As days went on, his interactions with my mom became more and more touchy-feely. I felt the terms of the relationship changed when one day he asked my...mom whether he could call her by the first name.“Can I call you Ishani? Anirudh (me) won’t mind, it’s just that you are too young to be called aunty!”“You can call me whatever you like dear!” My mom told him, smiling coyly.Since then he used to be quite bold with her. It built up slowly, but surely. Slowly enough to not attract any malice from. My tub is rose quartz, a blushing pink like my flower's gem. My Master tears into me, as if I am a pear freshly fallen from the tree, split and protruding. The hot water relieves my thighs and hips after he loves me deeply. Accepting and nurturing his seed. In months, I labor with my sisters. He sows into us wildly. Seven gardens planted in a single night. Seven stone baths holding lavishly-seeded wives. My love is our Master’s favorite. She is the color of cinnamon, long dark hair resting at. More

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