The cold December night wrapped Krishnapur village in silence. Rajveer Singh, the tall, handsome sarpanch, stepped out of his black Fortuner with unsteady legs. He had drunk too much desi daaru at a wedding party in the next village. His white kurta hung open, showing his hard, muscled chest. The costly watch on his wrist shone under the moonlight as he walked, swaying a little.
He wanted to go to the guest room at the back of his big haveli. But the alcohol made everything blurry. His feet took him past the low wall, through the jasmine flowers, straight to the small house where Ramu Mali and his daughter lived.
Priya’s tiny room had a wooden door left slightly open for fresh air. Rajveer pushed it wide and stepped inside, thinking it was his own room. A faint yellow light from the courtyard fell on the narrow bed. There she was — Priya, fast asleep.
The 21-year-old girl lay on her side, long black hair spread over the pillow like silk. She wore a thin pink nightie that was too small for her grown body. The soft cotton had slid up her smooth thighs, showing soft, creamy skin. Her full breasts rose and fell with every slow breath, the fabric stretched tight over them, nipples faintly visible through the thin cloth. She looked so pure, so innocent, lips slightly parted in sleep.
Rajveer stood over her, breathing heavy and hot. The smell of her — jasmine in her hair, warm skin, sweet like milk — hit him hard. His cock twitched inside his pants, growing thick and heavy from the liquor and the sight of her.
He didn’t think. He just wanted.
He closed the door softly and knelt on the bed. The mattress sank under his strong body. Priya moved a little in her sleep but didn’t wake. Rajveer leaned down, his rough lips brushing her soft neck. He tasted her skin — salty, sweet, warm. A low groan left his throat.
His big hand pulled down the front of her nightie slowly. One full, heavy breast popped free. The dark nipple stood out, already hard from the cold air. Rajveer stared for a second, eyes dark with hunger. Then he opened his mouth and took it in — hot, wet, greedy.
He sucked hard.
Priya’s eyes flew open with a sharp gasp. “Ka… kaun?” Her small voice shook with fear.
But Rajveer didn’t stop. His tongue swirled around the hard nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth like he was starving. His teeth grazed the sensitive tip, making her body jerk. He moved to the other breast, yanking the nightie lower until both big, soft breasts were bare for him. He licked and sucked noisily, leaving wet marks on her skin.
“Sarpanch ji!” Priya whispered in panic, hands pushing at his wide shoulders. Tears filled her innocent eyes. She had only ever seen him from far away — the most handsome, powerful man in the village. Girls dreamed of him. But this… his hot mouth on her naked breasts… it was wrong. It was sinful.
Yet her body felt strange. Heat rushed between her legs. Her nipples ached in a way that made her thighs press together.
“Shh… quiet, baby,” Rajveer slurred, voice thick and rough. He pinned one of her wrists above her head with ease. His free hand squeezed her bare breast hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Fuck… itne bade, itne soft… kitne din se inhe choosna chahta tha.”
He buried his face between her breasts, licking the valley, breathing her in like a drug. His stubble scratched her tender skin, making red marks. He sucked one nipple again, pulling it long and hard until Priya cried out softly, arching her back without meaning to.
“Nahi… please… chod dijiye…” she begged in a tiny, trembling voice. But her words sounded weak even to her own ears. Her body was getting wet down there, soaking her simple cotton panties.
Rajveer lifted his head. His handsome face was flushed, lips wet and shining from her skin. Those dark eyes burned into hers. “Chodun? Kabhi nahi.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against the huge bulge in his pants. “Feel karo. Kitna hard ho gaya hoon sirf tumhare in boobs ko dekh kar.”
Priya’s fingers felt the thick, throbbing length through the cloth. Her cheeks burned red with shame. She had never touched a man there. Never even seen one. But it felt so big, so hot, pulsing under her palm.
Rajveer groaned and pushed his hips forward, rubbing himself against her hand. At the same time, his mouth returned to her breasts — licking, biting lightly, sucking until both nipples were swollen, red, and shining with his spit. He couldn’t get enough. His hand slid lower, pushing the nightie up to her waist. His rough fingers brushed the edge of her panties, feeling the damp spot there.
Priya squeezed her thighs shut, terrified. “Nahi… papa next room mein hain… please…”
But Rajveer was too far gone. He slipped one thick finger under the wet cotton, touching her soft, virgin folds for the first time. She was dripping. Soaked. His finger slid easily along her slit, brushing her tiny clit. Priya whimpered, hips jerking up against her will.
Just as he was about to push the panties aside and taste her there, the heavy daaru pulled him under. His eyes closed, body going heavy. He collapsed on top of her, face pressed between her naked breasts, one hand still cupping her wetness through the cloth.
In seconds, he was snoring softly, dead to the world.
Priya lay trapped beneath his heavy, muscular body. Her breasts throbbed from his rough mouth. Her nipples stood hard and aching. Between her legs, she was shamefully soaked, panties clinging to her skin.
She should scream. Should wake her father. Should push this powerful man away.
But she didn’t move.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at the ceiling in the dark. Her heart pounded. Her body still tingled everywhere he had touched.
And deep inside her innocent heart, something hot and dark woke up — a hunger she didn’t understand yet.
Rajveer Singh, the sarpanch, had marked her tonight. And even in his drunken sleep, his arms stayed tight around her, holding her like she already belonged to him.
To be continued…
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