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Parna doesn't ask. She takes my wrist, pulls me off her mother, and I see Ananya's eyes go wide—not with fear but with something darker, something that looks like relief. Parna positions us: Ananya on the floor, me standing, her mother's mouth level with my cock. Then Parna kneels behind her, fingers sliding into her mother's wet hair, gripping tight. 'You wanted to taste what's mine,' she whispers against Ananya's ear. 'Now taste.' The world narrows to the sound of her mother's surrender.
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