The air at Manshalu Lodge was thick with the scent of old wood and monsoon dampness, the same way it had been years ago when Tumli and I'd first fucked within these very walls. Now, she stood before me in a cream-colored saree, the delicate fabric clinging to every curve of her voluptuous body. The blouse beneath was cut dangerously low, her full, heavy breasts threatening to spill over the top, the deep cleavage glisteni...

The café in Tumli’s office building was quiet, the hum of espresso machines and murmured conversations filling the air. I sat at a corner table, my fingers gripping the ceramic cup a little too tightly. Five years. Five fucking years since I’d last seen her—since she chose him. And now here she was. Her heels clicked against the floor, slow and deliberate, each step making my pulse spike. That navy-blue dress clung to her...

Claiming Tumli The air was thick with desire, the kind that made skin prickle and breaths come in ragged gasps. Beena, my little Tumli, knelt before me, her full breasts heaving, her dusky nipples stiff with need. Her dark eyes burned with a mix of love and lust—only for me. Always for me. Her husband Amarendra sat in the corner, his cock straining painfully against his trousers, his jaw clenched. Sweat beaded on his fore...

The humid air of Birat Lodge, situated near the Neuro Hospital of Biratnagar, clung to our skin like a second layer, thick with the musk of sweat and sex, the scent of raw, unbridled lust seeping through the thin walls. The muffled sounds of the city outside—the distant honking of rickshaws, the occasional murmur of voices from the neighboring rooms—only heightened the thrill of what we were about to do. They would hear e...