Delhi’s August heat clung to the skin, making even the evening air heavy. Chitra, 19, had dressed for the occasion in a deep maroon salwar kameez, the thin fabric moulding perfectly to her generous curves. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, and the snug churidar outlined the fullness of her hips and thighs. She knew she looked good ,she’d caught Pinku, her Mama’s teenage son, staring at her more than once that day.

She arrived with her parents and younger sister, Priti, for the Raksha Bandhan celebration. Mama Deepak, 40, greeted them warmly. His body was broad, voice deep, and his eyes ,though friendly, always seemed to linger a fraction longer than they should. Beside him stood Maami, tall and shapely at 35, her sari clinging in all the right places, and her younger sister, a sharp-featured beauty of 33, who moved like she enjoyed being watched.

The evening was loud with laughter, bangles clinking as rakhis were tied, and trays of sweets passed around.

As night settled, Maami insisted Chitra sleep in their bedroom, saying she and her sister would stay up late talking in the other room. Chitra didn’t argue. She changed into a loose cotton kurti and short pyjamas, slipped under the sheet, and let the day’s exhaustion pull her toward sleep.

Sometime after midnight, the faint creak of the bedroom door woke her. The sound of bare feet on the floor came closer. The mattress dipped. A wave of warm, masculine scent ,a mix of sweat, talc, and aftershave reached her nose. She froze. She didn’t need to see to know… it was Deepak.

In the darkness, he moved with the ease of habit. He thought his wife was in bed waiting for him. His large hand planted firmly beside her head, his hips shifting forward until something warm and heavy brushed her lips.

Her eyes flew open, heart hammering. She should’ve spoken, but before her mind caught up, instinct betrayed her , her mouth parted, breath brushing over him.

Deepak groaned softly and slid forward. Her lips stretched around him, the taste of salt and skin filling her tongue. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her slowly, his voice low and satisfied. “Haan… bas aise hi… muh bhar de.”

It hit her ;this was what Maami had meant earlier in the day when she’d laughed with her sister, saying, "Main toh so ke pehle keh deti hoon… pehle muh bhar do."

Now she was the one with her mouth full, feeling the weight, the heat, the faint throb against her tongue. She should have pulled away. But her jaw moved, her tongue traced him, and his soft groans grew thicker in the quiet room. Every time she closed her eyes, it became easier to pretend she wasn’t doing this with her Mama… until his grip and the slow push of his hips reminded her exactly whose body she was servicing in the darkness.

***