Bheeg Loon XXX
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Views: 107
Submitted: 7 years ago
Description:
The Mumbai monsoon unleashed its fury, transforming Colaba’s bustling streets into a liquid dreamscape. Rain hammered the cobblestones, each drop exploding into a thousand tiny mirrors reflecting the neon glow of shop signs and streetlights. Water roared through the gutters, sweeping away the day’s dust and secrets, merging with the restless Arabian Sea. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth, sea salt, and the faint spice of roadside chai stalls, now shuttered against the deluge. Amid this chaos, Radhika darted through the downpour, her crimson silk saree plastered to her body like a lover’s desperate embrace. The fabric, heavy with rain, clung to her chutki-sized waist, outlining the swell of her hips and the proud curve of her stan. Her anklets sang a silver melody with every step, her long braid swinging like a pendulum, dripping water down her back to her swaying gaand.
Behind her, Arjun pursued, his white kurta soaked to transparency, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the taut lines of his abdomen. His dark eyes burned with hunger, fixed on Radhika’s form as she danced through the rain, a vision of desire in the flickering streetlight. “Radhika, ruk ja, meri jaan!” he called, his voice a low growl, barely audible over the monsoon’s roar. She glanced back, her kohl-lined eyes flashing with mischief, and laughed—a sound as wild and free as the storm itself. Her lips, painted coral, parted in a teasing smile as she ducked into a narrow alley near the Gateway of India, the stone arch looming like a sentinel in the mist.
The alley was a world of shadows, the rain a relentless curtain that cocooned them from the city’s prying eyes. Radhika’s saree, now a second skin, traced every curve—her stan heaving with each breath, her navel a glistening pool where raindrops lingered. Arjun caught her wrist, his grip firm yet tender, and spun her against the rough brick wall. Their breaths mingled, steaming in the cool air, their bodies inches apart but already electric with need. “Tu puri tarah bheeg gayi,” he murmured, his voice thick with want, his fingers brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. His touch lingered, sliding down her jaw, her neck, pausing at the pulse hammering beneath her skin. Her chut burned, a deep, aching heat that the rain could never douse.
“Aur tu, Arjun?” she teased, her voice a sultry whisper, her hand bold as it grazed his chest. The wet kurta offered no resistance, and she felt the hard ridge of his lund straining against his pants, a promise that made her thighs clench. “Dekh, kitna garam hai tu,” she purred, her nails scraping lightly over his navel, daring him to move. The alley, though deserted, thrummed with the thrill of exposure, the rain their only witness as it poured over them, sealing them in a world of wet skin and unspoken vows.
“Chal, andar,” Arjun said, his voice rough, urgent. He tugged her hand, and they ran, laughing, stumbling through the rain-soaked streets to his flat, a stone’s throw from the sea. The building was old, its walls stained with monsoon memories, but inside, it was a sanctuary. They burst through the door, dripping rivers onto the tiled floor, the air inside heavy with the scent of wet cotton, sandalwood, and desire. The room was dimly lit by a single brass lamp, its golden glow casting shadows that danced like lovers on the walls. Outside, the rain sang its relentless song, a rhythm that pulsed in time with their racing hearts.
Radhika’s saree, now a sodden weight, slipped from her shoulder as she stood in the center of the room, her skin gleaming like polished bronze. The fabric clung to her gaand, her thighs, her stan, each curve a provocation. Arjun’s kurta joined the floor in a wet heap, his body a sculpture revealing a physique carved from desire—broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and the unmistakable bulge of his lund, hard and insistent beneath his pants. “Meri Radhika,” he growled, stepping closer, his hands finding her waist, pulling her against him. Her stan pressed against his chest, her chut slick with want, the rain’s wetness mingling with her own.
Their lips crashed together, a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, hungry and unyielding. The rain had left her lips cool, but his mouth was fire, tracing the water that clung to her skin. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, lingering at the swell of her stan, where the saree had slipped to reveal a nipple, dark and taut. “Arjun,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his wet hair, guiding him lower. Her chut throbbed, a pulse that matched the storm outside, and she tugged at his waistband, desperate to feel him. “Jaldi, meri jaan,” she whispered, her voice raw, her nails raking down his back, leaving faint red trails on his skin.
He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist, her gaand firm in his hands as he carried her to the bed. The sheets were cool, but their bodies were a furnace, soaking the fabric beneath them. Her saree unraveled completely, a crimson river pooling around her, leaving her bare, her skin glistening with rain and sweat. Arjun’s pants followed, his lund springing free, thick and proud, a sight that made Radhika’s mouth water. She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking slowly, teasingly, until he groaned, his hips bucking into her hand.
“Tu meri wajah se jal rahi hai,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his fingers finding her chut, slick and ready. He circled her clit, slow at first, then faster, watching her face as she arched, her moans filling the room. “Haan, Arjun, aur,” she begged, her gaand grinding against his hand, her stan bouncing with each movement. He obliged, slipping a finger inside her, then two, curling them until she cried out, her body trembling on the edge of release.
But she wanted more. She pushed him onto his back, straddling him, her chut hovering over his lund. “Ab meri baari,” she said, her eyes locked on his as she sank down, taking him inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, her walls gripping him as she rode him, her gaand slapping against his thighs. Arjun’s hands roamed her body, cupping her stan, pinching her nipples until she whimpered, her rhythm faltering. “Fuck, Radhika,” he groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her, their bodies a perfect, primal dance.
The rain outside pounded the windows, a counterpoint to their gasps and moans, the bed creaking under their fervor. She leaned forward, her lips finding his, her tongue mimicking the rhythm of her hips. His hands gripped her gaand, guiding her, urging her faster, deeper. “Meri rani,” he panted, his voice breaking as her chut tightened around him, her climax building like a tidal wave. “Arjun, main… main aa rahi hoon,” she cried, her body convulsing, her nails digging into his chest as she came, her juices coating him, her screams echoing in the small room.
He wasn’t far behind. With a guttural moan, he thrust up one last time, spilling inside her, his lund pulsing as he filled her, their bodies slick with rain, sweat, and each other. They collapsed together, breathless, tangled in the wet sheets, the rain still falling outside, softer now, like a lullaby. Radhika traced lazy circles on his chest, her lips curved in a sated smile. “Yeh monsoon kabhi nahi rukega,” she murmured, her voice drowsy, content.
Arjun kissed her forehead, pulling her closer. “Aur na rukna chahiye,” he replied, his voice a promise, as the night stretched on, their passion a storm that rivaled the Mumbai rains, wet, wild, and unending.
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Behind her, Arjun pursued, his white kurta soaked to transparency, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the taut lines of his abdomen. His dark eyes burned with hunger, fixed on Radhika’s form as she danced through the rain, a vision of desire in the flickering streetlight. “Radhika, ruk ja, meri jaan!” he called, his voice a low growl, barely audible over the monsoon’s roar. She glanced back, her kohl-lined eyes flashing with mischief, and laughed—a sound as wild and free as the storm itself. Her lips, painted coral, parted in a teasing smile as she ducked into a narrow alley near the Gateway of India, the stone arch looming like a sentinel in the mist.
The alley was a world of shadows, the rain a relentless curtain that cocooned them from the city’s prying eyes. Radhika’s saree, now a second skin, traced every curve—her stan heaving with each breath, her navel a glistening pool where raindrops lingered. Arjun caught her wrist, his grip firm yet tender, and spun her against the rough brick wall. Their breaths mingled, steaming in the cool air, their bodies inches apart but already electric with need. “Tu puri tarah bheeg gayi,” he murmured, his voice thick with want, his fingers brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. His touch lingered, sliding down her jaw, her neck, pausing at the pulse hammering beneath her skin. Her chut burned, a deep, aching heat that the rain could never douse.
“Aur tu, Arjun?” she teased, her voice a sultry whisper, her hand bold as it grazed his chest. The wet kurta offered no resistance, and she felt the hard ridge of his lund straining against his pants, a promise that made her thighs clench. “Dekh, kitna garam hai tu,” she purred, her nails scraping lightly over his navel, daring him to move. The alley, though deserted, thrummed with the thrill of exposure, the rain their only witness as it poured over them, sealing them in a world of wet skin and unspoken vows.
“Chal, andar,” Arjun said, his voice rough, urgent. He tugged her hand, and they ran, laughing, stumbling through the rain-soaked streets to his flat, a stone’s throw from the sea. The building was old, its walls stained with monsoon memories, but inside, it was a sanctuary. They burst through the door, dripping rivers onto the tiled floor, the air inside heavy with the scent of wet cotton, sandalwood, and desire. The room was dimly lit by a single brass lamp, its golden glow casting shadows that danced like lovers on the walls. Outside, the rain sang its relentless song, a rhythm that pulsed in time with their racing hearts.
Radhika’s saree, now a sodden weight, slipped from her shoulder as she stood in the center of the room, her skin gleaming like polished bronze. The fabric clung to her gaand, her thighs, her stan, each curve a provocation. Arjun’s kurta joined the floor in a wet heap, his body a sculpture revealing a physique carved from desire—broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and the unmistakable bulge of his lund, hard and insistent beneath his pants. “Meri Radhika,” he growled, stepping closer, his hands finding her waist, pulling her against him. Her stan pressed against his chest, her chut slick with want, the rain’s wetness mingling with her own.
Their lips crashed together, a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, hungry and unyielding. The rain had left her lips cool, but his mouth was fire, tracing the water that clung to her skin. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, lingering at the swell of her stan, where the saree had slipped to reveal a nipple, dark and taut. “Arjun,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in his wet hair, guiding him lower. Her chut throbbed, a pulse that matched the storm outside, and she tugged at his waistband, desperate to feel him. “Jaldi, meri jaan,” she whispered, her voice raw, her nails raking down his back, leaving faint red trails on his skin.
He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist, her gaand firm in his hands as he carried her to the bed. The sheets were cool, but their bodies were a furnace, soaking the fabric beneath them. Her saree unraveled completely, a crimson river pooling around her, leaving her bare, her skin glistening with rain and sweat. Arjun’s pants followed, his lund springing free, thick and proud, a sight that made Radhika’s mouth water. She reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking slowly, teasingly, until he groaned, his hips bucking into her hand.
“Tu meri wajah se jal rahi hai,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his fingers finding her chut, slick and ready. He circled her clit, slow at first, then faster, watching her face as she arched, her moans filling the room. “Haan, Arjun, aur,” she begged, her gaand grinding against his hand, her stan bouncing with each movement. He obliged, slipping a finger inside her, then two, curling them until she cried out, her body trembling on the edge of release.
But she wanted more. She pushed him onto his back, straddling him, her chut hovering over his lund. “Ab meri baari,” she said, her eyes locked on his as she sank down, taking him inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, her walls gripping him as she rode him, her gaand slapping against his thighs. Arjun’s hands roamed her body, cupping her stan, pinching her nipples until she whimpered, her rhythm faltering. “Fuck, Radhika,” he groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet her, their bodies a perfect, primal dance.
The rain outside pounded the windows, a counterpoint to their gasps and moans, the bed creaking under their fervor. She leaned forward, her lips finding his, her tongue mimicking the rhythm of her hips. His hands gripped her gaand, guiding her, urging her faster, deeper. “Meri rani,” he panted, his voice breaking as her chut tightened around him, her climax building like a tidal wave. “Arjun, main… main aa rahi hoon,” she cried, her body convulsing, her nails digging into his chest as she came, her juices coating him, her screams echoing in the small room.
He wasn’t far behind. With a guttural moan, he thrust up one last time, spilling inside her, his lund pulsing as he filled her, their bodies slick with rain, sweat, and each other. They collapsed together, breathless, tangled in the wet sheets, the rain still falling outside, softer now, like a lullaby. Radhika traced lazy circles on his chest, her lips curved in a sated smile. “Yeh monsoon kabhi nahi rukega,” she murmured, her voice drowsy, content.
Arjun kissed her forehead, pulling her closer. “Aur na rukna chahiye,” he replied, his voice a promise, as the night stretched on, their passion a storm that rivaled the Mumbai rains, wet, wild, and unending.
Watch this story come alive on FilmyFantasy.com.
Categories:
Ass Groping
Ass Licking
Big Dick Worship
Deep French Kissing
Facial
In The Kitchen
Jewellery
Lingerie
POV
Red Saree
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Models:
Tanushree Dutt
Gurmeet Singh
