The sun filtered through the lattice windows of Rajveer's modest village home, casting patterns on the plastered walls. It had been three days since Amit, his son, had boarded the bus to the city, leaving his young bride, Veda, behind in the care of her sasur ji. Rajveer, the village Sarpanch at 42, was a man of authority—broad-shouldered, abs, with a thick mustache and eyes that commanded respect. But beneath that stern exterior simmered a growing hunger, one that fixated on the 21-year-old beauty now under his roof.

Veda moved through the house like a vision from some forbidden dream. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, framing a face innocent yet ripe with allure. She wore only sarees, as tradition demanded—today, a simple cotton one in deep red, draped modestly over her voluptuous form. Her big boobs strained against the blouse, and her plumpy ass swayed with every step, a temptation Rajveer could no longer ignore.