New Bride, New Slave

NEW BRIDE, NEW SLAVE: A Hinglish Desi Incest Tale The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, the opulent halls of the Malik mansion gleaming under crystal chandeliers. It was Naina’s first night as the new bride, her crimson lehenga heavy with gold embroidery, the dupatta slipping slightly off her shoulder as she stood in the grand foyer. Her heart raced—not from the joy of her wedding to Aksh, but from the unsettling whispers she’d caught during the ceremony. The Maliks were rich, revered in their small town outside Delhi, their sprawling estate a fortress of secrets. To outsiders, they were a conservative dynasty, devout and traditional. But behind the heavy teak doors, the family thrived on a dark empire: live cam porn, fueled by their twisted incestuous rituals. Amir, the patriarch, strode forward, his silk kurta pristine, his salt-and-pepper beard framing a stern jaw. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, raked over Naina, not with warmth but with a predatory glint. “Welcome, bahu,” he said, his voice low, laced with authority. “Ab tum humari family ka hissa ho. Rules seekh lo jaldi.” Beside him, Sumitra, his wife and submissive, stood with her head bowed, her black saree clinging to her curvaceous frame, her gold bangles clinking softly as she adjusted her pallu. Her eyes flickered to Naina, a mix of pity and resignation. Sumit, Aksh’s younger brother, leaned against a marble pillar, his lean frame draped in a fitted sherwani. His smirk was boyish yet cruel, his gaze lingering on Naina’s exposed midriff, where her lehenga rode low on her hips. “Bhabhi, you’re gonna love it here,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. Shina, the youngest, twirled a strand of her long, glossy hair, her anarkali suit vibrant pink, accentuating her lithe figure. She giggled, but her eyes held a knowing edge, as if she’d seen too much for her age. “Haan, bhabhi, hum sab bohot… close hain,” she said, her voice teasing, almost a challenge. The family led Naina to a dimly lit room, its walls lined with red velvet, a stark contrast to the traditional decor outside. A large four-poster bed dominated the space, draped in black satin, with leather cuffs dangling from the posts. A camera on a tripod blinked red, its lens pointed at the bed. Naina’s breath hitched, her sindoor-smudged forehead glistening with sweat. “Yeh… yeh kya hai?” she stammered, her voice trembling. Amir stepped closer, his presence suffocating. “Yeh humara business hai, Naina. Live cams. Log paise dete hain to see what we do. Aur ab tu bhi ismein shamil hogi.” Sumitra moved silently, her fingers brushing Naina’s arm as she adjusted the bride’s heavy jhumkas, her touch lingering too long. “Don’t fight it, beti,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm. “Yeh ghar ka niyam hai.” Sumit sauntered over, pulling off his sherwani to reveal a toned chest, his fingers already unbuttoning his shirt further. “Bhabhi, relax karo. It’s just family fun,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. Shina giggled again, slipping off her dupatta to reveal a low neckline, her movements deliberate, almost rehearsed. “Haan, bhabhi, thodi si dard, thodi si maza. You’ll get used to it.” The room pulsed with tension, the air heavy with the unspoken rules of the Malik household. Naina’s heart pounded as Amir’s hand grazed her waist, his fingers tracing the edge of her lehenga. “Aksh ne tujhe bataya nahi?” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Tu sirf uski patni nahi, hum sab ki slave hai.” The camera’s red light blinked steadily, a silent witness to the dark initiation about to unfold.