed beard framing a jaw clenched with desire. I smile, my full lips curving, my almond eyes glinting with mischief as I sway my hips, letting the swimsuit highlight every curve.
“Then don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice a sultry challenge, and he groans, pulling me against him, his mouth claiming mine again. His hands move with purpose now, tugging at the straps of my swimsuit, peeling the fabric down my shoulders with a slow, deliberate drag that sends shivers across my skin. The suit catches briefly at my hips, the stretch emphasizing the flare of my curves, before he tugs it lower, exposing my smooth, taut stomach, the delicate dip of my navel. My small breasts bounce free, nipples dark and pebbled in the cool air, and Mohsin’s breath catches, his eyes devouring me.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says, his voice a growl, and I feel a flush of pride, my body humming under his gaze. The swimsuit pools at my feet, and my 3½-inch cock springs free, hard and eager, my tight balls nestled beneath. Mohsin’s eyes flicker downward, a brief pause, but there’s no shock—only a deepening hunger, his hand reaching out to stroke me gently, his fingers wrapping around my shaft with a reverence that makes my knees weak. I moan softly, my head tipping back, my long hair swaying as his thumb brushes the sensitive tip, smearing a bead of precum.
We stumble toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and heat, my long legs wrapping around his waist as we fall onto the soft sheets. The mattress dips under our weight, the fabric cool against my bare skin. Mohsin’s mouth is on me again, kissing down the smooth column of my throat, his beard scraping deliciously as he moves lower. His lips find my breasts, closing around one nipple, sucking with a slow, deliberate pull that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. I whimper, my fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer as he teases the sensitive bud, his tongue swirling, teeth grazing just hard enough to make me squirm. He moves to the other, lavishing it with the same attention, his hand palming the first, kneading the soft flesh until I’m arching beneath him, my moans filling the quiet room.
His kisses trail lower, over the flat plane of my stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into my navel, a teasing flick that makes me giggle, then gasp. He spreads my thighs wide, my shapely legs falling open, exposing the tight, pink bud of my hole. His eyes darken, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he leans in, his breath hot against my skin. His tongue darts out, lapping at my entrance, wet and relentless, probing with a slow, sensual rhythm that makes my toes curl. I squirm, my hips bucking, my cock throbbing against my stomach as he eats me out, his beard scraping the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, the sensation a delicious mix of rough and soft.
“Fuck, Mohsin,” I moan, my voice breathy, my hands gripping the sheets as his tongue delves deeper, swirling inside me, stretching me open with each wet thrust. He groans against me, the vibration sending sparks through my body, and I feel my balls tighten, my cock leaking onto my skin. His fingers join his tongue, one slipping inside, slick with his spit, then another, stretching me slowly, deliberately, the burn of it mingling with pleasure. He scissors them, curling against my prostate, and I cry out, my back arching, my long legs trembling as he works me open, his mouth never leaving my hole.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against my skin, and I whimper, pushing back against his fingers, craving more. He adds a third, the stretch intense, my body yielding to him as he pumps slowly, his tongue still teasing my rim. The sensations layer—his fingers deep, his mouth hot, the cool sheets beneath me, the faint hum of crickets outside—and I’m lost in it, my moans loud and unrestrained, my cock aching for release.
He pulls back, his fingers slipping out, leaving me empty and desperate. I whine, but he’s already moving, shedding his swim trunks to reveal his 6-inch cock, curved and thick, the head glistening with precum, sheathed in a condom. He positions himself between my legs, lifting them to rest over his shoulders, my ankles brushing his ears as he aligns himself. His eyes lock on mine, dark and intense, and I nod, my lips parted, my breath ragged.
He presses against my entrance, slow at first, the blunt head of his cock stretching me open, the burn sharp but sweet. I gasp, my hands gripping his arms, nails digging into his skin as he inches inside, his cock filling me, hitting every sensitive spot. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice rough, and I clench around him, drawing him deeper. He starts to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that make my toes curl, my cock bouncing against my stomach with each push. The rhythm builds, his hips snapping harder, faster, the slap of skin against skin loud in the quiet room. My legs tremble over his shoulders, my thighs quivering as he pounds me, his cock dragging against my prostate, sending waves of pleasure through me.
I’m lost in it, my moans mingling with his grunts, the bed creaking beneath us. “Harder,” I beg, my voice raw, and he obliges, his thrusts brutal now, his hands gripping my hips to hold me in place. My small breasts bounce with each thrust, my nipples hard, my cock leaking steadily onto my skin. The world narrows to this—the heat of his body, the stretch of his cock, the electric pulse of pleasure building in my core.
He shifts us without warning, pulling out to flip me onto my stomach, my ass high in the air, my knees sinking into the mattress. I brace myself on my elbows, my long hair spilling over my shoulders, swaying as he grips my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He spanks me, the sharp sting making me yelp, my skin warming under his hand. “Fuck, look at that ass,” he growls, landing another smack, then another, until my cheeks burn, the pain blending with pleasure. He enters me again, doggy-style, his cock slamming in deep, the angle hitting my prostate with devastating precision. I cry out, my moans muffled against the sheets, my cock throbbing, untouched, as he pounds me, relentless, his balls slapping my skin.
His hands roam, one sliding up to grip my shoulder, pulling me back to meet his thrusts, the other squeezing my ass, spreading me wider. “Take it, Nusrat,” he grunts, and I do, pushing back against him, my body rocking with each brutal stroke. My cock leaks onto the sheets, my balls tight, the pleasure building to a fever pitch. He leans forward, his chest pressing against my back, his breath hot on my neck as he fucks me harder, deeper, the intimacy of the position grounding me even as my body spirals.
He shifts again, easing me onto my side, spooning me from behind, his body curled around mine. His cock slides back in, slow and deep, the angle intimate, his arm wrapping around my waist, his hand finding my breast, squeezing gently. “So fucking perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, and I moan, my head tipping back against his shoulder. His thrusts are slower now, deliberate, each one dragging against my prostate, building the pleasure with agonizing precision. His hand slides lower, stroking my cock, his fingers slick with my precum, and I whimper, my body trembling under the dual assault.
When he cums, it’s with a low, shuddering groan, his cock pulsing deep inside me, filling the condom with his hot seed. I clench around him, drawing out his release, my own orgasm crashing over me, my cock spilling onto his hand, the sheets, my stomach. We collapse, panting, his arm still around me, his cock softening inside me. The room spins, my body humming, my skin slick with sweat and cum.
We lie there, catching our breath, the moonlight painting our tangled bodies in silver. Mohsin’s hand rests on my hip, his fingers tracing lazy circles, and I feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and strong. I shift, my plump ass brushing his thigh, and he chuckles, kissing my shoulder. “You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs, and I laugh, soft and breathless, my long legs stretching out, toes curling against the sheets.
The night’s not over, though. Around midnight, I wake to the press of his cock against my thigh, hard again, poking insistently. My body stirs, desire flaring despite the ache in my muscles. I turn to him, kissing him awake, my lips soft against his, my tongue teasing until he groans, his eyes fluttering open. My hands roam his chest, fingers tracing the soft hair, the slight give of his flesh, until I reach his cock, hard and curved, ready for me. I stroke him slowly, my fingers wrapping around his shaft, feeling the pulse of his arousal, and he moans, his hips bucking into my hand.
I slide down, my lips brushing his chest, his stomach, before I take him into my mouth, slow and teasing. My tongue swirls around the head, tasting salt and heat, and I suck gently, drawing a low groan from him. I take him deeper, my throat relaxing, my lips stretching wide as I bob my head, slow at first, then faster, my hands cradling his balls, rolling them gently. He’s vocal now, his groans filling the room, his hands fisting in my hair, guiding me. “Fuck, Nusrat, your mouth,” he gasps, and I hum around him, the vibration making him shudder.
I pull back, licking my lips, and climb onto him, straddling his hips, my thighs bracketing his. I guide his cock to my entrance, slick from my spit, and sink down, slow, savoring the stretch as he fills me. Cowgirl-style, I roll my hips, my hands braced on his chest, my small breasts bouncing with each movement. My long hair sways, brushing my back, my ass grinding against him as I ride him, his cock hitting deep, dragging against my prostate with every thrust. “Shit, you’re so deep,” I moan, my voice raw, and he groans, his hands gripping my hips, urging me faster.
I lean forward, kissing him, my tongue plunging into his mouth as I move, my cock rubbing against his stomach, the friction delicious. He thrusts up to meet me, our bodies finding a rhythm, the bed creaking softly. I shift, turning to face away from him, reverse cowgirl, my ass high, my hands on his thighs for balance. The angle’s deeper, his cock pressing harder against my prostate, and I cry out, my moans loud, unrestrained. His hands grip my ass, spreading me, his thumbs brushing my stretched rim, and I tremble, my cock leaking onto his skin.
We switch again, back to missionary, my legs spread wide, my ankles hooked over his shoulders. He enters me slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on mine, his thrusts measured, each one dragging out the pleasure. His hand finds my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, and I’m lost, my body trembling, my moans filling the room. “Fuck, Mohsin, don’t stop,” I beg, and he doesn’t, his cock driving deep, his hand working me until I cum, my release spilling over his fingers, my stomach, the sheets. He follows, his thrusts stuttering, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me up with his warmth, no condom to restrain his seed this time.
We collapse, breathless, his body heavy on mine, his lips brushing my forehead. My legs tremble, my ass sore but satisfied, my cock soft against my thigh. The room is quiet again, the crickets a faint hum outside, and I feel the weight of the moment, the intimacy of our tangled bodies.
Then, in the quiet, Mohsin hesitates, his voice shy, almost vulnerable. “Can I… try something? Something kinky?”
I raise an eyebrow, my lips curving, curiosity sparking. “Tell me.”
He blushes, his light complexion reddening, his eyes flicking away before meeting mine again. “I want to… piss inside you. If you’re okay with it.”
The idea shocks me, a jolt of taboo that sets my nerves alight. It’s strange, intimate, a line we haven’t crossed, and yet the thought of it—of him claiming me in such a primal way—makes my cock twitch, my body humming with anticipation. I nod, my voice a whisper. “Do it.”
He shifts, spooning me from behind, his body curled around mine, his cock still hard, slick with spit and cum. He enters me again, slow, the stretch familiar now, my hole yielding to him. I moan, my head tipping back against his shoulder, my long hair spilling over his arm. He thrusts gently, settling deep, and then he lets go, the warm flood filling me, a strange, intense pressure that makes my belly swell slightly. I clench around him, holding it in, the sensation overwhelming—a mix of pleasure, fullness, and something deeply intimate. “Fuck,” I gasp, my voice trembling, my hands gripping his arm as he holds me close, his breath hot on my neck.
He stays inside me, his cock softening, the warmth of his release lingering. My body trembles, my cock hard again, the taboo of it pushing me to the edge. I reach down, stroking myself, and cum again, a smaller, shuddering release that leaves me breathless. Mohsin kisses my neck, soft and reverent, his arms tightening around me. “You’re fucking incredible,” he murmurs, and I smile, my body spent, my heart racing.
We fall asleep like that, connected, his cock still inside me, his arms a warm cage around my body. The moonlight fades, the crickets hum, and I drift into dreams, my body humming with the memory of his touch, his desire, our shared secrets.
* * *
The morning sun creeps through the villa’s blinds, painting stripes across Mohsin’s bare chest as he sleeps beside me. My body aches deliciously, every muscle remembering the night’s intensity—his cock stretching me, his hands bruising my hips, the warm flood of his piss still a strange, secret thrill in my memory. I shift, my long hair spilling over the pillow, my heart-shaped face catching the light as I watch him. His beard is slightly mussed, his light complexion flushed from sleep, and I feel a tug of something deeper than lust. Dangerous, maybe, but I push it aside.
I slip out of bed, my bare feet silent on the cool floor. My swimsuit’s discarded somewhere, so I pull on a loose t-shirt and tight jeans, the denim hugging my wide hips and plump ass, accentuating the curve of my shapely thighs. I tug a baseball cap over my head, my dark hair tucked into a messy ponytail, and lace up sneakers for the trek ahead. My small breasts press against the shirt, nipples faintly visible, and I catch myself in the mirror—cheeks high, lips full, eyes bright with anticipation. The weekend’s already been a whirlwind, but today’s adventure, Hum Hum Waterfall, promises more.
Breakfast is at 6:00 AM, the four of us gathered around the villa’s dining table. Farah’s in a similar outfit—jeans, a tank top, her round face glowing with excitement. Anis, his stocky frame filling out a t-shirt, cracks jokes about the muddy trek, his extended goatee bobbing as he talks. Mohsin’s quieter, his hand brushing mine as he passes the paratha, his eyes lingering on the dip of my waist. We eat quickly, the air buzzing with plans, and pile into the sedan by 6:30, Anis at the wheel again.
The drive to Kalaban Para takes an hour and a half, the road twisting through Sreemangal’s hills, the air thick with the scent of tea leaves and earth. Mohsin’s thigh presses against mine in the back seat, his fingers grazing my knee, and I feel my cock stir faintly under my jeans, a private pulse of want. We talk softly—about Sylhet’s rainy seasons, the way the haors flood and shimmer—and I feel that spark again, the ease of our connection.
At Kalaban Para, we hire a guide, a wiry man with a quick smile who leads us downhill through dense forest. The trek is grueling—2.5 hours of slippery mud, streams cutting across the path, roots snagging at our sneakers. My jeans cling to my legs, streaked with dirt, but the exertion feels good, my long legs striding confidently, my hips swaying with each step. Farah laughs as she nearly slips, Anis catching her with a grin, and Mohsin stays close, his hand brushing my lower back when the path narrows.
The trek to Hum Hum Waterfall is a revelation, every step through the dense, verdant hills of Kamalganj a pulse of raw energy under my sneakers. The air is thick with the scent of wet earth and wildflowers, the path slick with mud that clings to my tight jeans, outlining the curve of my shapely thighs and the swell of my plump ass. My loose t-shirt clings to my small breasts, damp from sweat, my baseball cap tilted back as my long, dark hair sways in a messy ponytail. My heart-shaped face is flushed, my almond eyes bright with the thrill of the journey, my full lips parted as I breathe in the crisp air. The waterfall, when we finally reach it, is a marvel—a roaring cascade that plunges into a crystalline pool, mist curling upward where water meets jagged rock, the surrounding hills a tapestry of lush green and wild shadows.
We’re a lively group, the four of us—Farah, Anis, Mohsin, and me—snapping photos, our laughter mingling with the water’s roar. The cold splash of the pool is a shock against my skin, sending shivers up my spine as I wade in, the water lapping at my calves, then my thighs. My jeans are heavy, soaked at the hems, but I don’t care; the exhilaration is worth it. Farah, in her tank top and jeans, squeals as Anis splashes her, his stocky frame moving with playful ease, his extended goatee glistening with droplets. Mohsin stays close to me, his 5’8” frame slightly softened by his 78kg build, his trimmed beard framing a smile that’s both warm and hungry. His light complexion glows in the dappled sunlight, and I feel his eyes on me, tracing the dip of my narrow waist, the flare of my wide hips.
Farah and Anis wander off, their laughter echoing as they explore the rocky edges of the pool, leaving Mohsin and me in a pocket of solitude. The air shifts, charged now, the waterfall’s roar a distant hum as he steps closer, his presence a heat I can feel through my damp clothes. Without a word, he pulls me behind a massive boulder, its rough, moss-streaked surface cool against my back. His lips crash onto mine, hard and demanding, his tongue plunging into my mouth with a ferocity that steals my breath. I moan into the kiss, my hands gripping his shoulders, my long legs trembling as his beard scrapes my jaw, a delicious burn against my smooth skin.
“Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he growls, his voice low and rough, vibrating against my throat as he kisses down my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin below my ear. His hands are rough, groping my ass through my jeans, his fingers digging into the plump flesh, squeezing until I gasp, the pressure sending a jolt straight to my cock, 3½ inches and already stirring beneath the tight denim. My hips press forward instinctively, seeking more, and he groans, his lips grazing the curve of my collarbone, his breath hot and ragged.
His fingers fumble with my jeans, tugging at the button, the zipper, his movements urgent but deliberate. I kick off my sneakers, the muddy soles leaving faint prints on the ground, and help him, shimmying my hips as the denim slides down my thighs, pooling at my ankles. The air is cool against my bare legs, my shapely thighs exposed, the skin smooth and golden in the filtered light. My t-shirt follows, yanked over my head and tossed aside, leaving me in just my cap and underwear, my small breasts bare, nipples hardening instantly in the chilly air. They’re pert, sensitive, the dark areolas tightening under Mohsin’s gaze, and I feel a flush creep up my chest, my heart pounding.
His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry, lingering on my cock as I push my underwear down, letting it fall to join the jeans. My 3½-inch cock springs free, hard and throbbing, my tight balls drawn up beneath, a private allure that makes my breath hitch. Mohsin’s gaze darkens, not with shock but with raw desire, his lips parting slightly. “Goddamn, Nusrat,” he murmurs, his voice thick, “you’re fucking perfect.”
I smile, a mix of relief and pride, my full lips curving as I lean back against the boulder, the rough stone scraping my shoulder blades. He doesn’t hesitate, dropping to his knees in the soft earth, his hands gripping my hips as his mouth finds my cock. His lips close around the head, warm and wet, his tongue swirling slow, deliberate, tracing the sensitive ridge before flicking over the slit. I gasp, my hands flying to the boulder for support, my long legs trembling as he sucks, his mouth working me with a skill that makes my head spin. The sensation is electric, his tongue teasing, then pressing harder, drawing a low moan from my throat. He pulls back, his lips glistening, and moves lower, lapping at my balls, his tongue warm and insistent as it rolls over the tight, sensitive skin. I whimper, my fingers digging into the rock, my cock twitching with every flick of his tongue.
“Shit, Mohsin,” I gasp, my voice hoarse, echoing faintly off the boulder. My body is alive, every nerve singing as he worships me, his hands sliding up my thighs, squeezing the firm flesh. He lingers there, sucking gently, his beard grazing my inner thighs, the scratch a delicious contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. My cock leaks, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and I feel my balls tighten further, the pleasure building low in my belly.
He stands, spinning me with a firm grip on my hips, bending me forward so my hands brace against the boulder, my ass exposed to the cool air. My cap tilts, nearly falling, but I don’t care, my long hair spilling free, strands clinging to my sweat-dampened neck. His tongue dives into my hole, wet and relentless, probing deep, the sensation so intense I squirm, my moans loud and unrestrained. He licks with purpose, his tongue circling my rim, then pushing inside, stretching me with slow, deliberate strokes. My body opens to him, my hole clenching, then relaxing, as his hands spread my cheeks wider, his thumbs pressing against the sensitive skin. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he mutters, his voice muffled against my flesh, and I whimper, pushing my hips back, craving more.
His tongue works me for what feels like an eternity, each lick sending sparks through my body, my cock throbbing untouched, leaking onto the mossy ground below. My legs shake, my thighs quivering as I grip the boulder, the rough stone anchoring me against the onslaught of sensation. He pulls back, his breath hot on my skin, and I hear the rustle of his pants, the faint tear of a condom packet. I glance back, catching sight of his 6-inch cock, hard and curved, the condom already rolled on, the latex gleaming faintly in the dappled light. My heart races, anticipation curling tight in my chest.
He spanks me, the crack of his hand against my ass sharp, the sting blooming into a burn that makes me yelp. My skin reddens under his palm, the heat spreading, and he lands another smack, then another, each one harder, the pain mingling with pleasure until I’m whimpering, my hips bucking back. “You want it rough, don’t you?” he growls, his voice low and commanding, his hand lingering on my stinging flesh, squeezing the tender curve of my ass.
“Fuck, yes, give it to me,” I beg, my voice raw, my body trembling with need. I’m bent over, legs spread wide, the boulder rough against my palms, my long hair swaying as I brace myself. He doesn’t make me wait, lining up his cock and slamming into my ass, the stretch intense, a burn that morphs into pleasure as he fills me completely. His curved cock hits my prostate with every thrust, sending jolts of ecstasy through me, my moans echoing in the secluded cove. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in so hard I know I’ll bruise, the pain a delicious edge to the pleasure. He pounds me, standing doggy-style, his hips snapping against mine, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the distant roar of the waterfall.
“Fuck, Nusrat, you’re so tight,” he grunts, his thrusts relentless, each one driving deeper, his cock stretching me wide. My cock bounces with every slam, hard and leaking, precum dripping onto the moss below, my balls aching with the need for release. I push back against him, meeting his thrusts, my body rocking with the force of his desire. The boulder is unyielding, my palms scraping against it, my small breasts swaying, nipples grazing the stone with every movement. My cap falls off, landing in the dirt, my hair a wild cascade down my back, strands sticking to my sweat-slicked skin.
He slows for a moment, his hands sliding up my sides, tracing the dip of my narrow waist, then back to my hips, his grip possessive. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss the back of my neck, his beard scraping my skin. The intimacy of it sends a shiver through me, my heart tightening even as my body burns. He thrusts again, slower now, deliberate, letting me feel every inch of him, the curve of his cock dragging against my prostate, making me moan low and long.
Then he shifts, pulling me down to the soft earth, my body sinking into the cool, mossy ground. He lays me flat on my stomach, my legs spread wide, my cheek pressed against the earth, the scent of soil and greenery filling my senses. My hair spills free, a dark halo around my head, my heart-shaped face flushed, my full lips parted as I pant. He enters me again, prone bone, his weight pinning me, his cock driving deep, the angle so intense I cry out, my voice muffled against the ground. His thrusts are brutal, relentless, each one pushing me into the earth, my body rocking with the force of his need.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts again, his breath hot on my neck, his hands gripping my shoulders now, holding me in place as he fucks me harder. My cock is trapped against the ground, the friction of the moss against my sensitive skin driving me wild, my balls aching as the pressure builds. I clench around him, my hole gripping his cock, drawing a low growl from his throat. His hips slam against my ass, the sound loud in the quiet cove, his weight a delicious pressure that makes me feel claimed, owned, desired.
He leans down, his chest pressed to my back, his lips brushing my ear. “You love this, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice rough, and I nod, my moans spilling out, reckless and raw. “Fuck, yes,” I gasp, my body trembling, every nerve alight with pleasure. His thrusts grow erratic, his cock pulsing inside me, and I know he’s close. I clench harder, my hole tightening around him, and he cums with a low, guttural growl, his cock throbbing as he fills the condom, the heat of it radiating through me.
I’m trembling, my own release close, my cock grinding against the earth, the friction pushing me over the edge. I cum, hard, my body shaking, my seed spilling into the moss, the pleasure so intense it whites out my vision for a moment. Mohsin collapses onto me, his weight heavy, his breath ragged against my neck. We lie there, panting, the ground cool beneath us, the waterfall’s distant roar a soothing counterpoint to our racing hearts.
He kisses my shoulder, soft now, his lips lingering on my skin, and I feel that tug again—something more than just sex, something I’m not ready to name. “You okay?” he murmurs, his voice gentle, a contrast to the roughness of moments before.
I nod, my lips curving, my voice hoarse. “More than okay,” I whisper, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. We stay like that for a long moment, his body draped over mine, the world narrowed to the heat of his skin, the scent of earth and sweat, the quiet intimacy of our shared secret.
* * *
We rejoin Farah and Anis, my jeans back on, my t-shirt slightly wrinkled, my cap pulled low to hide the flush on my cheeks. Farah smirks, her eyes knowing, but she doesn’t pry. We linger at the waterfall until 2:00 PM, splashing and laughing, the exhaustion settling into our bones. The trek back is slower, our legs heavy, but the thrill of the day keeps us buoyant. By 7:30 PM, we’re back at the resort, diving into the pool for a quick dip, the water soothing my aching muscles.
Dinner’s at 8:30, the four of us at a candlelit table, the air warm with the scent of grilled meat and spices. Anis suggests switching partners, his grin mischievous, but Mohsin shuts it down fast, his voice firm. “Not happening.” I wonder if it’s the secret he’s guarding or something possessive, but the way his hand rests on my thigh under the table feels like a claim, and I don’t mind.
The villa is quiet, save for the soft hum of crickets beyond the windows and the faint pulse of Bengali pop drifting from Mohsin’s phone, its rhythm slow and sultry, wrapping around us like a second skin. The air is thick with the scent of our earlier exertions—sweat, chlorine from the pool, and the lingering musk of desire. I stand in the center of the room, my body still clad in the loose t-shirt and tight jeans from our trek to Hum Hum, the denim clinging to my wide hips and plump ass, accentuating the curve of my shapely thighs. My baseball cap is long gone, my dark hair spilling down my back in a cascade of silk, catching the dim light. I feel Mohsin’s eyes on me, heavy and hungry, as I sway my hips to the music, a spark of playfulness igniting in my chest.
“Dance with me,” I say, my voice low and teasing, the words curling like smoke. My heart-shaped face tilts toward him, my full lips parting in a coy smile, my almond eyes glinting with mischief, my silhouette unadorned, every curve of my hourglass figure on display.
Mohsin’s gaze darkens, his light complexion flushing faintly as he leans back against the headboard, his 5’8” frame relaxed but tense with anticipation. His trimmed beard frames a jaw that clenches slightly, his eyes tracing the sway of my hips, the subtle bounce of my small breasts beneath the t-shirt. “You’re trouble,” he murmurs, voice rough, but he doesn’t move, letting me command the moment.
I laugh softly, the sound throaty, and let my hands drift to the hem of my t-shirt. My fingers tease the fabric, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the smooth plane of my narrow waist, the soft dip of my navel. The shirt slides higher, exposing my small breasts, the nipples already hardening under the weight of his stare. I pull it over my head, tossing it aside, my long hair swaying as I move, the strands brushing the tops of my shoulders, tickling the smooth column of my throat. My skin prickles in the cool air, my curves glowing in the soft light, and I feel powerful, desired, my 3½-inch cock stirring faintly beneath my jeans, a secret pulse of want.
My fingers move to my jeans, popping the button, the zipper loud in the quiet room. I shimmy them down, the denim dragging over my hips, catching briefly on the swell of my ass before sliding to my ankles. I kick off my sneakers, stepping out of the jeans, leaving me in nothing but black underwear, the fabric snug against my plump ass and tight balls. My long legs stretch endlessly, my shapely thighs catching the light as I sway, the music guiding my movements. Mohsin’s breath hitches, his hands flexing on the bed, and I smile, knowing I’m unraveling him.
He’s on me in an instant, crossing the room in two strides, his mouth crashing onto mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His lips are firm, demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting of spice and want. His hands find my ass, groping the plump flesh through my underwear, squeezing so hard I gasp into his kiss. “You’re fucking killing me,” he growls, his beard scraping my jaw as he kisses down my neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of heat.
I laugh, the sound breathy, and push him back toward the bed, my hands firm on his chest. He lets me guide him, falling onto the mattress with a grin, his eyes never leaving mine. I straddle him, my thighs bracketing his hips, the heat of his body searing through his clothes. My fingers tug at his shirt, pulling it off to reveal his broad chest, slightly soft but strong, his light skin flushed with arousal. I lean down, kissing him deeply, my tongue dancing with his, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of him. My hips grind against his, feeling his cock harden beneath his pants, a thick, curved promise pressing against my underwear.
My hands move to his waistband, tugging his pants down, his boxers following. His 6-inch cock springs free, thick and curved, the head glistening with precum. I slide down his body, my lips brushing his chest, his stomach, until I’m settled between his thighs. My breath is hot against his skin as I tease the head of his cock with my tongue, swirling slowly, tasting the salt of him. He groans, low and guttural, his hands fisting in the sheets as I take him into my mouth, my lips stretching wide. I start slow, sucking gently, my tongue tracing the vein along the underside, then deeper, my throat relaxing as I take him inch by inch. The stretch is intense, my mouth full, but I love the weight of him, the way he fills me.
“Fuck, Nusrat,” he gasps, his hands finding my hair, tangling in the dark strands. He thrusts gently, testing, and I let him, my throat stretching as he fucks my mouth, slow at first, then harder. I gag softly, tears prickling my eyes, but I don’t pull back, sucking harder, my hands gripping his thighs, my nails digging into his skin. My tongue swirls, teasing the head every time he pulls back, and his groans grow louder, his hips bucking. I feel my own cock throbbing in my underwear, my balls tight, the sensation of pleasing him sending sparks through my body.
He pulls me up, his hands rough, his mouth claiming mine again. His kisses are desperate now, his tongue plunging, his hands groping my small breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until they ache. “Shit, these are perfect,” he mutters, lowering his mouth to one, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. I whimper, my back arching, my hands clutching his shoulders as he moves to the other, his tongue swirling, his lips pulling until I’m trembling, my cock leaking against my underwear.
He flips me onto my back, the mattress dipping under our weight, and spreads my legs wide, hooking them over his shoulders. My underwear is tugged aside, exposing my tight hole, and he dives in, his tongue probing deep, wet and relentless. The sensation is electric, his beard scraping the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, his tongue swirling, dipping in and out, making me squirm. I moan, loud and unashamed, my hands fisting in the sheets as he eats my ass, his fingers joining to stretch me, one slipping in, then two, scissoring slowly. The burn is exquisite, my body opening to him, my cock twitching against my stomach.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, his voice muffled against my skin. He spanks me, the slap sharp, the sting blooming across my ass, making me yelp. Another smack, then another, each one harder, my skin burning red under his hand. I push back against him, desperate, my moans filling the room. “You like that, don’t you?” he says, landing one final, heavy slap, and I nod, breathless, my body trembling with need.
He grabs a condom from the bedside table, rolling it on with shaking hands, his spit from earlier still slick inside me, easing the way. He presses the head of his cock against my entrance, my legs still over his shoulders, my body open and vulnerable. He slides in slow, the stretch intense, his curved cock filling me inch by inch. I gasp, my head tipping back, my long hair spilling across the pillow. He pauses, letting me adjust, then thrusts, slow at first, then faster, each stroke hitting my prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through me. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his hands gripping my thighs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.
I clench around him, my cock leaking onto my stomach, the sensation overwhelming. My small breasts bounce with each thrust, my nipples aching, my body rocking with his rhythm. The music pulses in the background, its beat matching our movements, the room filled with the sounds of our gasps, the creak of the bed, the wet slide of his cock inside me. He leans down, kissing me hard, his tongue plunging, his beard scraping my lips as he fucks me deeper, harder, my legs trembling over his shoulders.
He shifts us, pulling out briefly, the loss making me whimper. He flips me onto my stomach, my ass high, my knees spread wide on the bed. He spanks me again, the slaps sharp, my skin burning, and I moan, pushing back, desperate for him. He enters me again, doggy-style, his hands gripping my hips so hard I know I’ll bruise, his cock slamming into me, rough and relentless. Each thrust drives me forward, my face pressed into the pillow, my moans muffled but loud, my cock bouncing, leaking onto the sheets. “Fuck, take it,” he growls, his voice raw, and I do, my body rocking with each brutal stroke, my ass clenching around him, the pleasure-pain pushing me to the edge.
His thrusts slow, deliberate, and he pulls me back, turning me onto my side, spooning me from behind. His chest presses against my back, his arm wrapping around my waist, one hand cupping my breast, squeezing gently. He enters me again, his cock sliding in deep, the angle intimate, his thrusts slow and steady, hitting every sensitive spot. His breath is hot on my neck, his lips brushing my ear as he murmurs, “You’re so fucking perfect.” I moan, my hand reaching back to grip his thigh, my nails digging in as he fucks me, the intimacy of the position making my heart race.
His hand slides down, stroking my cock, his fingers wrapping around the 3½ inches, teasing the head until I’m trembling, my balls tight. The dual sensation—his cock in my ass, his hand on my cock—pushes me closer, my moans growing louder, my body shaking. When he cums, it’s with a shudder, his cock pulsing inside me, filling the condom, his groan low and guttural. I follow, my release spilling over his hand, onto the sheets, my body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over me.
We lie there, breathless, tangled, his arm still around me, his cock softening inside me. The music plays on, soft and distant, the room heavy with the scent of sex. I think he’s done, but then he shifts, his eyes meeting mine, a shy vulnerability there that catches me off guard. “I’ve always wanted to… try fisting,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Would you?”
My heart races, the idea both thrilling and daunting. I’ve never done it, never even considered it, but the trust in his eyes, the raw need, pulls me in. “Okay,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly, “but go slow.”
He nods, reaching for the lube on the bedside table, my juices still slick inside me, easing the way. He starts with one finger, sliding it in slowly, his eyes locked on mine, watching for any sign of discomfort. The sensation is familiar, warm, and I relax, my body opening to him. A second finger joins, then a third, stretching me carefully, the burn subtle but intense. He moves slow, deliberate, his fingers scissoring, twisting, preparing me. My breath hitches, my cock stirring again, my balls tightening as he adds a fourth finger, the stretch pushing the boundaries of pleasure and pain.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice soft, and I nod, my lips parting, my moans soft but steady. His thumb tucks in, and I gasp as his fist breaches me, the sensation overwhelming, my body stretching impossibly. It’s not pain, not exactly, but a fullness that consumes me, my ass clenching around his hand, my cock leaking onto my stomach. He moves slow, deeper, his wrist sliding in, then his forearm, nearly to his elbow. I’m trembling, moaning, my body shaking as waves of pleasure crash over me, each movement of his fist sending sparks through my nerves.
“Fuck, Mohsin,” I gasp, my voice hoarse, my hands fisting in the sheets. He twists gently, pumping slow, and I cum, hard, my cock pulsing, my release spilling onto my stomach, my body shaking as orgasms pile one atop another. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve felt, intense and all-consuming, my ass stretched to its limit, my nerves singing. He eases out slowly, his eyes wide with awe, and I collapse, spent, my body humming with aftershocks.
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms, his lips brushing my forehead. We cuddle, kissing softly, our bodies tangled, the music still playing faintly in the background. My long legs drape over his, my small breasts pressed against his chest, my heart racing as we drift into sleep, the night sealing us together.
* * *
The morning sun spills through the villa’s wide windows, casting a golden haze over the room where Mohsin and I spent the night tangled in each other’s arms. My body feels heavy, deliciously sore, every muscle carrying the memory of his rough hands, his curved cock stretching me, the forbidden thrill of his piss flooding my insides. I linger in bed a moment, watching him sleep, his light complexion softened in the dawn light, his trimmed beard framing a face that’s both gentle and fierce. My heart does something strange—tightens, flutters—and I push it down, slipping out of bed before I let myself dwell on it.
I dress quietly, pulling on a soft lavender shalwar-kameez, the fabric clinging to my hourglass figure, accentuating the swell of my hips and the curve of my plump ass. My long, dark hair cascades down my back, and I drape my dupatta loosely over one shoulder, its embroidered edges catching the light. My heart-shaped face reflects back at me in the mirror, my almond eyes bright with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration, my full lips still tender from Mohsin’s kisses. I slide into flats, practical for the journey back, and pack my bag.
The villa is quiet as we gather our things, the air heavy with the unspoken end of our escape. Farah’s in the living room, her round face flushed as she zips her bag, her simple salwar suit wrinkled from the trek. Anis is already outside, loading the sedan, his stocky frame moving with that easy confidence, his goatee twitching as he calls out some joke about Dhaka’s traffic. Mohsin lingers near me, his hand brushing my lower back as we step into the morning heat, a gesture that feels like a claim, a promise. My cock twitches faintly under my clothes, a private pulse of want, and I catch his eye, his gaze dark with the same hunger that’s been there since we met.
The drive to Sreemangal’s train station is short, but Mohsin’s hand rests on my thigh the entire way, his fingers warm through the fabric of my shalwar. It’s a silent vow, one that makes my pulse race, my shapely thighs shifting slightly under his touch. Farah and Anis chatter in the front, their voices a background hum, but Mohsin and I are in our own world, the air between us charged. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs, low enough for only me to hear, his thumb tracing circles on my knee. I smile, my lips curving, and lean closer, my dupatta slipping to reveal the smooth curve of my throat.
“Trouble you can’t resist,” I whisper back, my voice teasing, and his chuckle is a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
At the station, the platform buzzes with travelers, the air thick with the scent of diesel and dust. Mohsin pulls me aside, away from Farah and Anis, his hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing my high cheekbones. His kiss is deep, urgent, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting of coffee and want. I melt into him, my small breasts pressing against his chest, my hands gripping his shoulders. “This isn’t the end,” he says, his voice low, rough with something that feels like more than lust. “I mean it, Nusrat.”
My heart tightens, a dangerous warmth spreading through me. I nod, my eyes locked on his, unable to speak. The train’s whistle cuts through the moment, and we step apart, his fingers lingering on mine until the last second.
Farah and I board the Kalni Express at 8:20 AM, the carriage rattling as it pulls away from Sreemangal. We settle into our seats, the worn upholstery creaking under us, and Farah starts talking—about the waterfall, Anis’s stamina, the way the weekend felt like a dream. I nod, laugh, but my mind’s elsewhere, replaying every moment with Mohsin: the way he pinned me against the tree, his cock stretching my ass, the raw intimacy of his fist inside me. My secret—my 3½-inch cock, my tight balls—stayed safe with him, a bond forged in whispers and sweat. The cash in my account weighs heavy, 37,500 taka for a weekend of desires fulfilled, but it’s the memory of his touch, his voice, that weighs more.
The train cuts through Bangladesh’s green heart, fields and rivers blurring past, and I lean my head against the window, my long legs curled under me. My body still hums, every nerve alive with the echo of his hands, his lips, his cock. I close my eyes, picturing the villa’s pool, the tea gardens, the boulder at Hum Hum where he fucked me raw. Farah’s voice fades, and I’m lost in the heat of it all, my lips curving into a private smile.
By 12:30 PM, Dhaka’s skyline looms, the city’s chaos swallowing the train as we pull into Kamalapur Station. Farah and I grab a taxi, the driver weaving through traffic as she chatters about her next TikTok video. I’m quiet, my fingers tracing the edge of my dupatta, my thoughts on Mohsin’s parting words. This isn’t the end. The cash in my account is a start, a key to a world I never imagined, but it’s the promise in his kiss, the possibility of more, that lingers. As the taxi hums through Dhaka’s streets, my body still thrumming, my heart tight with something new, I know one thing for sure: this is just the beginning.
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