Actress Sex Story Fettb’s Fantasies - Long Stories
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#TheOnlyPoison
#FettbFantasies
Part 1: The Placeholder
“Perhaps this will motivate me to put in a good word for you,” she whispered softly, leaning across the table until her warm breath brushed the stubble on his jaw. For a moment, they forgot they were still on campus. Still inside a classroom. She was still his lecturer. He was still her student. He would graduate in a week. If they were caught, her career would be over and his dream of practicing law would die.
Yet it was that very danger that made their affair so electrifying.
“Yes… perhaps,” he replied, his voice fading as his mind drifted once again to her — the woman who had consumed his thoughts for the past year, the reason he still came to college early every single day.
She noticed the distant glaze in his eyes and slowly pulled away. She always knew she was a placeholder for his love and she’d been okay with it as long as he was with her and not the other woman. In fact, over time, she even began deriving a sick sense of pleasure whenever he screamed the other woman’s name instead of her own every time he came. However the presence of the other woman during foreplay was still something she wasn’t used to…yet.
The chair scraped loudly as she stepped off the table. He blinked back to the present and saw the hurt flickering across her face. He apologized immediately. No explanation was needed. They both knew what this relationship truly was.
If she was being honest with herself, it wasn’t love for her either. It was the dark satisfaction of knowing she had him — at least for now — when the other woman didn’t. As she leans against the table, eyes still glued to his strikingly handsome face, her expression softened.
He moved closer and kissed her. Gently at first, checking if she would still allow him in after drifting off again. When her lips softened into a smile, he kissed her deeply. She had always been generous with her body, something he appreciated.
A subtle forward tilt of her shoulders offered him a clear view of her soft, round cleavage — an unspoken invitation. His cock swelled instantly, straining against his trousers. Although she was still only the bridge between him and her own bloodline, his dreamgirl, she enjoyed it when her body had maddening effects on him.
She leaned back further, elbows resting on the table, presenting an unobstructed access to her cleavage.
Instead of putting his dick between her tits, he grabbed her ass and lifted her onto the table, laying her down horizontally. Her heart raced.
“What lesson would you like to teach me today, Miss?” he growled, slowly unraveling her saree.
“Oh honey,” she smiled playfully, “you’d better turn to page tits.”
The cheeky reply ignited something fierce in him. He tore her blouse open, exposing her full breasts to the stale classroom air.
They had fucked many times before, but never here. As his thick cock pressed against her entrance and slowly sank into her drenched pussy, she let out a shaky moan. The sensation of his smooth, hot skin rubbing against her inner walls sent electric shivers racing through her body with every inch he claimed. The way the swollen head dragged along her sensitive ridges made her toes curl.
As he began thrusting, her mind drifted back to their third date. That evening, after weeks of heavy flirting, she had let him cum on her face in the college’s disabled washroom. She still remembered the thrill of kneeling before her own student, eyes closed, as thick ropes of his warm cum painted her cheeks and lips. She had surprised herself by loving the taste — slightly salty, slightly sweet. She had licked every drop she could reach, savoring it while he watched in stunned arousal.
That memory made her pussy clench around him now.
There’s something about her moans that makes him feel like the king of the world. He may not be in love with her, but he sure as hell loves the sight of her body beneath him—the sounds she makes, the way she squirms, the way she feels when he knows this isn’t one of their classes. Here, he’s in control.
But another memory soon surfaced — the one that had changed everything.
It was their tenth date. They had gone to the campus bar and drank too much. In a haze of alcohol and lust, she had dragged him into the bathroom and stripped for him. The romantic lighting and her overwhelming desire had made her throw caution to the wind.
After eighteen minutes of passionate, reckless sex, he had panicked.
“I need to cum,” he gasped. “Please let me pull out.”
In her overconfident, lust-drunk state, she had told him to finish inside her. She knew it in her heart, it was a mistake. Eight years’ age gap, her own fucking student, there was a million ways this could go sideways. And yet she told him to fill her up. He did — flooding her pussy with pulse after pulse of hot cum.
She had been reaching down to scoop some onto her tongue when he confessed everything. How he was only using her to get closer to another woman. How he thought about her every time he fucked Kriti. How he had approached Kriti purely because of that connection.
Each sentence had shattered her a little more. By the time he left her crying in that bathroom with his cum still leaking down her thighs, her world lay in ruins.
That memory used to destroy her. But now, as he drove into her with deep, powerful strokes, something had changed. Every sharp fragment of that painful night — his confession, her tears, the overwhelming humiliation — no longer cut her. Instead, with every thrust, those broken pieces joined together, weaving themselves into a bittersweet tapestry. The night that had destroyed any chance of them becoming real partners had also forged this new, twisted relationship. A relationship built on raw lust, power, and delicious degradation.
The harder he fucked her, the clearer and more arousing that realization became.
He suddenly pulled her off the table, spun her around, and bent her over like a bitch in heat. She smiled through her moans as he slammed back inside her. The thick shaft of his cock rubbed relentlessly against her inner walls, the flared head kissing her deepest spots with every violent thrust. Pleasure and pain blurred together as he reached places no one else ever had.
“Honey?” she panted between moans. “Do you remember the moot court where you had to defend a dog?”
The reminder of that public humiliation made something snap in him. He fucked her even harder, his hips slapping loudly against her ass. “Poetic Justice”, she thought to herself as she let a smile escape her lips.
Just as she approached her peak, he bent over her and hissed into her ear, “Should I plant my seed inside you again, the way I did that night I showed you your place?”
She nodded frantically, pushing back against him
He gripped her hips with bruising force and drove into her with savage finality. His cock swelled even thicker inside her, the veins pulsing against her sensitive walls. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt. His entire body tensed, muscles locking up as the first powerful spurt of cum erupted inside her.
She felt every single jet — hot, thick, and forceful — flooding her depths. The warmth spread rapidly through her core as rope after rope painted her inner walls. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder as his cum mixed with her juices and was forced out around his throbbing shaft with every final thrust. Her own orgasm crashed over her at the same moment, her pussy spasming wildly around his pulsing cock, milking him for every last drop.
Even as pleasure tore through her body, she smiled.
He stayed buried deep inside her for a few moments longer, twitching and leaking the last remnants of his load into her before pulling out.
“Tomorrow, if we end up having a kid,” she teased breathlessly, still feeling his cum leaking down her thighs, “will you name her after my step-sister too?”
His reaction was immediate and vicious. He slapped her face hard, bit down on her exposed nipple, and stormed out of the classroom yelling, “I’m telling you for the last time — I want to fuck Malavika, not have a fucking child with you!”
His cock still hung out, dripping cum onto the floor as he left.
Epilogue of Part 1
Another batch of students had graduated with a record sixty percent clearing the state bar exam. The only thing that could improve Malavika’s day was gloating about it to her step-sister.
She walked toward Kriti’s classroom with the acceptance letters, but stopped when she heard familiar sounds coming from inside. Moans. Flesh slapping against flesh.
Curious, she peered through the window.
Her star student was fucking her step-sister senseless on the lecture table. And as he came inside Kriti, he moaned hername.
Fuck, Malavika thought, a dark thrill running through her. What a perfect day
Starring: Kriti Sanon & Malavika Mohanan
A Fettb Original Story
Both, Kriti Sanon and Malavika Mohanan will return for part 2
#FettbFantasies
Part 1: The Placeholder
“Perhaps this will motivate me to put in a good word for you,” she whispered softly, leaning across the table until her warm breath brushed the stubble on his jaw. For a moment, they forgot they were still on campus. Still inside a classroom. She was still his lecturer. He was still her student. He would graduate in a week. If they were caught, her career would be over and his dream of practicing law would die.
Yet it was that very danger that made their affair so electrifying.
“Yes… perhaps,” he replied, his voice fading as his mind drifted once again to her — the woman who had consumed his thoughts for the past year, the reason he still came to college early every single day.
She noticed the distant glaze in his eyes and slowly pulled away. She always knew she was a placeholder for his love and she’d been okay with it as long as he was with her and not the other woman. In fact, over time, she even began deriving a sick sense of pleasure whenever he screamed the other woman’s name instead of her own every time he came. However the presence of the other woman during foreplay was still something she wasn’t used to…yet.
The chair scraped loudly as she stepped off the table. He blinked back to the present and saw the hurt flickering across her face. He apologized immediately. No explanation was needed. They both knew what this relationship truly was.
If she was being honest with herself, it wasn’t love for her either. It was the dark satisfaction of knowing she had him — at least for now — when the other woman didn’t. As she leans against the table, eyes still glued to his strikingly handsome face, her expression softened.
He moved closer and kissed her. Gently at first, checking if she would still allow him in after drifting off again. When her lips softened into a smile, he kissed her deeply. She had always been generous with her body, something he appreciated.
A subtle forward tilt of her shoulders offered him a clear view of her soft, round cleavage — an unspoken invitation. His cock swelled instantly, straining against his trousers. Although she was still only the bridge between him and her own bloodline, his dreamgirl, she enjoyed it when her body had maddening effects on him.
She leaned back further, elbows resting on the table, presenting an unobstructed access to her cleavage.
Instead of putting his dick between her tits, he grabbed her ass and lifted her onto the table, laying her down horizontally. Her heart raced.
“What lesson would you like to teach me today, Miss?” he growled, slowly unraveling her saree.
“Oh honey,” she smiled playfully, “you’d better turn to page tits.”
The cheeky reply ignited something fierce in him. He tore her blouse open, exposing her full breasts to the stale classroom air.
They had fucked many times before, but never here. As his thick cock pressed against her entrance and slowly sank into her drenched pussy, she let out a shaky moan. The sensation of his smooth, hot skin rubbing against her inner walls sent electric shivers racing through her body with every inch he claimed. The way the swollen head dragged along her sensitive ridges made her toes curl.
As he began thrusting, her mind drifted back to their third date. That evening, after weeks of heavy flirting, she had let him cum on her face in the college’s disabled washroom. She still remembered the thrill of kneeling before her own student, eyes closed, as thick ropes of his warm cum painted her cheeks and lips. She had surprised herself by loving the taste — slightly salty, slightly sweet. She had licked every drop she could reach, savoring it while he watched in stunned arousal.
That memory made her pussy clench around him now.
There’s something about her moans that makes him feel like the king of the world. He may not be in love with her, but he sure as hell loves the sight of her body beneath him—the sounds she makes, the way she squirms, the way she feels when he knows this isn’t one of their classes. Here, he’s in control.
But another memory soon surfaced — the one that had changed everything.
It was their tenth date. They had gone to the campus bar and drank too much. In a haze of alcohol and lust, she had dragged him into the bathroom and stripped for him. The romantic lighting and her overwhelming desire had made her throw caution to the wind.
After eighteen minutes of passionate, reckless sex, he had panicked.
“I need to cum,” he gasped. “Please let me pull out.”
In her overconfident, lust-drunk state, she had told him to finish inside her. She knew it in her heart, it was a mistake. Eight years’ age gap, her own fucking student, there was a million ways this could go sideways. And yet she told him to fill her up. He did — flooding her pussy with pulse after pulse of hot cum.
She had been reaching down to scoop some onto her tongue when he confessed everything. How he was only using her to get closer to another woman. How he thought about her every time he fucked Kriti. How he had approached Kriti purely because of that connection.
Each sentence had shattered her a little more. By the time he left her crying in that bathroom with his cum still leaking down her thighs, her world lay in ruins.
That memory used to destroy her. But now, as he drove into her with deep, powerful strokes, something had changed. Every sharp fragment of that painful night — his confession, her tears, the overwhelming humiliation — no longer cut her. Instead, with every thrust, those broken pieces joined together, weaving themselves into a bittersweet tapestry. The night that had destroyed any chance of them becoming real partners had also forged this new, twisted relationship. A relationship built on raw lust, power, and delicious degradation.
The harder he fucked her, the clearer and more arousing that realization became.
He suddenly pulled her off the table, spun her around, and bent her over like a bitch in heat. She smiled through her moans as he slammed back inside her. The thick shaft of his cock rubbed relentlessly against her inner walls, the flared head kissing her deepest spots with every violent thrust. Pleasure and pain blurred together as he reached places no one else ever had.
“Honey?” she panted between moans. “Do you remember the moot court where you had to defend a dog?”
The reminder of that public humiliation made something snap in him. He fucked her even harder, his hips slapping loudly against her ass. “Poetic Justice”, she thought to herself as she let a smile escape her lips.
Just as she approached her peak, he bent over her and hissed into her ear, “Should I plant my seed inside you again, the way I did that night I showed you your place?”
She nodded frantically, pushing back against him
He gripped her hips with bruising force and drove into her with savage finality. His cock swelled even thicker inside her, the veins pulsing against her sensitive walls. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt. His entire body tensed, muscles locking up as the first powerful spurt of cum erupted inside her.
She felt every single jet — hot, thick, and forceful — flooding her depths. The warmth spread rapidly through her core as rope after rope painted her inner walls. The wet, squelching sounds grew louder as his cum mixed with her juices and was forced out around his throbbing shaft with every final thrust. Her own orgasm crashed over her at the same moment, her pussy spasming wildly around his pulsing cock, milking him for every last drop.
Even as pleasure tore through her body, she smiled.
He stayed buried deep inside her for a few moments longer, twitching and leaking the last remnants of his load into her before pulling out.
“Tomorrow, if we end up having a kid,” she teased breathlessly, still feeling his cum leaking down her thighs, “will you name her after my step-sister too?”
His reaction was immediate and vicious. He slapped her face hard, bit down on her exposed nipple, and stormed out of the classroom yelling, “I’m telling you for the last time — I want to fuck Malavika, not have a fucking child with you!”
His cock still hung out, dripping cum onto the floor as he left.
Epilogue of Part 1
Another batch of students had graduated with a record sixty percent clearing the state bar exam. The only thing that could improve Malavika’s day was gloating about it to her step-sister.
She walked toward Kriti’s classroom with the acceptance letters, but stopped when she heard familiar sounds coming from inside. Moans. Flesh slapping against flesh.
Curious, she peered through the window.
Her star student was fucking her step-sister senseless on the lecture table. And as he came inside Kriti, he moaned hername.
Fuck, Malavika thought, a dark thrill running through her. What a perfect day
Starring: Kriti Sanon & Malavika Mohanan
A Fettb Original Story
Both, Kriti Sanon and Malavika Mohanan will return for part 2
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
For almost one full year since I’ve written this story, I’ve intended for it to be a single chapter. My fantasy for Kriti Sanon felt too unique to be given a sequel to.Sand, Salt and… Sanon?
Main Story
A cool sea breeze slips under the waistband of your swim trunks, brushing against your skin as you slide your right hand inside. Your fingers curl gently around your cock, already half-hard and thickening with every heartbeat. With your left hand, you tilt your sunglasses down, shielding your eyes from the harsh glare so you can fully drink in the breathtaking scene unfolding before you.
Kriti Sanon stands in the ocean, draped in a flowing saree that has become utterly indecent from the water. The wet fabric clings transparently to her body, tracing every lush curve— the full swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the generous flare of her hips. She sways and dances to some unheard melody in her head, hips rolling sensually with the rhythm of the waves. Each hypnotic movement sends another heavy throb through your cock. Your hand begins to stroke slowly, savoring the ache.
You’ve seen her pull off the most eccentric fashion on red carpets and magazine covers, always commanding attention. But this—a soaked saree in the sea—is something primal and irresistible. Your grip tightens as your mind drifts back.
It had started with a simple crush during Bareilly Ki Barfi. Then she moved into your building, and obsession bloomed. The turning point came when you watched her rehearse an action sequence through your window. Her dress caught on the sharp hook of her living room coffee table and tore open, revealing smooth, bare skin. That single accidental exposure consumed you. That night, you stroked yourself raw to the memory.
But your feelings deepened beyond the physical. You saw her genuine kindness in everyday interactions—the way she remembered small details about neighbors, her quiet empathy. One evening crystallized everything: the building gala for underprivileged children. Donations had fallen short of the target. Without hesitation, Kriti offered to strip, piece by piece, on the condition that every article of clothing removed would bring in ₹10,000 from the select audience. She had done it with grace and purpose, her eyes shining with determination to help those children. You had been there, heart pounding, watching not just a celebrity but a woman of real substance. That night cemented your devotion. In your heart, she was already yours.
The memory fades as Kriti leaps into a deeper wave. She vanishes beneath the surface for a terrifying second. You rise halfway from your tanning chair, lust momentarily replaced by worry, but she bursts upward laughing, water cascading down her radiant face. The force of the jump has unravelled her saree, revealing a tiny, tight bikini that had been serving as her blouse. The wet fabric molds perfectly to her breasts, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
She spots you. Recognition lights up her face, followed by a bright, knowing smile. She walks through the shallows directly toward the beach club where you sit.
Your pulse thunders. She’s coming for you. You wave back, trying to appear casual even as your right hand continues stroking your throbbing length inside your trunks.
Kriti doesn’t stop at the edge. She keeps walking, fingers tugging at the knot of her bikini top. The fabric falls away. Her full, perfect breasts spill free, nipples tight from the cool breeze and saltwater. She discards the top carelessly and continues forward.
Your brain stutters. Your hand moves faster, no longer pretending at discretion. She notices—and instead of shock, a playful, quirky smile curves her lips. She breaks into a run, breasts bouncing beautifully with every stride, water spraying around her toned thighs.
She’s nearly at the club entrance when her voice carries clearly over the waves and growing murmurs:
K: “Mind if I join you?”
Dozens of people on the public beach are openly staring. Phones are recording. Inside the exclusive club, the city’s elite watch in stunned silence. Kriti doesn’t care. Neither do you. Your hand keeps pumping.
You: “Wait! I’ll come get you!”
She waits patiently as a crowd forms, cameras flashing. India’s beloved star stands nearly naked, dripping wet, smiling with effortless confidence.
When you reach her, she steps close, eyes sparkling with mischief and unmistakable heat.
K: “You don’t have to be so discreet with me. I know what you feel when you look at me… the same thing all these guys are feeling right now.”
Her words sting briefly. You cup her cheek, needing her to understand.
You: “Kriti, my desire for you is undeniable, but it’s never been only lust. I fell for your drive, your kindness, your empathy. I remember the gala night when you stripped for those underprivileged kids without hesitation. That’s the woman I love. I want to be with you for the rest of my life—not just your body, but you.”
The confession spills out, raw. Heat floods your face. You cover it with your hands in embarrassment, certain she’ll pull away.
Instead, she gently lowers your hands. Her touch is tender, warm. She leans in, lips brushing your ear as she whispers softly:
K: “I’ve been waiting six long months for you to finally say that.”
Goosebumps ripple across your entire body. She takes your hand and leads you inside the club as if she is escorting you, waving casually to the hundreds of gawking onlookers.
You head to the poolside bar. She steps into the changing room, turns on the shower, and lets sea salt and sand rinse from her flawless skin. Her eyes lock onto yours with command.
K: “Stroke your cock for me. Show me exactly how much you want me.”
You obey, hand moving in long, steady strokes. She watches hungrily, then smirks.
K: “Take off your trunks. I want to see what you’re packing.”
She yanks them down herself. Your thick, seven-and-a-half-inch cock springs free, heavy and veined, pulsing in the open air. Her gaze darkens with raw approval.
She spits gracefully into her palm and wraps the slick warmth around you, stroking with perfect rhythm. The sensation nearly buckles your knees.
Just as pleasure builds, she tugs you forward by your cock and leads you out onto the pool deck.
K: “I hope you don’t mind white wine,” she teases, winking.
The words escape before you can stop them:
You: “Babe, as long as it’s from you, I wouldn’t mind if you fed me your piss.”
She stops. Tension crackles. You brace for the slap. Instead, she turns with a dark, smoldering look.
K: “Be careful what you wish for…”
She walks to the bar, selects a wine glass, and sits on the edge of a table. Without shame, she holds the glass beneath her smooth, pink pussy. A clear, golden stream flows steadily, filling it with a soft, intimate splash. Cameras roll. She ignores them completely.
She divides the warm liquid into two glasses and offers you one.
K: “Drink up, babe. I’ve got more where that came from.”
You tilt the glass and drink deeply. The bitter-sweet taste—intimate, forbidden, uniquely hers—slides down your throat like warm elixir. It should feel degrading, yet it binds you to her in the most primal way. You swallow every drop under her watchful, lust-filled gaze.
She sets the second glass on the infinity pool deck, stands bathed in sunlight, and purrs:
K: “Don’t drink that one. Pour it over me. I want you to show the entire world what I’m willing to let you do… just so I can be yours. I want everyone to know I chose you.”
You pour slowly, reverently. The warm elixir cascades down her neck, tracing shining rivulets over her full breasts, following the curve of her stomach, pooling briefly in her navel before spilling into the pool. You drop to your knees and press your tongue into her belly button, licking up every last drop of her essence. Her skin erupts in goosebumps.
She pulls you up, wraps her legs around your waist, and floats back into the water. Her slick, eager pussy lips caress the head of your cock.
K: “Get inside me. Fuck me senseless. I want our minds lost together in the ocean while our bodies lose themselves completely.”
You thrust forward. She’s incredibly tight, scorching hot, and velvety smooth. Inch by inch you sink in until you’re buried to the hilt. She gasps, nails digging into your shoulders.
K: “Not my first time… but you are going to be my last. I promise. Now fuck me.”
The words unleash something feral. You drive into her with deep, powerful strokes. Water splashes violently. Her breasts bounce rhythmically with every thrust. The chlorine creates an intoxicating mix of slippery ease and delicious friction. You lose yourself in her.
She tilts her head back. “Spit on me,” she breathes. “Cover my face.”
You do—thick strands landing across her cheeks, lips, and tongue. She looks gloriously debauched. You pound harder, determined to bring her over the edge first. Her moans climb, raw and unrestrained, until her body convulses violently. Her pussy clamps down around you in powerful, rhythmic waves as she cums hard, crying out your name while shaking in your arms.
When the aftershocks fade, she smiles dreamily.
K: “That was a first for me… like your body was the missing piece of my own.”
She pulls you out and guides you to stand on the deck.
K: “Hold your cock out over the pool.”
You understand what she wants. She positions herself below you, head tilted back, tongue extended, eyes closed in perfect, patient surrender.
You: “Kriti… this could destroy what’s left of your image.”
K: “Humiliate me. I don’t care. Everything is already ‘ruined’ and I’ve never been happier. Stroke it. Give me everything.”
You stroke furiously, gaze locked on her waiting face—plump lips parted, tongue out, nostrils gently flaring. The pressure builds unbearably. You drop to your knees for perfect aim.
Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupt across her beautiful face, painting her cheeks, lips, tongue, and eyelids. She remains perfectly still, receiving every drop like a sacred offering.
When you finish, she wipes a thick streak from her eye, brings it to her tongue, and swallows with a satisfied moan. She opens her eyes and winks.
K: “Do you think we put on a good show?”
You laugh through tears of overwhelming joy and reach for her. She pulls you into the water instead. You hold her close, kissing her deeply, bodies pressed together in the golden sunlight while the entire world watches.
You are, without question, the luckiest man alive.
EpilogueA short distance away, partially hidden behind decorative palms near the pool, Nupur Sanon sits with her legs spread. One hand is buried inside her soaked panties, fingers circling her swollen clit in slow, needy strokes. Her eyes are fixed on the scene—her sister, freshly fucked and glistening with cum, locked in a passionate kiss with the man from their building.
Nupur bites her lip hard, breathing ragged. She knows exactly what she’s going to do tonight.
She’s going to fuck him too.
Click to expand...
Until now…
After Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion, which you might have read above (I hope you did because the sequel picks up right after the events of chapter 1), I present to you
Salt, Sand and… Sanon?
Chapter 2: Drenched in Sin
A Fettb Original Fantasy
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
Sand, Salt and… Sanon?
Main Story
A cool sea breeze slips under the waistband of your swim trunks, brushing against your skin as you slide your right hand inside. Your fingers curl gently around your cock, already half-hard and thickening with every heartbeat. With your left hand, you tilt your sunglasses down, shielding your eyes from the harsh glare so you can fully drink in the breathtaking scene unfolding before you.
Kriti Sanon stands in the ocean, draped in a flowing saree that has become utterly indecent from the water. The wet fabric clings transparently to her body, tracing every lush curve— the full swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the generous flare of her hips. She sways and dances to some unheard melody in her head, hips rolling sensually with the rhythm of the waves. Each hypnotic movement sends another heavy throb through your cock. Your hand begins to stroke slowly, savoring the ache.
You’ve seen her pull off the most eccentric fashion on red carpets and magazine covers, always commanding attention. But this—a soaked saree in the sea—is something primal and irresistible. Your grip tightens as your mind drifts back.
It had started with a simple crush during Bareilly Ki Barfi. Then she moved into your building, and obsession bloomed. The turning point came when you watched her rehearse an action sequence through your window. Her dress caught on the sharp hook of her living room coffee table and tore open, revealing smooth, bare skin. That single accidental exposure consumed you. That night, you stroked yourself raw to the memory.
But your feelings deepened beyond the physical. You saw her genuine kindness in everyday interactions—the way she remembered small details about neighbors, her quiet empathy. One evening crystallized everything: the building gala for underprivileged children. Donations had fallen short of the target. Without hesitation, Kriti offered to strip, piece by piece, on the condition that every article of clothing removed would bring in ₹10,000 from the select audience. She had done it with grace and purpose, her eyes shining with determination to help those children. You had been there, heart pounding, watching not just a celebrity but a woman of real substance. That night cemented your devotion. In your heart, she was already yours.
The memory fades as Kriti leaps into a deeper wave. She vanishes beneath the surface for a terrifying second. You rise halfway from your tanning chair, lust momentarily replaced by worry, but she bursts upward laughing, water cascading down her radiant face. The force of the jump has unravelled her saree, revealing a tiny, tight bikini that had been serving as her blouse. The wet fabric molds perfectly to her breasts, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
She spots you. Recognition lights up her face, followed by a bright, knowing smile. She walks through the shallows directly toward the beach club where you sit.
Your pulse thunders. She’s coming for you. You wave back, trying to appear casual even as your right hand continues stroking your throbbing length inside your trunks.
Kriti doesn’t stop at the edge. She keeps walking, fingers tugging at the knot of her bikini top. The fabric falls away. Her full, perfect breasts spill free, nipples tight from the cool breeze and saltwater. She discards the top carelessly and continues forward.
Your brain stutters. Your hand moves faster, no longer pretending at discretion. She notices—and instead of shock, a playful, quirky smile curves her lips. She breaks into a run, breasts bouncing beautifully with every stride, water spraying around her toned thighs.
She’s nearly at the club entrance when her voice carries clearly over the waves and growing murmurs:
K: “Mind if I join you?”
Dozens of people on the public beach are openly staring. Phones are recording. Inside the exclusive club, the city’s elite watch in stunned silence. Kriti doesn’t care. Neither do you. Your hand keeps pumping.
You: “Wait! I’ll come get you!”
She waits patiently as a crowd forms, cameras flashing. India’s beloved star stands nearly naked, dripping wet, smiling with effortless confidence.
When you reach her, she steps close, eyes sparkling with mischief and unmistakable heat.
K: “You don’t have to be so discreet with me. I know what you feel when you look at me… the same thing all these guys are feeling right now.”
Her words sting briefly. You cup her cheek, needing her to understand.
You: “Kriti, my desire for you is undeniable, but it’s never been only lust. I fell for your drive, your kindness, your empathy. I remember the gala night when you stripped for those underprivileged kids without hesitation. That’s the woman I love. I want to be with you for the rest of my life—not just your body, but you.”
The confession spills out, raw. Heat floods your face. You cover it with your hands in embarrassment, certain she’ll pull away.
Instead, she gently lowers your hands. Her touch is tender, warm. She leans in, lips brushing your ear as she whispers softly:
K: “I’ve been waiting six long months for you to finally say that.”
Goosebumps ripple across your entire body. She takes your hand and leads you inside the club as if she is escorting you, waving casually to the hundreds of gawking onlookers.
You head to the poolside bar. She steps into the changing room, turns on the shower, and lets sea salt and sand rinse from her flawless skin. Her eyes lock onto yours with command.
K: “Stroke your cock for me. Show me exactly how much you want me.”
You obey, hand moving in long, steady strokes. She watches hungrily, then smirks.
K: “Take off your trunks. I want to see what you’re packing.”
She yanks them down herself. Your thick, seven-and-a-half-inch cock springs free, heavy and veined, pulsing in the open air. Her gaze darkens with raw approval.
She spits gracefully into her palm and wraps the slick warmth around you, stroking with perfect rhythm. The sensation nearly buckles your knees.
Just as pleasure builds, she tugs you forward by your cock and leads you out onto the pool deck.
K: “I hope you don’t mind white wine,” she teases, winking.
The words escape before you can stop them:
You: “Babe, as long as it’s from you, I wouldn’t mind if you fed me your piss.”
She stops. Tension crackles. You brace for the slap. Instead, she turns with a dark, smoldering look.
K: “Be careful what you wish for…”
She walks to the bar, selects a wine glass, and sits on the edge of a table. Without shame, she holds the glass beneath her smooth, pink pussy. A clear, golden stream flows steadily, filling it with a soft, intimate splash. Cameras roll. She ignores them completely.
She divides the warm liquid into two glasses and offers you one.
K: “Drink up, babe. I’ve got more where that came from.”
You tilt the glass and drink deeply. The bitter-sweet taste—intimate, forbidden, uniquely hers—slides down your throat like warm elixir. It should feel degrading, yet it binds you to her in the most primal way. You swallow every drop under her watchful, lust-filled gaze.
She sets the second glass on the infinity pool deck, stands bathed in sunlight, and purrs:
K: “Don’t drink that one. Pour it over me. I want you to show the entire world what I’m willing to let you do… just so I can be yours. I want everyone to know I chose you.”
You pour slowly, reverently. The warm elixir cascades down her neck, tracing shining rivulets over her full breasts, following the curve of her stomach, pooling briefly in her navel before spilling into the pool. You drop to your knees and press your tongue into her belly button, licking up every last drop of her essence. Her skin erupts in goosebumps.
She pulls you up, wraps her legs around your waist, and floats back into the water. Her slick, eager pussy lips caress the head of your cock.
K: “Get inside me. Fuck me senseless. I want our minds lost together in the ocean while our bodies lose themselves completely.”
You thrust forward. She’s incredibly tight, scorching hot, and velvety smooth. Inch by inch you sink in until you’re buried to the hilt. She gasps, nails digging into your shoulders.
K: “Not my first time… but you are going to be my last. I promise. Now fuck me.”
The words unleash something feral. You drive into her with deep, powerful strokes. Water splashes violently. Her breasts bounce rhythmically with every thrust. The chlorine creates an intoxicating mix of slippery ease and delicious friction. You lose yourself in her.
She tilts her head back. “Spit on me,” she breathes. “Cover my face.”
You do—thick strands landing across her cheeks, lips, and tongue. She looks gloriously debauched. You pound harder, determined to bring her over the edge first. Her moans climb, raw and unrestrained, until her body convulses violently. Her pussy clamps down around you in powerful, rhythmic waves as she cums hard, crying out your name while shaking in your arms.
When the aftershocks fade, she smiles dreamily.
K: “That was a first for me… like your body was the missing piece of my own.”
She pulls you out and guides you to stand on the deck.
K: “Hold your cock out over the pool.”
You understand what she wants. She positions herself below you, head tilted back, tongue extended, eyes closed in perfect, patient surrender.
You: “Kriti… this could destroy what’s left of your image.”
K: “Humiliate me. I don’t care. Everything is already ‘ruined’ and I’ve never been happier. Stroke it. Give me everything.”
You stroke furiously, gaze locked on her waiting face—plump lips parted, tongue out, nostrils gently flaring. The pressure builds unbearably. You drop to your knees for perfect aim.
Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupt across her beautiful face, painting her cheeks, lips, tongue, and eyelids. She remains perfectly still, receiving every drop like a sacred offering.
When you finish, she wipes a thick streak from her eye, brings it to her tongue, and swallows with a satisfied moan. She opens her eyes and winks.
K: “Do you think we put on a good show?”
You laugh through tears of overwhelming joy and reach for her. She pulls you into the water instead. You hold her close, kissing her deeply, bodies pressed together in the golden sunlight while the entire world watches.
You are, without question, the luckiest man alive.
EpilogueA short distance away, partially hidden behind decorative palms near the pool, Nupur Sanon sits with her legs spread. One hand is buried inside her soaked panties, fingers circling her swollen clit in slow, needy strokes. Her eyes are fixed on the scene—her sister, freshly fucked and glistening with cum, locked in a passionate kiss with the man from their building.
Nupur bites her lip hard, breathing ragged. She knows exactly what she’s going to do tonight.
She’s going to fuck him too.
Click to expand...
#SaltSandAndSanon?
Chapter 2: Drenched in Sin
The golden light of late afternoon had melted into a breathtaking sunset by the time you and Kriti settled into a semi-private corner of the beach club. A few hours had passed since the wild, shameless events at the infinity pool, but the charged energy between you refused to fade. She wore a tiny rainbow-coloured bikini, the fabric dry and clinging teasingly to her sun-warmed skin. Her legs were draped over yours under the table as you fed her pieces of chilled mango, her soft lips brushing your fingers with every bite.
The conversation felt beautifully intimate — no longer just post-sex haze, but two people who had quietly orbited each other for months finally opening up.
K: “You know… I used to catch you staring at me in the elevator. You’d look away so fast, but I always noticed. It made me smile.”
You smiled, running your hand along her smooth thigh.
You: “And I used to lie awake in my apartment listening to your footsteps in the hallway. That one time you came over at midnight because you ran out of milk for your coffee… we ended up talking for two hours on my couch. I wanted to kiss you so badly that night.”
She leaned in and kissed your neck softly. The tenderness between you ran deep. This wasn’t just lust anymore. It was connection — years of quiet glances, polite smiles, and hidden longing finally bursting open.
Her phone rang suddenly. She picked it up, her expression shifting as she recognised the number. She seemed to have been expecting this call.
K: “Hello?… Yes, this is Kriti… Yes, I did audition for Ally about two months ago… What about it?”
You watched her intently, your own heart tightening with nervous anticipation. Her worried expression slowly softened. You let out a quiet sigh of relief and relaxed your posture.
Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she squealed into the phone.
K: “I got the part?! I’m Ally?! I’m officially cast in Cocktail 2?!”
She jumped up with an ecstatic cry, eyes shining with happy tears. She grabbed your hand, laughing wildly.
K: “Babe! I got it! You remember the movie we all grew up with? Where Deepika cemented herself as a lead? I got that part in the sequel! Now I can make a name for myself. This is so exciting, I can barely contain myself! Come on, I need to run!”
Laughing with her, you let her pull you onto the warm sand. The two of you ran along the shoreline as the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in fiery oranges, pinks, and deep golds.
Waves kissed your feet while Kriti’s delighted laughter mixed with the sound of the sea. She kept looking back at you, her smile radiant, bikini strings dancing in the breeze.
After several minutes of playful chasing, you reached a stunning, semi-secluded stretch of beach framed by smooth rocks. Kriti slowed down, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. She turned to you, still in her tiny bikini, and struck a teasing pose — one hand on her hip, the other running through her hair as the golden light caressed her body.
K: “This is perfect… Just you and me under this sunset.”
The joy in her eyes quickly turned hungry. She bit her lip, gaze darkening. Without another word, she reached behind her back and untied her bikini top, letting it drop to the sand. Her full, perfect breasts spilled free, nipples already stiff. She slid her bottoms down her legs and stepped out, standing completely naked before you.
Now bare, she moved with deliberate filth — arching her back, pushing her breasts forward, then turning to show you her ass while looking over her shoulder.
K: “I’m so fucking happy… and so fucking soaked. Look what you’ve done to me.”
You pulled her into a deep kiss, tongues tangling messily. She moaned into your mouth as your hands roamed her naked body. The foreplay quickly turned dirty. She dropped to her knees in the sand and yanked your trunks down, freeing your thick, throbbing cock. Without hesitation, she spat heavily on your shaft — thick, warm strings of saliva dripping down your length — before taking you into her eager mouth.
She sucked you sloppily, drooling everywhere, letting spit run down her chin and drip onto her breasts. The wet, filthy sounds mixed with the waves.
K: “Mmm… I used to touch myself in my apartment thinking about you jerking off to me through the walls. Now I get to choke on your cock like the friendly neighbourhood slut.”
You groaned, gripping her hair as she bobbed faster, gagging herself deliberately while looking up at you with loving, lust-filled eyes. Sand stuck to her knees and thighs, adding a gritty texture as she worshipped you.
She stood up after several minutes, turned around, and bent forward, hands on her knees, ass pushed back invitingly toward you.
K: “Spit on me, babe. Get me messy like the dirty whore I am for you.”
You spat thickly onto her asshole and pussy, watching it drip down. You rubbed the saliva into her folds with your fingers, mixing it with her juices and the fine sand clinging to her skin. The gritty sensation made her moan louder. You pushed two fingers inside her, fingering her roughly while spitting on her ass again and again.
K: “Yes! Use your spit on my pussy… Fuck, I love how filthy we are together.”
Unable to wait any longer, you gripped her hips and thrust your cock deep into her tight, dripping cunt in one powerful stroke. The wet heat enveloped you completely. She cried out in pleasure, pushing back against you as you began fucking her with long, deep strokes. The sound of your bodies slapping together echoed along the beach.
Sand ground against her knees and your thighs with every thrust, adding a raw, stinging edge to the pleasure. You reached forward, grabbed her hair, and pulled her head back.
K: “Harder! Fuck me! I used to walk past your door dripping wet, hoping you’d claim me. I used to touch myself right outside your door, in open defiance of public decency, praying that my moans would carry through the walls to you.”
You gasped, the image making your cock throb harder inside her.
K: “I even showed up naked outside your door once, pretending I had mistaken it for mine… only to find out you were travelling.”
Your mind went berserk. You fucked her through her first powerful orgasm, then pulled out and painted her ass with the first thick load of cum. She moaned, reaching back to smear it over her skin, mixing it with sand and spit.
K: “I have something for you, babe… my **censored** sunset elixir.”
She stood with her legs slightly apart, right in front of you, and relaxed. A warm, golden stream of piss began to flow from her smooth pussy, splashing onto your cock and thighs. The heat of her piss contrasted beautifully with the cool ocean breeze and the sand clinging to your skin. She aimed higher, letting it spray across your abs and chest while looking into your eyes with pure devotion.
K: “Drink a little if you want… I want my neighbor to be familiar with every part of me. You know what they say about loving your neighbours don’t you?.”
You leaned forward and let some of her warm piss land on your tongue — shockingly warm, almost hot compared to the cool evening breeze. The taste was intensely intimate and complex: a bold, bitter tang at the front, followed by a surprisingly sweet, slightly salty undertone that lingered. It was unmistakably her — raw, **censored**, and deeply forbidden. The flavor was strong but clear, with a faint musky earthiness that felt primal and addictive.
As more of her golden elixir filled your mouth, the warmth spread across your tongue and down your throat. It had a smooth, almost silky texture at first, then turned sharper and more pungent as you swallowed. There was a subtle acidity that made your taste buds tingle, mixed with a delicate sweetness that reminded you of her natural scent. Tiny traces of sea salt from the ocean air only enhanced the flavor, giving it a briny edge.
It should have felt degrading, yet the act of drinking straight from your dream girl — your neighbor, your lover — filled you with overwhelming lust and devotion. The taste was filthy, intimate, and powerfully erotic all at once. You swallowed eagerly, letting her mark you from the inside.
Kriti looked down at you, eyes full of heat and affection as she continued to release her warm stream.
K: “That’s it, baby… Drink my elixir. Taste how much my body wants you.”
After she finished, she dropped to her knees again, took your piss-and-cum-covered cock into her mouth, and sucked you clean with filthy enthusiasm, mixing everything together. Sand, spit, cum, and her own piss coated her lips and chin.
K: “We’re so fucking dirty together… and I love it. I love us.”
You pulled Kriti up from her knees and kissed her deeply, your mouths crashing together in a filthy, loving mess.
The taste was overwhelming — an intense, obscene cocktail that flooded your senses all at once.
Her tongue carried the thick, salty musk of your cum, still warm and slightly bitter from where she had just sucked you clean. Mixed with it was the sharp, golden tang of her own piss. The combination created something uniquely filthy and addictive, like raw lust distilled into liquid.
The sea salt from the waves clung to her lips, giving everything a clean, briny edge that cut through the heavier tastes. But underneath it all was the gritty, earthy crunch of fine sand — tiny particles that scraped lightly against your tongue, adding a raw, almost primal texture. It tasted mineral and dirty, like the beach itself had become part of your lovemaking.
The overall flavor was complex and heady: salty, bitter, slightly sweet, musky, and earthy all at once. It was the taste of total surrender — her piss, your cum, the ocean, and the sand all blended together on her tongue.
Kriti pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, her voice husky:
K: “Can you taste us, baby? Everything we are… right there on my tongue.”
You bent her over the rock once more, spat on her asshole, rubbed your mixed fluids into her skin, and thrust back into her pussy. The added wetness made every stroke slicker and more obscene.
You pounded her relentlessly, the emotional intensity mixing with raw filth. Flashbacks hit you — the time she smiled at you while collecting her mail in tiny shorts, the night she borrowed your Wi-Fi and stayed for hours talking about her fears of being typecast. Those quiet neighbor moments made this connection feel even more profound.
You pulled out briefly, spat on your cock again, and slammed back inside. She reached back, spreading her ass cheeks for you, completely exposed and unashamed.
The sensations were overwhelming — her velvety pussy gripping you, the cool ocean breeze on your wet skin, the gritty sand rubbing against your joined bodies, and the filthy sounds of spit and juices mixing.
You changed positions. She turned to face you, lifted one leg, and you drove into her while staring into her eyes. The love between you burned bright even as the sex turned nastier.
K: “I love you… I love how you fuck me like I’m your **censored** whore. Spit in my mouth, baby.”
You did — spitting directly onto her tongue as she opened wide. She swallowed it with a moan, then begged for more. You spat on her face, watching it drip down her cheeks and mix with the sunset glow. She looked gloriously debauched — your perfect, loving neighbor now covered in your spit on a public beach.
You made her sit up on your dick again and increased the velocity of your thrusts. Her breasts swayed heavily with every thrust. You gathered more spit and let it drip down her spine, watching it run between her ass cheeks.
K: “I’m going to cum… Don’t stop! Fill your neighbor’s cunt!”
Her orgasm crashed over her violently. Her pussy clamped down around your cock in powerful waves as she screamed your name, body shaking. You kept thrusting through it, savoring every contraction.
But you weren’t done. You pulled out and turned her over on her back with your left hand, your right hand still on your dick. She lay out, straightening herself onto the sandy, salty water, head resting on the rock. She looked at you with such tenderness, your cock shivered in your own palm.
K: “Won’t you paint my body, baby? Doesn’t this slut of yours deserve your seed?”
Fuck! You stroked your glistening cock with your right hand and coated her entire body with the first thick ropes of cum — marking her skin in warm streaks.
She moaned at the feeling, reaching over to smear it over her face, her cheeks, her mouth, mixing it with course sand and spit. The piss from earlier adding a distinct glow to it all.
K: “More… Give me more of your cum, babe.”
You kept stroking, staying hard from the sight of her. She turned around, dropped to her knees again, and sucked you clean, tasting both of you mixed with sand. Then she stood, bent over once more, and begged you to keep going.
You fucked her again — slower this time, more intimate but still filthy. You spat on her ass repeatedly, rubbed your earlier cum into her skin like lotion, and thrust deep while whispering how much you loved her. The mix of love and degradation felt perfect.
You kept stroking until the final, heavy spurts landed across her perfect ass and lower back as she turned for you. She stayed there for a long moment, letting you admire the filthy masterpiece you had created on her body.
Then she straightened up, twisted her wet hair, and pulled you into a deep, spit-slick kiss, your mixed fluids still coating both of you.
K: “This is everything I’ve wanted… You, me, completely filthy and completely in love. I can’t wait to go home and tell Nupur about the role. She’s going to be so happy for us.”
You held her close, hearts beating together, the subtle promise of more adventures lingering in the warm evening air as the waves gently washed over your feet.
Starring: Kriti Sanon
A #FettbOriginal Fantasy
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
Presenting to you a new anthology of erotic stories:
Desires of the Soil
This is a collection of erotic stories from the rural heartland featuring some of my favourite actresses. Hope you enjoy the submission, debauchery and intense, steamy sex!
Starting off with one of my most impromptu stories…
Chapter 1: Holi Ki Tamannaah
A Fettb Original Fantasy
Desires of the Soil
This is a collection of erotic stories from the rural heartland featuring some of my favourite actresses. Hope you enjoy the submission, debauchery and intense, steamy sex!
Starting off with one of my most impromptu stories…
Chapter 1: Holi Ki Tamannaah
A Fettb Original Fantasy
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
#DesiresOfTheSoil
Chapter 1: Holi Ki Tamannaah
It had been a full month since Tamannaah returned to the village, and she still hadn’t found even a moment for me.
I spoke the words through gritted teeth as I brushed Rajjo’s smooth hide, adorning her with vibrant marigold garlands and colorful beads for the Holi cattle race. The old cow grunted and shuffled restlessly, picking up on the storm raging inside me. She had been my only true companion since I returned permanently from the city after finishing my education. All my school friends had scattered to distant cities or countries, chasing better lives. For years, the only thing that kept me going was the hope of reuniting with Tamannaah.
Oh, Tamannaah. She had been my “wife” in that silly school play when we were children, and from that day on, we lived as if it were real. I had mapped out our entire future before college even started: study hard in the city, return to the village, marry her, and build a beautiful rural life together. But everything collapsed when her father became Sarpanch and she stumbled into movie stardom almost by accident. Shoot schedules devoured our summers. Her visits became rare and rushed, never aligning with mine. Now that she had finally moved back to care for her ailing father, I thought fate had given us another chance.
She hadn’t even answered my call.
Today was Holi, and I refused to wait any longer.
After handing Rajjo’s reins to my step-cousin Raashi near the bustling village square, I slipped away behind the old Sarpanch tree, heart pounding with a toxic mix of anger and desperate hope. The distant rhythm of dhols and joyful shouts of villagers felt like they belonged to another world.
“Looking for me, Tommy?”
Her voice — quiet, achingly familiar, laced with wicked amusement — hit me like a lightning bolt. I froze, every nerve in my body igniting. Turning slowly, I saw her.
Tamannaah stood beneath the ancient banyan tree, completely naked. The dappled sunlight kissed her smooth, golden-brown skin, highlighting the generous curves of her full breasts, the soft swell of her belly, and the thick, inviting thighs I had dreamed of for years. A faint sheen of sweat already glowed on her body from the warm afternoon. She looked like a goddess who had stepped out of my deepest fantasies just to torment me.
The earth shifted beneath my feet.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream every ounce of betrayal and frustration that had built up over the lost years — how she had abandoned our plans the moment success called, how she had left me pining like a fool while she shone under city lights. But my mouth refused to form words. My lips moved uselessly, like a fish gasping on dry land. She noticed and let out a soft, throaty laugh that cut straight through me.
That laugh. It shattered the last fragments of my anger and flooded me with pure, overwhelming lust. My cock twitched and hardened rapidly beneath my dhoti, throbbing with years of suppressed need. All the loneliness, all the nights I had stroked myself thinking of her, crashed over me. Here she was — my childhood love, my lifelong obsession — offering herself without shame.
Her expression softened as she watched my obvious struggle. Dirty hunger flickered across her face, mirroring my own. She wanted this too. She had been waiting for me, just as I had been starving for her.
I moved toward her almost involuntarily, knees weak. She was ethereal, a living embodiment of every desire I had ever known. Grabbing a handful of bright red gulaal from the ground, I smeared it across her thigh and hip, marking her as mine in this stolen moment. My knees buckled completely, and I dropped before her in the dirt.
Tamannaah looked down at me, eyes gleaming. She stepped closer, partially squatting, bringing her clean-shaven pussy tantalizingly close to my face. The scent of her — warm, musky, with a sharp edge of fresh aftershave — made my mouth flood with saliva. She had prepared herself for this. For me.
I stuck my tongue out desperately, like a hungry dog begging for a treat. She smiled at the sight.
“Do you like this, my little Tommy?” she purred, voice thick with arousal. “After all these years, are you still this thirsty for your Tamannaah?”
I could only whimper in response, my heart exploding with devotion. This wasn’t just sex. This was my chance to worship the woman I had loved and lost and longed for. I needed to please her more than I needed air. My entire soul ached to make her moan, to prove that no one could ever worship her like I could.
She lowered herself onto my waiting tongue.
The first contact sent fireworks exploding through my senses. She tasted divine — sweet and salty, warm and intoxicating, with that clean aftershave edge that told me she had hoped for this exact moment. I licked her slowly at first, savoring every fold, tracing her swollen lips, circling her clit with reverent devotion. My desire to please her grew exponentially with every moan that escaped her lips. Each twitch of her hips, each gasp, fueled me. I pushed my tongue deeper, sucking gently on her clit, losing myself completely in her pleasure. This was my purpose. Making Tamannaah feel good was the only thing that mattered in the world.
Her fingers tightened in my hair as she ground against my face. “Yes… just like that,” she moaned, her voice breaking with genuine need. She wanted me. Not some city actor or fan. Me. Her Tommy.
When my tongue grew slick and lost friction, she stood and pulled me up into a fierce embrace. Her soft, full breasts pressed against my chest, her familiar musk filling my lungs. She kissed me deeply, tasting herself on my lips, then shoved my face back playfully with a gulaal-covered hand, coloring me as she aligned our bodies.
She guided my aching cock to her entrance and sank down onto me.
The moment my tip pushed past her tight, wet folds, the world stopped existing. A decade of pining, of lonely nights, of wondering if I would ever feel her again — it all vanished in the scorching, slippery embrace of her pussy. Tears pricked at my eyes from the sheer intensity of it. This was home. This was everything I had dreamed of and more. Her walls clenched around me like they had been waiting just as desperately. I groaned her name like a prayer, my legs trembling as pure elation flooded every cell in my body.
We moved together, my thrusts matching the hungry roll of her hips. Her sighs turned into full-throated moans that sent my heart racing wildly. The wet slap of our bodies, the smear of colors between us, the distant festival sounds — it all blended into a haze of bliss. I fought not to cum too soon, wanting this to last forever. She noticed my struggle and smiled, pulling away briefly before lowering me to the ground and mounting me properly.
Tamannaah took full control, riding me with powerful, demanding strokes. She used my cock like it existed solely for her pleasure, and I surrendered completely, moaning shamelessly. Looking up at her — breasts bouncing, body painted in red and my devotion, eyes locked on mine with raw hunger — I felt like I was ascending.
But she wanted to break me even further.
She suddenly lifted off my cock, leaving me throbbing and desperate. Raising her arm, she exposed the smooth, sweat-glistened skin of her armpit, dotted with tiny dark shaved hairs and shining with the evidence of her exertion.
“Now, drink,” she instructed, her voice commanding and regal, every inch the Sarpanch’s daughter.
I obeyed instantly, leaning up to press my tongue against her warm, salty skin. The taste hit me like a divine elixir — sharp, intimate, deeply feminine, carrying the essence of her effort, her desire, her dominance. It was more than sweat. It was her raw life force, the flavor of years of separation finally bridged. A strange, transcendent tingling spread from my spine to my knees and beyond. I felt complete. Whole. As if every missing piece of my soul had been restored through this single act of submission. I licked and sucked with fervent worship, savoring the tiny hairs against my tongue, drinking her sweat like it was the only thing keeping me alive. Elation surged through me in waves so powerful I nearly blacked out. This was nirvana. This was love in its most primal, honest form.
While my tongue devoured her armpit, she stroked my cock with firm, knowing strokes.
She leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Drench me with the colour of your life.”
The words sent lightning through me. She remembered. That long-ago night when I had begged to cum on her tits for the first time. She had wrinkled her nose at first, but I had joked, “It’s not disgusting if you think of it as colouring your body with my life.” She had laughed then, rolled her eyes, and let me. It had been the most intense orgasm of my young life.
Until now.
Hearing her repeat it, voice husky with shared memory and fresh lust, destroyed whatever control I had left. I exploded violently. Thick, powerful ropes of cum erupted from me, painting her stomach, her heaving breasts, her neck, and her outstretched tongue as she leaned down to catch it. She moaned in delight, savoring my taste exactly as she had years ago.
“After all these years,” she breathed, licking her lips with a satisfied smile, “you still taste like mine.”
The overwhelming rush — the years of longing finally released, the validation of her desire matching mine, the sacred taste of her sweat still lingering on my tongue — was too much.
My vision blurred. The world tilted.
I fainted with a smile on my face, knowing this was only the beginning.
Starring: Tamannaah Bhatia
A #FettbOriginal Fantasy
Chapter 1: Holi Ki Tamannaah
It had been a full month since Tamannaah returned to the village, and she still hadn’t found even a moment for me.
I spoke the words through gritted teeth as I brushed Rajjo’s smooth hide, adorning her with vibrant marigold garlands and colorful beads for the Holi cattle race. The old cow grunted and shuffled restlessly, picking up on the storm raging inside me. She had been my only true companion since I returned permanently from the city after finishing my education. All my school friends had scattered to distant cities or countries, chasing better lives. For years, the only thing that kept me going was the hope of reuniting with Tamannaah.
Oh, Tamannaah. She had been my “wife” in that silly school play when we were children, and from that day on, we lived as if it were real. I had mapped out our entire future before college even started: study hard in the city, return to the village, marry her, and build a beautiful rural life together. But everything collapsed when her father became Sarpanch and she stumbled into movie stardom almost by accident. Shoot schedules devoured our summers. Her visits became rare and rushed, never aligning with mine. Now that she had finally moved back to care for her ailing father, I thought fate had given us another chance.
She hadn’t even answered my call.
Today was Holi, and I refused to wait any longer.
After handing Rajjo’s reins to my step-cousin Raashi near the bustling village square, I slipped away behind the old Sarpanch tree, heart pounding with a toxic mix of anger and desperate hope. The distant rhythm of dhols and joyful shouts of villagers felt like they belonged to another world.
“Looking for me, Tommy?”
Her voice — quiet, achingly familiar, laced with wicked amusement — hit me like a lightning bolt. I froze, every nerve in my body igniting. Turning slowly, I saw her.
Tamannaah stood beneath the ancient banyan tree, completely naked. The dappled sunlight kissed her smooth, golden-brown skin, highlighting the generous curves of her full breasts, the soft swell of her belly, and the thick, inviting thighs I had dreamed of for years. A faint sheen of sweat already glowed on her body from the warm afternoon. She looked like a goddess who had stepped out of my deepest fantasies just to torment me.
The earth shifted beneath my feet.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream every ounce of betrayal and frustration that had built up over the lost years — how she had abandoned our plans the moment success called, how she had left me pining like a fool while she shone under city lights. But my mouth refused to form words. My lips moved uselessly, like a fish gasping on dry land. She noticed and let out a soft, throaty laugh that cut straight through me.
That laugh. It shattered the last fragments of my anger and flooded me with pure, overwhelming lust. My cock twitched and hardened rapidly beneath my dhoti, throbbing with years of suppressed need. All the loneliness, all the nights I had stroked myself thinking of her, crashed over me. Here she was — my childhood love, my lifelong obsession — offering herself without shame.
Her expression softened as she watched my obvious struggle. Dirty hunger flickered across her face, mirroring my own. She wanted this too. She had been waiting for me, just as I had been starving for her.
I moved toward her almost involuntarily, knees weak. She was ethereal, a living embodiment of every desire I had ever known. Grabbing a handful of bright red gulaal from the ground, I smeared it across her thigh and hip, marking her as mine in this stolen moment. My knees buckled completely, and I dropped before her in the dirt.
Tamannaah looked down at me, eyes gleaming. She stepped closer, partially squatting, bringing her clean-shaven pussy tantalizingly close to my face. The scent of her — warm, musky, with a sharp edge of fresh aftershave — made my mouth flood with saliva. She had prepared herself for this. For me.
I stuck my tongue out desperately, like a hungry dog begging for a treat. She smiled at the sight.
“Do you like this, my little Tommy?” she purred, voice thick with arousal. “After all these years, are you still this thirsty for your Tamannaah?”
I could only whimper in response, my heart exploding with devotion. This wasn’t just sex. This was my chance to worship the woman I had loved and lost and longed for. I needed to please her more than I needed air. My entire soul ached to make her moan, to prove that no one could ever worship her like I could.
She lowered herself onto my waiting tongue.
The first contact sent fireworks exploding through my senses. She tasted divine — sweet and salty, warm and intoxicating, with that clean aftershave edge that told me she had hoped for this exact moment. I licked her slowly at first, savoring every fold, tracing her swollen lips, circling her clit with reverent devotion. My desire to please her grew exponentially with every moan that escaped her lips. Each twitch of her hips, each gasp, fueled me. I pushed my tongue deeper, sucking gently on her clit, losing myself completely in her pleasure. This was my purpose. Making Tamannaah feel good was the only thing that mattered in the world.
Her fingers tightened in my hair as she ground against my face. “Yes… just like that,” she moaned, her voice breaking with genuine need. She wanted me. Not some city actor or fan. Me. Her Tommy.
When my tongue grew slick and lost friction, she stood and pulled me up into a fierce embrace. Her soft, full breasts pressed against my chest, her familiar musk filling my lungs. She kissed me deeply, tasting herself on my lips, then shoved my face back playfully with a gulaal-covered hand, coloring me as she aligned our bodies.
She guided my aching cock to her entrance and sank down onto me.
The moment my tip pushed past her tight, wet folds, the world stopped existing. A decade of pining, of lonely nights, of wondering if I would ever feel her again — it all vanished in the scorching, slippery embrace of her pussy. Tears pricked at my eyes from the sheer intensity of it. This was home. This was everything I had dreamed of and more. Her walls clenched around me like they had been waiting just as desperately. I groaned her name like a prayer, my legs trembling as pure elation flooded every cell in my body.
We moved together, my thrusts matching the hungry roll of her hips. Her sighs turned into full-throated moans that sent my heart racing wildly. The wet slap of our bodies, the smear of colors between us, the distant festival sounds — it all blended into a haze of bliss. I fought not to cum too soon, wanting this to last forever. She noticed my struggle and smiled, pulling away briefly before lowering me to the ground and mounting me properly.
Tamannaah took full control, riding me with powerful, demanding strokes. She used my cock like it existed solely for her pleasure, and I surrendered completely, moaning shamelessly. Looking up at her — breasts bouncing, body painted in red and my devotion, eyes locked on mine with raw hunger — I felt like I was ascending.
But she wanted to break me even further.
She suddenly lifted off my cock, leaving me throbbing and desperate. Raising her arm, she exposed the smooth, sweat-glistened skin of her armpit, dotted with tiny dark shaved hairs and shining with the evidence of her exertion.
“Now, drink,” she instructed, her voice commanding and regal, every inch the Sarpanch’s daughter.
I obeyed instantly, leaning up to press my tongue against her warm, salty skin. The taste hit me like a divine elixir — sharp, intimate, deeply feminine, carrying the essence of her effort, her desire, her dominance. It was more than sweat. It was her raw life force, the flavor of years of separation finally bridged. A strange, transcendent tingling spread from my spine to my knees and beyond. I felt complete. Whole. As if every missing piece of my soul had been restored through this single act of submission. I licked and sucked with fervent worship, savoring the tiny hairs against my tongue, drinking her sweat like it was the only thing keeping me alive. Elation surged through me in waves so powerful I nearly blacked out. This was nirvana. This was love in its most primal, honest form.
While my tongue devoured her armpit, she stroked my cock with firm, knowing strokes.
She leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Drench me with the colour of your life.”
The words sent lightning through me. She remembered. That long-ago night when I had begged to cum on her tits for the first time. She had wrinkled her nose at first, but I had joked, “It’s not disgusting if you think of it as colouring your body with my life.” She had laughed then, rolled her eyes, and let me. It had been the most intense orgasm of my young life.
Until now.
Hearing her repeat it, voice husky with shared memory and fresh lust, destroyed whatever control I had left. I exploded violently. Thick, powerful ropes of cum erupted from me, painting her stomach, her heaving breasts, her neck, and her outstretched tongue as she leaned down to catch it. She moaned in delight, savoring my taste exactly as she had years ago.
“After all these years,” she breathed, licking her lips with a satisfied smile, “you still taste like mine.”
The overwhelming rush — the years of longing finally released, the validation of her desire matching mine, the sacred taste of her sweat still lingering on my tongue — was too much.
My vision blurred. The world tilted.
I fainted with a smile on my face, knowing this was only the beginning.
Starring: Tamannaah Bhatia
A #FettbOriginal Fantasy
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
Salt, Sand and… Sanon?
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 1 of 11]
A cool sea breeze slips under the waistband of your swim trunks, brushing against your skin as you slide your right hand inside. Your fingers curl gently around your cock, already half-hard and thickening with every heartbeat. With your left hand, you tilt your sunglasses down, shielding your eyes from the harsh glare so you can fully drink in the breathtaking scene unfolding before you.
Kriti Sanon stands in the ocean, draped in a flowing saree that has become utterly indecent from the water. The wet fabric clings transparently to her body, tracing every lush curve— the full swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the generous flare of her hips. She sways and dances to some unheard melody in her head, hips rolling sensually with the rhythm of the waves. Each hypnotic movement sends another heavy throb through your cock. Your hand begins to stroke slowly, savoring the ache.
You’ve seen her pull off the most eccentric fashion on red carpets and magazine covers, always commanding attention. But this—a soaked saree in the sea—is something primal and irresistible. Your grip tightens as your mind drifts back.
It had started with a simple crush during Bareilly Ki Barfi. Then she moved into your building, and obsession bloomed. The turning point came when you watched her rehearse an action sequence through your window. Her dress caught on the sharp hook of her living room coffee table and tore open, revealing smooth, bare skin. That single accidental exposure consumed you. That night, you stroked yourself raw to the memory.
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 1 of 11]
A cool sea breeze slips under the waistband of your swim trunks, brushing against your skin as you slide your right hand inside. Your fingers curl gently around your cock, already half-hard and thickening with every heartbeat. With your left hand, you tilt your sunglasses down, shielding your eyes from the harsh glare so you can fully drink in the breathtaking scene unfolding before you.
Kriti Sanon stands in the ocean, draped in a flowing saree that has become utterly indecent from the water. The wet fabric clings transparently to her body, tracing every lush curve— the full swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the generous flare of her hips. She sways and dances to some unheard melody in her head, hips rolling sensually with the rhythm of the waves. Each hypnotic movement sends another heavy throb through your cock. Your hand begins to stroke slowly, savoring the ache.
You’ve seen her pull off the most eccentric fashion on red carpets and magazine covers, always commanding attention. But this—a soaked saree in the sea—is something primal and irresistible. Your grip tightens as your mind drifts back.
It had started with a simple crush during Bareilly Ki Barfi. Then she moved into your building, and obsession bloomed. The turning point came when you watched her rehearse an action sequence through your window. Her dress caught on the sharp hook of her living room coffee table and tore open, revealing smooth, bare skin. That single accidental exposure consumed you. That night, you stroked yourself raw to the memory.
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
Salt, Sand and… Sanon?
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 2 of 11]
But your feelings deepened beyond the physical. You saw her genuine kindness in everyday interactions—the way she remembered small details about neighbors, her quiet empathy. One evening crystallized everything: the building gala for underprivileged children. Donations had fallen short of the target. Without hesitation, Kriti offered to strip, piece by piece, on the condition that every article of clothing removed would bring in ₹10,000 from the select audience. She had done it with grace and purpose, her eyes shining with determination to help those children. You had been there, heart pounding, watching not just a celebrity but a woman of real substance. That night cemented your devotion. In your heart, she was already yours.
The memory fades as Kriti leaps into a deeper wave. She vanishes beneath the surface for a terrifying second. You rise halfway from your tanning chair, lust momentarily replaced by worry, but she bursts upward laughing, water cascading down her radiant face. The force of the jump has unravelled her saree, revealing a tiny, tight bikini that had been serving as her blouse. The wet fabric molds perfectly to her breasts, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 2 of 11]
But your feelings deepened beyond the physical. You saw her genuine kindness in everyday interactions—the way she remembered small details about neighbors, her quiet empathy. One evening crystallized everything: the building gala for underprivileged children. Donations had fallen short of the target. Without hesitation, Kriti offered to strip, piece by piece, on the condition that every article of clothing removed would bring in ₹10,000 from the select audience. She had done it with grace and purpose, her eyes shining with determination to help those children. You had been there, heart pounding, watching not just a celebrity but a woman of real substance. That night cemented your devotion. In your heart, she was already yours.
The memory fades as Kriti leaps into a deeper wave. She vanishes beneath the surface for a terrifying second. You rise halfway from your tanning chair, lust momentarily replaced by worry, but she bursts upward laughing, water cascading down her radiant face. The force of the jump has unravelled her saree, revealing a tiny, tight bikini that had been serving as her blouse. The wet fabric molds perfectly to her breasts, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
Salt, Sand and… Sanon?
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 3 of 11]
She spots you. Recognition lights up her face, followed by a bright, knowing smile. She walks through the shallows directly toward the beach club where you sit.
Your pulse thunders. She’s coming for you. You wave back, trying to appear casual even as your right hand continues stroking your throbbing length inside your trunks.
Kriti doesn’t stop at the edge. She keeps walking, fingers tugging at the knot of her bikini top. The fabric falls away. Her full, perfect breasts spill free, nipples tight from the cool breeze and saltwater. She discards the top carelessly and continues forward.
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 3 of 11]
She spots you. Recognition lights up her face, followed by a bright, knowing smile. She walks through the shallows directly toward the beach club where you sit.
Your pulse thunders. She’s coming for you. You wave back, trying to appear casual even as your right hand continues stroking your throbbing length inside your trunks.
Kriti doesn’t stop at the edge. She keeps walking, fingers tugging at the knot of her bikini top. The fabric falls away. Her full, perfect breasts spill free, nipples tight from the cool breeze and saltwater. She discards the top carelessly and continues forward.
- Joined
- Dec 5, 2013
- Messages
- 56,849
Salt, Sand and… Sanon?
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 4 of 11]
Your brain stutters. Your hand moves faster, no longer pretending at discretion. She notices—and instead of shock, a playful, quirky smile curves her lips. She breaks into a run, breasts bouncing beautifully with every stride, water spraying around her toned thighs.
She’s nearly at the club entrance when her voice carries clearly over the waves and growing murmurs:
K: “Mind if I join you?”
Chapter 1: Drenched in Devotion
[Section 4 of 11]
Your brain stutters. Your hand moves faster, no longer pretending at discretion. She notices—and instead of shock, a playful, quirky smile curves her lips. She breaks into a run, breasts bouncing beautifully with every stride, water spraying around her toned thighs.
She’s nearly at the club entrance when her voice carries clearly over the waves and growing murmurs:
K: “Mind if I join you?”
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