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For three long minutes Pramod Uncle stayed soft and wet between my lips. I kept the head in my mouth, tongue lazily tracing the slit, tasting the last traces of his cum mixed with my own spit. Both of us had our eyes closed. The train rocked gently. Grandma’s soft snoring continued from the far corner.
My bermuda was still tangled around one ankle, T-shirt rucked up under my breasts, pussy throbbing and open and dripping onto the berth sheet.
When I finally pulled off and stood on shaky legs, the shock hit me like a slap.
Raj Uncle was awake and standing in the narrow aisle between the berths. His lungi was shoved high around his waist. One thick hand was wrapped around his cock, stroking it in slow, deliberate pulls. The head was already shiny with precum. He had seen everything—every lick, every swallow, every time my throat bulged.
“I watched the whole show,” he said, voice low and rough. “Every second. I want that pretty mouth on me too. But only if you want it. I won’t force you. Say no and I’ll go back up and finish myself.”
I looked at Pramod. He was still reclining against the wall, cock soft and glistening, a lazy, satisfied smile on his face. He gave me the smallest nod, as if to say it was my choice and he didn’t mind sharing.
My pussy clenched. I was still so wet it was running down my inner thighs. I nodded.
“Lie down,” I whispered.
Raj stretched out on the lower berth opposite Pramod’s, lungi fully open, legs spread wide. His cock stood up thick and darker than Pramod’s—half an inch to a full inch longer, but thinner, the shaft veined and the head a deep, angry purple. I climbed between his thighs on my knees, the metal edge of the berth cold against my skin. I wrapped both hands around him, felt the heat and the pulse, then leaned down and took the head into my mouth.
He tasted different—cleaner, sharper, more salt than musk. I swirled my tongue under the ridge the way Pramod had taught me, then sank lower, taking him as deep as I could. Raj’s hand settled on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting, fingers threading through my hair. I bobbed slowly, spit already running down the shaft and over my fists.
After a few minutes he groaned and tugged me upward.
“Sixty-nine. I want to taste that cunt while you suck me.”
He helped me turn and straddle his face. My bermuda and soaked panties were shoved roughly aside. The moment his tongue dragged flat over my open pussy I whimpered around his cock and sucked harder. He licked me like he was starving—long, greedy strokes from entrance to clit, then pointed tongue flicking the swollen nub, then two fingers sliding into me while he sucked.
Every time he did something especially filthy I moaned onto his shaft and my hips jerked, grinding my wetness harder onto his mouth. Spit and precum mixed on my chin. My own juices ran down his cheeks and onto the sheet.
I came first. Hard. My thighs clamped around his head, pussy pulsing and flooding his tongue while I kept sucking desperately, almost choking myself on him. He didn’t stop. He licked me through the orgasm and straight into oversensitivity until I was shaking and whimpering, cock still in my mouth.
Fifteen minutes after we started he finally tensed. His hips lifted, both hands gripping my ass, and he came. Thick, salty ropes hit the back of my tongue. There was less volume than Pramod’s first load, but it was stronger, sharper. I sealed my lips and swallowed every pulse, milking him with my tongue until he was soft and twitching. When I finally lifted my head, a thin string of spit and cum still connected my lower lip to his cock.
Pramod had been watching the entire time, fist slowly working his half-hard cock. The second he saw me finish with Raj he stepped close, the head already leaking again. I opened my mouth without being asked. He slid in deep and came almost immediately—thinner this time, more watery, but still a solid mouthful. I swallowed it all, then licked him clean while he stroked my hair.
I needed the bathroom so badly my bladder ached. I started to stand. Raj’s hand caught my hip.
“Stay right there.”
He sat up, turned me so I was straddling his face again, and looked up at me with dark eyes.
“Piss. In my mouth.”
The command sent a fresh gush of wetness through me. I hesitated only a second, then let go. The stream hit his tongue and he drank greedily, swallowing in audible gulps, never pulling away. When the flow slowed he sealed his mouth over my hole and sucked, tongue pushing inside as if he wanted every last drop. He licked me clean afterward—slow, thorough, filthy strokes that cleaned every fold and made my clit throb all over again. By the time he finished I was trembling and smiling like an idiot.
Raj wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced up at the upper berth where Subair still snored.
“He’s had more whisky than both of us. Go make him happy too. He won’t even remember, but his cock will.”
I didn’t hesitate. I climbed the narrow ladder bare-assed, T-shirt still rucked under my breasts, pussy still shiny with spit and piss. Subair was sprawled on his back, lungi twisted around one thigh, soft cock lying against his hip. The smell of alcohol and male sweat was stronger up here. I knelt between his legs, took the soft, heavy flesh in my hand, and lowered my mouth.
He was completely limp at first. I sucked the soft head, rolled it on my tongue, took the whole soft length into my mouth and nursed it. Ten minutes of slow, wet attention and he began to swell. Another five and he was fully hard—the biggest of the three by far. Eight thick inches, almost two inches wide at the base, the head so fat I had to stretch my lips painfully to get it inside. My jaw ached immediately. I could only take the first four inches before I gagged. Spit ran down the shaft in thick strings. Subair stayed half-conscious the entire time, only mumbling broken words and shifting his hips occasionally, never fully waking.
I worked him for over twenty-five minutes—slow bobbing, long tongue strokes under the head, one hand stroking what wouldn’t fit, the other gently rolling his heavy balls. My knees hurt. My jaw burned. Drool soaked the sheet under his hips. Finally his breathing changed, his soft cock twitched hard in my mouth, and he came. The load was thinner and smaller than the other two, almost watery, but I stayed on him and swallowed every pulse while he mumbled something that might have been a name. When I finally pulled off, a last drop of cum sat on the tip. I licked it clean.
I climbed back down still dripping, still aching, still hungry. Raj and Pramod were both soft again, watching me with tired but amused eyes. I asked if I could suck them once more. They both shook their heads.
“We’re empty, baby,” Pramod said. “Nothing left.”
They could see I was still wound tight. Without another word they laid me back on the berth, spread my thighs, and took turns. Raj went first. He buried his face between my legs and licked me with the same filthy hunger as before—sucking my clit, fucking me with his tongue, two fingers curling inside while I bit my own wrist to stay quiet. I came hard, thighs shaking around his head. The second the aftershocks faded he moved aside and Pramod took his place. Pramod’s tongue was slower, deeper, more deliberate. He edged me for long minutes, keeping me right on the edge before finally sucking my clit and pushing me over. The second orgasm was longer, wetter, almost painful in its intensity. When it finally released me I was completely limp, legs useless, pussy swollen and oversensitive.
It was 1:35 a.m. They helped me stand, walked me the few steps to my own berth, pulled the sheet up over my naked lower half, and left me there. The last thing I felt was Pramod’s hand briefly stroking my hair before the rocking of the train pulled me under. I slept like the dead.
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