The House of Broken Virtue
Copyright© 2026 by Shaitani Junoon
Chapter 2: The First Crack
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2: The First Crack - The story revolves around the Sharma family-Vikram, Priya, and their six children (five daughters: Kavya, twins Meera and Neera, Ananya, Ishani, and a son, Arjun) living in a sprawling haveli in Jaipur. The narrative begins with Arjun witnessing his father dominating his mother sexually, an event that awakens a dark desire within him to claim every woman in his household.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Teenagers Coercion Reluctant Fiction Incest Mother Son Sister Father Group Sex First Indian Erotica AI Generated
I remember the evening with perfect clarity. It was the last week of April, the air heavy with the promise of pre-monsoon storms that never seemed to break. I had returned from the gym my father insisted I maintain my physique, as I would one day inherit the business and I was walking down the corridor toward my room when I heard sounds from my parents’ bedroom.
The door was not fully closed. It had been left ajar by perhaps an inch, and golden afternoon light spilled through the gap, along with sounds that made me stop in my tracks. I knew I should walk away. I knew that whatever was happening behind that door was private, sacred, the intimate domain of a husband and wife. But something held me there, my hand frozen on the doorframe, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I looked through the gap.
My father was standing by the bed, and my mother was on her knees before him. Her saree had been discarded in a crumpled heap of crimson silk on the floor. She wore only her petticoat and blouse, and even those were in disarray the blouse unbuttoned to reveal the upper swells of her breasts, the petticoat riding up her thighs. My father’s hand was fisted in her hair, guiding her head as she oh god, as she took him into her mouth.
I had never seen my father naked. I had certainly never seen him like this his face twisted with a ferocity I did not recognize, his free hand gripping my mother’s breast with a force that seemed painful. He was saying things to her, low words in Hindi that I could not quite make out, but the tone was clear. This was not lovemaking. This was possession. This was dominance.
And my mother my gentle, dignified mother was submitting to it. Her eyes were closed, her lips stretched around his thickness, her hands gripping his hips for balance. I could see the muscles of her throat working, could hear the wet sounds of her submission, and I should have been horrified. I should have turned away. I should have erased the image from my mind and never thought of it again.
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