We reached home just as the afternoon heat was settling into the walls. My mother was already waiting near the door with that particular look she only wore when marriage talk was about to begin.
“Chagulu, wash up quickly. We need to go see a girl today.”
The cousin who had been on the hill with me was still standing beside me, bag over one shoulder. Her face lit up at once.
“Nice,” she said, smiling wide. “So soon you will have someone to care about.”
My mother and my brother’s wife both nodded in agreement. From the side of the veranda my niece—standard seven, full of restless energy—clapped her hands once.
“New family member! I want to see her!”
Her mother laughed and tugged lightly at her ear. “Don’t get so excited. In one year you will also get married, hmm?”
We all laughed at the teasing. The cousin joined in, then raised both hands.
“Ok, then you all go. I need to pack. I have to return tomorrow.”
We said our goodbyes at the gate. She walked down the lane without looking back, and the ordinary noise of the house swallowed the space she left behind.
I changed into a clean shirt. The four of us—mother, father’s quiet presence, brother’s wife, and me—climbed into the pickup. This was the fourth proposal I was seeing. Somewhere in the back of my mind the thought kept circling: I really wanted someone to fuck regularly. If this girl became my wife, then the sooner the marriage happened the better.
Her name was Mama. The house was modest, the family polite. She came out after a short wait, dressed simply, hair tied back. Decent face, soft voice, but very slim—almost delicate in the way her wrists looked and the way her shoulders sat under the blouse. We sat for the usual talk. Tea was served. Questions about work, about the rental business, about whether she could adjust. She answered without fuss. When we stepped outside again my mother gave the small nod that meant yes. Father stayed quiet but did not object. The agreement was made.
Preparations began almost at once. Dates were discussed, lists started, relatives informed in the usual slow wave of phone calls and visits. Days blurred into shopping for clothes, checking the hall, calculating how many people would eat. I moved through it all with the same steady focus I used for the rental work, but underneath the surface the memory of two different bodies—Lisha’s and the cousin’s—stayed warm and restless.
Then the invitations had to be given by hand to the closer relatives. One of the first stops was my uncle’s house, Lisha’s parents. I drove over in the late morning with a small stack of cards on the passenger seat.
Uncle and aunt were already in the courtyard when I arrived. They took the invitation, smiled, asked the usual questions about the girl, and then aunt said,
“Stay today. Eat here. We are going to the field—ladyfinger is ready for the first harvest. You rest.”
They left with baskets and a small knife each, walking toward the open land behind the house. The yard fell quiet. I stepped inside.
The main room was dim and cool after the sun. For a moment I thought the house was empty. Then I saw her.
Lisha lay on the low wooden bed, face turned toward the ceiling, eyes closed. She must have been sleeping lightly. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. The thin fabric of her house dress moved with every breath—up, down, up, down—drawing the eye to the full shape of her breasts. No one else was in the room. No sound came from the kitchen or the back.
I stood still for a long second, listening. Only the distant call of a bird and the faint creak of the house itself.
I moved carefully, heel to toe, crossing the floor without noise until I stood right beside the bed.
I reached out and closed both hands over her breasts.
The soft, heavy flesh filled my palms even through the thin house dress. I squeezed once, slowly, then again with more pressure. A small, sleepy moan slipped from her lips. Her chest rose into my hands. I leaned down and kissed her mouth—light at first, then deeper—until her eyes fluttered open.
For a second she only stared. Then pure fear flashed across her face.
“Chagulu bhai—what are you doing here?” she whispered, voice tight. She tried to sit up but my hands stayed on her. “This is my house—Ma and Baba—”
I sat on the edge of the bed beside her belly, still cupping both breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples that were already starting to harden.
“I’m getting married.”
Her expression shifted at once. “Aww… woah.” The fear didn’t leave, but something else mixed with it.
My right hand left her breast and slid down over her stomach until my fingers rested on the soft center of her half-pants. Home clothes—loose cotton, easy to push aside. She was already warm there. When I pressed lightly I felt the dampness spreading.
“At night,” she whispered urgently, eyes flicking toward the open doorway and the windows. “After everyone is asleep. Not now. Please.”
I grinned and ignored the words. I pushed the neckline of her dress down, freed one full breast, and took the nipple into my mouth. I sucked hard while my hand kept kneading the other. She sucked in a sharp breath and turned her head toward the window. Through the thin curtains we could both see the distant figures of her parents bent over the ladyfinger plants, moving slowly along the rows.
“I can’t wait,” I muttered against her skin. I stood just long enough to shove my own pants and underwear down. My cock sprang free, already thick and hard. I climbed back onto the bed, pushed her half-pants and panties to her knees in one rough motion, and settled between her legs.
She didn’t fight. She twisted her upper body so she could keep one hand on the wooden window frame, eyes locked on the two figures in the field. I lined up and pushed in.
The tight, wet heat swallowed me in one long stroke. She bit her lip hard to kill the moan, fingers whitening on the frame. I started thrusting at once—deep, steady, the bed making only the softest creaks. Every time I bottomed out she exhaled shakily, still watching the window.
“Finish fast,” she whispered again and again. “Please—finish fast—they’ll come back—”
I grabbed her hips, tilted them up, and fucked her harder. The wet slap of my cock driving into her filled the quiet room. Her breasts bounced with every thrust; I leaned down and bit the side of her neck.
“You know, Lisha, I haven’t seen anyone with this body in standard ten in the whole village.”
“Shuttttup and finish faster, you sex beast,” she hissed, but her free hand had already clenched the bedsheet and her pussy kept squeezing around me.
I licked the bite mark I had left and kept pounding. “Who made me this? You only.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the field, but her mouth fell open in silent moans. I could feel her getting wetter, the slick sounds growing louder. The risk, the daylight, the sight of her parents working while I buried myself inside their daughter—everything pushed me closer.
I drove in deep and held there as the orgasm hit. Thick pulses flooded her. I kept grinding through every spurt, filling her while she trembled under me, still gripping the window frame. When the last wave passed I stayed inside for a few extra seconds, breathing hard against her neck.
She pushed at my chest immediately. I pulled out. A slow trickle of cum followed. She yanked her panties and half-pants back up in one hurried motion, smoothed the dress, and sat up, eyes still darting to the window. Her parents were still bent over the plants, far enough away that nothing had changed.
We both stayed silent, listening to our own breathing and the distant sounds of the field.
We fixed our clothes in silence. The thin trail of cum on her thigh was wiped away with a corner of the bedsheet. She smoothed her dress, I pulled my pants back up, and we both listened for any change in the distant sounds from the field. Nothing. Her parents were still bent over the ladyfinger rows.
When they finally returned with full baskets, the sun had started to drop. Uncle wiped sweat from his forehead and looked at me.
“Stay the night. Too late to drive back now. Eat with us.”
Aunt nodded. “Lisha, make space. Let him sleep on the bed. You take the floor mat.”
Lisha immediately started protesting—voice rising, hands gesturing, the full small tantrum she always used when she wanted her way. “Why should I sleep on the floor in my own house? The bed is big enough. Why are you treating him like a guest who can’t share?”
The argument went back and forth for several minutes. Finally uncle raised a hand.
“Enough. Both of you sleep on the bed. We will take the floor mats. Happy?”
She shut her mouth and gave a small victorious shrug. I stayed quiet.
Night settled quickly. After dinner aunt brought a tall steel glass of fresh warm milk for each of us. We drank it slowly on the veranda while the last insects sang outside. Then the lamps were turned down. Uncle and aunt spread their mats on the floor near the wall. Lisha and I climbed onto the wooden bed. A single thick blanket was pulled over both of us.
Under the blanket her body was already close. When my hand brushed her hip I felt only the thin cotton of her house dress—no underwear. She had left them off on purpose. I understood at once. She kept her back to me at first, but every few seconds her elbow or heel lightly knocked against my leg or the side of my head, small deliberate hits that only stopped when the two sets of snoring finally rose from the floor.
Slow and steady. Both of them deeply asleep.
I shifted closer until my chest pressed against her back. One arm slid under her neck, the other reached around. My left hand found her breast through the dress, cupping the soft weight, thumb slowly circling the nipple until it hardened. At the same time I aligned myself, the head of my cock finding the already slick entrance she had left bare. I pushed forward in the smallest increments—just the tip, then a little more, then more—feeling her walls stretch and grip around every thick inch.
She was tighter than earlier in the day, the sleeping position making everything narrower. A soft sound tried to escape her throat. She lifted her upper knee a little, foot braced against the mattress, opening herself just enough. I sank deeper until my hips were flush against her ass and the full length of me was buried inside her.
We stayed still for several breaths, only my thumb continuing to tease her nipple. Then I began to move—slow, deep strokes that dragged almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt. The wet heat of her coated me completely. Under the blanket the only sounds were the soft shift of fabric and our controlled breathing.
My cock twitched hard inside her when her mother suddenly spoke from the floor.
“Lisha? Anything happened?”
I froze mid-stroke, buried deep, the involuntary pulse of my cock still moving against her walls. Lisha’s voice came out low and calm.
“Cat.”
A soft “Oh” from the floor, the quiet clink of a water glass, then the rustle of a body settling again. Within a minute the snoring returned, even louder than before.
Only then did I start moving once more. I brought my right hand up and gently covered her mouth, muffling the small sounds she could no longer hold back. My left hand stayed on her breast, squeezing and rolling the nipple in time with the deep thrusts. After several minutes I shifted, rolling her onto her back beneath me while still staying inside. The blanket stayed over us. I kissed her—slow, open-mouthed—while my hips kept the same long, grinding rhythm.
Usually three minutes was enough to finish me. Tonight the deliberate pace stretched everything. Ten minutes. Then twelve. Then fifteen. Every slow thrust felt thicker, heavier. Her legs wrapped loosely around my waist under the blanket. Her hands clutched my shoulders. The wet sound of my cock moving through her stayed soft enough that only we could hear it.
When the climax finally built it came in a long, uncontrollable wave. I pushed in as deep as possible and held there, pulsing thick ropes of cum straight into her. She trembled under me, breathing hard against my palm, taking every drop.
I stayed buried for a while afterward, still kissing her neck. Only when my cock began to soften did I whisper,
“It’s okay, right? To cum inside?”
Her voice was a sleepy murmur against my ear.
“You should ask before cumming, not after. But yeah… today is safe day.”
I lowered my head, pushed the neckline of her dress aside, and took one breast into my mouth. I sucked the nipple slowly, then the other, tasting her skin while the last small aftershocks faded. Finally I settled beside her, still half-inside, arm draped over her waist. Sleep came quickly for both of us under the shared blanket while the two sets of snoring continued on the floor.
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