Greetings, dear readers! Platforms like Antarvasna gift us stories that awaken the deepest desires—tales that stiffen cocks and leave pussies aching for touch. I promise you, this narrative will set your senses ablaze. If you lack a partner to quench your fire, men will find release in their hands, and women will explore their wetness with eager fingers. Prepare for pure ecstasy!
I am Vishu Kapoor, a 25-year-old from Agra, blessed with a chiseled physique and undeniable charm. Currently, I work as a massage therapist in Ahmedabad, where my hands do more than soothe tired muscles. This intoxicating episode unfolded a week ago, on April 25, 2025. Near my home resides a family—an elderly couple and their young widowed daughter, Kajal (a name I’ve altered for discretion). I address the old pair as Mausi and Mausa, given their proximity to my aunt’s household. Kajal, I affectionately call Didi. She’s between 22 and 24, a vision of beauty in her prime. Her husband served in the Indian Army, tragically slain by terrorists in Kashmir. The government compensated them handsomely, but no fortune can resurrect a lover lost in youth.
Whenever I glimpsed Didi, pity stirred within me. Her radiant beauty seemed destined to wither in solitude. What could I do against fate’s cruel hand? Their wealth was evident, yet a life without a man’s embrace is a barren wasteland. I harbored no illicit thoughts—her mournful gaze kept my urges at bay.
But that day, everything shifted. It was morning; I shaved and stepped into the courtyard for a bath. I forgo undergarments beneath my pyjamas, opting instead for a thin white cloth—a gamchha. A lizard had claimed the bathroom, so I chose the open space. As water soaked the fabric, it clung to my cock, revealing its formidable length and girth. It strained against the cloth, a bold silhouette, my heavy balls swaying beneath—nature’s own weapon, primed and potent. I neglected to secure the main gate, a lapse that ignited this wildfire.
Didi entered unannounced. Her figure—34-30-36, standing 5 feet 6 inches tall, skin as pale and smooth as cream. Clad in a tight salwar-kameez, her breasts swelled enticingly, her hips swayed with promise, her lips glistened like ripe fruit—she was a goddess of desire incarnate. She halted, her eyes locking onto my cock. The wet gamchha betrayed every curve and ridge; her breath caught, and a hungry gleam danced in her stare. I lathered soap across my back, oblivious at first, but her gaze was a palpable heat against my skin.
Post-bath, I donned a pyjama, bare-chested. My cock, still damp, pressed insistently against the thin fabric, an unmistakable bulge. Didi approached, her voice sultry, “Vishu, could you fix our cooler this Sunday if you’re free?” Her tone startled me—who was this temptress? I shielded my erection with a hand, but the pyjama offered no modesty; my arousal was blatant. I replied, “Didi, I’m heading to Delhi tomorrow for client appointments. I’ll arrive there by Sunday.” She purred, “When will you return?” I said, “I can’t be certain.” She pressed, “Why not?” I confessed, “Clients have booked me. I’ll know there how many women require my services.”
Her eyes flicked to my groin, a smirk playing on her lips. “What services do you provide?” she asked, her fingers brushing her breasts, nipples teasing through her kameez. No use hiding now. I grinned, “Didi, I’m a gigolo.” She feigned ignorance, “A gigolo?” Her stare lingered on my hardening cock. I dropped my hand, “Truly unaware?” She licked her lips, fixated, “No.”
I explained, “A gigolo is a man who pleasures women for payment. Those unsatisfied by their husbands—I satisfy them fully, then collect my due.” She exhaled, “Oh…” and boldly demanded, “Show me your cock.” Opportunity knocked; I seized it. I lowered my pyjama, and my cock sprang free—thick, long, the tip flushed red, veins pulsing with need. Didi gasped, “My God, what a magnificent cock! How do you manage such a beast?” Her utterance of “cock” ignited my lust. She stood before me, ripe for ravishing.
She thrust her breasts forward, “Vishu, may I touch it?” I smirked, “Of course, Didi. This cock exists for women like you.” She advanced, her hands enveloping my shaft, and sank to her knees. Then she kissed it—a slow, wet, lingering kiss. Her warm lips ignited my flesh; it reared up, rigid and eager. She peeled back the foreskin, took the tip into her mouth, and unleashed her hunger—licking, sucking with ravenous intent. Slurp… slurp… Her tongue swirled around the head, then traced the length, her breath hot against my balls. She devoured it like a delicacy, deep and relentless. I groaned, “Ohh… Didi, you’re incredible! Suck it harder!” Her mouth worked me over, saliva dripping, the room alive with wet, primal sounds.
The doorbell shattered the moment. I ushered Didi to the inner room, pulled up my pyjama, and dashed to the gate. My cock stood like steel—unyielding. I tried to tame it, but it defied me. Jyoti, a 22-23-year-old neighbor (name changed), waited outside. “Bhaiya, Papa needs you—hurry!” she said. I replied, “Go ahead, I’ll follow.” Closed the gate, returned inside. Told Didi, “Leave now, come back later. Jyoti’s dad called.” She pressed against me, “Vishu, your cock is divine. When will you fuck my pussy and ass?” I kneaded her lush breasts, “Didi, I charge for that.” She pouted, “Even from me?” I chuckled, “If I give it free, how will I survive?” She laughed, “Fair enough. The cooler?” I said, “After Delhi, I’ll handle it.” She winked and sauntered off.
I headed to Jyoti’s house. Her parents greeted me. I asked, “What’s the matter?” Uncle said, “Vishu, a favor?” I nodded, “Anything I can do.” He explained, “I must go to Rajkot urgently. Tomorrow’s the last day for Jyoti’s college admission; her M.A. marksheet hasn’t arrived. Take my car, go with her to the university today, secure the marksheet, and enroll her. Do this, and I’ll be forever grateful.” I said, “No need for gratitude, Uncle. I’ll manage.” To Jyoti, “Get ready quick.” She replied, “Ten minutes, Bhaiya.” I said, “Fine,” and returned home.
Didi caught me entering. She slipped in, locked the gate. Her pussy was clearly aching for more. She darted to the inner room, dropped to her knees, yanked my pyjama down, and seized my cock. Then she went wild—sucking with ferocious lust. Suck… slurp… Her hot mouth engulfed the tip, tongue lashing, even teasing my balls. My cock swelled—red, throbbing, a monstrous delight. She took it deep, gagging, drool spilling down her chin. I moaned, “Ohh… Didi, fuck, you’re a goddess! Swallow it whole!” She was consumed, sucking like her life depended on it, lost in raw desire.
Ten minutes later, Jyoti arrived. She heard my moans and peeked from the doorway, eyes wide at the spectacle. Didi kept at it; I was drowning in pleasure. Then I erupted—thick, hot cum flooded her mouth. She swallowed greedily, licking every last drop. Post-climax, I spotted Jyoti. Pulled out and rushed over. Jyoti had her salwar down, fingers buried in her pussy—wet, glistening, plunging in and out. Eyes closed, she moaned, “Ahh… Ohh…” I grabbed her arm, “Jyoti, what’s this?” She stammered, “Bhaiya, my pussy torments me daily. Fingering feels heavenly.” I realized her virginity remained intact. “Let’s go to the university,” I said.
We rode my bike. The potholed road jolted us; I said, “Hold on.” She clutched my waist, her full breasts pressing into my back—soft, warm. I asked, “How long have you done this?” She said, “What, Bhaiya?” I clarified, “Playing with your pussy.” She rubbed against me, “I soothe it with my fingers often.” I asked, “Boyfriend?” She said, “None.” I teased, “Find one to fuck you proper.” She fell silent but grew comfortable.
At the college, we paid the fees, submitted her form. I dropped her home, called her dad—admission sorted. He thanked me profusely. Her mom served a delicious meal. Back home, I prepped for Delhi.
Readers, the next chapter will ooze with fucking bliss. Mail me: [email protected]. Stay tuned!
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