Yantra Protocol
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
45: A Place For All of Us
Mythology Sex Story: 45: A Place For All of Us - Bharath moves from Chennai to Calcutta to join Heritage City - one of India’s top football clubs - with dreams of becoming a professional footballer. But after rescuing a mysterious man from a robbery, he finds himself drawn into a hidden world of vivid dreams, powerful women, and ancient forces beyond his understanding. As his journey on the pitch grows more intense, so does the pull of something deeper - a path shaped by desire, danger, and a power that is only just beginning to reveal it
Caution: This Mythology Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Mind Control Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Sports Alternate History Paranormal Magic Sharing Group Sex Harem Polygamy/Polyamory Indian Male Indian Female Anal Sex Exhibitionism First Oral Sex Safe Sex Squirting Tit-Fucking Indian Erotica
22 September 2000
The buzz around the exposes in the newspapers was truly catching fire now. The more people found out about the missing girls, the angrier everyone became. There were calls for blood now. The perpetrators needed to be brought to justice.
The only other news that competed with the passion of the missing girls - at least among football fans - was that of Bharath. Or rather, Silver Spoon.
It had been six days since the charity match, but his name was already legend among Heritage City fans. Even the Rising Sun fans admitted that he was worth watching in the upcoming season.
In the days since, recognition had become inescapable. Fans stopped him on the street, asked for autographs on newspaper clippings, scraps of paper, their bare arms. The one practice match that followed had drawn a crowd double the usual size, teenage boys hanging off the stadium fence to watch him warm up. Even Warrior had noticed that the campaign events suddenly felt less like promotional obligations and more like victory laps, with Anya radiant beside him at every turn.
The golden couple of Calcutta. The footballer and his muse. Their laughter perfectly timed at every gala, every launch, every carefully orchestrated dinner. Their glances staged for maximum impact. Hand in hand, perfectly poised, radiating warmth and magnetism.
The city had eaten it up. Jerseys and sportswear were flying off the shelves. The women wanted to be like Anya, the men like Bharath. The headlines called them untouchable. The perfect love story.
The Taj Bengal, Calcutta
The soft glow of the chandelier reflected in the polished marble floor as Bharath and Anya walked down the corridor toward the elevators, escorted by murmurs and sideways glances from the guests who recognized them.
For nearly a week they had played the part flawlessly. Bharath had stepped onto the pitch, sweat-soaked and smiling for the cameras. Every evening he appeared beside Anya at Warrior campaign events: galas, launches, intimate dinners with sponsors. He always appeared with her with his arm around her waist, their laughter perfectly timed, their glances choreographed for maximum impact. The city had eaten it up. The headlines called them untouchable. The perfect couple.
But inside, the performance was killing them.
Every staged smile, every practiced touch, had only sharpened the ache. Kim and Celina had been staying with Sree for a week now, tucked away in the suite on the seventh floor, invisible to the world that now watched Bharath and Anya’s every move. The dreamscape had kept them connected, but it was not the same as breath on skin or weight in arms. The simple, animal comfort of bodies that knew each other by heart.
The longing had grown into something almost violent. They were ready to burst.
Celina and Kim had taken the other elevator, pretending to head back to Sree’s suite on the seventh floor.
Bharath had booked a room two floors higher. Discreet. Quiet. Secluded.
Now, as the doors to the lift closed, he looked at Anya.
Her eyes met his - hungry and mischievous.
“Ready?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer. Just pressed the button. And reached for her hand.
The moment the door to the room clicked open, the tension broke.
Kim was already there, bare and glowing, framed by the golden bedside lamp. Her dusky skin shimmered with barely restrained energy. Celina emerged from the bathroom behind her, her curves catching the light. She was naked, save for the wicked glint in her eye and the silk sash she dragged behind her.
Bharath barely had time to close the door.
Celina pounced first, literally launching into his arms, lips crashing into his with the force of days denied. Her legs wrapped around his waist with the clear intention of staying there until sunrise.
Kim growled playfully, darting in from the side to strip his shirt off with ruthless efficiency. Anya laughed and kicked the door shut with one heel, tossing her dupatta to the side as she joined them.
Bharath stumbled back, breath stolen, body already on fire. “Okay, wait, hold on...”
“No,” Celina hissed, grinding into him as he staggered toward the bed. “No waiting. You made us wait. You suffer now.”
“Agreed,” Kim added sweetly, already tugging down his pants. “We’re going to ruin you.”
Anya climbed onto the bed, watching with a feral smile as her sisters devoured him. “I should be jealous,” she whispered. “But watching you two? I just want to help.”
And she did.
They pushed him onto the bed with a collective hunger that was almost violent. The dreamscape had given them his touch every night, but it was not the same as this. Not the same as the heat of real skin, the salt of real sweat, the weight of real bodies pressed together without the gauzy separation of sleep.
Kim straddled his chest first, her massive breasts swaying above him, and Bharath groaned like a dying man given water. His hands came up immediately, cupping the heavy weight of them, his thumbs circling her nipples until she gasped and arched into his palms.
“God, I missed these,” he breathed, his voice thick with worship. He pulled her down, burying his face between them, his tongue finding one stiff peak and then the other. Kim’s hands threaded through his hair, holding him there as she rocked against his chest, already slick and desperate.
“Harder,” she demanded, her voice breaking. “I want to feel this tomorrow. I want to feel you for days.”
He obliged, sucking hard enough to make her cry out, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh until she shuddered above him. His hands squeezed and kneaded, almost rough, mapping the fullness he had been denied for a week.
Celina was not patient. She crawled up beside them, her own breasts brushing against his arm, demanding attention. “My turn,” she said, and there was no sweetness in it, only raw need.
Bharath released Kim’s breast with a wet pop and turned to Celina, his hand immediately finding her chest, smaller than Kim’s but just as perfect in his grip. He twisted her nipple between his fingers, hard enough to make her gasp, and she rewarded him with a filthy moan that went straight to his cock.
“More,” Celina whispered, her eyes half-closed. “I need more.”
Anya was there then, her hands sliding down Bharath’s stomach, wrapping around his cock with practiced ease. She stroked him slowly, deliberately, her eyes on Celina and Kim. “He is going to give you everything,” she promised. “But first, I want to watch him break you both.”
Bharath’s free hand slid between Kim’s thighs, finding her soaked and ready. He pushed two fingers inside her without warning, and she cried out, her hips bucking against his hand. At the same time, his other hand left Celina’s breast and traveled lower, finding her just as wet, just as desperate. He pushed into her as well, his fingers curling inside both of them, his thumb finding Celina’s other entrance and pressing there until she whimpered.
“Yes,” Celina gasped, her head falling back. “There. God, yes, there.”
He worked them both with his hands, his fingers pumping in and out, his thumbs pressing and circling, and they moved above him like goddesses in worship, their bodies writhing, their voices rising in a symphony of need. Anya kept stroking him, her grip tightening every time he groaned, her own breath coming faster as she watched her sisters fall apart.
Kim came first, her body seizing, her inner walls clamping down on his fingers as she sobbed his name. Celina followed seconds later, her orgasm ripping through her with such force that she collapsed forward onto his chest, trembling and gasping.
But they were not done. Not even close.
Celina recovered first, her eyes dark with hunger. She moved down his body, positioning herself above his cock, but she did not take him the way he expected. Instead, she reached back, guiding him to her other entrance, the one she knew would make her scream.
“Here,” she said, her voice shaking but determined. “I want you here. I want to feel you everywhere.”
Bharath groaned as she sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch, her body tight and hot and perfect. She moved slowly at first, adjusting, but then Anya was there, her fingers finding Celina’s clit, rubbing in quick, merciless circles, and Celina lost all restraint. She rode him hard, her movements frantic, her cries filling the room.
Kim was not idle. She positioned herself beside Celina, spreading her thighs wide, and Bharath’s hand was there immediately, his fingers plunging back inside her, his palm pressing against her mound as he fucked her with his hand while Celina fucked herself on his cock.
Anya watched them both, her own arousal clear in the flush of her skin, the way her thighs pressed together. She leaned down and kissed Bharath deeply, her tongue sliding against his, and then she kissed Celina, then Kim, sharing their pleasure, amplifying it.
Celina came again, her body convulsing, and Bharath followed her over the edge, his release tearing through him with a force that left him shaking. But there was no rest. The moment Celina collapsed beside him, Kim was there, climbing onto him, taking him inside her before he had fully softened, her tightness bringing him back to full hardness almost instantly.
She rode him with the same desperation Celina had, her breasts bouncing above him, and Bharath could not stop touching them, could not stop filling his hands with them, squeezing and lifting and watching the way they moved. His other hand found Celina, his fingers pushing back inside her, both entrances this time, and she moaned and opened for him, her body still trembling from her previous orgasms.
Anya finally joined them fully, straddling Bharath’s face, and he groaned as he tasted her, his tongue working her with the same intensity his hands worked Celina, the same intensity Kim worked herself on his cock. He was surrounded by them, filled by them, drowning in them, and it was everything.
Kim came with a scream, her body locking up, and Bharath followed again, his second orgasm somehow stronger than the first. But Anya was not done. She climbed off his face and replaced Kim, sinking down onto him with a sigh of pure relief.
She rode him slowly at first, savoring it, her hands braced on his chest. But then Celina and Kim were there, their hands on Anya, their mouths on her neck and breasts, and Anya’s slow rhythm turned frantic. Bharath’s hands found Celina and Kim again, his fingers filling them both, and they rocked into his touch, their own pleasure building again.
When Anya finally came, it was with all three of them crying out together, their bodies tangled and slick and utterly spent.
They collapsed into a heap, limbs intertwined, breath ragged, hearts pounding. Bharath lay at the center, his hands still resting possessively on Kim’s backside and Anya’s hip, Celina draped across his chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
It was quiet for a long time, the only sound their breathing slowly returning to normal.
“I missed you,” Bharath whispered finally, his voice hoarse. He said it first into Kim’s hair, then into Anya’s temple, then against Celina’s lips when she lifted her head to look at him.
Kim murmured something sleepy and unintelligible, but her hand moved to his chest and began tracing lazy circles over his heart.
Anya smiled into his neck. “You missed us? We had sex every night in the dreamscape.”
“It is not just about the sex,” he said. “My life is incomplete without you. I need you. Every day. Forever.”
Celina lifted her head just enough to look down at him. “And now?” she asked, her voice wrecked.
“Now I do not ever want to wake up,” he said.
And then all three of them kissed him at once. Kim’s lips on his ribs. Anya’s on his throat. Celina’s on his mouth.
He moaned softly into it, his hands tightening around Anya’s hip and Kim’s thigh.
“You are greedy,” Anya whispered, nipping his earlobe.
“You are ours,” Kim added, licking a line down his collarbone.
“And we are going to make sure you never forget that again,” Celina said.
He felt a fresh throb of arousal and groaned.
“I love you,” he said, overwhelmed.
“We know,” they said in perfect unison.
And then the kisses resumed.
They took turns worshipping, whispering, kissing. Not just him but each other. Every few moments, one girl’s lips would find another’s, their tongues sliding together with lazy reverence, passing their shared love through skin and breath and sound. They were not rushing anymore. The storm had passed. Now came the devotion. The ritual. The sacred drift.
And Bharath just lay there, held down by the women he loved, bound by their devotion, overflowing with it.
By the time they all fell asleep, still knotted together as one, Bharath knew he had never been more theirs.
And they had never been more his.
The clink of silver cutlery against fine porcelain filled the room with a soft, civilised rhythm - the kind that masked how utterly disheveled the five of them still felt from the earlier that day.
Bharath had stumbled in looking like a man who had survived both war and worship. Anya, radiant in one of Sree’s borrowed cotton robes, looked thoroughly pleased with herself, though she couldn’t stop brushing invisible lint off her sleeves to keep from blushing. Kim had braided her hair and was dutifully sipping from a cup of black coffee with the look of someone trying to recalibrate her soul. Celina ... was sitting cross-legged on the divan in an oversized tee and nothing else, very much the goddess returned to her temple.
Sree didn’t ask questions. She just raised an eyebrow, poured herself more masala tea, and said, “Now that everyone has resumed bodily functions, can we talk logistics?”
Kim snorted into her cup. “Please Amma. We were always functioning.”
“I meant like humans, not possessed avatars of lust,” Sree replied flatly.
Anya groaned, covering her face. Bharath looked like he was trying not to grin and failing spectacularly.
Sree picked up her notebook, flipped to a dog-eared page, and said, “First: Asha Sangini.”
Kim’s spine straightened, her professor mode sliding into place. “We’ve finalized the initial framework. Counseling and vocational upskilling are the first two tracks we’re building in. We’ve shortlisted two NGOs we could partner with to run daily sessions on-site.”
Celina added, “We’re also getting the documentation cleared for six girls under the ‘orphan with no familial records’ clause. That’ll let them apply for bank accounts and ID cards. Assuming we keep their locations confidential.”
Bharath nodded thoughtfully. “And no one in the press has caught wind?”
“Not yet,” said Kim. “We’re careful. The girls go out only with veils and fake names, and only with PI escorts.”
Sree added, “I’ve also spoken to the family lawyers. They’re helping us register the trust under a neutral name. Anya and Bharath’s names won’t appear in anything officially. Just in public association as supporters. You’ll remain the face, not the structure.”
Anya looked up. “That works for me.”
Celina leaned back, arms folded. “But speaking of faces ... we need to talk about ours.”
Sree smirked. “Ah, yes. The elephant in the room.”
Kim and Celina looked at each other, and then at Bharath and Anya.
“We can’t go back to the apartment,” Kim said quietly. “Not while this Warrior campaign is picking up steam.”
Anya nodded. “The media is watching too closely. Even the back staircase is being watched.”
Celina added, “Kim and I are supposed to be ghosts. But the world wants to turn Bharath and Anya into a fairytale, and that doesn’t include us.”
Sree closed her notebook slowly. “That’s why I’ve been hunting. Discreetly.”
They all leaned in.
“I found a property. Off Ballygunge Circular Road. An old bungalow. Gated. With a high compound wall and a side entrance. There is a long driveway, so there won’t be any problems with people lurking at the front gate. There are five bedrooms. More if you want to convert the study. The kitchen looks like it was last renovated during the Indira Gandhi years, but it’s got charm. And potential. There’s even a beautiful outhouse with three bedrooms. That would be perfect for Priya and any girls that want to stay with her.”
“Can it be... ours?” Kim asked softly.
Sree looked at Bharath. “It’ll be in your name. But it won’t carry your address in any public document linked to Warrior or Heritage City. The broker’s trustworthy. He’s a friend of my father’s from the literary society.”
Bharath exhaled. “That sounds ... ideal.”
“It is,” Sree said. “But it needs work. Paint. Security upgrades. The curtains look like they were bought during the emergency. We’ll need a few weeks to get things working again. Maybe four.”
“Till then?” Anya asked.
“You stay here,” Sree said simply. “Celina and Kim with me. Anya and Bharath can keep making appearances as the Warrior power couple. But we keep the contact in the real world minimal.”
“And in the dream world?” Celina said teasingly.
Kim sighed dramatically. “Unlimited.”
Sree raised a brow. “I don’t want to know what that means.”
Celina grinned. “You really don’t.”
They laughed.
It wasn’t a solution to everything.
But it was a start.
And for the first time since their harem had gone underground, they had a future plan. A real one.
They would finally have a home.
The late summer sun spilled over the compound walls like molten brass, warming the wide stone driveway of the secluded bungalow. It was not massive in the palatial sense, but it had grace, and most importantly, privacy.
Bharath stepped out of the car first, sunglasses pushing his curls back. The air here was different. Quieter, less intrusive than the rest of Calcutta. The high compound wall created a cocoon of silence that felt like a blessing after weeks of being watched at every turn.
Sree was already there with the contractor, a wiry man with a thick moustache and sharp instincts. She waved them over, clipboard in hand.
“You’re late,” she said, but the smile softened the jab.
Kim, Celina, and Anya joined them, all in casual cottons that still could not hide how polished they were. “We had to recover from today morning, amma,” Anya said under her breath, just loud enough for Celina to elbow her gently.
Sree sighed.
The contractor, Ravi, launched into his pitch with the practiced ease of a man who had sold a hundred properties. “Good afternoon ladies and gent. This beautiful property is a two storey property. The ground level has the main living room, kitchen, dining area, and a study that overlooks the back garden. Upstairs we have five bedrooms and two full bathrooms. All the rooms have good natural light and cross-ventilation.”
He gestured toward the left side of the compound. “The perimeter wall is eight feet high. Solid brick. High enough for complete privacy from the neighbors. No one can see in, and no one too close to hear anything either.”
Bharath exchanged a glance with Anya. Privacy. Finally.
“And the outhouse?” Kim asked, her voice careful but hopeful.
Ravi’s face brightened. “Ah, yes. The real gem of the property.” He led them down a stone pathway that curved past the main house. “It is set about thirty feet back from the main structure. Completely separate entrance if needed, but connected by this covered walkway. Three proper bedrooms, a full bath, and a small kitchenette. The previous owner used it for extended family visits.”
Priya had not come with them. She was at the safehouse with the rescued girls. But Bharath felt her presence anyway, woven into this decision, into the very shape of what they were building.
“This would be perfect for Priya,” Anya said softly, walking the covered path with her fingers trailing along the brick wall. “She could have her own space but still be close. And if any of the girls from Asha Sangini need a place to stay while they transition, they could be here too. Safe. Protected.”
Celina nodded, her eyes scanning the structure with the precision of someone imagining logistics. “We could set it up as a halfway home. Temporary housing for the girls who are not ready to be on their own yet, but do not want to stay in the main safehouse anymore. Priya would be right there with them.”
Kim was already pulling out her journal, scribbling notes. “We would need to reinforce the locks. Maybe add a separate phone line. Security cameras on this side of the property too.”
Sree added, “The PI team can set up a monitoring system that covers both structures. If anyone tries to approach from the back alley, we will know immediately.”
Bharath stood in the middle of the pathway, looking between the main house and the outhouse. His family could be here. All of them. Priya and the rescued girls in one space, the four of them in another, but close enough to share meals, to gather in the garden, to be a true household.
“Can we see inside?” he asked.
Ravi unlocked the outhouse door and stepped aside. The interior smelled faintly of disuse but not neglect. The rooms were smaller than those in the main house, but they were clean, with large windows that let in the afternoon light. The walls were painted a faded cream that would be easy to refresh. The floors were old tile, cracked in places, but sturdy.
Anya walked through each room slowly, her hand resting on the doorframes as if blessing them. “Priya will love this,” she murmured. “It has its own personality. Not just an afterthought.”
“And if she ever wants privacy to entertain a certain journalist,” Celina added with a wicked grin, “she has her own front door.”
Kim snorted. “You are insufferable.”
“And correct,” Celina shot back.
They returned to the main house, and Ravi led them inside. The front door opened into a wide hallway with high ceilings. The living room was to the left, spacious and filled with light from tall windows that overlooked the front garden. The floors were old wood, scuffed but solid. The walls needed fresh paint, but the bones of the house were beautiful.
“The kitchen,” Ravi announced, pushing open a swinging door.
It was massive. And catastrophically outdated.
Anya stared at the avocado-green cabinets and the ancient stove that looked like it had survived Partition. “This is...”
“A relic,” Sree finished. “But it is structurally sound. We can gut it and start fresh. Modern appliances, new counters, proper ventilation. It will take time, but it will be worth it.”
Bharath ran his hand along the old wooden counter. “How long?”
Sree consulted her notes. “If we prioritize the kitchen, one bedroom, and one bathroom, we can have those functional in two weeks with double shifts. The rest of the house will take another month, maybe six weeks total.”
“And until then?” Kim asked.
“You stay at the Taj,” Sree replied. “Celina and Kim with me. Anya and Bharath can keep up the public appearances. Once this place is livable, you move in quietly. No announcements. No press.”
Celina wandered toward the back of the kitchen and pushed open another door. “Oh,” she breathed.
The others followed.