The clock dragged mercilessly through the afternoon. Aryan barely registered his lectures, his mind trapped in the humid memory of Priya's scent—jasmine and warm skin—and the soft press of her breast against his arm. By the time he stepped out of the college gate, the Mumbai evening had settled in, thick and golden, the air heavy with the promise of rain that never quite arrived.
He showered quickly, changed into a fresh shirt, and stood outside the Mehta flat at exactly five. His heart hammered against his ribs as he knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
Priya stood there in a simple cotton saree, the kind that hugged her curves without trying. The fabric was pale pink, damp in places from the heat, clinging translucent to the swell of her heavy breasts. No bra—he could see the dark outline of her nipples pressing against the thin material. Her pallu was draped loosely, revealing the deep plunge of her blouse and the soft golden skin of her midriff glistening with a faint sheen of sweat.
"Aryan beta, right on time," she said, voice low and warm like honey. Her smile was inviting, eyes lingering on him a fraction longer than usual. "Come in. It's even hotter inside—the AC is completely dead."
He stepped past her, the scent hitting him full force: jasmine, mixed with something deeper, muskier—her arousal? No, he told himself. Just the heat.
The flat was dimly lit, curtains drawn against the evening sun. The living room smelled of incense and her—everywhere. Priya led him to the AC unit mounted high on the wall, reaching up to point at the controls. The motion pulled her saree tight across her ass, the round, full cheeks outlined perfectly, thick thighs shifting under the fabric.
"It's not cooling at all," she sighed, fanning herself. Beads of sweat traced down her neck, disappearing into the valley between her breasts. Aryan swallowed hard, cock already half-hard in his jeans.
He grabbed the stool she offered, climbing up to fiddle with the settings. His hands shook slightly as he worked, hyper-aware of her standing close behind him. Too close. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, smell the salty sweetness of her skin.
Suddenly, her hand brushed his calf as she steadied the stool. "Careful, beta. Don't fall."
The touch was innocent—or was it? Her fingers lingered, tracing lightly up to his knee before pulling away. Aryan's cock throbbed fully now, straining painfully.
After a few minutes of pointless tinkering—he knew it needed a technician—he climbed down. "I... think it needs professional help, Aunty. Maybe call someone tomorrow?"
Priya turned to him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. She was closer than necessary, her full breasts nearly brushing his chest. "Thank you for trying anyway." Her voice dropped. "It's so hot... I feel like I'm melting."
She reached for the glass of nimbu pani on the table, taking a slow sip. A drop escaped the corner of her mouth, trickling down her chin and neck, sliding between her breasts. Aryan's gaze followed it helplessly.
Priya noticed. Her lips curved. "Aryan..." She set the glass down, stepping even closer until her body pressed lightly against his. The softness of her breasts molded to his chest, nipples hard points through the thin saree. "You've grown into such a handsome young man."
His breath caught. "A-Aunty..."
"Call me Priya," she whispered, hand coming up to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "When we're alone."
The air between them crackled. Aryan could smell her arousal now—definite, heady, mixing with jasmine. His cock ached, pre-cum soaking his underwear.
Priya's eyes dropped to the bulge in his jeans, darkening further. "I heard you last night," she murmured. "Through the wall. Touching yourself... while I touched myself."
Aryan froze, face burning.
"I thought of you too," she confessed, voice husky. "Your young body. Your stamina. Vikram is always away... and when he's here, he barely touches me anymore."
Her hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, stopping just above his belt. "Do you want me, Aryan? This married woman twice your age?"
He couldn't lie. "Yes," he rasped. "God, yes, Priya."
Her smile was triumphant, possessive. She pulled him down into a kiss—soft at first, lips parting, tongue teasing his. She tasted of lemon and salt, moaning softly as he kissed back hungrily.
Hands roamed. His gripped her wide hips, pulling her against his hardness. She ground against him, gasping into his mouth as she felt his size.
"So big," she breathed, palming him through his jeans. "Even bigger than last night when I listened to you cum."
Aryan groaned, hips bucking into her hand.
Priya sank to her knees slowly, eyes locked on his as she undid his belt. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, leaking pre-cum from the tip. She licked her lips. "Look at this beautiful young cock... all for me."
She took him into her mouth without hesitation—hot, wet suction enveloping the head, tongue swirling around the sensitive underside. Aryan hissed, fingers tangling in her hair as she bobbed, taking him deeper, throat relaxing to swallow half his length. Saliva dripped down his shaft, her full lips stretched wide around him.
"Fuck... Priya..."
She pulled off with a pop, stroking him slickly. "You taste so good. So young and potent." Then back down, sucking harder, cheeks hollowing as she worked him with expert rhythm.
Aryan lasted barely minutes—her mouth too perfect, the sight of this gorgeous married woman on her knees for him too much. He warned her with a groan, but she only sucked harder, eyes pleading.
He came hard, thick ropes flooding her mouth. Priya swallowed greedily, throat working, not spilling a drop until he was spent. She pulled off, opening her mouth to show him the last bit on her tongue before swallowing with a satisfied hum.
"Delicious," she purred, standing. "Now... it's my turn."
She guided him to the couch, pushing him down before straddling his lap. Her saree rode up, revealing thick thighs and the fact she wore nothing underneath—her pussy bare except for a neat trim of dark curls, lips swollen and glistening with arousal.
Priya ground against his still-hard cock, coating him in her slickness. "Feel how wet I am for you? This married pussy aching for a young stud."
Aryan gripped her ass—full, soft handfuls—spreading her as she positioned him at her entrance.
"Wait," he gasped. "Condom?"
She laughed softly, sinking down slowly anyway. The heat of her bare pussy enveloped him inch by inch—tight, velvety walls gripping his thickness like a vice. "No condom," she moaned. "I want to feel you raw. Want you to fill me up... breed this neglected womb."
He bottomed out with a shared groan, her ass settling on his thighs. Priya's head fell back, breasts heaving as she adjusted to his size stretching her.
"So full... better than I imagined."
She started riding—slow at first, grinding her clit against his base, juices dripping down his balls. Then faster, bouncing on his cock with wet slaps, her heavy breasts bouncing free from her blouse.
Aryan latched onto one nipple, sucking hard as she rode him. The taste of her skin—salty sweat, faint perfume—drove him wild. He thrust up to meet her, hands bruising her hips.
"Yes... fuck me hard, Aryan. Use this pussy like your husband never does."
They switched positions desperately—she on her back, legs spread wide as he pounded into her missionary, then doggy on the couch, his hands full of her jiggling ass as he slammed deep.
Priya came first—walls clenching around him, squirting slightly as she screamed his name. He didn't stop, driving her through it into a second orgasm, then a third, her body shaking, nails raking his back.
"Inside," she begged. "Cum inside me... give me your seed."
Aryan lost control, burying deep and flooding her—thick, hot spurts painting her walls as she milked him dry.
They collapsed together, sweat-slick and panting.
But Priya wasn't done. Her hand stroked him back to hardness. "Again," she whispered. "I want more."
The night was young... and so was he.