The next morning dawned sticky and oppressive, the Mumbai sun already baking the concrete streets by 8 AM. Arjun woke in his own bed, sheets tangled around his legs, his body aching with a mix of exhaustion and unfulfilled need. His mind replayed the night before in vivid flashes—Priya's massive tits heavy in his hands, the warm gush of her milk flooding his mouth, the way her pussy had soaked through her nightie as she ground against him. His cock twitched at the memory, hardening instantly. He palmed it absentmindedly, stroking once, twice, but stopped, guilt and shame warring with the throbbing desire. Aunty said to come back today, he thought, heart racing. He shouldn't. It was wrong. But the taste of her lingered on his tongue, sweet and forbidden.

By noon, he couldn't resist. Priya's text buzzed his phone: Beta, come fix the fan in my bedroom. It's spinning too slow. Simple words, but laced with intent. Arjun showered quickly, pulling on a loose t-shirt and shorts, his erection half-formed already as he crossed the alley. He knocked, pulse hammering in his ears.