The Delhi Artist Gigolo- Part 10

A few days after the house party, I’d slipped back into my usual routine of juggling studies, a couple of painting commissions, and an odd message from Ayushi about new inquiries.

One night, I got a phone call from an unknown number. I said hello. A familiar soft voice answered.

“Tanmay? It’s Keerthana. How are you going? I hope you don’t mind me calling.

There was a nervousness in her voice and an unmistakable excitement.

“Aunty . . . I drew back. “Keerthana. No, certainly not. “Is everything okay?”

She gave a little laugh, breathless. “More than okay, actually. Your number was given to me by Uncle. He’s at a conference. Livya’s gone to meet her friends; she knows this guy who came to town yesterday, so she’s with him and won’t be back till late evening.”

Heat shot through me immediately. “Yeah, I’ll be there.

Date of visit: Around 3 pm, casually dressed, Keerthana quickly opened the door, dressed in a simple yet elegant cream salwar kameez that hugged her mature curves just right. She grabbed me inside, shut the door, and locked it with a firm click.

“Livya won’t be home till eight or nine,” she whispered, her body already pressed against mine, her breathing coming faster. “We have the whole house to ourselves,” she said.

We just managed to get past the kitchen. The air was thick with raw need. I spun her around, back against the counter, one hand clamped to her waist, the other tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back. Her breath caught, and she shivered.

Then she led me into the master bedroom. Soft afternoon light streamed through the sheer curtains. The door clicked shut, and our hands were everywhere. I kissed her hard, staking my claim on her mouth, then shoved her down onto the king-sized bed.

I’ve wanted you,” she breathed, eyes black with lust, “Son…

The word sent another wave of heat through me. I undressed her slowly, but this time I was in control. I slid the dupatta down her shoulders and loosely tied her wrists together above her head to the ornate headboard.

Quietly, I said, “Leave them there.” Her chest was heaving, her nipples hard already. I worshipped her body with my mouth, sucking, biting, and leaving faint red marks along her collarbone and the swell of her heavy breasts. My fingers parted her thighs. She was wet. I stroked her clit slowly, deliberately, until she was squirming and whimpering.

“Tanmay, please…”

“What, please?” I asked, slapping her lightly on the inside of her thigh. Her moan grew louder.

“Please fuck your aunty… “I want it.

I stripped, watching her bound and needy, fisting myself. I got over her, rubbing my cock along her slick folds, then plunged in deep in one smooth motion. I was wrapped in her tight heat. I set a brutal pace, gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. I was fucking her, and the bed creaked. She moaned loudly.

“Yes, son! “Fuck your Keerthana harder!” she yelled.

I flipped her over on all fours, still with her wrists tied in front. I took a fistful of her hair and pounded her from behind, her ass rippling with each deep thrust. I reached around and rubbed her clit, giving her sharp, stinging spanks that made her clench around me. She came hard, her pussy pounding, screaming in pleasure as her body shook.

Also Read: Deflowering virgin Harini before her marriage Part 1

I wasn’t done. I backed away, flipped her back onto her back, and slid back into missionary, pinning her bound wrists down with one hand as I kissed her fiercely. I built until I exploded deep inside her, filling her as she milked every drop.

We collapsed, tangled, with sweaty and glowing bodies. I untied her wrists and rubbed the faint marks a little, kissing them softly.

We had barely caught our breath when I heard it, the tiny metallic click of the main entrance lock turning, turning, turning.

I didn’t pay much attention to it at first.

**(Later she told me this.) The point of view of Livya**

I was supposed to be home late, but my friend had a cancellation. I decided to surprise Mom and not stay out late.

When I reached the front gate, I saw a pair of men’s shoes that weren’t Dad’s, no way. The main door was closed. Curiosity, suspicion, heat. Something turned inside me. Instead of ringing the bell, I circled quietly to the windows of the master bedroom.

The sheers were closed, but I could see a slight movement. Then the sounds came at me. Soft, muffled moans, rhythmic creaking, wet slaps. My mother’s voice, desperate and breathless.

“Son…yes, son! Fuck your auntie harder!”

I stood frozen against the wall, my heart racing. I ought to have been surprised. Instead, a forbidden heat washed between my legs. I bit my lip hard, thighs pressing together, listening to every filthy detail—the spanks, the commands, the way she begged and came undone for him.

The raw dominance in his voice, the way Mom submitted… it was intoxicating. I kept my face down, my fingers reaching toward the waist of my jeans without really thinking about it, picturing it: her wrists tied, his hand in her hair, taking her all the way.

The sounds peaked and died away at last. I waited a minute or two and then pulled myself together and headed back to the front door and knocked.

Mom opened it, blushing, trying to act normal. Behind her was Tanmay, handsome, early to mid-twenties, exuding the same confident, artful energy.

“Hey, Momma!

“Livya, you’re early,” Mom said quickly. ‘This is Tanmay… Son of Shekar, Uncle.

Tanmay held out his hand and smiled politely. “Nice to meet you, Livya. ” Welcome back from the States.

I shook it, holding on a second too long. I looked him in the eye and let him see the knowing spark in mine. A slow, insolent smile curved my lips.

“Nice to meet you too, Tanmay,” I said easily, the words coated with a faint American twang. “Hope I didn’t… interrupt anything important.”

A little electric quiet. Mom gave her throat a clear. “Just catching up.”

I laughed lightly. “Yeah, family stuff. “How was the journey?”

We went into the lounge. I told light stories about my master’s program, but my mind was elsewhere. I kept stealing glances at him, a mischievous smile curling on my lips every time our eyes met. The tension in the air was electric.

He knew that I knew.

And instead of anger, I felt a dark, thrilling curiosity . . . and something dangerously close to lust. This young man, who had just dominated and fucked my mother senseless, as she called him ‘son’.

Mom went off to make tea, leaving us alone. I lowered myself to the couch and crossed my legs with slow grace, letting my skirt ride up just a little.

“So…” I said, in a low, teasing tone, “Tanmay. You’re pretty close to Mom.”

His expression flickered, just so.

I leaned forward, my voice quiet. Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul…for now. But maybe next time you come, you’ll stay a little longer. “I’d like to hear more about how good you are at taking care of family.”

The words were in the air between us, heavy with wicked promise.

That surprising early homecoming had made everything so much more complicated—and so much more dangerously exciting.

Loved writing about my experiences? Send your honest feedback to . I’m open to meeting sincere new people who vibe with these stories. My gigolo experiences have many more chapters—some even riskier and more intense.

I hope you’re enjoying the journey as much as I did living it. Your feedback keeps me motivated to share more. Keep following… You won’t want to miss what happens next.