Ray & Maha

Maha sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn slightly together, fingers twisting in the hem of her shift. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked smaller than usual—petite frame tight with nerves.

Raymond stood in front of her. For a long moment neither of them spoke.

Then he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Call me brother,” he said quietly. “From now on too. Even after this.”

Maha’s eyes flicked up, uncertain.

“Even if I’m your brother,” he continued, voice lower, “I’m also the man who’s going to pound you. You understand?”

A soft, shaky breath left her. She nodded once.

Raymond stepped closer. His hands settled on her shoulders, then slid down—slow, deliberate—over the thin fabric covering her small, soft breasts. He cupped them, thumbs brushing the peaks until they tightened under his touch. Maha’s breath hitched. She didn’t pull away.

He kept exploring. Fingers traced the narrow line of her waist, feeling how slender she was, how easily his hands could almost span her. Then lower, over the modest curve of her ass. He squeezed once, testing. When she only bit her lip, he gave the soft flesh a light pinch, then a firmer slap that made her jolt and let out a tiny sound.

“Still calling me brother?” he murmured against her ear.

“…Yes,” she whispered.

He turned her gently and bent her forward over the edge of the bed. The shift rode up. He pushed it higher, baring the modest, pretty shape of her ass. Both hands spread her cheeks open. For a moment he just looked—then he leaned down and dragged his tongue slowly through the cleft, wet and deliberate, from the tight little hole down to her already-slick folds and back up again.

Maha’s fingers clenched the blanket. A broken whimper escaped her.

Raymond licked her again, slower, spreading her wider with his thumbs, tasting her thoroughly while she trembled and tried to stay quiet. Only when her thighs started shaking did he rise.

He freed himself, gripped her hips, and drove into her in one deep, hungry thrust.

Maha cried out—sharp, startled, already losing the fight against the pleasure. Raymond didn’t ease up. He fucked her hard and deep, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, one hand still holding her cheek spread so he could watch himself disappear inside her. Every thrust was possessive, almost angry with need, as if he were finally claiming what the old “brother” label had kept locked away for years.

Maha’s voice broke into high, helpless moans. Her small body rocked under him. The headstrong walls were gone; she was open, taking everything he gave, face pressed into the blanket as she came with a shattered cry.

Raymond followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt and holding her there while he emptied inside her, breathing hard against the back of her neck.

For a while the only sound was their uneven breathing.

He stayed inside her, one hand still resting on the modest curve of her ass, thumb stroking slowly.

“Still your brother,” he said quietly against her skin. “And still the man who just pounded you.”

Maha’s only answer was a soft, shaky sound of agreement.