The bonfire had burned low by 1 a.m.—just glowing embers now, casting long orange flickers across the pine needles and the two couples who had emerged from their swapped cottages. No one had bothered with clothes. Anjali and Neha walked out first—naked, skin flushed and marked, cum still glistening on their inner thighs and smeared across their bellies. The mangalsutras glinted in the firelight, gold chains sticky with sweat and drying semen. Rohit and Vikram followed—cocks semi-hard, chests heaving, eyes dark with the kind of hunger that doesn’t fade after one round.

They didn’t speak at first. Just stood around the dying fire, the cold mountain air making nipples tighten and goosebumps rise. The only sounds were crackling wood and heavy breathing.