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Gandhi Ashram After Dark – Complete Uncut 10-Part Saga (2011–2025)

Part 1 – Sevagram, August 2011: The Night the Charkha First Spun Wet

I was twenty-one, the only city girl in a three-month Gandhian immersion course at Sevagram Ashram, Wardha. On the fourteenth night the electricity failed completely. Moonlight flooded the courtyard. I couldn’t sleep; my khadi petticoat was drenched between my thighs from watching Arjun (24, tall, wheatish, forearms like a wrestler) spin the charkha all day. At 2:17 a.m. I walked barefoot across the courtyard wearing only a thin khadi shawl. The wooden door of the spinning hall creaked open. Arjun looked up from the charkha, lantern light dancing on his bare chest. He said nothing. I let the shawl fall. My heavy breasts spilled free, nipples already rock-hard. I untied my petticoat and stood completely naked except for the sacred thread across my torso. He rose slowly, dhoti tenting like a flagpole. When he dropped it, his lund sprang out — thick as my wrist, black, veined, foreskin peeled back, a fat drop of precum already hanging. He lifted me onto the takli table, spread my thighs wide, and buried his face in my chut. He ate me like a starving man, tongue fucking my hole, sucking my clit until I squirted so hard it splashed the sacred charkha wheel and ran down the teak in sticky rivers. Then he stood, gripped my hips, and drove into me in one brutal thrust — no condom, no words — just raw, animal need. My back scraped the rough wood as he fucked me with the exact rhythm he used on the charkha: slow pull, fast spin, slow pull, fast spin. My mangalsutra slapped my breasts with every stroke. “Bhenchod,” he finally growled into my ear, “teri gandi chut ko aaj swaraj dilwaunga.” I begged him to fill me. He did — eight thick, burning ropes of Gujarati seed straight into my womb. I felt every pulse. Then he spun me around, bent me over the charkha itself, and took me from behind until I screamed into the cotton pile. By dawn the takli table was sticky with my squirt, the floor streaked with his cum dripping out of me, and the charkha wheel spun lazily with strands of our mixed juices instead of thread. That was night one of seventy-six.

Part 2 – Sevagram, October 2011: The Twin Revelation & Final Flood

On night sixty I followed Arjun to the boys’ dormitory and found his identical twin Arun waiting — same height, same thick black lund, same hungry eyes. They didn’t speak. They simply stripped me, laid me on Gandhi’s prayer mat under open sky, and took me together for six straight hours — one in my chut, one in my gaand — swapping holes whenever they felt like it, making me taste myself off whichever cock had just been inside me. They came inside me again and again until cum leaked from every hole and pooled beneath the mat. On the final night of the course they carried me back to the spinning hall, tied my wrists with fresh-spun khadi thread, and fucked me on every surface one last time. When they both came inside my chut together I felt the exact moment I conceived. I left Sevagram in November 2011 with a certificate in one hand and a womb already carrying twins.

Part 3 – Mumbai, June 2012: Birth of the Twin Boys

Delivered perfect identical boys on 14 June 2012. Named them Arjun & Arun. My husband (married in April) cried with joy, threw a grand naming ceremony, and still believes they’re his. Every time I breastfed them, milk leaking down my swollen breasts, I remembered the prayer-mat night and felt my chut throb again.

Part 4 – Mumbai, Diwali 2014: The First Secret Reunion

The twins (now 27) showed up unannounced on Diwali night while my husband was at the temple. They walked in, locked the door, tore my silk saree pallu down and mauled my milk-heavy breasts. Within minutes I was bent over the dining table, one brother pounding my chut from behind while I swallowed the other to the root. They fucked me for four hours straight — on the sofa, on the kitchen counter, on the kids’ study table — filling every hole until cum dripped down my thighs and soaked the marble floor. They left at 4 a.m. with quiet namastes, and I greeted my husband at dawn still leaking from both ends.

Part 5 – Mumbai, August 2016: The Dadar Lodge Marathon

They booked a cheap lodge in Dadar for two full days. Blindfolded me the moment I entered, tied me spread-eagle to the creaking bed, and used me non-stop for forty-eight hours — no sleep, no food, only water and their cum. They filmed everything on an old phone, made me watch myself being double-penetrated while they took me again. By the time I stumbled out on Sunday night my legs wouldn’t close, my voice was gone from screaming, and I was pregnant again.

Part 6 – Mumbai, 2018: The Konkan Railway Private Coupe

They bought three tickets for a private first-class coupe on the overnight Mandovi Express. Windows open, sea breeze, no lights. They fucked me standing against the rattling door, bent over the berth, sitting on the tiny sink — raw, endless, the train’s rhythm matching their thrusts. At every tunnel they sped up; at every station they slowed just enough to make me beg. They came inside me so many times the lower berth was soaked through. We got down at Madgaon still coupled, cum running down my legs onto the platform.

Part 7 – Mumbai, 2020: COVID Lockdown – Daily Terrace Sessions

Lockdown. My husband worked from home in the study. Every afternoon at 2 p.m. the twins climbed the building stairs, slipped into our flat, and dragged me to the terrace. For ninety straight days they used me against the hot water tank — quick, brutal, silent except for muffled moans — pumping fresh seed into me daily while the city slept under curfew. By the time lockdown ended I was five months pregnant and glowing.

Part 8 – Mumbai, Diwali 2022: Terrace Fireworks Double Breeding

Diwali night. Family downstairs bursting crackers. The twins dragged me to the terrace, stripped me naked, bent me over the water tank, and took me together while rockets exploded overhead — one thick lund in my chut, the other stretching my gaand to its limit. They came at the exact same second, flooding both holes so full that cum poured out in thick streams down my thighs as I walked back downstairs for the family photo, smiling sweetly with their seed still dripping into my panties.

Part 9 – Mumbai, December 2024: The Gorai Beach House Weekend

They rented an isolated beach house in Gorai for three days. I told my husband it was a “women’s wellness retreat.” We never wore clothes once. They fucked me in the sea at sunrise, on the burning sand at noon, on the balcony at sunset — raw, endless, sometimes both inside my chut at once, stretching me until I cried. I came home sunburnt, limping, and carrying fresh twins.

Part 10 – Mumbai, 27 November 2025: Today – The Eternal Charkha

Today I am thirty-five. I have eight children — every single one looks exactly like Arjun and Arun. My husband still brags to relatives about his “super sperm.” This morning at 5 a.m. the twins left after a four-hour session on our balcony — both inside me at sunrise, pumping new life into me again while Mumbai woke up below. I’m already late. The khadi charkha I keep locked in my cupboard still spins wet every time I open it. They’ll be back next Thursday. The cycle never ends.

Namaste… and jaldi aana, bhaiyon.