Incest Trap by Custom

[Naina boss]

Silence of the room is pierced by Divya's trembling voice, "What are you saying, Daddy?" She looks up at Digvijay, her eyes brimming with confusion and fear.
"The custom is ancient," Digvijay explains, his own eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. "When a wife is widowed, she must marry again within the household to maintain the harmony of the family."
Divya's world crashes around her. Her mind reels, trying to process this archaic rule. "But why?" she stammers, her voice barely audible.
Digvijay sighs heavily, his gaze avoiding hers. "It is to ensure that the widow is cared for, that the family line remains unbroken, and that the deceased husband's spirit finds peace. She has to married all men in family.
The gravity of the situation sinks in, and Divya feels the weight of a thousand eyes upon her. The air in the room thickens with the unspoken understanding of what is expected. She looks around, desperately seeking an escape from the labyrinth of tradition that has suddenly closed in around her.
Her eyes, usually bright and bold, now dimmed with grief, fall upon her reflection in the full-length mirror. She is dressed in a saree.

That clings to her body like a second skin. The backless blouse she had worn for Ajay's pleasure leaves her breasts barely covered, the darkened tips of her nipples visible through the thin fabric. The sight of herself, dressed to entice a man who now lay cold and lifeless in the hospital, sends a shiver down her spine.
The evening had started as any other, with Divya eagerly preparing for Ajay's return. She had hoped that tonight might be different, that the passion of their youth might flicker to life again. As they lay on the bed, their bodies entangled in a dance of love, Ajay's heart had given way, leaving her alone in a room filled with the echoes of their past. His last breaths had been punctuated by her own moans of desire, a twisted symphony that would now haunt her dreams.
Her sari had slid to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a backless blouse that barely contained her ample breasts.

She had felt the heat of Ajay's breath against her skin, the roughness of his stubble grazing her sensitive nipples. The absence of a bra had been a deliberate choice, a silent invitation for Ajay to indulge in the beauty she had always tried to keep hidden beneath layers of modesty. The sight of her naked body had aroused him, and his eyes had gleamed with a hunger she hadn't seen in years.
He had been rougher than usual, his hands claiming her with a desperation that was almost painful. Divya had not resisted; she had welcomed the forcefulness, her own desires coalescing into a fiery need that matched his. He had sucked on her breasts greedily

his teeth grazing the tender flesh, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She had moan ahhh mmmmm ahhh mmmmm ahhh fuck me hubby, fuck me like a whore, a sound that was both a plea and a demand, as he had pushed inside her, filling the emptiness she had felt for so long.
But in the midst of their passion, Ajay's body had tensed, his movements faltered. His grip on her hips had loosened, and his eyes had rolled back in his head. Divya had looked up in alarm, her breath hitching in her throat as she realized that something was terribly wrong. She had screamed for help, but it had been too late. Ajay's final act of love had been to fill her with his seed

as he took his last breaths, his body going limp atop hers
The truth of what had happened slowly dawned on her—she had been the one to give him the sex medicine, a concoction from an old family recipe that she had hoped would reignite their dwindling passion. But the dose had been too strong, a tragic miscalculation born from her desperation. The guilt of her actions gnawed at her, a festering wound that no amount of traditional comfort could heal.
Her thoughts raced as she tried to piece together the events of the evening. The way Ajay's eyes had lit up when she had presented him with the ancient aphrodisiac, the excitement in his voice as he had downed it with a grin. The potion had been a risky gamble, a last-ditch effort to breathe life back into their stale marriage. But she had been so consumed by her own desires that she had ignored the warnings of the family's old healer—caution thrown to the wind in pursuit of a fleeting spark.
The guilt of her actions weighs heavily on her, a leaden cloak that threatens to suffocate her. Yet amidst the chaos of her emotions, there is a flicker of something else—the memory of Ajay's touch, the heat of his breath on her skin. It is a bittersweet reminder of the passion they had once shared. Her eyes stray to the crimson stain on the bed, a stark reminder of the price they had paid for their final moments of intimacy.
As the reality of her situation sets in, Divya feels a strange sense of numbness. The world around her is a blur, a mosaic of colors and sounds that she cannot quite make sense of. Her in-laws hover, their expressions a mix of sorrow and something else—determination. They speak in hushed tones, their words a jumble of tradition and obligation.
It is then that Digvijay approaches her, his eyes filled with a warmth that she has rarely seen. He takes her hand in his, the gesture surprisingly gentle.


"Divya, my child," he says, his voice thick with emotion, "You must understand, this is for the greater good of the family."
Divya pulls away, horrified by the thought. But as she looks into her father-in-law's eyes, she sees something else—desire, raw and unbridled. She recoils, her hand flying to her mouth as she stumbles backward.
"What are you doing?" she gasps, her voice trembling.
Digvijay's eyes never leave hers as he slowly lowers himself to his knees. "It is a sign of respect and comfort, a way to ease your sorrow," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm over the harshness of his words. His gaze lingers on her stocking-clad legs, the dark fabric a stark contrast to her pale skin.
Her heart racing, Divya feels the warmth of his breath as he gently kisses the top of her foot

his hands sliding up her calf to the hem of her sari. She tries to pull away, but his grip is firm, almost possessive. He looks up at her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Let me ease your pain," he whispers, his voice thick with need. Divya started moaning ahh mmmm no papa no papa, please don't do this.Her mind reels as she feels the wetness of his tongue against her stocking-covered foot. It's a sensation she's never experienced before, yet it seems eerily familiar. The whispers of the household had hinted at such practices, but she had never truly believed they were real. Yet here she is, the center of a ritual that she never wanted to be a part of. She tries to scream, to protest, but the words catch in her throat, choking her.
The warmth of his breath on her skin is replaced by something else—the soft, insistent pressure of his penis, pushing against her toes. Divya's eyes widen in shock as she realizes what he is doing. It's not a consoling kiss; it's an act of claiming, a declaration of his intention to fulfill the ancient custom. The room seems to spin around her, the very air thick with the weight of his desire. She tries to pull away, but his hands are like steel bands around her ankles, holding her in place.
Panic bubbles up inside her as she feels his hot breath on her thighs, his mouth moving higher up her leg. The fabric of her stocking is the only barrier between them now, and she can feel the wetness of his tongue through the material. "No," she whispers, her voice a mere thread of sound. But it's lost in the cacophony of the room, the wails of mourning that seem to grow louder with every second that passes.
Rishi, her young adult son, notices the commotion and rushes in. His eyes widen when he sees his father on the floor, lifeless, and his grandfather on his knees before his mother. He's torn between his grief and the shock of what's unfolding before him. Without a word, he grabs Divya's arm, pulling her away from Digvijay's grasp. "Mom, come with me," he says, his voice filled with a fierce protectiveness she's never heard from him before.
They stumble into the hallway, and Rishi's grip tightens on her arm as he leads her to the elevator. The doors close behind them with a finality that seems to muffle the cries of the mourners. As the lift ascends, the tension in the air is palpable. Rishi turns to her, his eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. "Mom, are you okay?" he asks, his voice cracking.
But before she can respond, the lights flicker and the elevator jolts to a stop, leaving them in darkness. Divya's heart hammers in her chest as Rishi fumbles for the emergency button, his hand brushing against her bare back. The silence is deafening, punctuated only by their shallow breaths. And then, without warning, the weight of the situation crashes down upon them.
In the claustrophobic space, Rishi's touch changes, his fingers tracing the line of her spine as if seeking solace. Divya stiffens, but the warmth of his touch is surprisingly comforting amidst the cold steel walls. Without realizing it, she leans into him, her body craving the connection she had lost with Ajay.
But the moment is shattered as Rishi's hand moves to the hook of her blouse, deftly unclasping it. "No," she gasps, but it's too late. The fabric falls away, leaving her breasts bare before him. The horror of the situation crashes down on her, but his eyes are filled with a hunger that overpowers her protests.
Before she can react, Rishi's mouth is on hers, his kiss hard

and Divya tries to push him away, her moan of protest swallowed by his hungry kiss. His teeth bite down on her lower lip, eliciting a cry of pain that turns into a whimper of pleasure. His hands roam her body with a possessiveness

that feels both wrong and yet eerily familiar. She tries to fight, to resist, but his touch is intoxicating, and she is lost in a maelstrom of grief, fear, and unwanted desire.
Her body betrays her, responding to his advances despite her mind's protests. His hand finds her breast
the nipple already hard and sensitive from the recent encounter with her husband. He squeezes it roughly, and she can't help but moan into his mouth ahh mmmmm no my son, Rishi please stop she pleaded him.. The elevator, once a symbol of escape, is now a cage of forbidden passion.
Rishi's other hand slides down her waist, his fingers deftly unhooking the waistband of her sari. The fabric pools around her ankles, leaving her in only her petticoat. His hand moves underneath the thin fabric, cupping her sex. Divya tries to push him away, her hands flailing in the darkness, but she's too overwhelmed by the sensations flooding her body.

He presses his thumb against her clit, his touch both rough and tender. She can feel herself getting wet, the heat between her legs growing. The guilt is a knife in her stomach, but the need is undeniable. "Mom," Rishi whispers against her ear, his voice thick with lust, "Let me help you through this." His words are a dark promise, one she knows she shouldn't entertain, but in the moment, it's all she can focus on.
Her body arches instinctively as he teases her, her breasts pushing into his chest.

She feels the hardness of his erection pressing against her belly, a reminder of the forbidden desire that has taken root. Her mind screams at her to stop, to remember her place as a mother, but her body is a traitor, responding to the touch of a man she should not crave. She tries to form the words of protest, but they come out as moans of pleasure.
The elevator jerks to life with a sudden lurch, sending them stumbling against the walls. The lights flicker on, illuminating the stark reality of their situation. Rishi's eyes are wide with lust, his hand still buried between her legs. Divya's face is flushed, her lips swollen from his brutal kiss

The sight of her own reflection in the elevator's mirrored wall sends a jolt of cold reality through her. She pushes him away with all her might, the strength of her rejection surprising even herself.
"Rishi, no," she says firmly, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "What are you doing?"
Her son's eyes dart to the side, and he quickly withdraws his hand, a look of guilt flashing across his face. "I'm sorry, Mom," he stammers, his voice a mix of embarrassment and confusion. "I didn't mean to..."
Divya gathers the remnants of her sari around her, her heart racing. She feels soiled, as if the very fabric of her being has been torn apart. "It's okay," she whispers, though the words feel like acid on her tongue. "Let's just...let's just get out of here."
The elevator reaches the top floor, the doors sliding open to reveal the empty corridor leading to the penthouse. Rishi nods, his eyes downcast, and they both step out, the tension between them palpable. The opulent surroundings seem to mock the chaos of their emotions—the gleaming marble floors, the crystal chandeliers casting a cold, unforgiving light on their faces.

 

[Naina boss]

Kindly send me images/gif as per story

 

[Naina boss]

Divya locks herself in her room,

the door a flimsy barricade against the storm raging outside. She stumbles to the bed, the scent of Ajay's cologne lingering on the pillows. The reality of her situation hits her like a sledgehammer—she's a widow, and now she must confront the horror of her father-in-law's proposal and her own son's illicit desire. She collapses onto the bed, her body trembling as she weeps for the life she knew, now irrevocably changed.
Her grief is a tempest that swallows her whole, a tumultuous sea of regret and fear. She clutches at Ajay's pillow, feeling the dampness of her own tears soaking into the fabric.

Her thoughts are a cacophony of voices—Digvijay's insistent whispers, Sarlas gentle sobs, and Rishi's desperate apologies. The room feels stifling, the walls closing in as the weight of the ancient custom bears down on her.
A soft knock at the door jolts her from her anguished thoughts. It's Sarla, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She holds a steaming cup of chai

the aroma of ginger and cardamom wafting into the room. Divya's mother-in-law's presence is a balm, a reminder of the tenderness that can still exist in this house of shadows. Sarla sets the cup on the nightstand and sits beside her, taking Divya's hand in her own.
"Divya," she says softly, her voice a gentle caress, "you must know that what happened was not your fault."
Divya turns to look at her, the anger and fear in her eyes slowly giving way to confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Sarla's gaze is unwavering, her voice filled with the quiet resolve of a woman who has seen too much. "The custom," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the storm of emotions in the room. "You know what you must do to keep your husband's spirit at peace."
Divya's heart sinks as she realizes her mother-in-law is speaking of the ancient rite that has been thrust upon her. "I...I don't know if I can," she stammers, her voice trembling with the weight of her fears.
Sarla nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know it's a heavy burden, but it's for the sake of our family's honor, for Ajay's peace, and for your own well-being. It's what we've always done," she says, her voice steady despite the tears that still cling to her lashes. She squeezes Divya's hand, her grip firm and reassuring. "You must do this, my child. For all of us."
Divya feels the weight of Sarla's words, the gravity of the situation settling into her bones. She takes a shaky breath, trying to reconcile the love she has for her in-laws with the horror of the custom that now looms over her. She knows that tradition runs deep in this family, a river that has carved its path over generations, unyielding and unchanging. To refuse would be to dam that river, to risk drowning in the resulting flood of anger and disappointment.
With trembling hands, she takes the cup of chai

the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. She brings it to her lips, the sweet, spiced liquid a comfort in the face of the bitter truth. "But what about my own happiness?" she asks, her voice a mere whisper.
Sarla's expression softens, and she strokes Divya's hair. "Sacrifice is a part of our duty, my dear. It's what we do for those we love, for those who can no longer speak for themselves." Her words hang heavy in the air, a reminder of the invisible chains that bind them to tradition.
Divya sips the chai, the warmth spreading through her, mingling with the cold dread in her stomach. She thinks of Ajay, of the life they had built together, the quiet moments of companionship that had grown into something resembling love. Was this truly what he would have wanted for her?
"You must understand," Sarla says, her voice a gentle coax, "this is not just about us. It's about the family, about continuing the lineage. It's what Ajay would have wanted for you."
Divya's eyes widen, and she sets the chai down with a clatter. "How can you say that?" she exclaims, her voice rising with each word. "How can you think Ajay would want me to marry again, so soon?"
But Sarla's expression is resolute. "It's not just about us, Divya," she says, her grip on her hand tightening. "The priest came to me, after...everything."
The priest's revelation had come as a thunderclap in the quiet of the mourning house. Divya had listened in disbelief as the old man spoke of ancient curses and the fragile balance of fate. The love potion she had used in a desperate bid to save her marriage had been a double-edged sword, a weapon forged in the fires of dark magic. It had not only been an aphrodisiac; it had been a curse that could only be lifted by fulfilling the ancient custom of remarrying within the family.
Her heart racing, Divya turned to Sarla. "But who will I marry?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thundering in her ears.
Sarla took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Divya's. "The priest has seen a vision," she said, her voice carrying the gravity of a prophet delivering fate. "You must marry all of them—Digvijay, Inder, and even..." She trailed off, her voice cracking with the weight of the words she was about to speak. "Rishi."
Divya felt as if she had been slapped. "What?" she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "My son?" The very thought was too much to bear.
Sarla nodded solemnly. "Yes, even Rishi," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The priest has spoken. The potion you used...it has bound you to this fate. Only by marrying all four can the curse be lifted, and Ajay's soul find peace
Divya looked down at her hands, her wedding bangles a cold reminder of the vows she had taken. She thought of Ajay's gentle touch, the softness of his kisses, and the comfort of his embrace. And then she thought of Rishi, her baby boy who had grown into a man before her very eyes. The idea of him in such a way was both repulsive and tantalizingly taboo.
Sarla's words echoed in her mind, a siren's call promising a deeper, more primal connection than she had ever experienced with Ajay. "Rishi is a man now," she had whispered, her eyes shimmering with a knowing look. "You will find that his love is different from your husband's. It is raw and powerful, and it will fill the void that Ajay's passing has left within you."
Divya couldn't help but let the image of her son's naked body fill her thoughts. She had caught glimpses of him over the years, the way his muscles had defined, the way his body had matured into something both familiar and foreign. And yet, the thought of him in such an intimate way was as tantalizing as it was terrifying.

"You will love Rishi's penis more than Ajay's," Sarla had told her, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The words sent a shiver down Divya's spine, a mix of revulsion and fascination. She had never thought to compare the two, never dreamed that she would be in a position to do so. But there it was, the stark truth laid bare before her.
Her mind conjured up an image of Rishi's naked body, his youthful form more robust and defined than Ajay's. The thought of his manhood, large and thick, was a carnivorous beast in her mind, one that grew more enticing with every second that ticked by.


Sarla's words echoed like a siren's song, tempting her with the promise of a love she never knew existed, a love that was as forbidden as it was undeniable.
The room felt suffocating as she contemplated the path laid out before her. The love potion she had hoped would revitalize her marriage had instead painted her into a corner of tradition and desire she never knew existed. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a twisted excitement at the prospect of experiencing such raw, primal passion.

Summoning her courage, Divya resolved to face the priest who had delivered this unfathomable destiny. She had to understand the depth of this ancient curse, to find a way to break it without bringing ruin upon her family. She slipped on her sandals, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird seeking escape.

The priest's chamber was a small, dimly lit room, the air heavy with the scent of incense and aged parchment. He sat cross-legged on a woven mat, eyes closed in meditation

.At the sound of her entrance, he opened them, revealing a depth of understanding that seemed to pierce through her very soul. "You seek answers," he said, his voice a gravelly rumble.
Divya nodded, her throat tight with emotion. "The custom...it feels so wrong," she whispered.
The priest's eyes bore into hers, unyielding. "It is the way of our ancestors. For the sake of your husband's soul, you must comply."
With trembling hands, Divya unhooked her blouse, the fabric slipping from her shoulders to reveal the deep red of her bra

The room was still, save for the crackling of the incense. She felt a strange mix of embarrassment and liberation as the fabric fell away, exposing the soft curves of her breasts to the priest's unblinking gaze.
The priest beckoned her closer, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. "Come," he said, his voice a sultry whisper. "Sit on my lap."

Divya's legs felt like lead as she approached, the weight of her decision bearing down on her. The priest's hands were warm and firm as they found her waist, guiding her down onto his thighs. She could feel his erection pressing against her, a stark reminder of the intimacy that was about to unfold.
He kissed her, his lips rough and demanding, his tongue delving into her mouth as if seeking to claim her soul

She moaned into the kiss, a sound that was equal parts protest and surrender. His hands moved to her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, teasing them to hardness.

The priest's touch sent waves of pleasure through her, and she couldn't help but arch into his embrace.
"Your sex drive," the priest murmured against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper, "it's a gift, but also a curse. It's what led you to that potion. It's what killed Ajay."
Divya's eyes snapped open at his words, and she tried to push him away. But the priest's grip was firm, his hands unyielding as they continued to knead her breasts, his thumbs flicking her now-sensitive nipples. "What are you saying?" she gasped, her voice a mix of fear and arousal.
The priest's eyes gleamed with an eerie light. "The potion," he murmured, his breath hot against her neck. "It didn't just enhance your desire for your husband. It bound you to the men of this household. The more you fight it, the stronger it becomes."
With a tremble, Divya felt the truth in his words. The way Rishi had looked at her, the way his hands had felt on her skin, the way her own body had responded—it was all part of the curse. "But how can I...?" she began to protest, but his mouth silenced her

his kisses leaving a trail of fire down her neck.
The priest's hands slid down her body, his fingers deftly untying her sari, letting the fabric pool around her ankles. He pushed her down onto the mat, his own robes falling away to reveal his erection, standing tall and proud. Divya's eyes widened in a mix of horror and fascination as he guided her hand to him, urging her to touch. "You must accept your fate," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Or suffer the consequences."
Her hand hovered over his shaft, her mind a battlefield of emotions—disgust, fear, and a traitorous spark of curiosity. Her fingers brushed against him, and she felt a jolt of energy, like a live wire connecting them. The priest groaned, his hips bucking upward, and she realized with a start that she could feel his need, his desire. It was as if the potion had backfired, binding her to not just Ajay, but to every male in the household.
Divya's hand moved almost of its own accord, wrapping around his girth. The priest's eyes rolled back in pleasure, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The power of her touch was undeniable, a dark thrill coursing through her. But even as her hand stroked him, her mind screamed for her to stop, to reject this perverted twist of fate. Yet she was trapped, her body responding to his every whim, her will seemingly snuffed out like a candle in a gale.
The priest's hand snaked around her neck, his grip firm as he pulled her closer, his mouth claiming hers once more. His other hand found her panties, sliding them aside with ease. Divya felt his fingers enter her, a mix of pain and pleasure that made her cry out.

She had never felt such an intrusion, such a violation, and yet it was as if her body had been made for this very moment. The priest's thumb found her clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles. She couldn't help but buck against his hand, her own desires betraying her.
As the priest continued to explore her body, Divya felt a war rage within her—the mother's love for her son clashing with the raw, primal need that the potion had unleashed. She had never felt such a powerful desire, such an overwhelming hunger. It was as if she had been starved for years, and now she was being offered a feast of the most forbidden kind.
With a final, desperate push, she broke the kiss and shoved the priest away. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't do this."
The priest's eyes narrowed, the lust in them giving way to anger. "You will," he spat. "Or face the wrath of the ancestors and watch your family fall apart."
Divya stumbled to her feet, her sari a tangled mess around her waist. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her mind racing. "I need time," she begged, her voice shaking. "Please, let me think."
The priest's expression was a stormy mix of lust and anger. He stood, his own robe discarded, his manhood still erect and demanding. "There is no time," he bellowed. "The spirits are restless. You must consummate with all four of them, or you will be the ruin of us all!"
Divya felt a shiver run down her spine at his words. The very thought of what was being asked of her was too much to bear. "No," she murmured, her voice shaking. "This isn't right. I can't do it."
But the priest's gaze was unyielding. "You have no choice," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "The curse will not be denied."
Divya felt a tear slip down her cheek as she backed away, her eyes darting to the door. She had to find a way out of this, had to save herself and her family from the horror that awaited them. Her thoughts raced, searching for a way to break the curse without succumbing to the depraved desires it had unleashed.
Her hand found the door handle, and she pulled it open, the light from the hallway spilling into the room. She stepped into the corridor, the cool marble floor a stark contrast to the heat of the priest's chamber. The house was quiet, the family lost in their own grief and oblivious to the storm brewing within her.
Divya knew she had to find a way to break the curse. The thought of being with Rishi in such a way was unbearable. But she also knew that defying the priest could bring unspeakable consequences. Her heart raced as she pondered her next move. She needed to talk to someone, to seek guidance from someone who understood the dark arts better than she did.
Her thoughts turned to an old friend from college, Meena, who had always been fascinated by the occult. With a sense of urgency, she grabbed her phone and dialed Meena's number. The call went unanswered, and she left a frantic message, begging for her help. As she ended the call, she heard footsteps approaching.
Her heart pounding in her chest, Divya hastily rearranged her sari and composed herself. It was Inder, Ajay's younger brother. His eyes searched hers for a hint of what had transpired in the priest's chamber. She offered a small, forced smile, hoping to reassure him, but the look on her face was one of turmoil that she couldn't quite hide. Inder's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing that something was amiss.
"Divya, is everything all right?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.
Her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. The gravity of her situation was suffocating her, and she felt the walls closing in. "I...I need to be alone," she finally managed to say, her voice wavering.
Inder's eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought he could see right through her, that he knew the dark secret that now consumed her every thought. But then his gaze softened, and he nodded. "Of course," he murmured, stepping aside to let her pass.
Divya retreated to her room, the weight of the world seemingly pressing down on her shoulders. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it as if to keep the horror of her fate at bay. The room was a prison of her own making, filled with the ghosts of happier times and the looming specter of what was to come.
Before she could even process her thoughts, the door opened again, and Rishi stepped in, his eyes filled with a hunger that she had never seen before. He approached her, his movements deliberate, and took her into his arms, kissing her with a passion that was as surprising as it was unwelcome.

His hands moved to her breasts, kneading them gently as he whispered into her ear, "Ma, you must do this for us. For the family."

Divya felt a whirlwind of emotions—fear, disgust, and an undeniable thrill that made her skin tingle. She knew it was the potion's doing, but she couldn't fight the sensation that was building within her. As Rishi's lips traveled down her neck,

she found herself arching into his touch, her body betraying her moral compass. His hands continued to explore her, his thumbs teasing her hardening nipples, and she couldn't help but let out a soft moan of pleasure.
"Ma," Rishi murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "You must accept your fate. It is what Ajay would have wanted."
Divya's body responded to his touch, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and arousal. His kisses grew more insistent,

his hands moving to the clasp of her sari blouse. The fabric fell away, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the room. His mouth found her nipple, suckling it with a hunger that sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

Despite her inner turmoil, she couldn't help but arch into his embrace, her hands tangling in his hair.
Rishi's voice was a seductive murmur, his words a potent cocktail of guilt and desire. "Ma, you know this is what we both need. It's the only way to save us all." His teeth grazed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. "For Ajay, for our family," he breathed. "You must do this."
The room was a haze of lust and despair, the scent of sandalwood and sweat mingling with the faint odor of fear. Divya's body was a traitor to her mind, her nipples hardening under her son's expert touch, her breath hitching as his mouth moved to the other breast, his tongue flicking and teasing until she could feel her knees weakening. Her thoughts swirled like a tornado, torn between the love she had for Rishi and the incestuous taboo that lay before them.

 

[Curiousbull]

Awesome start. But needs editing. The stockings with saari don't match.

 

[Naina boss]

If you have matching images/gif kindly send me

 

[Naina boss]

The ancient village temple bore witness to the unconventional union that was to unfold. The air had the scent of incense and the murmurs of a gathered crowd, all present to witness a tradition so deeply embedded in the fabric of their culture that it had become almost mythical. Divya, a woman whose beauty had not faded with the years, stood at the altar, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around at the faces of her new husbands: Digvijay, her stoic father-in-law; Inder, the brooding brother-in-law; and Rishi, her youthful and inexperienced son.


Each held a bouquet of marigolds, their eyes a blend of anticipation and uncertainty.
The priest, Pandit Ji, recited the sacred Mantra

in a sonorous voice that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath them. His words were a tapestry of blessings, weaving together the destinies of the souls that stood before him. With each syllable, the knot of their union grew stronger, entwining their lives in a bond that defied societal norms. The garlands of flowers they exchanged served as a silent promise of loyalty and love, a declaration to the gods and the villagers alike that they would stand together through the storms of life.
The atmosphere is filled with tension and anticipation as the priest, Pandit Ji, performs the rites, and the men exchange garlands with Divya, symbolizing their newfound bond and commitment to each other.

As the final vow was spoken and the sacred fire crackled in the background, a hush fell over the assembly. The air was thick with anticipation, a silent acknowledgment of the profound moment that had just occurred. The men, now bound by the sacred thread of marriage, each took a step closer to Divya, their hands shaking slightly as they reached out to place the vermilion on her forehead. The red dot, a symbol of a married woman's status, now marked her as theirs.
The priest, Pandit Ji, offered a knowing smile as he completed the ceremony, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of reverence and lust. He had played his part well, orchestrating the union that would provide him with the ultimate reward. Divya, ever the astute observer, noted the hunger in his gaze and felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew that she would not be the only one to share her bed in the coming days.

The villagers erupted into applause, their faces a canvas of shock, awe, and fascination


The whispers grew into a murmur that swelled into a crescendo of gossip, the story of the widowed daughter-in-law who had taken not one, but three husbands becoming the talk of the town. Yet amidst the cacophony, Divya felt a strange sense of peace. She had accepted her fate, embraced it even, and now she was ready to face whatever the gods had in store for her.

 

[Naina boss]

The three men, united by tradition and fate, escorted her back to their shared home.


The house, once a bastion of order under Ajay's rule, now thrummed with an undercurrent of sexual tension that was palpable even to the uninitiated. Divya knew that her life was about to take a drastic turn, that she would need to navigate the complexities of this new arrangement with grace and strength.

That night, as the moon cast shadows through the curtains, she lay in her marital bed, her thoughts racing. She was a modern woman in a traditional world, torn between the love she felt for her new husbands and the knowledge that she would have to share her body with each of them in turn. The memory of Ajay's gentle touch was a distant echo, replaced by the anticipation of the unknown that lay ahead.
Sarla, her mother-in-law, had made it clear that she expected her to fulfill her wifely duties without fail. Divya knew that her days of celibacy were over, and she braced herself for the tumult of emotions and sensations that were about to flood her. She was to be fucked every day, a thought that both repulsed and excited her in equal measure. The idea of her aging body being used for pleasure was a taboo that sent waves of anxiety through her, yet she felt a thrill that she had never before experienced.
That evening, as the men returned from their work, Sushila, her sister-in-law, approached her with a knowing smile. "Digvijay is eagerly waiting to claim what is rightfully his," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and spite. Divya felt a jolt of panic, realizing that her first night as a wife to her father-in-law was upon her.

When the time came, Divya slipped into the bedroom


, her heart hammering in her chest. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and musk, a potent mix that seemed to heighten her senses. Digvijay sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze lingering on her form as she moved. He was a man of quiet power, his silver hair and lined face a testament to the years of wisdom and experience he had lived.
He presented her with a box, wrapped in delicate silk. "This is for you," he said, his voice gruff with nerves. Inside lay a babydoll dress, the fabric so fine it was almost transparent. It was a garment that screamed of seduction and youth, a stark contrast to the white sari she had worn all day. Divya took it from him, her hands trembling as she held the dress against her body. The fabric was cool to the touch, a stark reminder of the passion that was to come.Divya changed her dress.

 

[Naina boss]

With a shaky hand, she offered him a glass filled with a rich, amber liquid.


It was a local whiskey, strong and potent, a drink reserved for celebrations and moments of great significance. Divya took a tentative sip, the alcohol burning a trail down her throat, warming her from the inside out. She felt a buzz of excitement as she handed the glass back to him.

Digvijay took a deep swig, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. He leaned in, his breath hot on her cheek, and whispered, "Now, drink from me." Divya felt a jolt of electricity at his words. She had never shared a drink so intimately with anyone before, and the act was fraught with a primal, carnivorous hunger that she had never experienced.

Tentatively, she pressed her lips to the rim of the glass, her eyes never leaving his. As she tilted the whiskey to her mouth, he leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto hers. He took the glass away and brought it to his own lips, a knowing smile playing on them. With a slow, deliberate motion, he parted them, allowing the liquid to spill from his mouth to hers. The whiskey was a fiery river between them, a shared elixir that sealed their bond in that moment.
Their eyes never left each other's as they swallowed, the heat of the alcohol mingling with the fire that burned in their hearts. Divya felt a strange thrill, a blend of fear and excitement, as she realized that she was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed. She knew that she would have to give herself to these men in ways she had never imagined, and yet she found herself eager to embrace the challenge.

Digvijay set the glass aside and took her hand, leading her to the bed.


His eyes never left hers as he leaned in and whispered, "Tonight, I will drink from you in another way." He traced a finger along her collarbone, sending a shiver down her spine. He reached behind her and unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts spilled out, the weight of them heavy and full. He cupped them gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips.

He leaned in and took one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

Divya felt a rush of heat pool between her legs, her body betraying her fears and responding to his touch. She watched in the mirror as he suckled her, his eyes closed in concentration. His teeth grazed her skin lightly, sending waves of pleasure through her body. He paused and looked up at her, a question in his eyes.
With a nod, she gave him the consent he sought, and he took the invitation with a fervor that surprised her. His mouth closed around her nipple, his teeth tugging gently. Divya's moans grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room. She felt her knees buckle, but he was there to support her, his hands holding her firmly against him. The fabric of the dress was damp with her arousal, a testament to her body's traitorous response to his ministrations.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as they tasted each other's mouths for the first time. The whispers of the village, the weight of tradition, all faded away as they became lost in the moment. Divya felt a hand slide up her thigh, the silk of the dress offering no barrier to his touch. His fingers traced the dampness of her sex through the fabric, making her gasp into his mouth.

Inder watched from the shadows, his own desire building as he saw the passion unfold before him. He knew it was his turn the next day, and the thought of claiming her in such a way made his cock throb with anticipation. He stepped closer, the sound of their kissing a siren's call that beckoned him closer.

Their mouths moved in a silent symphony of passion, tongues dancing together in a dance as old as time. Divya's moans grew louder, the sound of her pleasure echoing off the walls of the room. The fabric of her dress was now soaked with her need, clinging to her like a second skin.

 

[Naina boss]

Mmmm, she murmured, her hands tangling in Digvijay's hair as he kissed a trail down her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin.


Ahh, she gasped as his hand reached the apex of her thighs, his fingers slipping beneath the dress to find her wet and ready for him. He teased her, tracing slow circles around her clit, building the tension within her until she thought she would shatter.

But just as she reached the brink of climax, a sudden commotion echoed through the house, interrupting their intimate moment. A loud knock at the door sent a shiver of panic through the air. Divya pulled away, the dress clinging to her dampened skin, as Digvijay straightened his clothes and moved to answer it.

The door swung open to reveal a man who looked eerily familiar, yet a stranger to them all. His eyes scanned the room, settling on Divya with a hunger that was unmistakable. He introduced himself as Rahim, a long-lost relative who had just returned from the city, seeking refuge in his ancestral home. The revelation sent a ripple of shock through the household, especially when Pandit Ji stepped forward, declaring that the union was incomplete without him.
The men in the room tensed, their eyes flickering with jealousy and anger. The very fabric of their newfound balance was being tested by this unexpected intrusion. Divya felt a strange mix of dread and fascination as she studied the newcomer. He was tall, with a lean build and a smug smile that suggested he knew something they didn't. His clothes were modern, a stark contrast to the simple garb worn by the villagers, and his eyes held a knowing glint that made her heart race.

Rahim, the prodigal relative, stepped into the room with the confidence of a man who knew he had the upper hand. His gaze swept over the four men who had just claimed her, and then landed on Divya. "I see the gods have blessed you with a fertile field," he said with a chuckle, his voice deep and rich like the soil of the Pushkar valley.

Inder, unable to contain his anger, stepped forward. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with fury. "This is our home, and she is our wife!"

Rahim's smile grew wider, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Ah, but tradition dictates that a widow must marry her husband's male relatives," he said smoothly, his gaze lingering on Divya's flushed cheeks. "And as the eldest living male relative, I believe that right belongs to me."

 

[Naina boss]

Divya felt as if she were in the eye of a storm, the calm before the tempest. Her eyes darted from one man to the next, searching for some sign of what was to come. Would they reject this new claimant? Or would they submit to the will of the village and the whims of tradition?

The silence grew heavy, thick with unspoken challenge. It was Rishi who broke it, his voice trembling with anger. "How can this be?" he demanded. "You have not been a part of this family for years! What gives you the right?"

Rahim's eyes never left Divya's as he replied, "Blood, my dear Rishi. The same blood that runs through your veins gives me the right to claim your mother. And as for tradition, it is not just the will of the villagers that we must consider, but the will of the gods themselves."

The men exchanged glances, the unspoken challenge in their eyes. Divya felt her world crumble around her. The union she had just formed with Digvijay, Inder, and Rishi was still so fresh, and now this new threat loomed, threatening to disrupt the precarious balance she had found. Yet, there was something about Rahim that intrigued her, something that made her heart race in a way that was not entirely fear.

.

With a heavy heart, she watched as her new family grappled with the implications of his words. The tension was a living thing, coiling around them like a serpent ready to strike. Digvijay spoke first, his voice a mix of anger and resignation. "The gods may have their will, but we are not their puppets," he said, his eyes never leaving Rahim's. "We will consider your claim, but for now, you are a guest in this house."
Inder nodded, his jaw clenched. "We will not let you take her without a fight," he murmured, his fists tightening at his sides. The air grew thick with unspoken challenge, the very fabric of the household straining under the weight of this new revelation.

Rahim's eyes flickered over the three men before returning to Divya. "I seek no trouble," he said, his voice low and soothing. "But the laws of the land, both human and divine, demand that I be recognized as her husband."

Divya's heart felt as if it would leap from her chest. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and anger. How could this be? How could the gods be so cruel to thrust her into such a situation? Her eyes searched the faces of the men she had just been united with, looking for some semblance of understanding or solidarity. Instead, she saw a range of emotions: anger, jealousy, fear, and something else... something darker, something she could not quite name.