The banquet hall in Gulshan buzzed with life, a kaleidoscope of vibrant saris and sherwanis swirling under the glow of fairy lights. Marigold garlands draped the walls, their scent mingling with the tang of spiced biryani and the faint burn of rum-laced lassi. The dhol drums pulsed, their rhythm vibrating through the marble floor, syncing with the thrum of my pulse. I glided through the crowd, my crimson shalwar-kameez hugging my narrow waist, the silk fabric whispering against my shapely thighs. My dupatta, a cascade of gold-threaded chiffon, fluttered behind me, catching the light as my high heels clicked with each step. At 18, I knew I turned heads—my heart-shaped face, framed by long, dark hair, drew glances, my full lips curving into a knowing smile as I felt eyes linger on my swaying hips.
The wedding was a spectacle, a union of two prominent Dhaka families, and I was here as a distant cousin of the bride. The air was thick with laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of a Bengali folk song. I sipped my lassi, the sweet creaminess masking the alcohol’s bite, warmth spreading through my chest. My small breasts pressed against the fitted kameez, the fabric accentuating my hourglass figure. I caught my reflection in a mirrored pillar—high cheekbones flushed, almond eyes gleaming with mischief. I felt alive, electric, ready for whatever the night might bring.
As the music slowed, a group dance formed, bodies swaying to a soulful tune. I joined in, my heels steady despite the buzz in my veins. That’s when I noticed him—a man standing at the edge of the circle, his gaze fixed on me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his tailored sherwani a deep navy that contrasted with his salt-and-pepper hair. His neatly trimmed beard, flecked with gray, framed a strong jaw, and his dark eyes held a quiet intensity. He was older, mid-50s, I guessed, but his presence was commanding, like a lion surveying his territory. I didn’t know his name, but his stare sent a shiver down my spine, my plump ass tingling under the weight of his attention.
He approached as the song ended, his stride confident, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. “You dance like you own the room,” he said, his deep voice carrying a Bengali lilt, smooth yet authoritative. Up close, his cologne was musky, his eyes crinkling with a smile that felt too intimate for a stranger. “I’m Khalid,” he added, extending a hand. “Friend of the groom’s family.”
I took his hand, my fingers delicate against his strong grip. “Nusrat,” I replied, my voice soft but steady, my lips parting in a smile. His touch lingered, his thumb brushing my knuckles, and I felt a spark, my tight balls stirring beneath my shalwar. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I teased, noting the way his sherwani hugged his broad chest.
We talked, his words weaving a web of charm. He was a businessman, he said, dealing in textiles, with a house in Banani and a penchant for old Bengali poetry. His compliments were subtle but deliberate—“Your eyes are like monsoon nights,” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath warm against my ear. The alcohol made me bold, my laughter freer, and when he asked me to dance, I didn’t hesitate.
On the dance floor, his hand found my waist, fingers splaying across the curve above my wide hips. The music was slow, sensual, and his touch was anything but polite. His fingers grazed lower, brushing the swell of my ass, sending heat pooling between my thighs. “You’re stealing the show,” he whispered, his lips so close I felt the vibration of his words. My cheeks flushed, my heart racing as his hand tightened, pulling me closer. My small cock twitched, a private thrill I kept hidden beneath the folds of my shalwar.
The dance ended, but his grip didn’t. “Let’s get some air,” he suggested, his voice low, a glint in his eyes that promised more than a breeze. I nodded, my heels clicking as he guided me through the crowd, past the glittering lights and toward the exit. The parking lot was dimly lit, rows of sleek cars gleaming under the moonlight. The air was cooler here, the hum of the wedding fading behind us. My dupatta caught the breeze, fluttering like a flag of surrender.
He led me to a secluded corner behind a black SUV, its tinted windows shielding us from view. The gravel crunched under my heels, my heart pounding as he turned to face me. “You’re something else, Nusrat,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl. His hand found my hip again, firmer now, pulling me close. “You want this, don’t you?”
I hesitated, my breath catching. The rum made my head swim, but the heat in my core was undeniable. His dark eyes bored into mine, his smile coaxing, confident. “No one will know,” he murmured, his fingers digging into my flesh. My pulse raced, arousal drowning out my nerves. I nodded, a small, eager sound escaping my lips.
He didn’t waste time. His hand slid to my shoulder, pressing me back against the SUV’s cool metal. The surface was smooth against my back, my dupatta slipping slightly, exposing the curve of my throat. “On your knees,” he ordered, his voice rough, unzipping his sherwani trousers with a slow, deliberate motion. My eyes widened as his cock sprang free—thick, seven inches, with a slight upward curve, veins pulsing under the moonlight. It was intimidating, demanding, and my mouth watered despite the flutter of nerves in my chest.
I sank to my knees, the gravel biting through my shalwar, my heels wobbling as I steadied myself. My long hair fell forward, brushing my cheeks as I leaned in, my full lips parting. His hand tangled in my hair, guiding me forward. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned as I wrapped my lips around his tip, the salty taste of precum coating my tongue. I sucked eagerly, my tongue swirling around the head, teasing the slit. He was thick, stretching my lips, and I hollowed my cheeks, taking him deeper.
His grip tightened, his hips thrusting forward, pushing his cock against the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes watering, but the sound only spurred him on. “Take it,” he growled, his voice raw with lust. He fucked my mouth, his thrusts relentless, each one hitting deeper, making my throat convulse. Spit dripped down my chin, my lips stretching wide as he used me. His groans echoed in the quiet lot, low and primal, his hand controlling my rhythm. My small cock throbbed beneath my shalwar, my tight balls aching with need.
He smeared precum across my face, pulling back to let me breathe, my lips swollen and glistening. “Look at you,” he said, his voice thick with approval. “Fucking perfect.” I gasped, my chest heaving, my heart-shaped face flushed as I looked up at him. His cock hovered in front of me, slick with my spit, and I knew this was only the beginning.
My knees pressed into the gravel, the sharp sting grounding me as I caught my breath. Khalid loomed above me, his thick cock glistening with my spit, the moonlight casting shadows across his broad frame. My lips felt raw, my throat tight from his relentless thrusts, but the heat pooling in my core urged me on. My crimson shalwar-kameez clung to my skin, the silk damp with sweat, my dupatta now a crumpled heap around my shoulders. My long, dark hair stuck to my flushed cheeks, framing my heart-shaped face as I looked up at him, my almond eyes wide with a mix of nerves and hunger.
“Up,” Khalid commanded, his deep voice cutting through the night air. His strong hand gripped my arm, pulling me to my feet. My heels wobbled on the uneven ground, my shapely thighs trembling as I steadied myself against the SUV. His dark eyes raked over me, lingering on the curve of my hips, the swell of my plump ass beneath the tight shalwar. “Turn around,” he said, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
I obeyed, my pulse racing as I faced the SUV, my hands bracing against the cool metal hood. The banquet hall’s music was a distant hum, the dhol drums faint compared to the thud of my heart. Khalid stepped closer, his body heat radiating against my back. His hands found my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh above my wide hips, and I felt his breath hot against my neck. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.
He tugged at my shalwar, the fabric sliding down my long legs, pooling around my ankles. My dupatta slipped off completely, falling to the gravel, leaving me exposed in my kameez, which barely covered my thighs. The night air kissed my skin, raising goosebumps as Khalid’s hands roamed lower. His fingers brushed the curve of my ass, then froze as he felt the unexpected bulge of my small cock and tight balls. “What’s this?” he growled, his tone sharp, a mix of surprise and something darker—anger, maybe, or intrigue.
I tensed, my breath hitching as his hand cupped my cock, his touch rough but curious. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice low, his fingers squeezing just enough to make me gasp. My three-inch cock twitched under his grip, leaking slightly, and I bit my lip, my cheeks burning. He didn’t pull away, but his demeanor shifted, his touch growing harsher. “Doesn’t change a thing,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand sliding back to my ass. “This is what I want.”
Before I could respond, his palm cracked against my ass, the sharp sting making me yelp. The sound echoed in the quiet lot, my body jolting forward, my small breasts pressing against the kameez. “Fuck,” I gasped, the pain blooming into heat, my thighs quivering in my heels. He spanked me again, harder, the slap reverberating, leaving a red mark I could feel pulsing. “So fucking perfect,” he growled, his hand smoothing over the tender skin before delivering another sharp strike.
My moans spilled out, unbidden, each spank sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through me. My tight balls ached, my cock throbbing against the cool metal of the SUV. Khalid’s hand paused, his fingers trailing down the cleft of my ass, teasing the sensitive skin. He spit into his palm, the sound crude and deliberate, and I felt the slick warmth of his fingers probing my tight hole. “Relax,” he ordered, his voice a low rumble as he pushed one finger inside, the intrusion making me gasp.
The stretch was intense, my body clenching around his finger as he worked it deeper, curling it to brush against my inner walls. I moaned, my head dropping forward, my long hair swinging against my flushed cheeks. “That’s it,” he said, adding a second finger, the pressure building as he stretched me further. His fingers scissored, opening me up, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through my core. My thighs trembled, my heels scraping the gravel as I pushed back against his hand, craving more.
He spanked me again, the sharp crack syncing with the thrust of his fingers, and I cried out, my voice raw. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he said, his tone thick with lust. His free hand gripped my hip, steadying me as his fingers fucked me deeper, faster, curling to hit that spot inside that made my vision blur. My small cock leaked, a damp spot forming on the kameez where it pressed against the hood. My moans grew louder, the night air carrying the sound, but I didn’t care. All I could feel was his fingers, his dominance, the way he owned every inch of me.
He pulled his fingers out, leaving me empty and aching, my hole clenching. “Not yet,” he said, his voice teasing, cruel. He grabbed my shoulders, spinning me to face him, his dark eyes gleaming with intent. “I’m not done with you.” My lips parted, my breath ragged, my heart-shaped face flushed as I met his gaze. My kameez rode up, exposing the curve of my waist, my plump ass still stinging from his spanks. My shalwar was tangled around my ankles, my heels barely keeping me upright, but the hunger in his eyes kept me pinned in place.
He stepped closer, his thick cock brushing against my thigh, still hard, still demanding. “You’re gonna feel every inch of me,” he said, his hand cupping my chin, tilting my face up. His thumb brushed my swollen lips, and I sucked it instinctively, my tongue swirling around the rough skin. His groan was low, primal, and I knew the night was far from over.
Khalid’s thumb lingered on my lips, the rough pad tracing their swollen curve as I sucked it, my tongue flicking against his skin. My heart pounded, my body still buzzing from his fingers stretching me, the sting of his spanks radiating across my plump ass. The gravel crunched under my heels, my shalwar tangled around my ankles, the crimson kameez riding up to expose the dip of my narrow waist. My long, dark hair clung to my flushed cheeks, framing my heart-shaped face as I stared up at him, my almond eyes locked on his dark, commanding gaze. The parking lot was silent save for the distant thump of the wedding’s dhol drums, the moonlight casting long shadows over the SUV behind me.
He pulled his thumb from my mouth with a wet pop, his hand sliding to my shoulder. “Up,” he growled, his voice thick with need. Before I could process, his strong hands gripped my hips, lifting me onto the SUV’s hood. The metal was cool against my bare thighs, my shalwar still bunched at my ankles, my heels dangling uselessly. My dupatta was long gone, lost somewhere in the gravel, leaving my small breasts heaving under the tight kameez. Khalid’s eyes raked over me, lingering on the curve of my shapely thighs, the slight bulge of my three-inch cock pressed against the fabric.
He stepped between my legs, spreading them wide, my heels scraping the hood as he positioned me. “Fuck, you’re a sight,” he muttered, his hands rough on my thighs, squeezing the soft flesh. My breath stuttered as he reached into his sherwani pocket, pulling out a small packet of lube. The crinkle of the foil sent a shiver through me, my tight balls aching with anticipation. He tore it open with his teeth, his movements deliberate, and squeezed the slick gel onto his fingers, coating his thick, seven-inch cock. The slight upward curve gleamed under the moonlight, veins pulsing as he stroked himself, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Ready for me?” he asked, his tone a mix of challenge and promise. I nodded, my full lips parting, my voice caught in my throat. He smirked, one hand gripping my thigh, the other guiding his cock to my entrance. The lubed tip pressed against my tight hole, the pressure intense, and I gasped, my fingers clutching the edge of the hood. “Relax,” he said, his voice low, but there was no gentleness in it. He pushed forward, the thick head breaching me, stretching me wider than his fingers had.
“Fuck!” I cried out, the burn sharp, my body tensing as he inched deeper. My hole clenched around him, the stretch overwhelming, but the lube eased his way, his cock sliding in with a slow, relentless thrust. My thighs trembled, my heels dangling as he filled me, the curve of his cock brushing my prostate, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I moaned, my head tipping back, my long hair spilling over the hood like a dark waterfall.
Khalid leaned in, his broad frame looming over me, his hands pinning my thighs to the hood. His lips crashed into mine, his kiss fierce, possessive, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. I whimpered against him, my lips yielding, his beard scratching my chin as he devoured me. His tongue tangled with mine, hot and demanding, muffling my moans as he thrust deeper, his cock buried to the hilt. The sensation was intense—his thickness stretching me, grinding against my prostate with every move, my small cock leaking against my kameez.
He pulled back from the kiss, his breath ragged, his dark eyes burning into mine. “You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his hips snapping forward, each thrust rocking my body against the metal. My moans spilled out, loud and raw, the sound carrying in the quiet lot. His hands gripped my thighs harder, leaving marks on my soft skin, my shapely legs spread wide as he fucked me. The hood creaked under my weight, my heels scraping with each brutal thrust, my small breasts bouncing under the kameez.
The pleasure built, a tight coil in my core, my prostate singing with every stroke. His cock was relentless, the curve hitting just right, making my vision blur. I clawed at his shoulders, my nails digging into his sherwani, my moans turning to gasps. “Khalid, fuck,” I panted, my voice breaking as he leaned in again, kissing me hard, his tongue dominating mine. His thrusts grew rougher, faster, the lube slicking the way, his balls slapping against my ass with each drive.
I felt the heat of his release before he said a word—his cock pulsing inside me, a warm flood filling my ass as he groaned against my lips. The sensation pushed me over the edge, my own small cock twitching, a damp spot spreading across my kameez as I shuddered beneath him. He kept thrusting, slower now, milking every drop, his kisses softening but still possessive. My body trembled, overwhelmed, my hole clenching around him as he finally stilled, his cock buried deep.
He pulled out slowly, leaving me gasping, my hole aching and slick with his cum. My legs were jelly, my heels barely touching the hood as I lay there, panting, my heart-shaped face flushed, my lips swollen from his kisses. Khalid stepped back, his cock still half-hard, glistening with lube and cum. “Fuck, Nusrat,” he said, his voice rough but satisfied. “You’re not done yet.”
The cool metal of the SUV’s hood pressed against my back, my body still trembling from Khalid’s relentless fucking. My shapely thighs quivered, spread wide, my heels dangling uselessly as his cum leaked from my stretched hole, warm and slick against my skin. My crimson kameez was bunched up around my narrow waist, exposing the curve of my hips, the damp spot on the fabric where my small cock had leaked. My long, dark hair fanned out across the hood, strands clinging to my flushed cheeks, my heart-shaped face glowing with sweat under the moonlight. My full lips parted, gasping for air, my almond eyes half-lidded as I tried to ground myself. The parking lot was silent except for my ragged breaths and the distant hum of the wedding’s music, the dhol drums a faint pulse in the night.
Khalid stood between my legs, his thick, seven-inch cock still half-hard, glistening with lube and the remnants of his release. His dark eyes gleamed, his salt-and-pepper beard framing a smirk that sent a fresh shiver down my spine. His sherwani was disheveled, the navy fabric clinging to his broad chest, his strong hands adjusting his trousers but not zipping them. “Get up,” he said, his voice low, rough with command. “We’re not finished.”
My body ached, my plump ass still stinging from his earlier spanks, but the hunger in his gaze reignited the fire in my core. I slid off the hood, my heels hitting the gravel with a soft crunch, my shalwar still tangled around my ankles. I wobbled, my long legs unsteady, but Khalid’s hand shot out, gripping my arm to steady me. His touch was firm, possessive, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above my elbow. “Turn around,” he ordered, spinning me to face the SUV, my hands instinctively bracing against the bumper.
The metal was cool under my palms, my body bending forward, my ass pushed out, exposed, the kameez riding up to reveal the red marks from his spanks. My tight balls ached, my three-inch cock twitching as the night air kissed my skin. Khalid stepped behind me, his hands gripping my hips, his fingers sinking into the curves above my wide hips. “Fuck, this ass,” he growled, his voice thick with lust, his palm smoothing over the tender skin before delivering a sharp slap. I yelped, the sting sharp, my body jolting forward, my heels scraping the gravel.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he said, his hands spreading my cheeks, exposing my slick, cum-filled hole. I felt his cock press against me, still hard, the lubed tip sliding easily against my entrance. He didn’t hesitate, thrusting in with one smooth motion, the stretch making me cry out. “Shit!” I gasped, my fingers gripping the bumper, my body rocking forward as he filled me again. His cock was relentless, the slight upward curve grinding against my prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through me.
He fucked me hard, his hips slamming against my ass, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet lot. My moans spilled out, raw and unfiltered, my long hair swinging with each thrust. My kameez slid higher, bunching at my waist, my small breasts bouncing beneath the fabric. Khalid’s hands gripped my hips tighter, his fingers bruising, his groans low and primal. “Take it, Nusrat,” he growled, his cock pounding deeper, each thrust hitting that spot inside that made my vision blur.
My heels wobbled, my legs trembling as I braced myself, the gravel biting into my soles through the thin straps. My small cock leaked, a steady drip against the SUV’s bumper, my tight balls aching with need. The pleasure was overwhelming, the pain of his rough thrusts blending into a haze of sensation. “Fuck, you’re good,” Khalid grunted, his pace unrelenting, his cock stretching me wide, the warmth of his earlier release slicking the way.
He slowed suddenly, pulling out with a wet sound, leaving me empty and gasping. Before I could catch my breath, he spun me around, his hand tangling in my hair. “Taste yourself,” he ordered, his voice a low growl, his cock hovering in front of my face, slick with lube and cum. My lips parted, my heart racing as he pushed the tip against my mouth. I hesitated for a split second, the musky scent filling my senses, but his grip tightened, guiding me forward.
I took him in, my full lips stretching around his thickness, the taste of my own ass and his cum coating my tongue. I gagged, my throat convulsing as he thrust deep, his hand controlling the rhythm. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his hips rocking, his cock hitting the back of my throat. My eyes watered, spit dripping down my chin, my swollen lips struggling to keep up. I sucked eagerly, my tongue swirling around the shaft, tasting every inch of him. My small cock throbbed, my body trembling as he fucked my mouth, his groans growing louder, more desperate.
His thrusts quickened, his grip tightening in my hair, and I knew he was close. “Swallow it,” he growled, his voice raw, and then he came once more, hot cum shooting down my throat. I choked, swallowing as much as I could, the taste overwhelming, my lips glistening as he pulled back. My chest heaved, my heart-shaped face flushed, my long hair a mess around my shoulders. Khalid stepped back, tucking himself away, his smirk returning as he looked me over. “You’re something else,” he said, his voice low, satisfied.
I straightened, my body aching, my shalwar still tangled around my ankles. My kameez was a wrinkled mess, my dupatta long forgotten in the gravel. I adjusted what I could, my heels unsteady as I leaned against the SUV, my plump ass throbbing, my hole still slick with his cum. Khalid turned, slipping back toward the banquet hall, his sherwani smoothed out like nothing had happened. “See you around, Nusrat,” he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying a promise that made my pulse race.
I stumbled to the bathroom inside, the marble floor cool under my heels. The mirror reflected my flushed cheeks, my swollen lips, my almond eyes still dazed with adrenaline. I splashed water on my face, my hands trembling, my body alive with the thrill of what had just happened. The music still played, the wedding in full swing, but I felt different, changed. My heels clicked as I slipped back into the crowd, my heart pounding, already wondering when I’d chase that rush again.
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