Father's friends

The ceiling fan wobbled above Preeti, its blades slicing through thick cigarette smoke as laughter erupted from the couch. Her father’s friend Raj, cheeks flushed beneath his salt-and-pepper stubble, slammed his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. "Another round, Deepak!" he bellowed, nudging Preeti’s father. "Or are you too old to keep up?" Preeti’s mother, Barsha, quietly gathered empties, her sari pallu slipping off her shoulder as she moved.

Raj leaned forward suddenly, his eyes glinting. "Bhabhi your boobs are looking so soft. Hickup." The words hung heavy, met with uneasy chuckles. Preeti's father Deepak waved a dismissive hand, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Shut up Raj, you're drunk." Across the room, Preeti's mother Barsha froze mid-step, the empties clinking in her trembling hands.

"Soft?" slurred Vikram, the other friend, squinting at Barsha’s sari blouse. He lurched to his feet, unsteady. "Soft like pillows?" Preeti’s breath hitched as Vikram stumbled toward her mother, one hand outstretched. Barsha backed into the wall, her face paling, the bottles rattling precariously in her arms. "Vikram-" Deepak started, voice tight, but didn’t move.

Raj laughed, a harsh bark. "Chicken, Deepak? Scared of a little fun?" He snatched Deepak’s beer and thrust it into Preeti’s hands instead. "Here, princess. Prove you're not a kid. You are 21 now." The bottle felt cold and slippery against her sweating palm. Her father stared at his empty hands, then at Raj, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Preeti hesitated, the bitter smell stinging her nose, the taste of betrayal thick on her tongue. Her mother’s smirked weakly, trapped against the wall. Preeti tipped the bottle back, swallowing fast, the cold liquid burning a path down her throat, trying to drown the rising dread. Vikram’s gaze never left Barsha. As Preeti lowered the bottle, gasping, his rough hand landed clumsily on her mother’s breast, fingers digging into the silk.

Raj grinned. "See? Easy." He didn't look at Preeti's father anymore. His own hand shot out, grabbing Preeti’s arm, pulling her off the stool. Beer sloshed onto the floor as she stumbled against him. His other hand clamped over her small breast through her thin kurti, squeezing hard. The cheap fabric offered no protection; his fingers felt hot and crushing. Preeti froze, shock locking her muscles. She smelled stale beer and sweat on his shirt as his thumb rubbed her nipple roughly. Across the room, Vikram had both hands on Barsha now, pinning her wrists above her head against the peeling wallpaper, his mouth wet against her neck.

Deepak lurched forward a step, face darkening. "Raj, enough!" His voice cracked, thin and strained. Raj just laughed, twisting Preeti’s arm behind her back, forcing her chest against him. "Enough? It’s just getting good, Deepak. You started this." Vikram echoed with a drunken chuckle, tearing at Barsha’s sari blouse. The delicate silk ripped with a sharp sound. Barsha whimpered, a small, desperate noise choked back instantly. Her eyes squeezed shut. Vikram’s wet mouth moved lower, sucking greedily at her exposed shoulder, leaving a red mark blooming on her pale skin. Preeti could only watch, her own breath coming in shallow gasps as Raj’s thick fingers pinched her nipple through the thin cotton. The pain was sharp, shocking, cutting through the fog of beer. She felt the rough texture of his wedding band scraping her skin.

"See?" Raj hissed in Preeti’s ear, his breath hot and sour. "Your father’s busy. Let’s make it a game." His free hand yanked at the hem of her kurti. "Get this off. Show us what your mother gave you." Preeti’s limbs felt leaden, disconnected. Fear coiled cold in her stomach, but beneath it, a strange, unwelcome heat flickered low in her belly, confusing her. Raj’s impatient tugging ripped the thin fabric at the shoulder. The cool air hit her skin, making her shiver. He shoved her towards the couch. "All of it. Now." His voice was low, dangerous. Trembling, her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her salwar. Her movements were jerky, clumsy with terror and the lingering effects of the beer. The cheap polyester pooled around her ankles, leaving her standing in only her thin cotton panties. The ceiling fan’s breeze felt suddenly icy on her bare skin, raising goosebumps. Raj’s eyes raked over her, a slow, predatory appraisal. Vikram paused his assault on Barsha, panting, to leer. Deepak stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor near his wife’s bare feet.

Raj pushed her roughly onto the worn sofa cushions. The rough upholstery scraped her back. He knelt before her, his hands rough on her thighs, pushing them apart. "Stay still," he growled. His calloused palms slid up her sides, then down, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip. His touch wasn’t gentle; it was possessive, mapping territory. He leaned in, his stubble scraping the soft skin of her inner thigh, making her flinch. Then his wet, hot tongue dragged a slow, deliberate path from her knee upwards. Preeti gasped, a sound caught between shock and something else entirely. The rough texture, the invasive heat – it sent jolts through her. The flickering heat in her belly intensified, a confusing pulse that warred violently with the revulsion twisting her insides. His tongue circled her navel, then traced a path along the waistband of her panties, dipping dangerously low. She felt a sudden, intense throb between her legs, a strange, slick warmth blooming against the cotton. It felt alien, terrifying, yet undeniable. Her breath hitched, shallow and rapid.

Across the room, Vikram had Barsha bent over the armchair, her ripped sari pooled at her waist. Her bare back was exposed, pale and trembling. Deepak stood behind her, his trousers shoved down to his thighs. His face was a mask of fury and shame, his eyes wide and unfocused. "You see this?" he yelled at Raj, his voice thick with rage and beer. "You wanted this? You get yours, I get mine!" He grabbed his wife's hips roughly, positioning himself. Barsha whimpered, a low, broken sound muffled by the upholstery. Deepak thrust forward hard. A choked cry escaped Barsha, her knuckles white where she gripped the chair. "I'll fuck *my* wife first!" Deepak roared, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "Like this! You see?" His movements were jerky, angry, devoid of anything but possession and misplaced vengeance.

Raj chuckled darkly against Preeti's thigh. "Hear that, princess? Daddy's busy." His tongue left a wet, cold trail as he moved upwards, his rough hands spreading her legs wider. He lapped at the soft skin of her inner thigh, then higher, his breath hot on the thin cotton of her panties. Preeti gasped, arching slightly despite herself. The sensation was overwhelming – the scrape of his stubble, the shocking heat of his mouth so close to her most private place. That strange, insistent pulse between her legs intensified, a deep, rhythmic throb that made her squirm. The cotton felt suddenly damp, clinging. She could feel the slickness, a confusing betrayal of her terror. Raj hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties. "Time to see what's making you feel so funny," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin. He pulled the fabric down, exposing her completely to the smoky, beer-stale air.

The cool breeze from the fan hit her bare skin, making her shiver violently. Raj didn't hesitate. He buried his face between her legs, his tongue a thick, insistent pressure against her virgin flesh. Preeti cried out, a sharp sound of shock. It wasn't gentle; it was probing, invasive, mapping the folds with rough, wet strokes. The sensation was a jolt – sharp, electric, deeply confusing. That unwanted heat flared hotter, a coil tightening low in her belly, warring violently with the revulsion twisting her gut. His tongue circled her clit, a deliberate, relentless pressure. A choked moan escaped her lips, her hips lifting involuntarily off the rough cushions. Her fingers dug into the sofa fabric, knuckles white. The wet sounds were obscenely loud in the room, mingling with her mother’s muffled sobs and the rhythmic grunts from her father.

Across the room, Vikram had finally freed himself from his trousers. He grabbed Barsha's hair, yanking her head back from the chair. "Your turn, bhabhi," he slurred, his eyes glazed. He forced her down onto her knees before him. Deepak stood frozen, watching, his face a mask of impotent rage as Vikram thrust his thick cock towards his wife's face. Barsha turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. Vikram grabbed her jaw roughly, forcing her mouth open. "Suck," he commanded, pushing himself inside. Barsha gagged, tears streaming down her face as he began a brutal, shallow rhythm.

Raj pulled his mouth away from Preeti with a wet sound. He fumbled with his belt buckle, his eyes locked on her exposed body. "Now, princess," he rasped, his breath hot and sour. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly. Preeti tried to scramble back on the couch, but he caught her ankle, dragging her towards him. The rough upholstery burned her skin. He positioned himself between her legs, the blunt, heavy head of his cock pressing against her untouched entrance. She felt the terrifying pressure, the impossible stretch. "No!" she gasped, pushing weakly at his chest. He ignored her, his weight pinning her down. With one brutal thrust, he tore through her virginity. A sharp, white-hot pain ripped through her lower body, stealing her breath. She cried out, a raw sound of agony and violation.

Across the room, Vikram groaned, his hips pistoning against Barsha’s face. Her choked gagging filled the air. Deepak stood frozen, watching his wife struggle, his expression hollow. Then, abruptly, he shoved Vikram aside. "My turn!" he snarled, grabbing Barsha’s shoulders. He spun her around, bending her over the armchair again. Her ripped sari offered no cover. Deepak entered her roughly from behind, his movements mechanical, fueled by rage and humiliation. Barsha is enjoying it now with making satisfied moans. Preeti saw her mother’s knuckles whiten on the chair, her back arching slightly—a traitorous response that mirrored Preeti’s own confusing sensations.

Raj didn’t pause. He drove deeper into Preeti, each thrust a fresh wave of searing pain. Her fingernails dug into the sofa, tearing at the fabric. The initial agony began to blur, replaced by a raw, grinding friction that radiated up her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to disappear into the scratchy cushions. Raj’s breath was hot and sour against her neck, his stubble scraping her skin. "Tighter than your mother, huh?" he grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, pinning her down as he hammered into her. The rhythmic slap of flesh filled the room, punctuated by her mother’s stifled cries and Vikram’s drunken encouragement.

Across the room, Vikram watched Raj with a slack-jawed leer, one hand still tangled in Barsha’s hair. "Faster, yaar! Make her squeal!" he slurred, spittle dotting his chin. Deepak ignored them both, his own movements becoming frantic, almost desperate, against his wife. Barsha’s moans shifted—higher, breathier—as her body arched back into her husband’s thrusts. Her eyes met Preeti’s for a fractured second, wide and glistening, before squeezing shut again. A flush spread across her chest, her earlier terror now warped into something shamefully responsive. Deepak’s hands roamed her bare back, possessive and rough, as if reclaiming what he’d lost.

Raj’s rhythm grew erratic, his hips slamming into Preeti with bruising force. The searing pain had dulled to a deep, throbbing ache, but every drive still stole her breath. His calloused thumb found her clit again, rubbing in harsh circles. A traitorous jolt shot through her—sharp, electric—making her gasp. He laughed, a wet, guttural sound. "Feel that, princess? Your body knows what it wants." His other hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her whimpers as his thrusts turned shallow and urgent. She tasted salt and dirt on his palm, felt the scrape of his ring. Her hips lifted slightly, involuntarily, seeking relief from the friction. The betrayal was visceral, a coil of heat tightening low in her belly despite the revulsion clawing at her throat.

Across the room, Vikram staggered back from Barsha, his trousers sagging. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes fixed greedily on Preeti. "My turn," he slurred, stumbling toward the couch. Raj grunted, pulling out abruptly. Preeti felt exposed, cold air hitting the wet mess between her legs. Vikram shoved Raj aside, his hands rough as he flipped Preeti onto her stomach. The upholstery scraped her cheek. He yanked her hips up, spreading her wide. No preamble—he drove into her with a single brutal thrust. The angle was deeper, crueler. Preeti screamed into the cushion, the sound swallowed by fabric. Vikram’s fingers dug into her hips, his rhythm punishing. "Tighter than a virgin should be," he panted, his beer-sour breath hot on her neck. Tears blurred her vision as she felt him swell inside her, his groan vibrating through her bones.