tantrayaan

  Sarah woke to sunlight spilling across her like a warm bnket. For the first time in a long time it felt soft and forgiving.

  For once, her body didn’t protest the morning. She felt no ache in her ribs, no sour pit in her stomach, no invisible weight pressing her lungs ft. She actually felt… good. Light. Almost giddy.

  For a second she was astonished. Then she remembered st night - what felt like the lowest point in her life as the muggers loomed over her in the alley near the MARTA station. Then the miracle in the form of a boy - no man. Sarah smiled as she thought about him.

  Bharath. The quiet, steady man who had appeared out of nowhere st night when the world had finally cracked open beneath her feet. The hero who saved her from a worse fate and got himself stabbed for it. He was so brave! And he did that for her. No one had ever done anything heroic for her before. Sarah felt a sense of wonder. He didn't even expect anything for it.

  And then there was Marisol. Her second miracle. Standing beside him. The beautiful Latina with dark hair falling like silk. She had comforted her all night.

  Technically, they were strangers. Complete strangers. Yet they had stayed through the worst of the sobs, through the shaking, through the ugly silence that followed. They hadn’t asked for anything. Not once.

  Sarah pressed both palms to her chest. Her heartbeat felt new.

  She wanted to give them something back. Coffee. Warm food. Strawberries sliced neat. Something she could make from scratch... for them. A small, tangible thank-you that said: I saw your kindness. I felt it.

  She slipped out of bed, and padded out of her room. She was still dressed in the pin white t-shirt and booty shorts she wore st night. She had loaned the same thing to Marisol. Sarah smirked as she remembered Bharath's face when he saw her lying on top of Marisol. It had been fun to tease him. He was such a sweetie.

  Sarah already felt closer to Bharath and Marisol than she had felt to anyone else in her life. It was ridiculous. She didn't even know them for twelve hours and she was already behaving like they were her long lost friends. She smiled, remembering what Marisol and Bharath had told her st night. They were there for her. They stayed back for her.

  The guest bedroom door stood ajar.

  She paused, hand on the frame.

  They were still asleep.

  Bharath y spooned behind Marisol, chest to her back, one arm draped over her waist. His injured side was carefully angled away, but his other hand cupped her breast beneath the loose t-shirt. His fingers spyed, rexed, as though even in sleep he needed the contact. Marisol’s head rested on his bicep, lips parted in a faint smile. Her body looked completely at ease, curled into him like she belonged exactly there.

  Sarah almost melted when she saw them. They looked adorable together. Such a lovely couple!

  Suddenly she envied Marisol. Bharath was the complete opposite of Derek.

  Sighing, she went downstairs to get started on breakfast. Soon, the kitchen smelled of coffee before she even started the pot. She cracked eggs, whisked them slow, butter popping in the pan. Sarah caught herself humming. She stopped in amazement. When was the st time she had done that?

  She got lost in the rhythm of making breakfast - the sizzle of butter, the gentle scrape of the whisk - when a sound from upstairs broke through. Soft at first. Barely audible. She had never heard those before ... were those moans of pleasure? Even in those terrible pornographic movies that Derek watched, the women never made sounds like these!

  Sarah’s lip caught between her teeth. Were they…? In her guest room? Right on the other side of the wall from where she’d slept?

  She heard Marisol gasp again, sharper now, ced with need.

  Sarah's toes curled against the tile. Warmth spread through her belly, unexpected. She set the whisk down and quietly climbed the stairs, pausing at the top.

  She heard a low, breathy moan. Marisol’s voice, sleepy and thick with pleasure: “Mmm… sí, justo ahí…”

  A rustle of sheets. A slow, wet sound. Skin sliding against skin.

  Marisol again, softer but unmistakable: “Ay… más profundo, amor…”

  Sarah’s thighs pressed together instinctively. Heat bloomed low and sudden. She had never, ever, felt curious about other people’s sex before. Sex had always been something endured, endured quietly, eyes on the ceiling, waiting for it to end.

  This didn’t sound like that. This sounded like bliss.

  She bit her lip harder. Part of her screamed to go back downstairs, finish breakfast, pretend she heard nothing.

  Another part, the part that had been starving for years, whispered: Just look. Just once.

  Marisol’s voice rose, still hushed but deliberate: “Tus manos en mis tetas… squeeze them, baby… harder…”

  Sarah’s nipples stiffened against the thin cotton so fast it hurt. A pulse of wetness slicked between her legs.

  She tiptoed to the guest bedroom door, heart hammering loud enough she was sure they’d hear it.

  The guest-room door stood ajar, more than a crack now.

  She pressed herself to the frame, barely breathing.

  They were still spooned, Bharath curled protectively around Marisol from behind. His injured side braced carefully, but his hips moved with slow, confident rolls. Deep, controlled strokes that made Marisol’s whole body ripple.

  One rge hand cupped the heavy underside of Marisol’s breast through the borrowed white t-shirt, thumb circling the stiff peak until it poked obscenely against the fabric. He pinched, gently at first. Then firmer when she arched and whimpered.

  “Shhh,” Bharath murmured against her neck, voice low and urgent. “Sarah’s right next door… keep it down, baby.”

  Marisol let out a wicked little ugh, deliberately louder: “Then make me be quiet, mi amor… or make me louder. Fuck me harder, papi… your cock feels so good stretching my little pussy…”

  Bharath groaned, and took charge, shoving the fabric up until both of Marisol’s spectacur breasts spilled free. Full, round, dark nipples already pebbled and begging. He kneaded one roughly, rolling the nipple between his fingers, tugging sharply while his hips snapped deeper.

  Sarah caught herself rubbing her thighs together unconsciously.

  His thrusts quickened just a fraction, voice dropping to a growl: “Keep talking like that, baby… tell me how much you need it.”

  Marisol’s moan was shameless now, pitched just loud enough to carry: “Sí, papi… pinch them harder… make my tits ache for you… I’m your good little slut, aren’t I? Coming on your thick cock whenever you want…”

  Sarah’s hand flew to her own breast, squeezing through cotton. A tiny, involuntary whimper slipped out. She cmped her mouth shut.

  Bharath’s voice dropped, pleading: “Mari… please… she’ll hear…”

  “Good,” Marisol purred, voice dripping sin. She rolled her hips back harder, taking him deeper. “Let her hear how you love this pussy, papi. How you make me soak the sheets…”

  Sarah’s knees trembled. She should leave. She knew she should.

  But her feet stayed rooted.

  Marisol shifted, pushing up onto one elbow so her breasts swayed heavy and free. Then she reached down between her parted thighs, spreading herself with two fingers so Sarah could see everything. Every slow withdrawal dragged her lips outward; every deep thrust pushed them back in, obscene and hypnotic.

  She arched her back harder, ass lifting so the penetration was on full dispy. Her luscious bubble butt, perfectly round and firm with no extra fat, jiggling with every thrust. Bharath’s cock slid in and out, thick root to swollen head, coated in her cream.

  Sarah’s breath hitched audibly. Desire punched through her so hard her vision blurred. She had never wanted anything the way she wanted to feel that stretch right now.

  Bharath, still careful of his stitches, shifted his grip. The shy boy from st night was gone. In his pce was a focused, confident lover: hips snapping with controlled power, listening to every hitch in Marisol’s breath, every whispered direction.

  “Faster on my clit,” she begged submissively, voice trembling. “Please, papi… touch your slut’s clit…”

  He obeyed instantly. His fingers found her swollen bud, rubbing tight, fast circles while he fucked her deeper. But he fumbled the angle at first, too gentle.

  “Harder, papi,” she corrected breathlessly. “Rub it like you mean it… make me come for you…”

  He adjusted, firmer and faster now, growling low: “Like that?”

  Marisol shattered almost immediately. Her body locked up, pussy visibly pulsing around his cock, fresh slick gushing out. “Coming… ay dios, papi, I’m coming so hard for you!”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. She’d never seen a woman come like that. She'd never climaxed like that. Marisol was shaking, crying out in pure ecstasy. Never heard of it happening more than once, let alone over and over.

  But Marisol didn’t stop. “Again, papi… please…”

  He took over, confident now, thrusting deeper while his fingers curled inside her, coaxing another climax from her trembling body.

  How was this possible? Multiple times? Blissful, endless waves?

  “One more, papi,” Marisol pleaded, fully submissive, grinding back. “With me this time...”.

  Bharath’s control cracked. He thrust raggedly, fingers flying over her clit. “Fuck… yes, baby… come with me…”

  They peaked together. Marisol screaming his name, body convulsing as Bharath buried himself deep with a guttural groan.

  Sarah’s knees nearly buckled. She’d never imagined sex like this. Mutual, explosive, her coming over and over like it was effortless. This was simultaneously the most filthy and most amazing thing that Sarah had ever seen in her life.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Marisol moved. She carefully eased off his still-hard cock, mindful of his injury. She pushed him gently onto his back, straddling his thighs reverse so her ass faced the door. “Let me clean you up, papi… taste how you filled me…”

  She leaned down, taking his glistening cock into her mouth. Sucking slow, thorough, moaning around him. At the same time, she arched her back, spreading her thighs wide. Sarah gasped. She was showing her everything: her swollen, dripping pussy leaking thick white streams of Bharath’s come, rivulets sliding down her inner thighs in obscene trails.

  Sarah almost fainted when she saw Marisol gnce back at her and winked. She knew that Sarah was watching the whole time!

  It was too much. Desire overwhelmed Sarah. Her body screamed for touch, for release she’d never known.

  She spun and fled down the stairs, legs shaking, heart pounding.

  In the kitchen she gripped the counter, panting. Her nipples ached against cotton. Every heartbeat sent another throb straight to her clit.

  Sarah had never known sex could be like that.

  When they finally came downstairs, Marisol in Sarah's oversized t-shirt, hair wrecked, cheeks flushed; Bharath moving gingerly but smiling soft, Sarah set the ptes down with trembling hands.

  Sarah blushed furiously when she saw them. Bharath didn't seem to notice. Marisol did though. She gave Sarah a knowing smile.

  "Good morning guys," Sarah blurted out.

  "Wow. You've made breakfast for us," excimed Bharath. "Thank you so much."

  "It's the least I could do."

  "Let's eat," said Bharath, smiling. "This looks heaps better than what we get in the dining hall."

  Marisol continued to smirk at Sarah as they sat down to eat.