Adultery Broken trust and suppressed lust

[Ayush01111]

Is vishal is savubg sohil or he will humilate him please don't make suffer sohil in this all please

[xboard1986]

Amazing

[Hotyyhard]

update please

[Ananthukutty]

Super bro

[surya66]

Excellent story  
Please update

[Malfunction@098]

Update pls

[Hotyyhard]

please update

[Ajay Kailash]

Afrah is not Afraid now

[subbulakshumi]

More than a month since last update?

[Praju starlet]

Update plz

[Zoz34]

All my readers, this is the last post ,and again thank you all for showing love..hope u enjoy it




Guilt clung to her skin, heavier than any haldi paste ever could. It seeped into her pores, thick and suffocating, but not enough to drown out the phantom feel of Vishal’s fingers around her throat, the burn of his breath in her ear, the bitter-salt taste of him still ghosting on her tongue.

And yet… she hadn’t run. She never did.

Her wedding was four days away. Sohail — sweet, safe, gentle Sohail — waiting patiently for a bride who no longer existed. Somewhere along the line, Afrah had shed that version of herself like an old skin. She wasn’t sure when it happened. A glance too long. A touch held a moment too late. A whisper of filth dressed as a joke.

Now there was this… this trembling, hollow thing in her place. A woman who ached for Vishal’s cruel hands.

And the cruelest part was, she wasn’t even certain he wanted her. Maybe she was just another bored plaything. Another trophy to hang in the dark recesses of his whiskey-soaked nights. Another story traded between men who smelled of smoke and sin.

Her stomach knotted, bile rising in her throat. She thought she might cry. Right there on the haldi stool, surrounded by syrup-sweet faces and well-meaning hands smearing blessings across a body soiled barely minutes before.

But she didn’t.

Because even now — knowing what she should feel, knowing what she was about to destroy — she wanted him. Would let him do it again.

And no one could save her from herself.


The very next day, she made up her mind.
It was bold.
It was reckless.
And it was dangerous.

Convincing Ammi to let her step out alone had been a battle of careful lies and watery eyes. Her mother had fussed and fretted, declaring it was bad luck for a bride to wander days before her wedding. That tongues would wag. That the evil eye was always watching.

But Afrah managed.

And now — standing before his door, her pulse thundering in her ears — she rang the bell.

When Vishal opened it, the air left her lungs.
God, he looked good. Casual. Careless. Sin made flesh, leaning against the frame like he already owned her.

She faltered.

“We need to talk,” she blurted, her voice barely hers.

She didn’t wait for permission. She stepped past him, closing the door with a soft click that sounded far too loud in the quiet.“We can’t keep doing this,”she began, hands wringing the edge of her dupatta, voice shaking. “What we did yesterday was… stupid. Reckless. We could’ve been caught. I’m getting married, Vishal. It’s not fair — to Sohail, to my parents, to—”

Her words faltered, the guilt rising thick in her throat.

And then he was there — close, too close — lifting her chin with a single finger.Their eyes met.

“Then tell me,” he murmured, his voice a dark, lazy drawl. Why are you here?
She knew.God, she knew.And she should’ve left. She should’ve turned around, opened that door, and gone back to the safety of a life that wasn’t hers anymore.
But she didn’t.

Instead, with a ragged breath, she grabbed his collar and crashed her mouth against his. A desperate, messy kiss that filled the silent room with the wet, obscene sound of lips and teeth and need.

His hands slid down, cupping her ass with a bruising grip that made her gasp into his mouth, her body arching against his.

Her trembling fingers fumbled with his buttons, needing to feel him, to carve the shape of him into her memory for whatever life came after.She kissed down his chest, tasting salt, skin, sin.This was the last time.

She told herself that.
And then — trembling, guilty, starving — she sank to her knees.She undid his pants slowly, her fingers trembling against the metal button, brushing his skin. The sound of the zipper rasped in the thick, heavy silence.

His cock sprang free — thick, dark, heavy with blood. The veins stood out, ridged and pulsing, the swollen head already slick with precum. Heat radiated off it, the scent of him — musk, sweat, and sin — curling in the air.

Afrah’s soft hand wrapped around him, fingers barely closing around the girth. He was hot, impossibly hard, the weight of him settling into her palm like a sin she wasn’t strong enough to refuse.

She brought him to her lips, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the flushed tip. The skin was silky, the taste of salt and skin blooming on her tongue.

A soft, shaky breath left her as she ran her tongue along the underside, tracing a thick vein, savoring him like a forbidden treat on a suffocatingly hot day.

And then — without hesitation — she took him into her mouth.

Warm, wet sounds filled the room, obscene in the hush. Her lips stretched, her tongue swirling along the tender underside as she sank deeper. His taste coated her mouth, a mix of salt, musk, and raw maleness. She moaned softly around him, the vibration making his cock twitch against her tongue.

Precum leaked onto her tastebuds, sharp and slick, and she savored it, her lashes fluttering.

She pulled back, gasping, a thin string of saliva clinging between her swollen lips and his flushed, throbbing tip. It caught the low light like a thread of liquid silk.

Her eyes stayed on him, dark, glassy, full of desperate hunger.
“I want you to remember this,”she whispered, her voice a hoarse, aching promise.And then she slid him back into her mouth, slow and deep.

For the next few minutes, she pleasured him with her mouth — slow, filthy, desperate. Her lips slick with saliva, her tongue tracing every thick vein, savoring the salt and heat of him. The room was thick with the wet, obscene sounds of her suckling, the quiet hiss of his breath, the faint creak of the couch beneath them.

Her jaw ached, her throat raw, but she couldn’t stop.

Then — trembling, her lips swollen and wet — Afrah looked up. Their eyes met, and in that split second, she felt her composure shatter.

Her lips quivered as she bit down on them, trying to trap the words clawing up her throat.

But they broke loose.

“Vishal… please… fuck me,” she whispered.

The sound of it — her voice, wrecked with need and thick with guilt — hung heavy in the room.

Her stomach twisted. She shouldn’t have said it. She shouldn’t even be here. Sohail’s wedding haldi was still staining her skin. And yet… here she was. Again.

And worse — she didn’t want to leave.

She saw it in Vishal’s eyes the moment the words landed. That flare of dark, possessive hunger. Primal. Dangerous.

Before she could blink, he scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing. The suddenness made her breath hitch, her heart pounding against her ribs. The scent of his skin, warm and sharp, filled her lungs as he carried her across the room.

The couch’s soft fabric kissed her skin as he laid her down, and then — with one practiced, unhurried motion — her salwar was tugged down her thighs and tossed aside.

Cool air licked at her slick folds, the obscene wetness there glistening under his gaze. She should’ve felt shame, should’ve tried to close her legs, cover herself. But all she felt was desperate, pulsing hunger.

When his gaze dropped between her thighs, a wicked smirk curled his lips.

“So wet for me already,” he murmured, the mocking praise making her toes curl and a sharp ache twist in her belly.
And then — she saw him spit.
A thick, hot glob landed directly on her swollen, glistening pussy. It mixed with her arousal, sliding down in a slick, filthy trail. The sensation was maddening — obscene and intimate in a way that made her hips jerk, a gasp escaping her throat.

“Vishal…” she moaned, the sound barely recognizable, raw and broken.

Then his mouth was on her.

The heat of his tongue, the way he flicked it over her clit, the firm, wet strokes against her swollen flesh — it was too much. Every deliberate lick, every maddening swirl and plunge had her body writhing. Her hands flew to his hair, her fingers tangling tight, not to push him away, but to keep him there.

Afrah’s mind spun in a storm of sensation and shame. Her hips bucked against his mouth, chasing every pulse of pleasure he dragged from her with cruel ease.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, but the words slipped out anyway.

“Baby… please,”she gasped, her voice cracking, thick with desperate hunger. “I need your cock… now…”

Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Not from pain. Not from guilt.

From the unbearable, searing heat of what she was doing… what she needed.

She wasn’t supposed to be this woman. A bride-to-be, begging for another man’s cock hours after being bathed in turmeric and blessings.

And yet — in this moment, with Vishal’s tongue on her and her body betraying every sacred vow — she didn’t care.Not when it was him.Not when it felt this good.Not when every part of her was already his.and deep down, she knew: she would let him ruin her again. And again. And again.
Even if it destroyed everything.

He stood up, the air thick and heavy between them, and revealed himself fully — his cock standing proud and impossibly hard. The sight of it made her stomach clench, her thighs instinctively pressing together, even as slickness seeped from her.

His eyes burned with hunger — dark, primal, unforgiving. The kind of gaze that promised ruin.

It made her stomach twist.
Made her pulse thrum in her throat.
Made her feel scared. Filthy.
And so fucking alive.

A heady, poisonous mix of fear, excitement, and raw, desperate want coiled tight and low in her belly as he gripped the base of his thick shaft, veins bulging, his hand like a collar around it.

He dragged the swollen, flushed head through her soaked folds, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet room. Every slow, teasing stroke against her slit made her shudder, made her hips twitch, made her breath hitch in ragged gasps.

“Vishal…”she whispered, her voice trembling, thick with dread and need.He didn’t answer.

Instead — with a wicked glint in his eye — he laid the heavy, rigid length flat against her stomach.

Her eyes widened in shock.

The hot, velvety weight of him rested against her skin, the swollen head reaching damn near to her navel. The contrast of burning heat against her cool, trembling flesh made her gasp.

A pulse beat wildly in her throat. Panic tangled with heat, twisting inside her. She didn’t know how she’d take him. It seemed impossible. It was obscene.

But a dark, sick, shameful part of her wanted to.

Wanted to feel it stretch her, claim her, split her open.
Wanted to be ruined by him.

At least once.
Before it was too late.

Her hand trembled as she reached for him, her fingers wrapping around the thick shaft — her grip barely closing around its girth. The skin was hot, velvety over iron-hard flesh.

She guided him down, her breath hitching sharply when the swollen head brushed her slick heat again, the contact making her whole body jolt.Their eyes met.

“Go slow,” she whispered, voice breaking on the words, thick with fear and aching want. “It’s… my first time.”

The way his lips curled — that wicked, knowing smirk — made her pulse skip, her knees weaken.

She should have run.
Should have screamed.But instead, she spread her legs wider.
The soft, slick sound of her folds parting, the cool air ghosting against her soaked, swollen flesh, made her shiver.
Then she felt it.
The thick, blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against her entrance — and then, with a slow, merciless push, it began to breach her.

A sharp, burning stretch ripped through her, pain flaring bright and hot like a brand. Her back arched off the couch, her fingers clawing at the cushions, nails digging deep into the fabric. A strangled, guttural sound escaped her throat — half sob, half moan.

It was too much.
Too thick.
Too deep.

Her slick heat clenched desperately around him, trying to resist, trying to yield, and failing at both. Her legs trembled. Her head thrashed weakly from side to side, as if to deny what her body was doing — what it was *craving*.

“Vishal… it’s too… I can’t—”she gasped, voice catching on a sob thick with shock and need.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath hot and steady, the scent of him — sweat, spice, male — wrapping around her like a noose.

“Shh… almost in, Afrah. Just a little more,” he murmured, his voice thick with dark desire, but laced with a strange, dangerous tenderness she wasn’t prepared for.

The words settled something jagged inside her.

She bit down hard on her lip, coppery blood blooming on her tongue, as he pushed deeper. Each agonizingly slow inch an impossible, delirious mix of searing pain and unbearable, stretching pleasure. She could feel every ridge, every pulsing vein of him as her body was forced to open for him, take him.

And then…
Something shifted.

The razor-sharp edge of pain dulled — replaced by a raw, aching fullness. The heat of him, the obscene friction, made her thighs tighten instinctively around his waist, locking him closer.

A soft, broken moan slipped from her lips.

“Oh… God…”she whispered, not even aware she’d said it, the words ghosting into the heavy air between them.

Without thinking, her legs locked around him, heels digging into the hard curve of his back. Her trembling hands grabbed his torso, her nails biting into his sweat-slicked skin as she dragged him down, needing his weight, his heat, his mouth.

The kiss was messy, feral — a desperate tangle of tongues, gasps, bitten lips. She tasted sweat, salt, and sin. She felt the blunt scbang of his stubble against her cheek, the intoxicating burn of skin on skin, and she didn’t care.

She wanted more.
Needed more.

“Move… please,”she breathed against his mouth, her voice cracked and needy.

And he did.

Slow at first — a steady, torturous drag of his thick length inside her, every stroke a spark lighting through her oversensitive, overstretched body. The ache blurred into liquid pleasure, a filthy, wet friction that made her hips lift to meet him, chasing every thrust.

The air filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, wet, obscene slaps, the ragged rush of their breaths.

Afrah was lost.

Drowning in heat, guilt, pleasure so sharp it hurt, shame so sweet it tasted like honey.

And God help her —
she didn’t want to be found.


Vishal…” she gasped, voice cracking, clinging to him like she was afraid she might disappear. “I… I can feel you everywhere…”

He buried his face against her neck, his lips grazing her damp skin, his teeth catching her earlobe as he sank deeper. Each slow, claiming thrust made her entire body pulse with desperate, wet heat.

“You were made for this,” he whispered into her skin. “Made for me.”

A strangled sob burst from her throat, though it wasn’t from pain.

It was because it felt true.The pleasure was building, rising fast, an unstoppable, dizzying pulse deep inside her. It coiled low in her belly, tightening like a vice, every drag of him inside her a spark, every rough stroke a wave crashing against her will.

She didn’t want it to stop.
Didn’t care if it destroyed her.

“Vishal… oh God… I… I’m—”

He cradled the back of her head, his other hand gripping her thigh, holding her wide and open beneath him. His pace grew steadier, sure, the thick, wet sounds of their bodies joining filling the room.
That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his voice ragged, possessive. “Let go for me. Give me everything.”

And she did.

The orgasm tore through her like a flood, white-hot and blinding, crashing over her in a riot of heat, wetness, and helpless moans. Her body locked tight around him, her nails raking down his back as her hips bucked, chasing every last pulse of pleasure.

She cried out his name — raw, ruined — as she shattered beneath him.

And then he kissed her

Not rough.
Not greedy.

But like a man who couldn’t help himself.

And in that moment, there was no Sohail.
No wedding.
No family.
No guilt.

Only Vishal.
His scent, his weight, his heat.

And Afrah — lost, trembling, and ruined — wasn’t sure she ever wanted it to end.


Afrah had never felt this alive.
This desperate.
This unmade.

Vishal moved inside her like he owned her, like her body was made for no one else. Every thrust was deep, relentless — filling places she didn’t know could ache so beautifully. The stretch, the friction, the burn… it was almost too much.

Almost.

But God, she wanted it.

Needed it.More,” she gasped, her voice a ragged, broken thing, her arms clinging tight around his shoulders as if he was the only thing tethering her to earth. “Please, Vishal… harder. Don’t stop.”

His eyes met hers — wild, feral, dark with hunger. But underneath it was something else. Something dangerous. Something tender enough to wreck her.

He crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her cry as he thrust deeper, harder. The air filled with the sharp slap of skin on skin, the slick, obscene sounds of their bodies colliding. Every time he sank in, it felt like her body couldn’t possibly take another inch, another second — and yet it did.

And wanted more.

“You’re incredible, Afrah,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick, rough, wrecked with emotion. “So fucking beautiful like this… underneath me… taking all of me.”

His words poured through her veins like molten heat. She moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure built, a rising, suffocating tide she had no power to stop. The exquisite pressure inside her twisted tighter with every pounding thrust.

“I can’t… I’m—”

Yes you can,” he whispered fiercely, brushing damp strands from her flushed face, his palm cradling her jaw. “Give it to me, sweetheart. Everything. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

It shattered her.

The tenderness in his voice, the way his thumb brushed her cheek, the raw hunger in his stare — it cracked something inside her, sent her spiraling.

She bit down gently on his shoulder, the sharp salt of his skin on her tongue. Her nails clawed at his back, desperate for something to hold onto as the pleasure finally broke.

“Vishal… God… Vishal…”

Her climax hit like a storm, blinding and breathless. Her body locked around him, a slick, desperate pulse of heat as her hips bucked wildly, chasing every wave of bliss. She sobbed his name, her voice wrecked and beautiful in its ruin.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his own pace faltering, growing slower, deeper. His thick cock buried to the hilt, dragging every last ounce of pleasure from her trembling body. “You’re mine like this… no one else. Just me.”

And for that stolen, wicked, perfect moment — it was true.

She wasn’t a bride-to-be.
Wasn’t a daughter.
Wasn’t a good girl weighed down by duty and shame.

She was Afrah.
His Afrah.

He kissed her then — slow, aching, his lips lingering like he didn’t want to let her go. Their breath tangled, the taste of sweat and salt and sin between them.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, his lips ghosting hers. “And you have no idea what you do to me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes — a heady, unbearable mix of overwhelming pleasure, aching guilt, and the terrible, beautiful truth that she didn’t want it to stop.
Just… don’t stop,” she breathed, threading her trembling fingers through his damp hair. “Please… just keep loving me like this.”

And he did.

For as long as the world outside would let them, Vishal gave her everything.
Not just his body.
But his hands. His mouth. His filthy words. His hunger. His tenderness.

Every gasp.
Every shiver.
Every stolen breath between them was a sin.

And utterly theirs.


Vishal…” Afrah gasped, her nails digging into his slick shoulders as the sensations threatened to unmake her completely. His thrusts grew ragged, uneven, his breath harsh against the curve of her neck. Every inch of his body trembled against hers, his muscles tight, his cock throbbing deep inside her with every desperate stroke.

“I’m close, Afrah,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, raw, thick with need and something darker. “So fucking close.”Tears burned behind her eyes — not from pain, not even from the unbearable pleasure — but from the ache in her chest. The knowing. That this moment, this impossible, ruinous, beautiful moment was theirs alone. And it wouldn’t last.

It never could.

She tightened her arms around him, clutching him as though she could hold time itself still, as though she could chain him to her, even for just a little longer.

“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking on the word, so heavy with everything she couldn’t say. She didn’t know what she was begging for — only that she wanted everything he had left to give. Every last broken, burning piece of him.

His movements turned frantic, desperate, their bodies slick with sweat and sin. Every wet slap of skin, every gasp, every shudder felt like the edge of a cliff she was about to tumble from.

And then — his voice broke.

“Afrah—God… Afrah…”

And she felt it — his release, hot, thick, spilling inside her in sharp, pulsing waves. The sudden heat of it made her sob against his shoulder, her entire body locking down around him. Her legs tightened around his hips, her nails biting into his back, desperate to keep him right there.

Because once he left…
Once she left…
It would be over.
And she would belong to someone else.

“Don’t,” she whispered brokenly, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a trembling, desperate thing. “Not yet… please… stay inside me.”

He cupped her face in his rough palm, his thumb brushing away the tears she hadn’t even realized had spilled down her cheeks. His gaze, dark and unguarded, searched hers.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he whispered against her trembling lips. “Not tonight.”

She kissed him then — deep, bruising, pouring everything she had into it. Every unspoken word, every raw fear, every aching corner of her heart she could never voice. Their mouths moved like they were dying, like this was the last kiss they’d ever have, because in some terrible, beautiful way, it might be.

It wasn’t just lust anymore.
It hadn’t been for a long time.

And though the world outside was waiting — with its vows, its expectations, its judgments — she stayed there.
Tangled in his arms.With his heartbeat pounding against hers, the heat of him still inside her, their sweat-dampened skin clinging together like neither could bear to be without the other.

Because for now — this stolen, impossible night — he was hers.
And she was his.

Even if, in a few short hours, it would all be taken away.


Thirty minutes later, the room was still thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and sandalwood. The dim, amber light cast a warm glow over their tangled, bare bodies, the bedsheet half-forgotten at their feet.

Afrah lay quiet against Vishal’s chest, her cheek resting over the steady, unhurried drum of his heartbeat. She felt it beneath her skin — steady, maddeningly calm while hers raced, every pulse a fresh ache.

His hand moved lazily up and down her spine, tracing aimless patterns, neither of them speaking. The silence had weight now. Heavy. Suffocating.

And her eyes…Those beautiful, doe-brown eyes glistened, a single tear slipping down her cheek, vanishing against his skin.

She hated herself for it.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
It was meant to be lust. A mistake. A final, reckless indulgence before she walked away forever.

And yet, here she was — her heart splitting wide open in the arms of the one man she should’ve never touched.

A lump burned in her throat.
She couldn’t stay.
If she lay like this a moment longer, she might never leave.Slowly, carefully, she peeled herself away, her palm lingering on his chest a second too long before she forced herself upright. The sudden absence of his warmth made her shiver — not from cold, but from the ache of it.

Vishal’s eyes opened, instantly catching the sheen in hers.

“Afrah…” his voice was rough, something almost tender in it, something she wasn’t ready to trust.

She turned away, yanking the corner of the sheet across her chest — pointless now, when he’d already seen, touched, known every inch of her.

“What happened?” he asked softly, pushing up onto his elbows, gaze searching, brow furrowed.

A thousand things crowded her mind.She could tell him she was scared. That she was marrying a man she didn’t love. That no matter how many times Vishal took her apart, she could never tell if it was her he wanted, or just the delicious thrill of ruining her.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she gave a short, bitter laugh. Wiped the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand.

“Like you care.”

The words landed like broken glass.

He flinched — just barely — but it was there.She didn’t give him a chance to answer. She grabbed her crumpled salwar kameez from the chair, pulling it over her sticky, aching body in hurried, clumsy movements, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Afrah, wait—”

But she was already gone.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Vishal sat there alone, the faint warmth of her imprint still on his chest. The scent of her still thick in the air. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, something twisted in his gut.

Something dangerously close to regret.

That night, Afrah wept.

Not for what she’d done — though she probably should have.
Not for Sohail.
Not for the wedding she was days from walking into.
Not for the honor she’d left bleeding between those tangled sheets.

She wept for something else.

For the aching emptiness blooming in her chest.
For the desperate, reckless hope that — maybe, just maybe — Vishal would’ve stopped her.

That when she stood at his door, eyes shining, voice shaking, saying “Like you care,” he would’ve reached for her. Pulled her back. Held her so tight the world would disappear.

That he would’ve said her name. Not with hunger. Not with possession.
But with meaning.
With something like love.

But he didn’t.
And of course… he wouldn’t.

She told herself that over and over as she lay on her bed, pillow damp with tears, the ache between her legs a cruel, lingering reminder of him.
He didn’t owe her that.
He was never hers to begin with.
She was the one who let this happen, week after week, knowing it would lead to nothing but ruin.

And yet…
Still, she clung to her phone.
Face down on the bed beside her, its screen dark and unblinking.

Waiting.

Praying.

Maybe he’ll call. Maybe he’ll message. Maybe… anything.

But the minutes turned to hours.
And the only thing that came was the mocking hush of night, broken only by the ragged sound of her breathing and the storm of her thoughts.
He never cared, Afrah,” she whispered to the darkness. “You were convenient. And now you’re just… gone.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled hot and silent down her cheeks as she buried her face deeper into the pillow.

By dawn, her throat was raw, her eyes swollen, her heart hollow.

She would have to get up soon.
To smile.
To be the blushing bride-to-be.
To forget this room, those hands, that voice.

But for now — for these last, borrowed hours of darkness — she let herself grieve.

For a man who was never hers.
And for the girl she used to be before him.

It was her wedding day.

The room smelled of jasmine, sandalwood, and fresh mehendi. The soft clatter of bangles and women’s laughter floated through the open window from the garden below. In the mirror, a stranger stared back — kohl-lined eyes, soft rose lips, hair pinned beneath an ornate dupatta heavy with sequins.

But inside, she was a ruin.

In a few hours, she’d be Sohail’s wife.
On paper. In God’s eyes. Before a hundred guests.

And yet… the ache lingered.

The hollow place where Vishal’s absence clung to her like a second skin.

The phone he never called on.
The message he never sent.
The word he never said.

Coward. Or worse — indifferent.

A sharp knock broke her thoughts.

“Who is it?” she called, frowning.

No answer.

A cold shiver snaked up her spine. She crossed the room, cracked open the door — empty. Only the faint hum of wedding music and far-off laughter.

She stepped into the dim corridor, her dupatta brushing her shoulder, the cool marble kissing her bare feet.
And just as she turned to go back —

A hand grabbed her face.

A rough palm clamped over her mouth, yanking her back. Her cry smothered against skin that smelled maddeningly of sandalwood and spice.

Her stomach flipped.

In an instant she knew.

He dragged her down the corridor, swift, silent. The storeroom door flew open and slammed behind them.

Vishal pressed her against it, one hand still over her mouth, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild — some terrible, beautiful storm in them she recognized.

Not fear now.

Not anymore.
Just the avalanche of need crashing into her.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, heart thundering as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her tight against him.

Before he could answer, her palm cracked across his face.

“You didn’t even call,” she choked, tears stinging her eyes. “After everything… you vanished. Like I didn’t fucking matter.”

His jaw clenched — then, maddeningly, he smirked, rubbing the sting on his cheek.

“Ouch.” His eyes glittered. “I can leave if you want. But you’d miss the chance to slap me again whenever you feel like it.”

Her throat tightened.

“What the hell is this, Vishal?”

He stepped in closer, voice dark silk, dangerous and sinful.

“I made you a promise, dulhan… when I had your sweet little pussy on my tongue.” His hand slipped lower, fingers brushing the delicate embroidery of her bridal lehenga, finding the heat beneath it.

“I said I’d fuck you on your wedding day.”

He grinned.
“Small change of plan.”

She swallowed hard, pulse hammering.

“Vishal…”

His lips ghosted her ear.
“You’re not marrying Sohail today.”

She froze, breath snagging in her throat.

“What…?”

His fingers teased along the waistband of her lehenga, making her gasp.

“Two choices, jaan.” His voice was a blade wrapped in velvet.
“Go back to Sohail. Pretend none of this happened. Or…”

His hand cupped her through the silk, her hips jerking at the contact.

“Come with me. And if you do…”
His breath scorched her skin.

I’ll ruin you, Afrah. Every day. I’ll fuck you while you wear this red, while you wear nothing. I’ll make you beg for my cock between office calls. Make you ache so bad you’ll never walk straight again. You’ll forget your own goddamn name, jaan.”

Her breath hitched, knees threatening to buckle.

He grinned — that cocky, shameless, possessive smirk that made her furious and wet in equal measure.

“So, dulhan… what’s it gonna be?” He tilted her chin up.
“Either way, I’m fucking you right now.”

And she slapped him.
Hard.

The sound cracked through the small room.

He laughed, low and dark — and then she crashed her lips onto his in a brutal, messy, desperate kiss. Their teeth clashed, her hands fisting in his hair, his arms caging her in.

“If you ever break my heart, Vishal,” she whispered against his mouth, fierce and trembling, “I swear, I’ll kill you.”

His smirk faltered for a split second — something rougher, something almost unguarded flickering there — before lust swallowed it whole.

“Deal, dulhan.”

She grabbed his wrist, shoved his hand under her lehenga, her breath ragged.

“Now fuck your dulhan,” she growled, dragging him deeper into the storeroom shadows.

And he did.


He spun her around in one rough motion, her back slamming gently into his chest, a sharp gasp catching in her throat. The storeroom smelled of dust, sandalwood, and the faint sweetness of old rose petals crushed underfoot. The muffled thump of dhol beats and wedding laughter drifted in from the distant garden, but here — in this dark, forgotten room — it felt like another world entirely.

Vishal’s hands slid possessively around her waist, grabbing fistfuls of her heavy bridal lehenga, dragging the ornate fabric upward, bunching the rich red and gold folds around her hips. The cold air hit her bare thighs, making her shudder.

God, look at you,” he growled against her ear, his breath hot, thick with lust. “Dressed like a good girl… but this pussy’s been aching for me since the minute you woke up, hasn’t it?”

Afrah whimpered, her cheeks burning, every nerve ending in her body alive and screaming for him.

His fingers hooked into her damp, lacy panties, tugging them down her trembling thighs. The scrap of fabric caught at her knees, and the helpless, obscene exposure made her stomach twist with guilt and filthy excitement.

“Vishal… we can’t—” she started, her voice a breathless, shaky whisper.

His palm clamped over her mouth.


Sshh, dulhan,” he rasped, his teeth grazing her earlobe. “You’ll wake your precious wedding guests. Let them keep dancing. You’re mine now.”

She moaned against his hand as his cock, hot and thick, pressed against the slick seam of her folds. He dragged himself slowly along her slit, gathering her wetness, teasing the head against her clit until her thighs trembled.

“Soaked,” he hissed. “Standing here like a whore, on your wedding night. Your Sohail’s out there with his barat smiling like a fool, waiting  for u and u are dripping for me.”

Afrah let out a muffled sob of pure want, her cheeks flushed, her pulse a violent drumbeat in her ears.

One hand snaked up to her chest, cupping her breast over the embroidered choli. His rough fingers squeezed and kneaded the soft flesh, thumb flicking over her taut nipple through the fabric until she arched against him.

“Fuck, I love how this body responds to me,” he growled, voice thick. “


She tried to plead, to reason, but her words were swallowed by his hand as his free hand guided his cock to her entrance.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice dark silk. “I promised I’d claim you on your wedding day. And you came looking for me anyway. Could’ve married your little boy. Could’ve been a good girl. But no — you needed my cock.”

Didn’t you, jaan?”

Her body spasmed at his words, a filthy, helpless moan lost against his palm.

“You fucking need this,” he snarled, and without another word, he pushed inside.


The stretch was brutal.

A sharp, searing pain bloomed as he split her open, forcing her tight, wet walls around his thick length in one long, ruthless thrust. Her nails clawed at the cold wall in front of her, her body jerking from the sheer force of him.

“Fuck…” Vishal groaned, hips grinding against her ass. “Tighter than I remembered. This pussy’s mine, Afrah. Say it.”

She tried to shake her head — the pain, the pleasure, the wrongness of it all clawing at her. But then his cock dragged out slowly and slammed back in, stealing the air from her lungs.

“Say it,” he snarled again, his voice a raw, possessive growl.

Yours,” she sobbed, muffled against his hand. “Yours, Vishal… oh God, it’s yours—”

“Louder.”

“Yours!” she cried, her voice breaking.

The pace grew filthy and savage, his hips pistoning into her, making the obscene slap of skin on skin echo through the storeroom. The cool metal bangles on her wrists clinked with every desperate jolt of her body against the wall.

“Listen to that,” he groaned. “That’s your pussy begging for me. So wet, it’s singing for my cock.”

Her climax built fast, sharp and relentless, the filthy stretch of him inside her, the heat of his chest against her back, his palm muffling her cries — it was all too much.


And then he leaned in, his mouth against her ear.

“After tonight, I’ll put a ring on you myself, jaan,” he snarled. “Put my baby in you. Fill this cunt up till you’re carrying me inside you. No more fucking Sohail. No more lies. Just me and you. Say you want it.”

The filthy promise shattered her.

Her body convulsed as the orgasm hit, hard and messy, her pussy spasming around his cock in desperate, clenching pulses. Her moan was a ragged, broken thing against his palm, her legs trembling.


And then, with one final, brutal thrust, he came — spilling hot and thick inside her, the sudden heat flooding her womb, making her sob with the sheer filth of it.

They stood there, trembling, breath ragged, the scent of sex thick in the air.

Vishal’s hand dropped from her mouth, his forehead resting against her shoulder as his arms caged her in.

“Mine,” he whispered, the word heavy, possessive, darkly tender.

And Afrah —

Afrah knew, even with her wedding waiting outside, with a hundred guests, a man ready to take her hand, and a future set in stone…
She’d never leave him.
She belonged to Vishal.



Five Years Later — Sohail’s POV
The beach air reeked of salt, roasted corn, and coconut oil. Waves shimmered in the late-afternoon haze as Sohail strolled the shoreline with his wife Naila, their daughter .

And then —
he saw her.

Afrah.

His pulse punched his throat.
A bolt of raw, helpless heat slammed through him.

She hadn’t softened with time.
If anything — she was more wickedly beautiful now.
Hair falling in loose, inky waves down her back, bronze skin kissed deeper by the sun. Sinful little denim shorts clung to thick, devastating thighs, riding high enough to make a man insane. A flimsy white crop top barely tamed her breasts — bigger now, fuller, swaying with every step.

Sohail’s cock gave a shameful, traitorous twitch.

And there was Vishal

One hand casually palming Afrah’s ass through those teasing shorts, squeezing thick, perfect flesh like it belonged to him. Because it did. His other hand played at her waistband, thumb slipping scandalously low. He whispered something filthy in her ear.

She laughed — head thrown back, eyes shining.
Then swatted his chest and kissed his cheek.

Sohail’s cock hardened instantly.

He’s still fucking her… every night. Every filthy, ruined night.

How could he not?
Look at her.

That goddamn body. That wet, obscene laugh.
Sohail’s mind betrayed him — picturing her mouth stretched wide around Vishal’s cock, her throat bulging, those ripe tits bouncing while she rode him on some hotel balcony.

Had she just sucked him off in the parking lot?
Was his cum still hot in her throat when she giggled like that?

Sohail’s cock throbbed against his jeans.

He should’ve turned away.
He didn’t.


His eyes devoured every lurid detail — the hypnotic sway of her ass, how her nipples pressed against the thin fabric, how Vishal grinned like a man who knew he owned her. Knew he could take her right there in the sand, if he wanted to.

And Sohail…
would watch.

He hated himself for it.
Hated how badly he wanted to.

“What are you staring at?”
Naila’s voice, soft. Too close.

He flinched — yanked back to the present — to the woman he married.
Naila.Sweet. Devout. Modest. Everything Afrah wasn’t. Everything he thought he wanted.

Her delicate features were softened by the dying sun, her eyes big and trusting.
The innocence of her made something sour twist in his gut.
Because in that moment, all Sohail could see was her gagging on another man’s cock.

Stop. Stop this.

“Nothing, jaan.” He forced a smile.

But then —
He saw him.

A tall, broad-shouldered stranger a few feet away. Dark skin, thick forearms inked with bold lines, sunglasses pushed back into slick hair. The man wasn’t subtle — he was staring at Naila. A long, slow, hungry gaze. The kind that stripped a woman down in broad daylight.

Sohail’s gut clenched.

And for one loaded second…
Naila looked back.

A startled flicker of eye contact.
A faint, nervous blush.
Then she looked down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.Sohail’s cock jerked again.
A pulse of heat and humiliation.

God. He felt it. That thing inside him again. That thing he could never kill.

He told himself it meant nothing.
That she was just startled.
That she didn’t feel the heat in that stranger’s gaze.

But a sick thrill coiled in his stomach.

He swallowed hard.
And in his head, Afrah laughed.

Some men were made to take.
And some men — to watch.

And Sohail would always be the latter.


The end..

[DasuLucky]

Thankyou.. 

[siva05]

Claim whats is yours. Kudos man

[Vinty03]

Very hot update but gif missing

[Ananthukutty]

Super finish.

[Ayush01111]

So story end and vishal made his promise to take away arfa from sohil in good gesture great but he broke some thing inside of sohil and made him another person

[Ajay Kailash]

Great way to end, but you could have avoid turning sohail to cuck.

[damien123456]

Well, it's a good ending to the story, but I never expected it to end so soon. It could have been one of the best stories among the top ones on the forum. I think the author ended it prematurely because they didn't get the support they deserved.