Dawn’s Indulgence
The double bed in their shared Chandigarh apartment creaked under the weight of two bodies, sweat-slicked and tangled in the sheets. The air was thick with the musk of sex, the scent of raw masculinity, and the faint, earthy aroma of the night’s whiskey still clinging to their skin. The first light of dawn bled through the curtains, painting the room in a dim, golden haze—just enough to illuminate the scene unfolding on the bed.
Mohit Sharma, fair and devastatingly handsome, was on all fours, his lean, hairless body arched under the relentless force of Ravinder Singh. His grey eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were glazed with pleasure, his lips parted in a silent gasp as Ravinder’s thick, 8-inch cock pistoned into him. The only hair on Mohit’s body was the dark, neatly trimmed patch above his 7-inch cock, which Ravinder fondled with a rough, possessive grip, his calloused fingers tracing the veins as he fucked him.
Ravinder, a towering 6’4, loomed over Mohit, his lightly tanned, beefy frame a wall of muscle and power. His mustache twitched as he grunted, his brown eyes burning with a mix of lust and something deeper. His chest, thick with hair, brushed against Mohit’s back as he leaned in, his breath hot against Mohit’s ear. “You’re taking me so well, bhai,” he growled, his voice rough with exertion.
Mohit moaned, his body trembling as Ravinder’s hips slammed into him, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the small room. “Harder…” he panted, his voice muffled against the pillow. Ravinder obeyed, his grip on Mohit’s hips bruising as he drove into him with punishing force, the bed groaning under their weight.
Between ragged breaths, Ravinder’s voice dropped to a teasing murmur. “So, Mohit-ji, still excited for your first night after marriage next week?” His free hand snaked around Mohit’s waist, fingers digging into the lean muscle of his stomach. “Your fiancée must be a lucky girl. Getting a husband who knows how to last so long in bed.”
Mohit let out a breathless laugh, his body shuddering as Ravinder’s cock hit that perfect spot inside him. “She’s… she’s beautiful,” he gasped. “Fair, like the moon. And her gaal…” He trailed off with a groan as Ravinder twisted his nipple. “You’ll see. You’ll meet her at the wedding.”
Ravinder chuckled darkly, his hips never slowing. “And here I thought I’d be the first one to get married.” He leaned down, his mustache brushing Mohit’s neck. “But no, Mohit-ji, you’ve beaten me to it. Married at 22, while I’m still here, buried balls-deep in your tight little ass.”
Mohit’s cock twitched in Ravinder’s hand. “Don’t worry, Ravi,” he panted. “Yours is fixed too. January, right? The army man’s daughter?”
“Haan,” Ravinder grunted, his rhythm faltering for just a second as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. “But she won’t be the one making me come like this.” His free hand slid down, fingers pressing against Mohit’s entrance. “No one takes my cock like you do, bhai.” They’d already decided—their wives would stay in the village, and they’d return every weekend or on holidays to be with them. The rest of the time, they’d be together in the city, just like this.
Ravinder and Mohit had been neighbors and childhood best friends, growing up together in a village near Karnal, Haryana. They had done all sorts of mischiefs together, gone to school together, played together, smoked and drank for the first time together. They had been inseparable. They even passed high school together and got government jobs together. Both had cracked the same SSC CHSL exam—now Mohit was a clerk and Ravinder a Havildar. They both worked in Chandigarh and thus had rented an apartment together. Both were young, 22-year-old strapping and fun-loving, rowdy and boisterous like Haryanvi men. They were getting married early, as their village customs dictated. Even if they hadn’t been shy about being intimate with other girls after coming to the city, built like good traditional desi Haryanvi men, they chose to marry the girls their parents and family chose for them.
Ravinder and Mohit had always been attracted to girls like normal boys and men. Otherwise, it would have been tough if they were gay in a tough, rowdy, patriarchal Haryanvi village society. But secretly, they had also been extremely attracted to each other. For years before getting a job and coming to Chandigarh, they bathed together at the pump well at their neighboring fields. Both families shared the water from the groundwater pump for irrigation, and men from both families would go to the fields to bathe. Earlier, they would be taken by their fathers or older brothers when they were young. Later, they would go with each other alone when they grew up a bit and were shy around the nude older men and older boys taking bath.
They had seen each other naked since they were young, running around in the fields naked while elders bathed themselves.
Nine years ago, when they were young boys, they were playing in the sugarcane fields when they stumbled upon a secluded corner where wheat straw from the last harvest had been piled high. Curiosity led them to peek through a gap in the straw, where they saw a scene that would forever change them.
Ravinder’s oldest brother, then a young man, was bent over a woman, his muscular back rippling as he thrust into her from behind. Mohit’s youngest uncle stood in front of her, his cock in her mouth, his hands kneading her breasts. Two other village boys stood nearby, their own cocks in hand, stroking themselves as they watched. The woman, lost in pleasure, moaned as the men took turns with her, their movements rough and unapologetic.
Ravinder and Mohit watched, transfixed. Their lungis tented as their young cocks hardened, aching with a need they didn’t fully understand. A twig snapped under Mohit’s foot, and the group stilled. Panic surged through them, and they ran to the pump well, their chests heaving, their cocks still painfully hard.
Mohit was the first to break the silence, his voice shaky with laughter. “Did you see… did you see bhaiya’s cock?”
Ravinder barked out a laugh, his face flushed. “It was huge.” He glanced down at Mohit’s erection, then at his own. “Mine is bigger than yours.”
Mohit scoffed, his eyes flicking down. “Look, mine is longer than yours.”
Ravinder grinned. “Just a little bit. Look, mine is so much thicker. Last time we measured, mine was bigger.”
Without another word, Ravinder began stroking his own cock, copying the movements of the elder boys they had just seen. Mohit watched, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Ravinder, already liking the sensation, replied, “Copying the elder guys. Want to see what’s so fun in it.”
Mohit just kept looking, not doing anything. So Ravinder grabbed Mohit’s cock with his other hand and started stroking it. “You’re too shy to try. Let me help you.”
Their hands moved in unison, their breaths growing ragged. The world around them faded—the fields, the well, the distant shouts of the village. There was only this: the slick slide of skin on skin, the shared heat between them, the unspoken understanding that this was theirs.
When they came, it was together—an electrifying rush, a sensation neither had ever felt before. Their bodies trembled, their cocks pulsing as ropes of cum spilled over their fingers. The pleasure was overwhelming, a spark that ignited something deep within them, something that would shape their relationship forever.
This experience shaped their bond into what it was today.
