The car hummed along the dusty road, carrying me away from my old life. My new husband, Akshit, hadn’t taken his eyes off me since the ceremony ended. His gaze was a physical weight, hot and possessive, and a thrilling shiver ran through me every time our eyes met. I was Nita, twenty-five, and this handsome, wealthy man was now mine. The sarpanch’s generosity had made it possible, and my only duty was a simple one: to please my new family. To never say no.
“Mmmm… mmm… Kash inmy doodh aata hota,” Akshit murmured, his voice a low growl that vibrated deep in my core.
I blushed, turning my face to the window, but he caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. The hunger in his eyes was feral. We hadn't even reached his home yet. The limousine was still winding its way out of my village, and he was already on me. His hands, strong and impatient, ripped at the delicate fabric of my bridal blouse. Buttons scattered into the plush footwell as my breasts spilled into his waiting hands.
“Ah!” I gasped, instinctively trying to cover myself, my eyes darting toward the driver’s rearview mirror.
Akshit laughed, a dark, rich sound. “Chup kar, Randi. Maze lai.” (Be quiet, whore. Enjoy it.)
And for some reason, the crude command, the risk of being seen, did make me enjoy it. A shocking burst of wet heat pooled between my legs. He was claiming me, marking me as his in front of the entire world. He buried his face in my neck, his teeth grazing my skin as his fingers pinched and rolled my hardening nipple. “Dil toh cha raha ki abhi tujhe yahi chod do.” (My heart wants to fuck you right here.)
“Toh chod dijiye na,” I breathed, the words escaping me before I could cage them, laced with a hesitation that was pure artifice.
He chuckled against my throat, pinching my nipple hard enough to make me cry out. “Dekh, Randi, kitni utavali ho rahi hai.”( Look how eager this whore is.) “Chodunga. Khoob chodunga. Par pehle rasam hogi, fir.” (I will fuck you, a lot. But first, the ritual.)
I merely nodded, my mind racing. The sarpanch had mentioned a family ritual, one I could not refuse. I assumed it was a prayer, a puja.
“Mujhe rasam se pehle nahana chahiye, haina?” I asked, trying to sound demure.( Shouldn’t I bathe before the ritual?)
“Kyun, Randi?” (Why, whore?)
“Aap mujhe Randi kyun keh rahe hain?” (Why do you keep calling me that?)
“Kyuki wahi ho na tum?” (Because that’s what you are,) he said, crushing his lips to mine in a searing kiss that tasted of promise and possession. I didn’t understand, but the word was a lit match tossed onto the kindling of my arousal. Randi. Each time he said it, I grew wetter.
“Tumhe nahane ki kya zaroorat? Tumhe toh hum sab nahalayenge. Baari baari,” he whispered hotly in my ear. (Why do you need to bathe? We will all bathe you. One by one.)
A violent shiver racked my body. “Kya matlab?”( What do you mean?)
“Kuch hi time mein khud pata chal jayega tujhe, Randi. Ab chup kar aur pair upar kar. Chaatni hai teri choot.” (You’ll find out soon enough. Now be quiet and put your legs up. I want to taste your cunt.)
“Yaha?”( Here?)
“Aur kaha? Raha nahi jata abhi… time hai ghar pahunchnemein. Chal, sawal band kar. Aur utaar saari.” (Where else? I can’t wait. We have time before we’re home. Now, stop asking questions and take off your sari.)
My eyes flicked to the driver again. Akshit’s gaze hardened. “Utar rahi hai ki faad do?” (Are you taking it off, or should I tear it?)
“Ji, utar rahi hoon,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Leaning back against the door, I untangled the yards of red silk, pushing the fabric up to my hips, exposing my bareness to him in the shadowed interior of the car.
“Yeh kya? Utari kyun nahi? Saari?”( What is this? Why haven’t you taken it all off?)
“Ji, gadi mein firse kaise pehenungi? Aise hi chaat lein,” I pleaded, holding the sari bunched at my waist. (How will I wear it again? Just taste me like this.)
“Randi kahi ki,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. He gripped my knees, yanking me down onto the seat and spreading my legs wide. Then he buried his face between my thighs.
A raw, loud moan tore from my throat as his tongue lashed my core. “Ahhhh…!”
“Kitni geeli hai! Randi.” (So wet.whore) he growled between fierce, sucking kisses. His mouth was relentless, a vortex of pleasure and sharp, delicious pain that made my entire body tremble.
“Ahhh! Dheere!” I screamed, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Woh toh hone se raha, Randi,” he said, his voice muffled against my flesh.( That’s not going to happen.) He pulled the sensitive flesh of my pussy into his mouth, sucking so hard the world dissolved into a white-hot point of sensation. I shattered, crying out as my climax crashed over me, my hips bucking against his unforgiving mouth.
“Randi itni jaldi chhad gayi,” he said, pulling back, his chin glistening. (This whore came so fast.) “Rasam mein tera kya haal hoga?” (What will happen to you during the ritual?)
“Ji, mera pehla baar tha… isiliye jaldi ho gaya,” I whispered, blush burning my cheeks.
“Jaanta hun, mere virgin Randi,” he said, surging up to kiss me, forcing me to taste my own essence on his lips. “Tabhi toh chuna hai tujhe apne liye.” (That’s why I chose you for myself.)
“Chote Malik, we have reached,” the driver announced, stopping the car.
“Saari theek kar, Randi,” Akshit ordered, straightening his own clothes.
“Ji,” I said, scrambling to rearrange the sari, my hands shaking, my body still humming. I stepped out of the car, my legs feeling like water, and my breath caught.
A immense, ornate haveli stood before us. And just inside the grand entrance, my entire new family stood waiting. All of them. My father-in-law, my Seven brothers-in-law, and two uncles. A sea of handsome, muscular men, their eyes fixed on me with the same predatory hunger I’d seen in Akshit’s. My gaze inadvertently dropped, and I stifled a gasp. Distinct bulges strained against the fabric of their traditional dhotis. All of them. A fresh, aching throb answered deep within me, and I had to press my thighs together. It was wrong, so wrong to feel this rush of heat, but the memory of my climax in the car was probably plain on my flushed face and disheveled clothes.
A woman, introduced as Bua, my husband’s aunt, greeted me. “Aao, beta,” she said warmly, beginning the griha pravesh, the welcoming ceremony. But my focus was splintered. The men’s stares were unwavering, intense. I tried to concentrate on the rituals, but my skin prickled under their collective gaze.
Finally, we moved inside to a lavish sitting room. I sat on a plush sofa between Bua and Akshit, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“Beta, hamare ghar ki rasam hai ki jab nayi bahu aati hai, toh woh ghar ke saare mardon ki Randi banti hai,” Bua began, her tone matter-of-fact.
I froze. The air vanished from my lungs.
“Hamare parivaar mein yeh rivaaj hai. Bahu ki seal Sasur Ji todte hain. Tab tak chodte hain jab tak choot mein apna maal nahi daal dete.” (In our family, it is the tradition that the father-in-law breaks the bride’s seal. He fucks her until he deposits his seed inside her.)
A collective, low chuckle rumbled through the room. I should have been terrified, repulsed. Instead, a flood of slick warmth soaked my already damp folds. The image her words painted was obscene… and electrifying.
“Pehle Sasur Ji karte hain. Aur tumhare toh uncle bhi hain, phir woh karenge,” she continued, listing the order. (First Father-in-law. Then the uncles.) “Uske baad tumhare jeth. Beech mein tere pati ka number aayega. Aur end tumhare chote dewar se hoga.” (Then the elder brothers-in-law. Your husband will have his turn in the middle, and it will end with the youngest brother-in-law.)
I dared a shy glance around the circle. Every single one of them was looking at me like I was a feast laid out solely for them.
“Samajh aa gaya na?” Akshit asked, his hand settling on my thigh, his thumb stroking possessive circles.
“Ji,” I nodded, my voice faint.
“Aur yaad rakhna,” Bua added sternly. “In sab ka maal tujhe apne andar lena hai.” (You must take all of their seed inside you.)
A new fear, practical and sharp, pierced the haze of my arousal. “Aise toh main pregnant ho jaungi!”(but I will get pregnant like this)
“Arey, pagli! Wahi toh karna hai!” she laughed. “Hamare yaha shaadi ke pehle saal baccha zaroori hai. Agar andar lagi, tabhi toh baccha hoga!” (That’s the point! The first year is for breeding. If the seed takes, then there will be a child!)
“Par main sab ka kaise andar loongi?” I asked, hesitantly.( How can I take all of it inside me?)
This time, the entire room answered in a unified, deep chorus that vibrated in my bones. “Woh tum hum par chhod do. Ek ek boond andar baith jayegi.”( Leave that to us. Every last drop will find its home.)
“To taiyar ho fir rasam karne ke liye?” Bua asked. (So, are you ready for the ritual?)
“Ji,” I whispered.
“Par mera ek sawal hai,” I ventured.( But I have one question.)
“Pucho.”
“Yeh rasam sirf aaj hi hogi kya?”( Is this ritual only for today)
The room erupted in deep, knowing laughter. My father-in-law leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Fikar na kar, bahu. Aaj toh bas tera darwaza kholna hai. Ghofa toh kal se banegi.” (Don’t worry, daughter-in-law. Today we just open the gate. The real riding begins tomorrow.)
A fresh, gushing wave of desire drenched me at the promise of a night that was only the beginning. They all laughed again, the sound rich with shared anticipation.
“Yeh lo, bahu,” Bua said, handing me a glass of milk. “Isme doodh banane wali dawa dali hai. Agley das minute mein baar-baar ka doodh aane lagega.”( I’ve added a medicine to make milk. Within ten minutes, your breasts will be full and leaking.)
“Aisa hota hai?” I asked, astonished that such a thing was possible.
“Arey, isse toh in sab ko takat milni hai tujhe raat bhar chodne ki!”( This will give them the strength to fuck you all night! )“Ab sawal band kar aur pi le.”
I nodded and drank it. It tasted like sweet, normal milk, giving no hint of the transformation it would trigger.
“Chal, uth. Ab rasam ka time ho gaya. Kamre mein le chalo tujhe,” Bua said, standing.
I rose on unsteady legs. I knew tonight would be wild, but I had thought I would be my husband’s whore. I never dreamed I would become the whore for my entire sasural.
The room was immense, dominated by a vast bed strewn with rose petals. On the wall, spelled out in crimson blooms, were the words: Welcome Sasural Ki Randi Bahu. (Welcome, the family whore.)
“Jaa, saari utaar ke baitth ja. Aata hi hoga tera Sasur Ji rasam shuru karne,” Bua instructed before closing the door, leaving me alone.
My hands trembled as I unwound the sari, letting the red silk pool at my feet. I felt a strange mix of vulnerability and power in my nudity. Slowly, I climbed onto the bed, getting on my hands and knees, presenting myself in the most lewd, inviting position I could think of. The doggy style position.
The door creaked open. I looked back through my legs. My father-in-law stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, his eyes dark with lust. “Randi toh pehle hi ghodi bani taiyar hai,” he said with a low, appreciative smirk. (The whore is already on all fours and ready.)
“Ji, Sasur Ji,” I breathed, my voice steadier than I felt. “Aaiye aur rasam shuru karein. Ab aur roka nahi jata.” (Please, come and start the ritual. I can’t wait any longer.)
He strode forward, his palm connecting with my ass in a sharp, stinging slap that made me jolt and gasp. “Jaisa meri Randi kahe.” (As my whore commands.)
*****
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