As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the village sky in deep oranges and purples, Anjali was led from the temple sanctum to a larger, open-air ritual pavilion deep within the sacred grove. Torches flickered around the perimeter, casting dancing shadows on the soft grass and flower-strewn ritual mat laid out in the center. The air was thick with the aroma of incense, jasmine, and the earthy scent of impending lust. After the intense private blessing from Pandit Shyam Sunder, Anjali’s body was already glowing — skin still slick with remnants of oil and dried cum, her heavy D-cup breasts marked with faint love bites, and thick white seed slowly trickling down her inner thighs from both Rahul and the priest.

She wore nothing but a sheer, translucent red dupatta draped loosely over her voluptuous body, doing little to hide her curves. Her long raven-black hair hung loose and wild, jasmine flowers still clinging to a few strands. Her fair-cream skin flushed pink with a mixture of shame and growing arousal. Her plump, heart-shaped ass swayed with each hesitant step, and her puffy pink pussy lips, slightly swollen from earlier fucking, peeked between her thighs.