For yearss, Shreya had claimed Vivek’s lap as her personal throne. Every visit she would climb onto him without invitation, arms locked around his neck, calling him Daddy Uncle in that soft, spoilt voice while she wriggled until his cock thickened helplessly beneath her. He tried everything to stop it. He stood when she entered the room. He chose hard chairs. He fled to his study. Nothing worked. The girl simply followed, settled herself astride his thighs, and rode the slow, unconscious roll of her hips until he was rigid and aching and praying no one would notice. Years of stolen friction. Years of her soft cunt pressing through thin cotton while she chattered about school and boys and nothing at all. He told himself she was innocent. He told himself the hard ons were his private shame. He told himself that her marriage would finally end it. It did not. Fresh from her honeymoon, Shreya finds him reclined in the new chair, still half hard from the memory of every forbidden ride. This time she does not settle for the outside of his clothes. She lifts her skirt, bares the slick, newly claimed pussy that still remembers only her husband’s brief efforts, and sinks down onto the thick cock she has been grinding against since she was a teenager. Daddy Uncle is finally inside her. And Shreya intends to ride him the way she always has, only now there is nothing left between them but heat, wetness, and the long, filthy years of wanting.