One year had slipped by in a haze of sweat, moans, and relentless rhythm.
The factory in Prayagraj had never run smoother. Productivity soared, up 42% year, numbers that made suppliers, clients, and even the local chamber of comrce whisper in awe.
The girls worked with a strange, glowing focus: no sick leaves, no drama, no complaints. The secret was simple and unspoken: every month, the ten highest-performing workers received the company’s "special welfare reward."
It wasn’t cash. It wasn’t a bonus voucher.
It was Arahan’s sperm.
Delivered personally, in the executive bedroom after hours, usually in a quiet rotation: five girls on the first Saturday of the month, five on the second.
Sotis more if a girl had hit an exceptional target (new design sold out in three days, zero defects in a 10,000-piece order).
They lined up like obedient students, skirts hiked, panties around ankles, begging for their "prize" while Sabiha supervised from the corner chair, occasionally stroking Arahan’s back or whispering encouragent.
"Because you earned it, baby," she would say to the winner of the month. "Take every drop. It’s good for morale."
HR (three girls), the production manager Suhani, and a couple of senior team leaders had quietly added themselves to the reward list early on.
"Administrative oversight," Sabiha called it with a straight face. They got fucked first each cycle, often in a small group session while the top perforrs waited outside, listening to the muffled cries.
In twelve months, Arahan had taken every factory girl at least three or four tis. Not the frantic virginity-losing rush of the first two months, but a steady, scheduled claiming. Quickies in the design room for stress relief.
Slow, deep sessions on slow days. A few girls even started bringing their own toys or asking for specific positions, "Sir, last ti you fucked doggy and I ca three tis... can we do that again?"
He stopped counting after the first hundred loads. His body adapted out of sheer necessity: extra protein shakes, longer naps in the car on the way ho.
At ho, the changes were even more profound.
Sana was five months pregnant, belly already rounding under her crop tops, nipples perpetually hard and sensitive.
Bushra was four months along, shyly asking him to fuck her from behind so she could feel "full in both places."
Sabiha was sixth months pregnant, so he stopped fucking her.
Anshika and Suhani had both tested positive three months earlier. Anshika cried happy tears the day she showed him the strip, then imdiately dropped to her knees to thank him properly.
Suhani was more pragmatic—she simply moved a few things into the house and started sleeping in the guest room three nights a week, saying, "The baby needs both parents close."
Sahil helped with cooking and errands, still taking Arahan’s cock whenever he needed it, though gentler now that everyone was pregnant or recovering.
And then ca the biggest shift of all.
The District Magistrate of Prayagraj had a daughter, Noorzadi Khatoon, twenty-two, educated in Delhi, beautiful in that regal, unapproachable way.
Her mother had been quietly impressed by the factory’s growth and Sabiha’s "business acun." After a few discreet dinners and a lot of back-channel negotiation, the wedding was fixed.
Sahil weds Noorzadi.
The engagent ceremony was held at the DM’s sprawling bungalow on the banks of the Ganga
The engagent ceremony had been a spectacle, strings of fairy lights draped across the sprawling lawns of the DM’s bungalow, the Ganga flowing dark and quiet in the background, soft qawwali music mingling with the clink of champagne flutes.
VIP guests in designer sherwanis and heavy silk sarees circulated.
Sahil had stood stiff in his cream sherwani, hands clasped too tightly, sweat beading at his temples despite the cool river breeze.
Noorzadi Khatoon, radiant in a deep maroon lehenga heavy with zardozi and gota-patti, had kept her chin high, eyes calm, the picture of composed royalty.
That night, after the guests had left and the bungalow quieted, Noorzadi sat alone on the edge of the massive four-poster bed in the bridal suite.
The room slled of fresh roses, jasmine, and sandalwood incense. Red and gold cushions were scattered everywhere; a silver tray held a glass of kesar milk and a bowl of almonds. She had changed into a lighter ivory silk nightgown that clung softly to her curves, hair loose down her back, kohl still dark around her eyes.
She is waiting for her husband.
Her heart beat in strange, conflicting rhythms. Although the wedding has happened between her and Sahil.
She didn’t want this wedding, but she understand, that this marriage was political, strategic, and convenient.
Her mother needed the alliance with Sabiha’s growing business empire; Sabiha needed the protection and prestige of the DM’s na.
Noorzadi had listened to the negotiations in her mother’s office, heard the quiet terms laid out like a contract: that after the wedding, her mom and Sahil’s mom were opening a project, and the deal was related to sothing like this.
She also accepted it, because she didn’t marry him, she still needs to marry soone else. And mostly looking at her mom position, it was maybe so IPS or IAS officer.
And she knew marrying so dull IAS officer was unbearable. She just accepted him, after all he was also quite handso.
Waiting on a wedding night, pulse racing, thighs pressed together under silk, was another.
The door finally opened. Sahil stepped in, still in his sherwani, looking pale and distant.
Noorzadi stood, cheeks warming. This was it. Her first ti. With her husband. She offered a shy smile. Sahil closed the door quietly, hesitated, then walked over and sat beside her on the mattress.
Noorzadi’s fingers twisted in the dupatta draped over her head. She waited. Waited for him to lift her veil, to whisper sothing sweet, to at least look at her with desire. Seconds stretched into unbearable silence. He stared at the floor like it held answers.
He’s shy, she told herself. Innocent. Dumb boy doesn’t know what to do. A small, nervous laugh bubbled up inside her. Fine. If her husband was too timid on their wedding night, she would take the lead. She had dread of this—being wanted, being claid. She could do this.
Slowly, trembling, she reached out and placed her hand on his thigh.
Sahil flinched as if burned.
"I... I can’t," he whispered.
Noorzadi’s hand froze mid-air. "What do you an?"
He swallowed, eyes fixed on the floor. "I can’t do this, Noor. I can’t... be with you. Like that."
The room spun. Her chest was constricted. "Why?" The word ca out small, terrified. "Tell why."
Sahil finally lifted his gaze—eyes swimming with guilt and sha, "I’m gay, Noor," he said softly. "I’ve always been gay."
The words struck like a physical blow. For one endless heartbeat, everything stopped. Then the scream ripped from her throat.
"You’re WHAT?!"
She lurched to her feet, dupatta slipping from her head, veil tangling around her shoulders like a shroud. Her hands flew to her neck, clutching the simple gold chain he had placed there during the nikaah as if it were choking her.
"You married ... knowing this?!" Her voice rose to a piercing wail. "You stood in front of God and the witnesses! You gave hr! You said the words ’Qubool hai’ three tis—and you knew you could never want ?!"
Tears started falling from her face. She staggered backward, crashing into the dressing table. Perfu bottles toppled and shattered on the floor.
"You bastard!" she scread, voice turning into sobs. "You ruined ! You made your wife, in the eyes of God, in front of my family, in front of the whole community, and it was all a lie!"
She collapsed to her knees, fists pounding the carpet in helpless rage.
"Why?!" she wailed, rocking back and forth. "Why did you do this to ? I trusted you! I prayed for this night—prayed for a husband who would love , protect , hold ! And you... you stole everything!"
Sahil’s shoulders sagged. "It all happened, because of the deal."
Noorzadi’s head jerked up. Her fingers clawed at the heavy lehenga, tearing at the delicate zari embroidery as if she could rip the humiliation from her skin.
"Even if it was for the deal," she sobbed, voice hoarse and fracturing, "even if it was just business between our families... Why destroy ? Why let hope? Why let sit here like a fool, waiting for a husband who would never touch ?!"
Sahil remained silent, head bowed, shoulders trembling. He offered no comfort.
Noorzadi curled into herself on the floor, body wracked with violent tremors. "I hate you," she whispered between choking sobs. "I hate you... I hate this night... I hate myself for believing..."
The door creaked open.
Arahan stepped inside.
He stood frad in the doorway, tall, calm, unshaken, his gaze sweeping slowly from Noorzadi’s trembling, tear-soaked form on the floor to Sahil’s guilty, averted eyes.
Noorzadi lifted her head slowly. Through the haze of pain, fury, and shattered faith, she locked eyes with the man frad in the doorway. He was tall, broad-shouldered, still wearing a black sherwani threaded with gold, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking tired but utterly composed, like he belonged in this chaos.
"Who... who are you?" she whispered, voice hoarse from crying.
Sahil swallowed hard. "He’s Arahan."
Noorzadi’s tear-streaked face twisted. She nodded jerkily, fresh sobs rising. "I know he’s Arahan," she spat, anger flaring again. "But what I an is, why is he here? On my wedding night? In my bedroom?"
Sahil’s cheeks flushed crimson. He looked away, lips trembling, unable to form words.
Arahan stepped forward without hesitation. He crossed the room in three calm strides and sat between them on the edge of the bed, close enough that Noorzadi could sll the faint sandalwood on his skin.
"Sahil," Arahan said quietly, voice low and commanding, "Reply to her. Tell her why I’m here."
Sahil’s shoulders hunched. His voice ca out small, almost inaudible. "Arahan... he’s my husband. In every way that matters. Tonight is our wedding too. So he ca... To fuck ."
"You have a husband?!" she shrieked, lunging forward as if to claw at Sahil. "You have a man who cos to fuck you on the sa night you married , and what about ?! You sit there enjoying your life while I cry over a ruined one?! You disgusting, lying—"
Arahan’s hand moved, gentle, steady. He cupped her tear-soaked cheek, thumb brushing away a streak of kohl. "Shh," he murmured. "Don’t worry, Noor. I will not let anyone ruin your life."
She froze under his touch, breath hitching.
"I know you’re angry," he continued softly. "I feel angry too. But what can we do? This is how life moves, cruel sotis, unfair. Still..." His thumb traced her jawline. "I ca here tonight not just for him. I ca to make you happy too."
Noorzadi blinked, stunned into silence. The rage still burned, but sothing else flickered beneath it—shock, confusion, a dangerous curiosity.
"Will you give permission?" Arahan asked, eyes locked on hers. "Permission to love you. To show you what it feels like to be wanted. Truly wanted."
She couldn’t speak. Her mind reeled, replaying his words, the betrayal, the humiliation, the sudden offer of sothing she had craved all night.
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