A Bargain of Relationships
Copyright© 2025 by The Ignored Sentinel
Chapter 1
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Pooja marries Rohan Thakur, unaware he’s hiding his true identity. On their wedding night, he reveals he’s not attracted to women and was forced into marriage for family honor. Heartbroken, Pooja faces betrayal and isolation. Rohan’s father, Harish, disowns him, while tensions grow within the family. Pooja’s dream shatters as she realizes her marriage was built on lies, leaving the family broken and more hidden truths, pride, and her sexual expectations.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Blackmail Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Slut Wife Incest InLaws Indian Male Indian Female First Indian Erotica
On a late June day, the lightbulbs hung between bamboo poles in the outdoor area of Sharma’s house. Below them, people were busy; women were carrying flowers and supplies for the wedding ceremony. Pooja sat inside a small room, in her red bridal saree. The mirror in front of her had a crack on the edge and flaked off on the corners. She touched the gold necklace around her neck, a family heirloom. Her mother polished it three times that morning.
“You look beautiful,” her mother, Kamala, said, standing behind her. Her eyes were red from exhaustion. “Now everything will be fine, my child.”
Pooja smiled faintly. “You say that as if I were going away forever.”
Kamala placed a trembling hand on Pooja’s shoulder. “A daughter has to go away, dear. That’s the truth of a girl’s fate.”
Outside, the priest’s voice rose above the chatter. “Call the bride. The time for the ceremony is nearing.”
Pooja stood up. Her father, Mahesh Sharma, waited at the door. He adjusted his head scarf nervously. His thin frame and tired eyes showed the weight of the evening. He looked at his daughter. “Come. It’s time.”
Under the wedding canopy, sacred fire altar was surrounded by marigold decorations and brass pots of ghee. Pooja’s groom, Rohan Thakur, sat by the sacred fire. He wore a cream sherwani, looking both stiff and elegant. His face was calm but distant. Rohan was twenty-three. He had studied in London. His family was among the richest landowners in the area. When Pooja took her place next to him, calm murmurs broke through the crowd.
“She’s beautiful,” one woman said.
“Fair like the morning sun,” another added.
“Her luck has bloomed,” a third remarked.
As the priest chanted the mantras, Rohan stared into the fire. His expression didn’t change, even when Pooja’s hand brushed against his. In the front row, Rohan’s father, Harish Thakur, watched intently. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face a mask of pride. Beside him, his wife, Meera, was all smiles. Their daughter, Nisha, and her husband, Amit, sat beside them. Nish adjusted her silk saree every few seconds, as if straightening her clothing could show their wealth. The priest declared the vows. They exchanged garlands. When Rohan tied the mangalsutra around her neck, petals of flowers poured in from the crowd.
By evening, the music stopped. Pooja’s family gathered by the gate, tears in their eyes. Her mother held her tightly. Kamala whispered. “Make your new family happy.”
“I will,” Pooja replied, her voice shaky.
Her father stood a bit away, trying to hold it together. When Pooja bent down to touch his feet, he placed his rough hand on her head. “Be humble, my child,” he said softly. “You are now a member of Thakur’s family.”
Meera looked at Pooja’s parents and smiled politely. “Now she is ours. You must not worry anymore.”
When Pooja bent to touch his in-laws’ feet, Harish gently placed a hand on her head. “Be happy,” he said. “Now, you are family.”
As the car pulled away, Pooja looked back at the only home she had ever known. The walls disappeared into the dark. The wedding lights flickered like dying stars. The Thakur family went ahead, while Pooja and her husband arrived in a few hours at the Thakur home, a hundred miles away. It was an old house but recently painted and remodeled. The garden in front of the house had high neem trees. The house was two stories high. At the main door, Meera and her daughter, Nisha, and others welcomed the new couple.
“Welcome to your new home, bahu,” Meera said, leading her inside.
Harish stood in the back, along with Amit, Nisha’s husband. Rohan walked ahead, his steps steadfast to his room. He had barely spoken since the wedding. When Pooja tried to catch his eye, he looked away. Meera and other women took Pooja to the prayer room first, from the main hall through the corridor. The main hall had high ceilings, with a chandelier hung at the center. At the end of the corridor was the kitchen, which led to the outhouse, where the live-in maids, Uma and her widowed aunt Radhika, lived. The back of the house had a cowshed and a barn. Behind it, the open fields stretched out. Once, they had done with the prayers and dinner, Nisha and other women led Pooja to the upstairs family bedrooms, which had separate balconies, for the special night.
“Good luck,” Nisha said, opening the door. The room was large, with walls painted pale blue. A bed covered with rose petals awaited her. “I’ll leave you two now for your first night.”
Pooja managed a faint smile, unsure how to respond. Rohan was already there waiting, keeping his head low.
Nisha teased, “Don’t be nervous. First nights are always strange.”
Another female relative added, “She looks more scared than the groom.”
The women chuckled and left; their laughter faded as they went downstairs. Pooja nervously touched her veil as the door clicked shut behind her. The silence in the room felt thick. Pooja sat on the edge of the bed, the air heavy with the scent of roses. Rohan took off his watch and loosened his collar. He looked tired, almost defeated.
She waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, she found her voice. “It was a long day,” she said softly. “You must be tired.”
He nodded, almost absentmindedly. “Yes ... very.”
A faint smile crossed her face. “Would you like some water?”
“No. Thank you.”
Pooja hesitated. She had pictured this night many times, but never like this. Her friends had shared stories—the awkwardness, the laughter, and the whispered secrets of two people getting to know each other. But this felt different. The distance between them was palpable. Rohan sat by the window, staring out at the dark night. The moonlight highlighted his profile—sharp and elegant, yet so far away.
“Do you want to talk first?” she tried again.
He shook his head. “No. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Nothing important.”
There was another long silence, with the clock ticking softly. Outside, the wind rustled the neem leaves. Pooja tried to steady her breath. Her palms felt cold against her lap.
After a long pause, he turned to her. “Pooja,” he said quietly, “but you don’t need to be afraid of me.”
His gentle tone surprised her. “I’m not afraid,” she replied, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.
He smiled faintly. “Good. I ... I don’t know how to say this. It isn’t easy for me.”
She waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. She waited. Rohan stayed quiet.
“Aren’t you happy with this marriage?” she whispered.
He looked at her in surprise as his jaw tightened. “Huh?”
“Because you won’t even look at me,” she replied, voice breaking.
He sighed. “It’s not about you. You’re kind and gentle. You deserve happiness.”
“Then—” she started but stopped. Her throat felt tight.
Suddenly, he stood up and walked toward the door. “I’ll sleep on the balcony tonight. You can rest here.”
Her heart sank. “Rohan, please ... What’s wrong?”
No answer. He stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him. Pooja sat frozen on the bed covered with pointless roses. They were like decorations for a party that never started. As minutes passed, she didn’t cry; she just stared at the door, wishing he would come back. The bridal bangles felt heavy, and the sindoor in her hair had faded on her forehead. Still awake, Pooja opened the balcony door. Rohan was sleeping on the wooden cot. He slept soundly, curled away from her.
Pooja spoke to herself, “Was he just shy?”
Her friends had told stories of nervous grooms. Pooja moved closer, her silk saree softly brushing the floor. She reached out, her fingers grazing his shoulder—gentle, inviting. Her fingers traced his arm.
Suddenly, he woke up. His eyes shot open, then narrowed. “What are you doing?” His voice cut through the silence.
Pooja flinched, pulling her hand back quickly. “I thought ... maybe you needed...”
“Stop.” He sat up, anger tightening his features. “Don’t touch me like that. Ever.” Rohan was cold and frustrated as he ran a hand through his hair. “You want to know the truth. So here it is: I don’t want women. I like men.” He paused, gauging her reaction. “This marriage? It’s not for me. It’s for my family’s name.”
For Pooja, the truth hit like a bullet. She felt emptiness in her chest. She sank to the floor. Tears spilled quietly, endlessly. Her new life began not with a promise, but with deception. She went back to the bed, sobbing. By morning, Pooja sat on the edge of her bed. She wore the same saree from the night before. Her eyes were swollen. Her hands felt cold. The roses scattered on the bedsheet had turned into brown petals.
A knock interrupted her thoughts. “Pooja, are you awake?”
It was Meera, her mother-in-law. The tone was gentle but cautious. A woman unsure of what lay behind the door. Pooja slowly opened it. Meera was holding a tray with glasses of tea.
“You don’t need to come down for breakfast,” Meera said, with a smile. “I thought you might be tired.”
Pooja shook her head. “I’m not.”
Meera’s eyes fell on Pooja’s face. Her eyes were red, and her lips trembled. Something tightened in Meera’s chest. “Did you sleep at all?”
Pooja tried to answer, but her throat felt tight. She shook her head again.
“Where is Rohan?” Meera asked gently, as she didn’t see her son on the bed.
“He left before sunrise.” Pooja lowered her gaze. “And also, he slept on the balcony last night.”
For a moment, Meera froze as she looked toward the balcony where the curtain swayed softly. Her expression didn’t change, but she gripped the tray tighter. “All right,” she said after a pause. “I’ll speak to him. You ... you rest a little.”
Pooja nodded faintly. Deep down, she knew rest wouldn’t come.
By mid-morning, all the relatives had left. Only the members of the family knew something was wrong. Nisha came upstairs twice, pretending to check on Pooja. She was really just curious. At lunch, Harish took his seat at the head table; Meera sat next to him. Nisha and Amit followed and took their seats. Pooja arrived last, her steps shaky, her face pale. Rohan’s chair was empty. Uma and Radhika served the food. Bowls of dal, basmati rice, and spicy vegetable curry filled the table.
Harish broke the silence, looking at the empty chair. “Where is he?”
“He went outside,” Meera replied softly. “He hasn’t come home since morning.”
Harish spoke in a harsh tone. “He has no sense of respect for the family! He needs to be with his wife—”
“Please,” Meera interrupted. “Don’t get angry.”
Pooja sat still, eyes on her plate. She felt the pity and discomfort from everyone around her. Then, the stairs creaked. Rohan walked in, pale and weary.
Harish asked immediately. “Where have you been?”
Rohan avoided his gaze. “I needed to think.”
“Why, you are newly married,” Harish snapped. “You should be at home.”
Pooja flinched. Rohan’s eyes flickered to her. Guilt washed over him. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he said quietly. “But this marriage was a mistake. I tried to do what was expected, but I can’t live a lie anymore.”
Harish asked with suspicion. “What are you saying?”
Rohan locked eyes with his father. “I’m not ... what you think I am.”
Nisha quickly looked away. Amit shifted in his seat.
Harish’s expression darkened. “You are talking nonsense,” he said, but fear laced his words.
“It’s not nonsense,” Rohan replied quietly. “It’s who I am. I’m tired of hiding. I’m gay.”
As it happened, Meera’s hand flew to her mouth. Pooja began to cry; tears streamed down her face. Harish’s expression was pale and blank, disbelief etched on his face. He stood up abruptly, with the chair scraping against the floor.
“You bring shame under my roof!” he roared.
Nisha gasped. She clutched Amit’s arm, both frozen in shock. Meanwhile, Uma and Radhika sensed the storm about to break. They quietly slipped away, back to the outhouse.
“No!” Rohan’s voice cut through the air, “You forced me into this marriage. You threatened to cut me off from the inheritance. I just wanted the money and to go back to London.” He glanced at Pooja, who was shaking next to him. “But the bitch didn’t keep quiet, did she? She told everything.”
Harish’s face turned red. His veins bulged. He slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. “You ungrateful—”
Pooja clasped her hands together, knuckles white. She struggled to hold back tears. Finally, she spoke. “No, I didn’t,” she said with conviction. “Why did you marry me, then?”
Her words hung in the air, sharp and painful. Rohan turned to her, his eyes empty. “Because you were easy. Just a pretty face to satisfy him.” He pointed to his father.
Suddenly, Harish stood up, his chair crashing to the ground. “You will not bring shame to this family!”
“I’ve lived in shame long enough,” Rohan declared. “I’m leaving today. I’m going away. Don’t try to contact me.”
Meera gasped. “Rohan, you can’t—”
“I can,” he insisted.
No one dared to move. Rohan turned away and walked toward his room.
Meera quickly followed him. “Rohan, please listen,” she begged from the doorway.
He was already pulling clothes from the cupboard.
“Don’t do this. You can’t just leave. We’ll find a way. We’ll talk—” Meera pleaded.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he replied harshly.
Then, Harish’s voice boomed from the hall. “You’re right! You’ve shamed your name, your blood, and your ancestors! You think the world will accept this filth?!”
“Stop it!” Meera shouted, tears streaming down her face. “You’ll drive him away forever!”
Harish stormed to the doorway, with his face blazing red in anger. “He’s no son of mine!” he yelled. “If you walk out now, you’ll never set foot in this house again. Do you hear me?”
Rohan zipped his bag. He met his father’s gaze one last time. “That’s the first thing we agree on,” he said. He didn’t even acknowledge his mother or his wife.
In thirty minutes, he was gone—from the family, from the house, from the village. Meera sat in her room, clutching Rohan’s childhood photo. Harish paced the terrace smoking a cigarette. He muttered curses that grew darker with every breath, while Nisha and Amit lingered in the corner of the terrace. Their expressions were serious. Yet, there was a sparkle in their eyes—a quiet, selfish satisfaction.
So, the perfect son has fallen, Nisha thought. Father’s heart is broken. The property will have to go somewhere. Amit didn’t need to speak. A single glance between them said it all.
Nisha approached him, feigning concern. “Papa, don’t think too much. Let him go. If he’s chosen disgrace, let him live with it. We’ll handle things here. The land, the business—”
Her words were wrapped in sympathy but cut deep. Amit joined in, shaking his head.
“Yes, Bauji. People will talk. You should cut him off completely. Don’t let his shame touch this family again.”
Harish’s jaw tightened as they fueled his wounded pride. But he was no man to take decisions in haste. He recognized the need to cut ties with his son but also suspected what his daughter and son-in-law were doing. He spoke calmly, “Nisha beta, you both leave tomorrow. I want some peace to think.”
Nisha’s expression faltered. She quickly masked her surprise with obedience. “As you wish, Bauji,” she murmured.
In the quiet of the room, as the sun dipped, Pooja found the courage to call her parents. The phone rang twice. Mahesh, her father, answered.
“Papa...” Pooja’s voice was weak from crying. “He’s gone. Rohan left me.”
There was silence, then Makesh spoke, his voice withdrawn. “What do you mean, gone? Did you do something? What happened, Pooja?”
Pooja struggled to explain, as the words stumbled. “He said ... he doesn’t want this marriage. He said he’s—different.” She paused for a moment. “He likes men.”
A sharp breath came from the other end. Then her father’s voice, stern and cold. “What nonsense are you saying? Is this what we raised you for? A few days after marriage, and you bring shame?”
Tears rolled down Pooja’s cheeks. “Papa, it’s not me ... it’s him. He—”
“Enough!” Mahesh interrupted. “Don’t speak of such things again. Whatever happens in your husband’s house, you must endure it. A woman’s respect lies in silence.”
Pooja tried to argue, “But—”
Mahesh stopped her from explaining the details. “Listen to me. We can’t have people talk about you. You’re a Thakur now. You must live and die in your husband’s home.”
Pooja whispered. “Please, just let me come home for a few days. I—”
Before she could complete it, the phone disconnected. Her own father hung up on her; it echoed in her ears. A door closing. A door she would never open again. She sat there, staring at the receiver. The last thread of security was gone. In the vast, lonely house, Pooja realized she was utterly alone.
The next morning, Nisha and her husband packed and left for the city. They whispered to each other that distance was safer—and perhaps more profitable. In her room, Pooja sat by the window, staring into the fields. She was a bride still, but without a husband. A daughter without a family. Meera knocked on the room, but Pooja didn’t open the door. After a few knocks, she opened.
Meera walked in, holding a tray of food. “Bahu,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “You should eat.”
Pooja replied quietly, “I don’t feel hungry.” She turned away, staring at the peeling blue wall. “I don’t feel anything.”
Meera tried to comfort her. “Pooja, Rohan isn’t himself.” She set the tray down, her hands shaking. “I’ll talk to Thakurji. He’ll come back. Everything will be normal soon.”
Pooja turned slowly. Her eyes looked empty. “Normal?” Her voice cracked. “What’s normal now? A husband who won’t sleep with me? And worse, he sleeps with men. What will I be—just a decoration?” She touched the golden mangalsutra, which felt like a slave collar.
Meera flinched. Her calm facade began to break. “Don’t say that,” she whispered, twisting her sari pallu. “We’ll find a way. Harish will—”
“Please, don’t,” Pooja interrupted. She held Meera’s gaze, fierce and unyielding. “I don’t want him near me. Ever again.”
Meera stood still, her mouth opening slightly. Her shoulders sagged. She turned and left without a word, leaving the tray of untouched food behind her. The door clicked shut.
Alone again, Pooja traced the gold of her mangalsutra. She stood slowly and sat in front of the mirror; she saw herself—a bride, abandoned before dawn. She replayed Rohan’s confession, sharp like broken glass. Yet, she thought deeply about why she said yes to the marriage. She lived in a low-income household. She knew about the whispers of neighboring aunties. Then came an offer from Thakur’s family. Harish Thakur, a towering man with land that stretched far beyond her sight. His wealth will last for three generations. Rohan, his son, was handsome and quiet. The marriage offered a life of silk saris, servants, and when her time comes, a house where she will have the power. She had ambition for that security and respect. Now she felt like she was in a cage. The irony hit hard.
As months rolled on, days blended together. Soon, it was monsoon season. The wedding decorations were long gone. Pooja spent most of her time in her bedroom. At first, Meera stayed away. She felt embarrassed about the scandal. But guilt crept in. One afternoon, she knocked on Pooja’s door.
“Pooja,” Meera said softly, “do you need anything?”
Pooja smiled faintly. “No, thank you.”
Meera hesitated. “I’m sorry ... for what happened. Rohan has always been ... different. We just never knew.”
Pooja didn’t respond, her eyes staring into the distance.
Meera sat beside her. “My husband won’t admit it, but he blames himself. He thinks it’s all his fault.”
Pooja turned to her slowly. “It’s not anyone’s fault. Some things just ... are.”
Meera nodded. “You’re stronger than we are.”
Pooja smiled, but it was weary.
At night, Pooja could hear Harish’s footsteps pacing the terrace. He was restless and heavy. The family that once boasted of its honor now hid behind drawn curtains and whispered voices. Yet, amidst this, small acts of goodness began to emerge. Meera started eating her meals beside Pooja. It was a sincere gesture that she is welcome. One day, Pooja walked downstairs. She spotted Meera arranging marigolds in the prayer room. Without a word, Pooja picked up a flower and placed it next to Meera’s.
Meera’s hand shook as she touched Pooja’s arm. “Stay,” she whispered. “This is your house too.”
Pooja sat beside her.
Meera observed her daughter-in-law silently. “You remind me of myself when I first came here,” she said after a pause. “This house felt strange to me too.”
Pooja turned slightly. “Did you ever regret it?”
Meera smiled softly. “Never. Your father-in-law always finds a way to ease the pain.” She touched Pooja’s arm. “Don’t lose heart, beta. One day, you’ll look back and see that this family is for you.”
Pooja’s eyes filled with tears again. But this time, they didn’t burn. They felt lighter, like rain after a long drought. For the first time in weeks, she believed that maybe, just maybe, her life was not entirely over. She decided to involve herself in family matters. Soon, Pooja began helping Meera with the household, quickly taking control of the daily routine. If Uma left the floor half-swept or Radhika forgot to put salt in the food, Pooja spotted it immediately. She corrected them firmly; sometimes her tone surprised even her.
Meera observed Pooja’s confidence and admired her. Meanwhile, Harish Thakur kept himself busy—spending hours in the fields and managing his business. Each morning, he left home early. In the evenings, he came home and ate his meals in silence. Afterward, he retreated to the terrace. There, he lit a cigarette and let his thoughts wander. For three weeks, the regularity was maintained. Rohan was never mentioned. Nisha and Amit called Meera, but they knew Harish had the authority in business matters.
On a Tuesday, Meera suggested a trip to the nearby temple to Pooja. “It’s been too long,” she said, her tone both gentle and firm. “You haven’t been outside.”
Pooja agreed without hesitation. As they walked through the village lanes, they passed fields that the family owned. The temple bells chimed softly, marking their prayers. On the way back, Pooja felt a strange calmness settle over her. When they reached home, Pooja stepped inside first. Meera stayed in the garden, picking fresh curry leaves. Pooja moved through the hallway and heard muffled voices coming from the kitchen. She moved quietly with curiosity. Peeking around the corner, she saw Harish, her father-in-law, and Uma, the maid. Uma was wrapped tightly around Harish, her face hidden against his chest. Harish held her close, stroking her hair. Their embrace felt intimate, not just a friendly gesture. Pooja froze as her breath caught. Then Uma looked up, eyes wide with panic. Harish noticed too. In an instant, they pulled apart. Uma quickly smoothed her sari, avoiding Pooja’s gaze.
Harish cleared his throat, his voice much louder than usual. “Pooja,” he said. “You’re back early.” He pointed awkwardly at Uma. “I was just ... discussing her salary.”
Uma nodded quickly, eyes downcast, and hurried away. Her footsteps echoed in the sudden silence. Pooja didn’t say much. She just murmured about needing water and walked past him, her expression carefully blank. Inside, her thoughts raced. This wasn’t just a moment—it felt like a secret. A heavy, dangerous secret. She thought of Meera’s quiet faith in her husband. The way he became gentler toward Pooja. Now, it all felt like a fragile mask. She climbed the stairs slowly and collapsed onto the bed in her room. She stared at the peeling blue paint. It was just beginning to feel like the life she dreamed of, but there were more hidden secrets and lies. She didn’t want to break her mother-in-law’s heart, but she had to know the truth. She wanted to confront the maid directly.
After two days of watching Uma closely, Pooja noticed the maid avoided her gaze. Uma moved quickly, her nervousness clear whenever Pooja entered the kitchen. By Thursday afternoon, Pooja found Uma alone behind the cowshed. The maid was scrubbing brass pots under the shade of the neem tree. Pooja approached quietly, her shadow falling across Uma’s hands.
The maid jumped, dropping the scrubber. “Didi,” she stammered, wiping her palms on her sari.
Pooja didn’t smile. She stepped closer, her voice sharp. “I saw you with Thakur-ji,” she said. Uma froze. Her face drained of color.
“Tell me everything. Now.” Pooja demanded. “Or else, your secret will be out to the villagers.”
Uma’s shoulders drooped. She looked around, panic in her eyes. “Yes, Pooja didi. Thakurji ... I had sex with him.” She twisted her sari tighter. “But please don’t tell anyone.”
Pooja leaned in closer, her voice urgent. “But you’re so young; why did you do it?”
Uma wiped sweat from her brow. She avoided Pooja’s gaze. “All the women in my family ... we’ve insatiable hunger for sex.” She whispered, her voice thick with shame. “My mother worked here for twenty years. My mother seduced him first. Then my aunt came to work here after her husband died. I heard them fucking, and I saw how powerfully he fucked inside them. How they craved it.”
“I don’t believe it,” Pooja said. “Tell the truth, did he promise money or just fuck you for the sake of it?”
“I’m telling the truth,” Uma replied, “I ... I seduced him, Didi. When my mother died, I decided to take her place here. For months, I made sure he noticed me. I found him alone ... and I asked him to fuck me too.” She continued, “He hesitated at first. Said I was too young. I told him I’d dreamed of him for a long time.”
Pooja’s voice snapped. “Does my mother-in-law know?”
Uma nodded slowly. “She’s a good woman, Didi. But even she can’t satisfy him every day. She knows about his affairs with my mother and aunt. She told him to fuck me after I begged her. They help us. They give us shelter and money when we need it. They’re a good couple.” Uma Finally, she met Pooja’s eyes. Defiant yet broken. “Please, Didi. Don’t ruin this.”
Pooja’s voice sliced through the air. “So you and Harish were going to sleep together while we were at the temple?”
Uma flinched. She didn’t deny it. “Yes,” she said quietly. “After Rohan bhaiyya left, Thakurji is more angry now. My aunt and I are calming him down.” She stared at the ground, gripping her sari tightly. “But, with you here, we don’t get enough chances. I don’t know when he’ll fuck me again...” she said. The weight of her raw and vulgar words hung in the hot afternoon air.
Pooja’s thoughts raced with disgust mixed with a strange curiosity. She leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. “Tell me ... What’s it like?”
Uma blinked, confusion on her face.
Pooja swallowed as the question came out before she could stop it. “His ... cock. Is it big? Does he ... hurt you?” She couldn’t believe she was asking this. Yet, the image of Harish—stern, powerful Harish—inside this trembling girl burned in her mind.
Uma’s eyes sparkled with something dark. A slow smile spread across her face as she caressed Pooja’s cheek with her rough fingers. “Didi, why do you want to know?” Her voice turned husky. “Once you have his cock in your hands, you will be unable to give it up. Our Thakur saheb is ready for anyone, anytime. Trust me, once he fucks you, you will never like another man.” She traced Pooja’s jawline. “He splits you open, fills you so deep you scream. Pain? Only at first. Then ... pure fire.”
Pooja stepped back as she heard Uma’s words. This was more than an affair. Initially, she assumed it was exploitation. But it was much more: a dark secret behind Meera’s kind smile and Harish’s demeanor.
“Go,” Pooja ordered, her tone cold. “And, don’t worry, I’ll stay quiet.”
As Uma hurried away, Pooja clutched her fists and returned to her room. That night, Pooja sat on her bed, eyes fixed on the peeling blue walls. She couldn’t shake Uma’s words from her mind. “He splits you open, fills you so deep you scream.” At just twenty, she was married but still a virgin. But her husband? He turned out to be gay. Three women from the same family desired and slept with her husband’s father. Her body remained untouched while others lost themselves in passion. The irony hit hard and felt unfair. She saw the truths of this dysfunctional family. Now, she had to choose to hurt or to take advantage of her newly found knowledge.