AAROHI:
I lay there long after everyone left. Long after the doctor packed her bag. Long after his footsteps disappeared down the hallway. My throat felt tight as if someone had wrapped invisible fingers around it and squeezed and squeezed until even breathing hurt.
my name is mahi, i wrote stories in almost all genre, but dark romance is my main genre. it took too much time and efforts to make chapters.
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The mango farm is silent under the silver moonlight. Meena's thin cotton saree clings to her curves as she walks through the trees, her heavy breasts swaying with every step. She can smell him before she sees him, and something wild. Vihan emerges from the shadows, shirtless, his broad chest glistening. His eyes burn into her, dark and hungry. "AAHH, Vihan tum mere ho aur main tumhari." she moans, her voice trembling. He closes the distance in three strides, his hands grabbing her hips, pulling her against his hard body. His lips crash onto hers, rough and demanding, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. "Meri pyaari chut." he growls against her lips, his hand sliding down her stomach, under her saree. "Meri pyari gaand." He spins her around, pushing her against the rough bark of a mango tree. His hands tear at her blouse, exposing her heavy, oiled breasts. He kneels behind her, his mouth finding her nipple, sucking hard. "AAAHHH, Vihan. chus lo.....aur zor se....." she cries out, her back arching. He slaps her ass, hard, making her yelp. "Tum meri ho, Meena. Sab kuch mera hai. Tumhare doodh mere hain. Tumhari gaand meri hai. Tumhari chut meri hai." He lifts her saree, exposing her thick, round ass. He spreads her cheeks, groaning at the sight. "Kitni sexy hai........kitni moti......." he breathes, slapping her ass again. He pushes her against the tree, his cock pressing against her wet entrance. She moans, pushing back against him. "Chodo mujhe, Vihan...... chodo....." she begs. He slams into her, and she screams. The mangoes fall from the tree above them as he fucks her hard, rough, claiming her. His hands grip her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. "AAAHHH...... MERI PYARI CHUT..... KITNI GARAM HAI....." he growls, his thrusts getting faster. "HAAN VIHAN, CHODO MUJHE, AAHHH....." she screams, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. He reaches around, squeezing her heavy melons, pinching her nipples. She comes, her body convulsing, her juices running down her thighs. But he doesn't stop. He flips her around, lifting her legs, fucking her against the tree. Her big ass jiggles with every impact. Her breasts press against his chest. "TUM MERI HO, MEENA....." he roars, filling her with his hot seed. She collapses against him, panting, trembling. He holds her, his arms wrapped around her, his lips on her neck. "Raat abhi baaki hai," he whispers. "Aur main abhi khatam nahi hua."
![DESIRE AT DUSK | 18+ [103 sales]](https://sk0.blr1.cdn.digitaloceanspaces.com/sites/982064/posts/2149377/HER-POSESSIVE-KING-1-yfgjpdciwt1790843191.png)
She thinks that no single man could satisfy her desires. Mohini, her name means "enchantress," and she has lived up to it in every way. Her body is a beauty of curves that make men weep, her breasts full and heavy with nipples the color of deep wine, her waist narrow enough for a man's hands to span completely, her hips wide and demanding. One man, she discovered early, was never enough. Two could sometimes bring her to the edge. Three could make her scream. But even then, when the pleasure faded and the bodies lay spent around her, she felt the emptiness creeping back. Then she heard the whispers. Rudra. A man whose very name made married women blush and virgins tremble. A man who, they said, could satisfy a hundred women in a single night and still rise hungry for more. Mohini laughed when she first heard the tales. She had heard such boasts before. Every man thought himself a stallion until he collapsed, panting and spent, while she lay beside him still aching, still empty, still burning. They said his cock was so thick that no woman had ever taken him fully. They said that once a woman tasted Rudra, she could never be satisfied by another man again. Mohini decided she would be the exception. She would find this Rudra. She would take him to her bed. And she would prove, once and for all, that no man no matter how legendary could quench the fire that burned inside her. She was wrong. Rudra is not a man. He is a force of nature wrapped in human flesh, a storm given form, a hunger given purpose. He has spent his life learning the art of pleasure, studying the female body the way a scholar studies ancient texts, mastering every technique, every touch, every secret that can make a woman lose herself completely. When Mohini comes to him, he sees her for what she truly is: not a woman of insatiable desire, but a woman who has never been properly claimed. She has taken lovers, yes. But no man has ever taken her fully without reservation. Rudra intends to change that. He learns every inch of her body, discovers every secret desire she has hidden even from herself, and uses that knowledge to break down every wall she has built. He takes her in ways she has never been taken slow and torturous, hard and punishing, tender and worshipful. He uses his mouth, his hands, his cock, his voice. He binds her, teases her, denies her, then gives her more pleasure than she can bear. He makes her beg. He makes her scream. He makes her cry. And when she thinks she can take no more, he shows her that she can. One night with Rudra, the whispers had said. And you will never need another man. This is a story of ultimate surrender. Of a woman who thought she could never be tamed and the man who proved her wrong. Of bodies pushed to their limits and beyond. Of pleasure so intense it becomes pain, and pain so exquisite it becomes pleasure. Of a claim so complete that Mohini emerges not broken, but reborn a woman who has finally found the one man who can match her fire with his own. Heavy breasts. Pierced nipples. Bound flesh. Stretched limits. Public claiming. Private worship. And a love story written in sweat, milk, and complete devotion.
A student professor romance 💖 Navya Trivedi only wanted to survive her second year of college. Instead, she finds herself under the gaze of Yuvraj Singhania-her new professor, the cold and untouchable heir who runs the entire university. He doesn't smile. He doesn't care. He isn't supposed to notice her. But when a letter slips under her door with her name on it, signed by no one... she realizes someone is watching. Each letter is darker than the last. Each word blurs the line between obsession and love. And when she discovers who's writing them-her professor-Navya is dragged into a dangerous game of secrets, control, and forbidden desire. He warned her not to look at him. But what happens when she can't look away? 🔥 Forbidden love. 🔥 Dark obsession. 🔥 A professor who hides more than he teaches.
![HER POSESSIVE KING | 18+ [458 sales]](https://sk0.blr1.cdn.digitaloceanspaces.com/sites/982064/posts/1950765/HER-POSESSIVE-KING-foffhkswjz1790843025.png)
ALL SMUT | 100 CHAPTERS HISTORICAL FANTASY ROMANCE [contain explicit themes 18+] People say Anantgadh is a cursed kingdom. A place where white marble palaces hide dangerous secrets... and Devraath brides lose themselves behind royal veils. Saranya entered Anantgadh as a guest. She stayed as the wife of Rajveer Singh Devraath. The future king. The most feared man in the kingdom. Cold. Possessive. Untouchable. A man who never asks twice. Inside Devraath Mahal, Saranya slowly learns the rules of being his wife. wear his sindoor, carry his name, obey his commands, and never forget who she belongs to. Because Rajveer does not love softly. He loves with ownership. And the moment he touched sindoor to her forehead... Saranya stopped belonging to herself. In Anantgadh, power wears a crown. But obsession wears the name... Rajveer Singh Devraath.
Holi. The festival of colors. The air thick with the scent of gulal and the sound of laughter. Maya had never seen such chaos. The village square was alive with bodies, men and women drenched in pink, red, yellow, and green. Drums beat a frantic rhythm, and voices rose in song. She clutched her mother's hand, trying to navigate through the crowd. "Stay close," her mother warned. "These festivals bring out the worst in men." Maya nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd. She was eighteen, newly of age, and the village had already begun whispering about her beauty. Her heavy breasts strained against her cotton blouse, and her wide hips swayed with every step. She knew the men stared. She knew the women envied. But she had never been the center of such attention until today. That was when she saw him. He stood at the edge of the crowd, tall and imposing, his broad shoulders cutting through the chaos like a knife. He was not dancing, not celebrating. He simply watched. His eyes were dark, intense, and they were fixed on her. Maya felt her breath catch. She tried to look away, but his gaze held her captive. He was older, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six with a jaw carved from stone and a body that spoke of hard labor. He wore the clothes of a wealthy man, not a farmer. His hands were rough, scarred, the hands of a warrior. "Who is that?" Maya whispered to her mother. Her mother followed her gaze and paled. "That is Dev Suvarnavath," she said, her voice trembling. "The son of the King of Vikatana. He is not someone we should look at, Maya. He is dangerous." But it was too late. Dev's eyes met hers, and in that moment, Maya felt something shift inside her. It was not love. It was not even attraction. It was fear and something darker. Something that made her thighs clench and her heart race. He smiled. It was a slow, predatory smile that made her blood run cold. And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd. Three days later, Maya's father received a letter sealed with the royal crest. "The King of Vikatana requests the hand of your daughter, Maya, in marriage to his son, Dev Suvarnavath." Her mother wept. Her father trembled. And Maya stood frozen, her hand pressed to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. She knew she had no choice. A royal command was not a request it was a decree. Her family would be ruined if she refused. But the thought of those dark, predatory eyes made her stomach churn with a strange mixture of fear and excitement. She was to be married to a man she had only seen once. She was to be owned by a king. And she knew, deep in her bones, that her life would never be the same.
An aarange marriage story of abhimanyu and aaradhya.🧡 Yaduvanshi Haveli does not forgive mistakes. And tonight- Aaradhya forgot her veil. She steps out of their room in a soft cotton saree, hair loose down her back, sindoor bright in her maang, unaware that the air itself has shifted. Then- A voice behind her. Calm. Measured. Not loud. "Aaradhya." She freezes. Not because he shouted. Because he didn't. She turns slowly. Abhimanyusingh Yaduvanshi stands at the end of the corridor, hands clasped behind his back, eyes steady. The kind of steady that doesn't blink. His gaze does not move to her face first. It moves to her uncovered head. A pause. Then he walks toward her. Unhurried. Each step deliberate against marble floors. She instinctively lifts her pallu halfway, flustered. "Woh... main bas paani lene-" He stops in front of her. Close enough that she can smell sandalwood and authority. He gently takes the loose end of her saree from her trembling fingers. Not harsh. Not angry. Precise. He lifts it himself and places it over her head, adjusting it carefully until it shadows her forehead. His fingers linger for one second too long. Then he speaks softly. "Tumhe pata hai, is haveli mein ghunghat sirf kapda nahi hota." She swallows. "Ji..." He tilts his head slightly. "Yeh maryada hoti hai." His thumb lightly presses the edge of the veil near her temple. "Yeh izzat hoti hai." She lowers her eyes automatically. He leans closer. His voice drops, almost intimate. "Yahan ki auratein bina ijazat dhoop tak nahi dekhti... aur tum bina ghunghat dehleez paar kar gayi." It isn't a threat. It's information. She whispers, "Galti ho gayi..." "galti ki saza bhi milegi, Aaradhya" "is saza ke baad aap kabhi bhul ke bhi galti nahi kar payengi " Trope✨ arrange marriage arranged by him obsession addiction
HISTORICAL MATURE ROMANCE "A prince entered the forest seeking prey. Instead, he found the woman who would become his destiny." In the ancient fantasy world of Aaryavarta, where kingdoms rise beneath the blessings of forgotten gods and forests hide secrets older than time itself, fate begins with a single forbidden glance. Nayantara is a spirited village girl from the secluded settlement of Antravan, living on the edge of the sacred Mahavan Aranya. Fierce, stubborn, and unwilling to surrender her heart to a man driven only by desire, she dreams of a love powerful enough to consume every corner of her soul. Far beyond the forest lies Rudragarh, the kingdom of warriors and kings. Its crown prince, Rudraveer, is destined to inherit a throne stained with blood, politics, and ambition. When a hunting expedition leads him deep into the forbidden woods, he discovers a hidden sanctuary known only in village legends, the mystical Muktasar, the Pond of Pearls. There, beneath silver sunlight and beside waters white as moonlit pearls, he sees a masked young woman performing an ancient bridal ritual. One glance becomes an obsession. One meeting becomes destiny. One touch ignites a fire neither can extinguish. But love was never meant to be simple. A prince cannot freely choose a village girl. A future king cannot ignore the demands of kingdoms. And Nayantara soon learns that loving Rudraveer means stepping into a world of power, betrayal, secrets, and dangerous enemies who would rather see her dead than seated upon a throne. Because some loves are blessings. And some become sins powerful enough to shake kingdoms.
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THIS STORY CONTAIN EXPLICIT MATURE SCENES [18+] The day Vivansh Raghuvanshi returns from abroad, he doesn't come back as the man she remembers. And when his eyes find hers in a crowded room... the world doesn't move. "Three years," he says quietly, stepping closer-too close. "I gave you time. Space." His gaze darkens, dragging over her like a silent claim. "Now I take what's mine." He doesn't chase her. He controls the distance. He doesn't ask. He decides. And the most terrifying part? Every path she takes... somehow leads back to him. And somewhere in the future- She stands in front of him, draped in silk, her pulse unsteady under his gaze. His voice is low. Calm. Final. "Remove it, Avni." A pause. A breath. "Let me see... what belongs to me." she remove clothes , he don't touch her and say "now come to me , sit on my lap" she nervous but sit, he says "now feed me.." This is not romantic love story.. It's a slow descent into something darker- where obsession wears the face of devotion... ...and escape may have never been an option. He didn't fall for her. He chose her. Long before she ever knew his name. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mature themes explicit sexual content Marriage trope Frequent intimate scenes between married partners Strong language / profanity Emotional intensity, possessiveness, and jealousy Power dynamics within a relationship Potential toxic or unhealthy relationship behaviors Arguments, conflict, and emotional distress
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