Adultery Sakshi's Universe
She is on her honeymoon with new husband and his mangalsutra. Cant wait to read more.
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very very nice
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Please give update
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waiting for threesome with ramu and his friend
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A sleek, dark SUV waited just outside Agra Cantt station, its tinted windows gleaming under the haze of early morning. The air smelled of engine heat, diesel, and distant chai stalls. Ramu stepped onto the platform, his arm casually slung over the small overnight bag, while Sakshi walked just behind him, her plum silk saree rustling with slow confidence. Her blouse, sleeveless and scooped deep at the back, revealed faint red bite marks near the shoulder blade—a love letter written in teeth during last night’s journey.
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A young man stood beside the car. Lean frame. Clean jawline. Eyes that didn’t quite know where to look. Ismail Bhai’s grandson. The one Noor left behind.

He straightened when he saw them, surprise flickering fast across his features. He had expected an old man. Not this. Not her. Not this pairing that looked like scandal dressed in silk.

Ramu smirked faintly. “Beta,” he said, voice steady, “this is Sakshi. My wife.”

The young man’s brows lifted—just a fraction too high. But he recovered quickly, stepping forward to open the back door with forced politeness.

“Namaste, aunty,” he said.

Sakshi met his gaze and smiled. Not with innocence. With awareness.

“Namaste, beta,” she replied, voice honey-sweet. Her bangles clinked as she adjusted her pallu, not to cover—but to shift his attention.

As she stepped into the backseat, her thigh brushed the edge of the doorframe. No petticoat. No modesty. Just silk over skin. The grandson saw it. Flinched. Looked away. Ramu noticed.

When the door shut, the AC humming low and cool, Sakshi leaned in close to Ramu.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” she whispered. “The boy Noor left behind.”

Ramu chuckled. “Mmm. And now he’s driving us to watch her marry his grandfather.”

She grinned wickedly. “Poetic.”

The car rolled forward. The city passed in slow frames beyond the glass. But inside that cabin, beneath the soft hum of AC and unspoken tension, a different heat began to bloom.

Ramu cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. "All okay, beta? Must feel a bit odd, no? All this shaadi-shaadi tamasha."

The boy didn’t look back. "Haan, uncle. Sab theek. Just focusing on the road."

But he wasn’t fine. Not at all.

His thoughts churned like hot tea in a steel tumbler.

She called herself his wife. This woman in a plum saree, dbangd like temptation itself. And Ramu—like some smug guru—sat beside her, claiming her with one word: 'wife'.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Each time the rearview tilted, he caught her side-profile—the gentle swell of her hip, the pallu slipping, her bangles resting just above Ramu’s thigh.

Was Dada testing him? Playing one final prank? Or was this some karmic punishment?

He tried to breathe through it. Focus on the roads of Agra he’d known since childhood. But now, even familiar turns looked blurred by shame, heat, and rage.

Ramu’s voice broke the tension. "Good, good. And please thank Ismail Bhai. Such royal treatment, yaar. Car, room, everything. He’s a man of culture."

The young man nodded. "He asked me to take full care of you both."

Ramu chuckled. "That’s our Bhai. Always one step ahead. Samajhdar aadmi. He knows what people crave. Even if they never say it."

There was a pause. Then:

"He said you’re like his brother, more than a friend."

"Not wrong," Ramu said softly. "Some relationships need no explanations."

The boy’s jaw tensed. His foot pressed harder on the pedal.

Ramu settled back in the seat, fingers gently brushing Sakshi’s. She didn’t flinch.

"He’s built a strange kind of shaanti for himself," Ramu murmured. "And now we’re part of it."

Sakshi smiled faintly. "I’m curious though. What kind of dulhan did he choose this time, hmm? Fourth marriage, na? Must be someone experienced. Senior citizens ka pyaar story."

Ramu grinned. "Haan. I imagine she wears thick chashma, carries Vicks in her handbag, and nags him to take his BP meds on time."

Sakshi added, “I bet she lectures him on turmeric and fenugreek every night. Pure sanskaar."

The grandson coughed. Ramu leaned forward.

"Beta, her name’s Noor, right? Such a young name. I always thought Noor would be someone lively, mischief-filled."

The boy spoke stiffly. "She’s twenty-one."

And you both know it. Don’t pretend. Don’t act like you’re clueless.

"Wah," Ramu said, leaning back, victorious. "Toh chauthi shaadi mein full josh hai. Mazaa aa gaya."

Sakshi giggled. "So much for arthritis."

Ramu added, "I wonder what he’s saved her number as. Noor Beta? Noor Baby? Or Noor 4.0?"

Sakshi tapped the dashboard. "Beta, does she have a caller tune? Kuch spicy? ‘Sheila Ki Jawani’?"

The grandson’s knuckles whitened.

"And you? Still single, hmm? Or you have some hidden dulhan somewhere?"

“No, aunty,” he muttered.

“Hmmm,” Sakshi teased, “Never mind. Weddings are full of surprises. Maybe someone will notice you too."

Ramu leaned in and whispered into Sakshi’s ear, voice like ghee melting on hot paratha, “Not everyone’s as lucky as Ismail Bhai—stealing the same flower his own grandson once watered.”

The boy’s ears burned. His throat ached. But he said nothing.

Why did she look at him like that? Why did she smile like she knew every ache in his chest?

This was punishment. This was revenge in slow motion.

The rest of the ride was quiet.

Outside, Agra bustled like any wedding morning.

Inside, Ramu and Sakshi leaned back, glowing.

The grandson? He drove, jaw locked, heart breaking, pants tight.
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Ismail is enjoying the wife of the man and he is driving the newly wedded.
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wow lovely
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Nice update
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Update nhi doge kya Bhai
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Waiting for your next update
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Update nhi doge kya Bhai yaar
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Waiting for your next update
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Update please bhai
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Interesting
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The SUV hummed quietly as it rolled through the winding streets of Agra, weaving past honking auto-rickshaws, sleepy paan stalls, and the occasional monkey perched like a chhota nawab on sagging electric wires. The morning sun cast long golden stripes across the dusty windshield, and the air inside the vehicle was cool thanks to the AC, but the tension in the backseat crackled like hot mustard seeds sputtering in a steel tadka pan. Ramu sat calm and grounded on the right, legs spread in quiet authority, his fingers grazing Sakshi's like someone testing the pulse of power—silent, steady, full of promise.

Sakshi sat beside him like a scene straight out of a Tamil devotional poster—graceful, radiant, and just slightly dangerous. Her legs were crossed at the ankle, her plum silk saree pulled taut over her thighs, the pleats sharp enough to cut. The gold zari border of her pallu shimmered as it hugged her bosom. Her posture was ramrod straight, her chin slightly lifted, her kohl-lined eyes half-lidded with indifference. The air carried the faint scent of jasmine from her braid and something older—older than perfume, older than shame.
In the rearview mirror, the grandson's eyes flicked back again. Just once. Then again. His grip on the steering wheel was as stiff as the collar of a new FabIndia kurta.
She smiled. That kind of smile. The one women from the South are trained to wield like a veena—sweet in sound, sharp in effect.
"So quiet up there," Sakshi said airily, adjusting her glass bangles with a slow clink-clink. "Is Agra always this shaant? Or is our driver saab too deep in his socha-vichar?"
No answer.
She leaned into Ramu, her voice lowered like a temple bell at dusk—meant only for him, but loud enough to tease the wind. "These city rides, Ramu... they make me miss our village roads. At least wahan, the boys had the guts to look a woman in the eye. Not like these half-baked shehzadas—sab dikhawa."
Ramu chuckled, nodding with the amused calm of a pensioned patriarch. "Haan. Sheher ke ladke toh naachne wale bandaron jaise ho gaye hain. Always twitching, always peeking."
The SUV hit a pothole, and Sakshi let out a soft gasp—just enough to seem accidental. Ramu’s hand found her thigh like it was a returning pilgrim. She didn’t stop him. She barely blinked.
Her pleats shifted with the motion. His fingers settled beneath the edge of her saree, warm and firm on skin he already knew. Not vulgar. Not rushed. Just… rightful.
The grandson up front didn’t speak, but the air around him changed. His back stiffened. His hands clenched the wheel like it owed him answers.
Sakshi tilted slightly, her full profile gleaming in the mirror. She let him watch. She wanted him to. "I wonder," she said in a tone dipped in malai and chillies, "how it must feel... to keep losing things you once thought were yours."
Ramu murmured, eyes half-lidded, "Zindagi sikhati hai, Sakshi. Kabhi narmi se, kabhi chaata maar ke."
Then he leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her temple. He whispered in a voice soaked in old Lucknowi tehzeeb and dirty delight: "Bechara. Usko kya pata he's driving the baarat of his own heartbreak."
Sakshi laughed under her breath. "Kya karein, Ramu... aaj kal ke jawaan toh bas reels banate hain. Shaadi ka asli maza toh buddho ke haath mein hai ab."
Ramu’s fingers squeezed gently. "Aur jo buddhe haath mein lete hain, unki pakad chhutti nahi."
She looked back toward the mirror, this time not smiling but smirking. "Now it’s all older men and younger brides. Girls want power, not puppy faces. Security, not six packs."
The car turned onto a narrower street. Potholes thudded under their tyres. The boy in front blinked rapidly, as if trying to drive through fog made of humiliation.
Sakshi leaned just a little closer to Ramu and said, loud enough to cut: "Maybe next time, he won’t treat a queen like a fling."
No reply.
But every word landed.
And Sakshi’s smile returned—calm, slow, lethal. Like a diya flame burning steady while the ghee boils beneath it.

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Please put english translation next to hindi conversations.
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Update nhi doge kya bhai yaar
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I thought this old man will have heart attack while fucking sakshi :)
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Update please
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The story is somewhat started boring
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