Adultery Fathima - wife to slutty broker (With Pics)

[xboard1986]

Amazing

[val.coutinho]

Awesome update

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 10:
The clock in the rickshaw's dashboard read 12:30 PM, the digits stark in the dim light. The realization hit her like a slap to the face, jolting her out of the haze of desire that had consumed her at the hotel. She looked down at the crimson fabric clinging to her body, feeling the stickiness of cum between her legs and the faint smell of their passion. The reality of her situation crashed over her like a cold shower, and she realized she couldn't face Aslam—or anyone from her life—like this.

 
"Rajesh," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "it's late. No one will be around. Drop me home, please." Her eyes remained fixed on the passing streetlights, their glow casting an eerie pallor over the cityscape. She needed the sanctity of her own space to process what had happened, to figure out what this meant for her and her marriage.
 
Rajesh nodded, his expression inscrutable in the mirror. He knew better than to ask questions. He'd seen that look before, the look of a woman who had stepped out of the shadows of propriety and tasted the sweet, forbidden fruit of desire. He steered the rickshaw through the quiet streets, the only sound the hum of the engine and the distant wail of a siren. The silence was thick with unspoken words, each of them weighing heavily on Fathima's conscience.
 
The apartment complex loomed before them, a stark contrast to the opulence of the Sheraton Hotel. The stark white paint looked almost yellow under the streetlights, and the gate creaked open with a sound that seemed to echo through the night. Fathima got out of the rickshaw, the dress whispering against her skin as she moved. She turned to hand the cash to Rajesh, but his eyes were glued to her chest, his hands under his lungi, stroking his now-erect dick.
 
Her eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back. "What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice shaking. She had never seen this side of him before, the raw hunger in his gaze making her feel both exposed and powerful.
 
Rajesh looked up at her, his eyes dark and needy. "Madam," he said, his voice low and thick, "you look so beautiful tonight. It's hard not to want you." His hand didn't stop moving, the rhythmic motion mesmerizing despite her horror.
 
Fathima's mind raced. She had never encountered this side of Rajesh before, and she didn't know how to react. Part of her was repulsed, but another part, the part that had been so thoroughly aroused by Rahul just minutes ago, felt a strange thrill at the blatant desire in his gaze. She took a step back, her hand hovering over the autorickshaw's door. "Please, Rajesh," she murmured, her voice shaking, "not here. Not like this."
 
"Madam, please," he begged, his hand moving faster. His eyes never left hers, his breath coming in ragged pants. "Let me finish. I won't tell anyone, I swear." The desperation in his voice was palpable, and Fathima found herself torn between pity and fear. She knew that if she allowed this, she would be crossing another line, one that might be even harder to come back from.
 
Fathima swallowed hard, her eyes flicking to the empty street behind her. The darkness was almost comforting, offering a veil of anonymity to the chaos of her thoughts. Her hand trembled as she reached for the strap of her dress, the fabric slipping down with an almost silent whisper. Her heart hammered in her chest as she revealed her bare shoulder, the cool night air sending a shiver through her body.


 
Rajesh's eyes widened at the sight, his grip on his cock tightening as the fabric of her dress dipped dangerously low, revealing the upper swell of one of her breasts. The pale moonlight painted the exposed flesh with a silver glow, making it seem almost ethereal in the starkness of the night. The tension in the air grew palpable, a heady mix of lust and power.
 
Her hand hovered over her bare shoulder, her thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. She knew what she was doing, knew that she had the power to push him over the edge. With a flick of her wrist, she allowed the dress to slip even lower, exposing the peak of her left breast. The fabric clung to the wetness on her chest, a stark reminder of her earlier encounter.
 
Rajesh's breath hitched, and Fathima felt a thrill of power as she watched his hand move faster, his eyes glued to her exposed flesh. She could see the muscles in his forearm tense and release, the veins standing out in stark relief. His face was a study in concentration, his eyes glazed with need. She knew he was close, could sense it in the way his breath grew shallower, his movements more erratic.
 
The moment of his climax was almost anticlimactic. A low groan rumbled through his chest, his eyes squeezing shut as he spilled his seed into the night. His hand paused for a moment, the sticky warmth of his cum hitting the floor of the autorickshaw with a soft thud. Then, as if coming out of a trance, he looked up at her, his expression a mix of shock, embarrassment, and gratitude.
 
Fathima felt a wave of revulsion wash over her, but she collegeed her features into something resembling calm. She quickly adjusted her dress, making sure it was back in place, hiding the evidence of her earlier tryst. Her heart hammered in her chest, the sound of it echoing in the quiet night air. She reached into her purse and pulled out the crumpled bills, her hand shaking slightly as she held them out to him.
 
Rajesh took the money, his cum-stained fingers briefly brushing against hers as he accepted the payment. The sticky residue clung to her skin, a tangible reminder of the power she now wielded over him. Fathima forced a smile, trying to keep the encounter as professional as possible despite the intimacy they had just shared.
 
The autorickshaw pulled away from the curb, the engine's putter fading into the night as Fathima watched it disappear around the corner. She stood there for a moment, the cool breeze whispering around her, the crimson dress feeling like a second skin. The cum on her hands felt like a brand, marking her as something other than the respectable wife she had been just hours ago.
 
With a trembling hand, she reached for the elevator button, her thoughts racing. The doors slid open with a soft ding, and she stepped inside, the sterile scent of the enclosed space a stark contrast to the heady aroma of sex that clung to her. The walls of the elevator closed in around her, the mirrored surface reflecting her flushed face and the smudged lipstick that told the story of her betrayal.
 
Her eyes fell to her trembling hands, the sticky residue of Rajesh's desire a stark reminder of the lines she had crossed. In a moment of boldness born from the tumult of her emotions, Fathima brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes never leaving her own gaze in the mirror. She licked her thumb, the salty tang of his cum hitting her taste buds, making her stomach twist with a mix of disgust and fascination.
 
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing the empty hallway that led to her apartment. She stepped out, her heels clacking against the cold, hard tile, the only sound in the silent night. The hall was a stark contrast to the vibrant life outside, the walls lined with unadorned white doors, each hiding its own secrets.
 
Fathima's heart felt like it was in her throat as she approached her own door, the key trembling in her hand. She slid it into the lock, turning it with a quiet click that seemed to echo down the corridor. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the dimly lit living room, the soft glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the floor.
 
Her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw Rahman in the kitchen, his lean body partially obscured by the open fridge door. He was dressed only in his black V-shaped underwear, the elastic band digging into his waist and emphasizing the size of his bulge. A chill ran down her spine at the sight of him, her thoughts immediately racing back to the restroom in the hotel, to the way Rahul's cock had felt in her hand.


 
The fridge light cast a cool blue glow over his bare chest, illuminating the dusting of hair that trailed down from his navel to the waistband. She couldn't help but wonder what he looked like completely naked, his cock fully erect. The image was so vivid in her mind that she could almost feel it pressing against her again, the memory of his passion making her legs feel weak.
 
But then he turned, the fridge door swinging closed with a thud that seemed to shatter the silence. His eyes widened when he saw her, and Fathima felt a cold sweat break out across her forehead. She had forgotten about him, lost in her own world of desire and guilt.
 
"Anni, I thought you were sleep," he said, his voice tight with surprise. He quickly reached for the hem of his T-shirt, which was hanging over the back of a chair, and pulled it on over his head, hiding his bare chest. The bulge in his underwear was now more pronounced, and Fathima couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal despite the situation.
 
Her cheeks flushed with both guilt and desire, she raised her hand to cover her cleavage. "Rahman," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "I was in a meeting—so I had to dress like this." The lie came out more naturally than she had expected, the words slipping from her lips as if they had been rehearsed.
 
His eyes lingering on her bare shoulders. "You've never worn anything like this before," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It suits you, anni. You look...hot." The word hung in the air, a silent admission of the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind.


 
Fathima felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks, her hand moving to self-consciously cover her exposed skin. She had never thought of herself as "hot," not in the way that word was used to describe the kind of women who flaunted their bodies and chased after men. She had always been the good girl, the faithful wife, the one who wore the conservative clothes her family approved of. But standing there, in that crimson dress, she felt the power of attraction in a way she never had before.
 
"Don't tell Aslam," she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper, "or your parents. They wouldn't understand." The words hung in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the secrets she had been keeping from everyone she loved. She could see the curiosity in Rahman's eyes, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He knew she was hiding something, and she could feel the beginnings of a dangerous attraction unfurling between them.
 
"What's got you all dressed up like this?" he asked, his eyes dropping to the dress that clung to her body like a second skin. Fathima felt the weight of his gaze, the hunger in it making her feel both exposed and desired. "It's just...work," she stuttered, her mind racing for an excuse. "A last-minute client dinner, and I had to look the part."
 
Rahman nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. "I will not tell anyone, anni," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through her very bones. It was a promise, but it also felt like a threat, a silent understanding that he was now a part of her secret. Fathima felt a strange mix of relief and dread, knowing that she had just shared a piece of herself with her brother-in-law that she had never intended to.
 
With trembling hands, she turned and made her way to the bedroom, the crimson dress whispering seductively as she walked. The room was a sanctuary, dimly lit by the glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. Aslam lay on the bed, his deep snores a stark contrast to the tumult in her heart. The sight of him was both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the life she had chosen and the passion she had left behind in that hotel room.
 
Fathima closed the door behind her with a quiet click, the sound echoing through the room like the final nail in a coffin. She reached behind her, her fingers fumbling with the zipper of the dress that now felt like a prison. With a shiver, she shimmied out of the fabric that had been the stage for her infidelity, letting it pool at her feet. Her body was flushed, the air conditioning cold against her overheated skin.
 
The bedroom was a sanctuary of normalcy amidst the chaos of her thoughts. Aslam lay there, oblivious to the tempest raging within her. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his deep snores, the sound a stark contrast to the erratic beat of her heart. She approached the bed slowly, the floor cold under her bare feet. The smell of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of sex that clung to her skin, a potent reminder of her betrayal.
 
Fathima slid into bed beside him, her body tense with guilt and desire. She lay there, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind racing with the events of the evening. The cool fabric of the bedsheets against her skin brought a small measure of comfort, a semblance of purity to counteract the sticky residue of her indiscretions. Yet, as she listened to Aslam's steady breathing, she found herself unable to find the peace she so desperately sought.
 
Her eyes drifted closed, and she slipped into a fitful sleep, haunted by the faces of the men who had kissed her, touched her, made her feel alive in ways she hadn't felt in years. It was a restless, tumultuous sleep, filled with fevered dreams of passion and betrayal that left her feeling both guilty and exhilarated. When she finally awoke, she had no idea how long she had been unconscious.
 
Fathima's eyes shot open as she felt a pair of lips pressing against hers, the sensation so real it took her a moment to realize she wasn't dreaming. The kiss was deep and demanding, the kind that stole her breath and made her heart race. She gasped, her body responding instinctively, her arms wrapping around the broad shoulders of the person above her.

[Kartikjessie]

Super update

[Abhi T]

Suspense full update great going let's see who is kissing her in next update

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 11:
Her eyes focused, and she saw Lakshmi's face hovering over hers, her dark eyes filled with a hunger that Fathima had never seen before. The shock of the moment froze her for a second, her mind racing to make sense of what was happening. Then, as the reality of the situation crashed into her consciousness, she pushed Lakshmi away with a strength she didn't know she had.

 
Lakshmi stumbled back, a look of surprise and hurt crossing her face, her naked body glowing in the moonlight that spilled into the room. Her large, shaggy-haired pussy was exposed, the sight of it sending a bolt of both fear and arousal through Fathima. She had never seen another woman's nakedness up close, let alone been the object of such desire.
 
"What time is it?" Fathima croaked, her voice thick with sleep and the weight of what she had just done. She reached over to the bedside table, her hand shaking as she grabbed her phone, the screen illuminating the dark room. It was 3:45 AM, and the quiet of the night was broken only by the distant sound of a car's engine and the hammering of her own heart.
 
"Aslam said you were tired from work," Lakshmi murmured, her voice a seductive purr. She stepped closer, the shadows playing across her bare skin, making her seem almost predatory. "So, I came to check on you."
 
Fathima sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. "Why are you naked?" she demanded, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. Lakshmi's gaze was intense, her eyes raking over Fathima's body with an open hunger that made Fathima feel exposed and vulnerable.
 
"I saw you," Lakshmi said, her voice low and throaty, "sleeping naked. I thought we could continue where we left off in the kitchen yesterday." The memory of Lakshmi's hand on her breast, the heat of her mouth on her skin, rushed back to Fathima in a wave of sensation. She felt a flush of arousal that she quickly tried to suppress.
 
Without giving herself a chance to think, Fathima threw the bedsheet over her head and launched herself at Lakshmi, their bodies colliding with a force that sent them both stumbling backward. The kiss was desperate and hungry, their mouths devouring each other as if they were starving. Lakshmi's hands found Fathima's waist, pulling her closer, her nails digging into the soft flesh.


 
Fathima's own hands roamed, finding the heat between Lakshmi's legs, the wetness of her pussy surprising her. Lakshmi gasped into her mouth as Fathima's fingers explored, tentative at first, then more assured. Her thumb found the swollen nub of Lakshmi's clit, and she began to rub it in tight, slow circles, feeling the other woman's hips jerk against her hand. The scent of sex filled the room, a heady aphrodisiac that seemed to cloud her senses.
 
Fathima felt Lakshmi's hand slide down her own body, her own wetness mirroring the slickness she found. The sensation of Lakshmi's long, skilled fingers sliding into her was almost too much, a whirlwind of sensation that she had never felt before. Their breaths mingled as Lakshmi began to move in a rhythm that matched Fathima's own, their bodies moving in a silent dance of desire.
 
And then, Lakshmi was guiding Fathima's head downward, her hands tangling in Fathima's hair as she urged her closer. Fathima's eyes widened in surprise, but the scent of Lakshmi's arousal was intoxicating, and she found herself eager to taste the forbidden fruit that lay before her. Lakshmi's legs parted further, and Fathima's gaze fell upon the dark, unshaved mound of hair that shielded her most intimate parts.
 
With a gentle push from Lakshmi's hand, Fathima's mouth found the soft, warm flesh of her pussy, the coarse hairs tickling her nose as she took in the heady aroma of female desire. Her tongue darted out tentatively, tracing the delicate folds, learning the taste of another woman's passion. Lakshmi's body responded with a shiver, her hips rolling in a silent plea for more.


 
Fathima licked along the length of Lakshmi's slit, the sweetness of her arousal coating her tongue. She felt a thrill of excitement as she explored this new terrain, her mind racing with the thought of what Aslam would think if he knew what she was doing. Yet, she couldn't deny the allure of the moment, the raw, unbridled need that Lakshmi's body emitted.
 
"Rahman," Lakshmi moaned, her voice thick with desire, "he called out your name while he fucked me this morning." The words were like a hot knife through butter, slicing through Fathima's consciousness and igniting a maelstrom of emotions. Jealousy, anger, and a twisted sense of arousal coiled within her as she paused, her tongue lingering at Lakshmi's entrance.
 
Fathima's eyes snapped up, meeting Lakshmi's gaze. The other woman's eyes were hooded with pleasure, a smug smile playing on her lips. The revelation was a deliberate provocation, a declaration of victory in the silent war they had been waging over the men in their lives. It was a stark reminder of Lakshmi's betrayal, the affair that had shaken Fathima's world to its very core.
 
But as Lakshmi's fingers guided her down, Fathima felt something else, something primal and all-consuming. It was a hunger she had never acknowledged before, a yearning to claim back what she had lost, to conquer the woman who had stolen from her. She allowed Lakshmi to push her down onto her back, their bodies tangling together in a tapestry of limbs and desire.


 
The moment Lakshmi's mouth found her own center, Fathima's resolve shattered. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that she had never known. Lakshmi's tongue danced over her clit, teasing and taunting, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Fathima's hips bucked, a guttural moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the feeling. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of desire that she had been holding back for years.
 
Her eyes squeezed shut, she felt Lakshmi's hands on her breasts, kneading and pinching the hardened nipples, sending bolts of pleasure shooting through her body. The room spun, and she could feel the pressure building, her orgasm approaching like a freight train. It was a strange mix of anger, betrayal, and lust that fueled her climax, a maelstrom of emotion that culminated in a scream that was muffled by Lakshmi's hand over her mouth.
 
Their bodies writhed together, lost in the tumult of passion and anger. Lakshmi's tongue worked her clit with a fierce determination, and Fathima felt her legs begin to shake. She had never been brought to the edge so quickly, but the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and she couldn't hold back any longer.


 
Her orgasm crashed over her, a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. She bucked and moaned into Lakshmi's hand, her eyes squeezed shut as she rode the peak of her climax. It was a strange mix of emotions, feeling so alive and powerful in the throes of passion with a woman she had once called a friend, yet now felt like a rival in every sense of the word.
 
As the tremors subsided, Lakshmi removed her hand from Fathima's mouth, her own chest heaving with the effort of bringing her to such heights. The two of them lay there, naked and exposed, their bodies entwined in a mess of sheets and desire. The room was quiet except for their ragged breaths, the only evidence of the storm that had just passed.
 
Fathima opened her eyes, looking into Lakshmi's face, the face that had brought her to such a peak of pleasure she had never known. "This was the first time I've been with a woman," she whispered, the words sounding foreign on her lips. The confession hung in the air, a stark contrast to the silent understanding that had existed between them moments before.
 
Lakshmi's eyes searched hers, the smugness replaced with a flicker of something that might have been respect. "I know," she murmured, her voice a soft purr in the quiet room. "I could tell by the way you tasted me, by the way your body responded to mine. It was...beautiful."
 
Her hand trailed down Fathima's neck, her thumb circling Fathima's full lips, tracing the outline of her mouth. "So, can we continue like this?" she asked, her voice low and seductive. Fathima felt the question resonate through her, a siren's call that she didn't know if she had the strength to resist. The weight of her own infidelity lay heavy on her chest, a dark secret that she had never intended to share.
 
Fathima took a deep breath, feeling the tension coil in her stomach. "Sure," she whispered finally, "but no one should know." It was a feeble attempt to maintain control, a last-ditch effort to keep the shambles of her life from crumbling completely. Lakshmi's smile grew, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light that sent a shiver down Fathima's spine.
 
The two women lay there for a moment, the silence heavy with unspoken truths and newfound desires. Lakshmi leaned in, her breath warm against Fathima's neck as she spoke, "Why did Rahman call out your name?" The question was a challenge, a demand for Fathima to admit her own transgressions. Fathima felt a rush of anger, the heat of it mixing with the lingering passion.
 
"What do you mean?" she responded, her voice a mix of confusion and defensiveness. Lakshmi's eyes narrowed, and she moved her head to rest on Fathima's heaving chest, her cheek pressed against the soft mound of a breast. "This morning, when he was fucking me," she whispered, her voice a mix of amusement and accusation, "he said your name. What did you do to him?"
 
Fathima couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little too high-pitched, a little too forced. She trailed her fingers through Lakshmi's hair, the soft strands slipping through her fingers like silk. "Poor boy," she said, her voice a mocking purr, "When I came home late last night, I was wearing a sexy red party dress, and he was in the kitchen in his undies."
 
Lakshmi's eyes narrowed, and she pulled away slightly, her hand still resting on Fathima's stomach. "Why were you wearing that dress?" she asked again, her tone more insistent this time. "I've never seen you in anything like that. It's...not you."
 
Fathima took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "It's work, Lakshmi," she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. "Elite Properties is a cutthroat business, and sometimes, you have to play the game to win. Dressing like that...it's just part of the job. It helps me sell houses. Clients are more inclined to buy when they're...distracted by the salesperson."
 
Lakshmi's gaze remained sharp, unconvinced. "But did you fuck anyone else other than your husband?" she pressed, her voice a seductive challenge that seemed to echo through the room. Fathima felt her heart race, her mind racing with the memory of Rahul's hands on her body, the heat of his kiss, and the way he had filled her so completely.
 
Taking a deep breath, she met Lakshmi's eyes, the words leaving her mouth in a rush. "Yes," she admitted, the confession leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. "I fucked my colleague, Rahul, last night in a hotel bathroom." The admission hung in the air like a cloud of smoke, thick and suffocating. Lakshmi's eyes widened for a brief second before a slow smile spread across her face, a smile that was equal parts shock and intrigue.
 
"This stays between us, Lakshmi," Fathima whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You can't tell anyone, especially not Aslam or Rahman. This is my secret, my mistake." Lakshmi nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. "I understand," she said, her voice low and soothing, almost as if she were comforting a scared child. "We all have our secrets, Fathima. It's what makes us human."
 
Fathima felt a sudden urge to know Lakshmi's secrets, to understand what had led her down this path of deceit and betrayal. "How did you start fucking Rahman?" she asked, the words spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. Lakshmi's expression grew thoughtful, her eyes drifting to the side as she remembered.
 
"It was when I started working here," Lakshmi began, her voice distant. "Your father-in-law, Fazul, used to come home early sometimes. He saw me, lonely and desperate for attention. He knew I was unhappy and took advantage of it. He was kind to me, charming, and before I knew it, we were having an affair. It was only natural for Rahman to stumble upon us one day."
 
Fathima's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "My father-in-law? I thought he was a good man," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. The image of the kind, gentle Fazul she knew was shattered by Lakshmi's revelation, leaving her feeling dizzy with confusion and anger. "How could he do that?"
 
Lakshmi's smile grew into a wicked grin, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Oh, Fathima," she said, her voice dripping with mock pity, "you're so naive. He's not the man you think he is." Her hand trailed down Fathima's stomach, her fingertips playing with the soft curls of hair between her legs. "But he does know how to please a woman," she added, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur.
 
Fathima felt a flash of anger, but it was quickly doused by the heat of Lakshmi's words. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tight with emotion. Lakshmi's eyes met hers, and she leaned in close, her breath hot against Fathima's ear. "Your father-in-law," she whispered, "is the best lover I've ever had. He's so rough, so demanding. He makes me scream with pleasure, things your sweet, your gentle Aslam could never do."
 
The revelation was like a slap in the face, a brutal wake-up call to the harsh reality of the world she had been living in. Her mind reeled with images of Lakshmi and Fazul entwined in passion, the very man she had once respected as a second father now a symbol of betrayal. The room seemed to spin, and Fathima felt as if she were falling into an abyss of deceit and lust.
 
With a sudden urgency, Lakshmi pulled away from her and stood up, her naked body a stark contrast to the prudish attire Fathima had always known her to wear. She reached for her discarded clothes, her movements swift and purposeful. "We should get dressed," Lakshmi murmured, her voice a soft caress in the quiet room. "We can't have anyone suspecting."
 
Fathima watched her, the events of the night playing out in her mind like a sordid movie reel. As Lakshmi wrapped herself in the familiar embrace of her saree, Fathima couldn't help but feel a pang of something akin to jealousy. The fabric whispered around Lakshmi's curves, hinting at the secrets she held so close. With each fold and tuck, Lakshmi seemed to regain a piece of herself, the predator donning the guise of a housewife once again.
 
Her own phone, discarded on the floor, beckoned with a silent scream of missed calls and unread messages. Her heart racing, Fathima reached for it, the cold screen a stark contrast to the warmth of Lakshmi's skin that still lingered on her fingers. Four from Rahul, her mind screamed, her chest tightening. And seven from Dsouza, her boss. The numbers taunted her, a reminder of the tangled web she'd spun at work and now at home.
 
With trembling hands, she called Dsouza back. His gruff voice answered almost immediately. "Fathima," he barked, "Where the hell are you? The investor's meeting is in an hour, and you're nowhere to be found." The urgency in his tone was palpable, a stark contrast to the languid strokes of Lakshmi's fingers across her skin moments ago.
 
"I'm sorry," she managed, her voice a hoarse whisper, "I had... an emergency." The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, a stark reminder of the tangled web she'd woven around her personal and professional life. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
 
Dsouza's response was swift and uncompromising. "You have one hour, Fathima. If you're not in my office with an explanation that satisfies me, don't bother coming back to work." The line went dead, leaving her staring at the phone in her trembling hand. The gravity of his words settled heavily on her shoulders. She had crossed a line, and the consequences were already barreling towards her.

[Kartikjessie]

Super update

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 12:
With a jolt of panic, Fathima shot out of bed, her legs unsteady from the aftermath of her encounter with Lakshmi. Her eyes fell upon the crimson dress discarded on the floor, a silent witness to her transgressions. She felt a mix of fear and anger at the situation she had been forced into, the fabric seemingly taunting her with the memory of the night's events. She quickly slipped into her modest nightclothes and rushed to the bathroom, the cold water from the tap a shock to her heated skin.

 
Her reflection in the mirror was that of a stranger, a woman with hollowed eyes and a haunted expression. She knew she had to pull herself together, to face the day ahead. The meeting with Dsouza was crucial, and she needed to find the perfect armor to protect herself from his wrath. With trembling hands, she rummaged through her wardrobe, searching for an outfit that could somehow make amends for her absence.
 
Her eyes fell upon a simple white shirt she had worn often in college, and a short skirt that ended just above her knees. It was a stark contrast to the conservative attire she had donned since her marriage, but it held a certain power, a reminder of the carefree days before her world had become a minefield of secrets and lies. The fabric whispered against her skin, a ghostly echo of her former self, as she slipped it on.


 
Next, she found a head scarf, a relic of her youthful rebelliousness. She wrapped it around her head with a sense of defiance, tying it in a way that framed her face, revealing just enough to maintain her respectable image for the neighbors. The soft fabric was a comforting embrace, a silent promise to herself that she could still navigate the treacherous waters of her life.
 
Fathima stepped out of her room, her heart racing with a mix of dread and determination. The house was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of traffic from the street outside. Lakshmi was in the kitchen, her back to the door, the light from the window casting her in a soft glow. The scent of spices and simmering tea filled the air, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that lingered between them.
 
Fathima took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she knew was inevitable. "Lakshmi," she called out, her voice echoing through the emptiness of the house. Lakshmi turned, her eyes lingering on Fathima's bare legs, the hem of her skirt teasingly high. A wicked smile curled her lips as she spoke, "Sexy, wish I could lift up your skirt and suck your pussy."
 
Fathima couldn't help but return the smile, a thrill of excitement shooting through her despite the gravity of their situation. "Don't worry," she said, her voice low and husky, "I have a feeling my boss is going to do the same." It was a bold declaration, one that made Lakshmi's eyes widen slightly. Fathima had never talked about her sexual escapades with such casual confidence before, and it was clear that Lakshmi was intrigued.
 
With a sudden boldness, Fathima leaned in, capturing Lakshmi's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Lakshmi's eyes fluttered closed, and she melted into the embrace, her body responding to the hunger that Fathima had kindled within her. Fathima's hands found Lakshmi's waist, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together in a silent promise of more to come.
 
But the clock was ticking, and the reality of her situation crashed back down around her. With a final lingering kiss, she pulled away, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I have to go," she murmured, her voice thick with need. Lakshmi nodded, her own eyes glazed with desire. "I'll see you tonight," she whispered, the promise in her voice unmistakable.
 
Fathima stepped out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made her heart ache. She hurried down the hallway, her heels echoing off the tiles with a rhythmic staccato that matched the racing of her thoughts. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and she stepped inside, the cool metal walls a stark contrast to the heat of the apartment.
 
Her hand trembled slightly as she pressed the button for the ground floor, the adrenaline from her encounter with Lakshmi still coursing through her veins. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but the scent of Lakshmi's perfume clinging to her skin was a constant reminder of the tumultuous night she had just survived. The elevator descended, each floor seeming to take an eternity, as if it were reluctant to let her escape the confines of the building that had become a prison of secrets.
 
When the doors finally slid open, she stepped out into the lobby, her eyes scanning the area for any sign of life. It was still early, the sun had not yet fully risen, casting the room in a soft, almost eerie light. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings and walls lined with potted plants. And there, leaning against the reception desk, was Rajesh, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling around his head like a halo of deceit.
 
The memory of the previous night flooded back to her, the image of his desperate eyes as she teased him with a glimpse of her bare flesh. She had felt powerful then, in control of his every desire. But now, seeing him in the harsh light of day, she felt only a twinge of disgust. He was a pawn in her game, a means to an end, and she had used him just as surely as Lakshmi had used her.
 
"Madam," he stammered, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and lust as he took in her attire, "I was afraid you wouldn't come back after yesterday. I... I couldn't stop thinking about you."
 
Fathima's heart skipped a beat, the memory of the way he had stared at her in the red dress flooding back to her. She knew the power she held over him, the way he had watched her with such hunger that it had made her skin crawl. But now, dressed in the modest attire she had once found so suffocating, she felt a strange thrill at the knowledge that she could still stir such passion in him. "Well, I'm here now," she said, her voice cool and composed.
 
Rajesh's eyes devoured her, the desire in his gaze unmistakable. He took a step towards her, the cigarette smoke trailing in his wake. "Madam," he began again, his voice hoarse with need, "I couldn't stop thinking about you. Last night, I...I masturbated, looking of you in that dress with your boobs out."
 
Fathima felt a jolt of shock, a mix of repulsion and arousal coursing through her. She had never been so openly objectified, and yet there was something about his raw, unfiltered confession that was oddly thrilling. The power dynamics had shifted, and she found herself reveling in the control she had over this man, a stark contrast to the powerlessness she felt with Lakshmi.
 
With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed his advances. "Later, Rajesh," she said firmly, her voice a cool command. "Now, take me to Elite Properties. Dsouza is expecting me."
 
Rajesh nodded, his eyes still glued to her, his desire barely concealed. "As you wish, Madam," he murmured, stubbing out his cigarette and leading her to his Auto. The engine roared to life, and they pulled out of the apartment complex, the early morning air thick with the promise of the day ahead. Fathima couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on her, his hunger a palpable presence in the small space.
 
As they drove through the deserted streets of Chennai, she reached up and untied her scarf, the fabric slipping from her head with a whisper. She watched his gaze flicker to the side, his eyes devouring the bare skin she revealed. With a deliberate slowness, she began to undo the top two buttons of her shirt, revealing the swell of her breasts. The fabric parted, framing her cleavage like a precious jewel.
 
Rajesh's eyes grew wide, his grip on the handlebars tightening as he struggled to keep his eyes on the road. His breathing grew heavy, and she could feel the heat of his gaze on her exposed skin. It was a heady feeling, one that made her feel alive and in control. She knew what he wanted, and she reveled in the power she had over him.
 
Fathima leaned back into the seat, her breasts threatening to spill out of the open neckline of her shirt. The fabric was damp with her arousal, the cool breeze of the early morning teasing her nipples into tight buds. She watched as his hand strayed towards the knot of his lungi, his desire for her a blatant invitation.
 
Her eyes never left the road ahead as she spoke, her voice a low purr, "Rajesh, not now. I'm in a hurry. Please drive fast." The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. She could see the frustration in his eyes, the way his hand hovered over the fabric of his lungi, his fingers itching to free his erection.
 
With a low growl, he shifted his grip to the handlebars, the engine of the auto revving as he pushed the pedal down harder. The vehicle lurched forward, the acceleration pressing her back into the seat. The wind whipped through the open sides, the fabric of her shirt billowing around her. She felt a thrill of excitement at the speed, her breasts bouncing with every bump in the road, the fabric of her shirt barely containing them.
 
They arrived at Elite Properties much too soon, the building looming before them like a silent sentinel in the early morning light. Fathima stepped out of the auto, the skirt of her outfit riding up slightly to reveal the lacy tops of her stockings. She took a deep breath, the scent of petrol and the cool morning air a stark contrast to the heated confines of the vehicle.
 
"I will wait for you, Madam," Rajesh called out, his eyes still glued to the curve of her legs. Fathima shot him a knowing smile, the promise in her gaze clear. "Thank you, Rajesh," she replied, her voice a sweet caress. "I'll be back shortly."
 
With a sense of determination, she walked inside the office, her heels clicking confidently against the marble floor. The air was cool, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint scent of leather and polished wood filling her nostrils. The lights were dim, most of the employees not  in, and the silence was almost deafening. Her heart raced as she approached Dsouza's office, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and fear.
 
The door to his office was open a crack, the light from within spilling out into the corridor. She could hear the sound of his gruff voice, a phone pressed to his ear as he barked out orders. She took a deep breath, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out to knock. The sound echoed through the room, and she stepped back, waiting for his acknowledgment.
 
After what felt like an eternity, the voice boomed out, "Come in and close the fucking door." Fathima's heart skipped a beat at the harshness of his tone, but she pushed it aside, sliding through the opening with the grace of a panther stalking its prey. She knew she had to play this right, to keep her job and her secret life from unraveling completely.
 
The room was dimly lit, the blinds drawn to keep out the harsh rays of the morning sun. Dsouza sat behind his desk, the light from his computer screen casting a sickly glow on his features. He looked up as she entered, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her disheveled appearance. She could almost feel the weight of his judgment, the accusation in his gaze that she knew would come.
 
"Where were you from morning, we had an important meeting," he barked, his voice a thunderclap in the quiet office. The words hit her like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of her. She knew she had to think fast, to weave a lie that would satisfy his suspicions without raising any more.
 
Fathima stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving Dsouza's stern face. She took a deep breath, her chest rising with the effort. "I'm so sorry, sir," she began, her voice a masterful blend of contrition and urgency. "I had a... a personal emergency. My mother-in-law fell ill, and I had to take her to the hospital." The words rolled off her tongue with surprising ease, a testament to her newfound skill in deception.
 
Dsouza's expression didn't soften. "Your personal life is of no concern to me, Fathima. Your job is here, and you have responsibilities." He paused, his eyes raking over her, the unspoken accusation hanging in the air. "But it seems your... persuasive skills are still intact." His tone was laced with something that made her skin crawl, a hint of the same desire she had seen in the eyes of her clients and colleagues.
 
Fathima felt a shiver run down her spine, but she kept her voice steady. "I understand, sir. It won't happen again." She took another step closer, placing a hand on the desk, her fingers brushing against the glossy wood. "And if there's anything I can do to make it up to you..." She let the sentence hang, her eyes dropping to his crotch.
 
Dsouza's gaze never wavered from hers, his eyes dark and calculating. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together. "As a matter of fact," he began, "There is something. The investor is quite insistent on having you there. He was quite... disappointed by your absence." His eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts. "So, you will accompany me to Mumbai next week."
 
Fathima felt a flicker of panic at the thought of being alone with Dsouza in the bustling city, but she quickly collegeed her features into a mask of professionalism. "Of course, sir," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Whatever it takes to secure the deal." She knew the implications of his words, the unspoken transaction that was being offered.
 
"Good," he said, the single syllable heavy with meaning. He stood, his body looming over hers, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. He stepped closer, his breath hot against her cheek. "Before that," he murmured, his hand reaching out to trace the line of her neck, "as a punishment for your negligence, I want you to place your hands on the edge of my desk and bend forward."
 
Fathima's heart raced as she processed his words. She knew the power dynamics had shifted, and she had no choice but to submit. Slowly, she raised her arms, her palms pressing against the cool wood. She leaned forward, her breasts straining against the fabric of her shirt. The room spun around her as she felt the fabric tighten, the buttons threatening to pop open and expose her to his hungry gaze.


 
Dsouza's hands landed on her hips, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. He traced the curve of her ass over the skirt, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive flesh where her thighs met her buttocks. His grip tightened, pulling her closer to the edge of the desk, his breath hot on her neck. She could feel his erection pressing against her back, a stark reminder of what was to come.
 
With a swift, deliberate movement, Dsouza suddenly lowered her skirt along with her panties. Fathima gasped, her body tensing as the cool air kissed her exposed flesh. But she did not flinch, a strange mix of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She knew the game she was playing, knew the price she had to pay to keep her secrets hidden.


 
The sound of Dsouza's zipper echoed in the silent room, a metallic whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. She felt his hand hover over her ass, the anticipation of his touch making her skin prickle. He traced the length of his erection over her bare skin, the hot, velvety head of his penis leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock sliding over her, the weight of his hand guiding it as if he were painting a picture of desire on her flesh.


 
Then, his grip on her hips tightened, his thumbs digging into her skin as he leaned in, his voice a gruff whisper in her ear, "Don't worry, Fathima. I'm not gonna slide it in today." The words were a mix of relief and disappointment, a strange cocktail that had her pussy clenching with need. She felt his breath hot against her neck as he stepped closer, his cock now pressing into her back, a silent promise of what was to come.
 
The third button of her shirt gave way, and Fathima felt a cool draft of air against her skin as the fabric parted. Dsouza's hand slid up to cup her breast, his thumb flicking over the already hardened nipple. A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound she hadn't made in ages, not even with her husband. The second button followed, the fabric falling away to reveal the soft mounds of her breasts, the early morning light casting a warm glow over her skin.


 
"Stay like that," Dsouza grunted, his voice thick with lust. "I want to see your face when I cum." Fathima's cheeks flushed with a mix of humiliation and excitement. She had never been talked to like this before, and yet here she was, bent over his desk, her clothes in disarray, her body on display for his pleasure.
 
Dsouza's hand began to move rhythmically, the sound of his palm slapping against his erection echoing in the quiet room. With every stroke, his dick would graze the sensitive skin of her ass, the sensation making her bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, his hot, ragged breaths a testament to his excitement. The smell of his cologne mingled with the scent of their desire, a heady aroma that filled the space around them.
 
Fathima's mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. The line between her professional and personal life had never been blurrier, and yet, she found herself craving the release that was being dangled before her like a carrot on a stick. The feeling of his hand on her skin was foreign and yet exhilarating, a forbidden thrill that she hadn't felt in years. She could feel his eyes on her, his gaze devouring her bare breasts, and she knew that she was playing a dangerous game.
 
With each stroke, Dsouza's breath hitching in his throat as he neared climax. Fathima's own desire grew, her pussy wet and throbbing, betraying her even as she knew the consequences of her actions. The head of his dick tapped against her ass crack with a rhythm that matched the beating of her heart, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.


 
Then, with a final, guttural groan, Dsouza released his load. The first hot spurt of cum shot out, landing with a wet slap on her ass, the sensation surprising and somehow liberating. She felt the warmth spread as he continued to spurt, painting her skin with his seed. The room was filled with the scent of sex, a stark contrast to the sterile office air that had surrounded them moments before. She could feel the warmth of his cum sliding down her thighs, a sticky reminder of what had just occurred.
 
Fathima reached for the tissue on his desk, her hand trembling slightly. She knew what was expected of her, the price she had to pay to keep her job and her secret life intact. But as her fingertips brushed against the soft paper, Dsouza's hand shot out, stopping her mid-motion. "Don't clean it," he said, his voice still thick with lust. "Just wear your skirt over it." His words were a command, one that she knew she couldn't refuse.
 
Her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and a strange excitement she hadn't felt in a long time. Fathima straightened up, her breasts bouncing slightly from the sudden movement. She reached down, her hands shaking as she tried to pull her skirt up over her cum-soaked skin. The fabric clung to her ass, sticky with Dsouza's release. She stepped into her panties, the sensation of his cum against her flesh making her squirm.
 
As she turned towards Dsouza to button up her shirt, she couldn't help but catch a glimpse of his half-erect member, still poking out from his open pants. It was the first time she had seen an uncut penis, and the sight of it was both foreign and intriguing. It was medium-sized, the skin a soft shade of brown, the head slightly larger and more pronounced than she was used to seeing on her husband. She felt a flicker of curiosity, a spark that was quickly doused by the reality of the situation.
 
"Fathima," Dsouza said, his voice still gruff with desire, "you will get to see more of it in our trip to Mumbai." The words hung in the air, a promise and a warning. She knew that the power dynamics had shifted in their relationship, and she had become a pawn in his game. But she also knew that she had the power to manipulate him, to use his desires to her advantage.
 
With a nod, she tucked her shirt back in and straightened her skirt. She took one last look at his erect cock, feeling a strange thrill at the power she had over him, and then turned to leave. Her heels clicked against the floor with a new confidence, the sticky mess between her legs a constant reminder of her submission.
 
As Fathima stepped out of Dsouza's office, she took a deep breath, her heart racing. She paused in the corridor, smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes, ensuring she looked every bit the composed professional. The early morning light streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow on the marble floor. It was as if the office had no memory of the sordid act that had just occurred, and she could almost convince herself it was a figment of her imagination.
 
With a shaky hand, she swiped her access card, the beep echoing in the silent lobby as the glass doors slid open. The fresh air was a slap in the face, jolting her back to reality. She walked out of the building, her eyes on the horizon, as if the distance could somehow cleanse her of the taint that clung to her. The traffic outside was a cacophony of horns and engine noise, a stark contrast to the hushed whispers and unspoken threats that had filled the air just moments ago.
 
There, parked at the curb, was the auto rickshaw that had brought her to work so many times. The driver, Rajesh, caught sight of her and offered a toothy smile, his eyes lighting up. She felt a sudden urge to confess, to lay bare the events that had just unfolded in Dsouza's office. But she swallowed the words, climbing into the rickshaw with the grace of a woman who had done this a hundred times before.
 
"Where to?" he asked, his voice a gentle caress that made her stomach clench. The question was innocent enough, but in the wake of her encounter, it felt loaded with innuendo. She could see the anticipation in his eyes, the hope that she would invite him into the mess she had created.
 
Fathima took a deep breath, her eyes lingering on the digital clock of the rickshaw's dashboard. It read 6:00 PM, the numbers stark against the backdrop of her tumultuous thoughts. Her body still thrummed with need, a hunger that hadn't been sated despite the earlier climax. The image of Dsouza's uncut dick was burned into her brain, a constant reminder of the desire that had been unleashed in the confines of the office.
 
Her mind raced with the memories of the day, the way his hand had felt on her skin, the way he had used her body for his own pleasure. It was a heady mix of fear and excitement, one that had her pussy aching for more. She knew it was wrong, that she had crossed a line she might never be able to return from. But the feeling of power, of control, was too potent to ignore.
 
"Anywhere, I need to think," she murmured to the driver, her voice a bare whisper. The words hung in the air, a confession of her tumultuous emotions. The rickshaw jolted to life, the engine sputtering as it merged into the chaotic flow of traffic. The wind whipped through the open sides of the vehicle, carrying the scents of street food and exhaust fumes. Fathima closed her eyes, letting the sensory assault wash over her, trying to drown out the voice in her head that whispered of the consequences of her actions.
 
After a while, she opened her eyes to find the rickshaw parked near a beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore the only company in the cocoon of rain. She glanced around, surprised by the sudden solitude. The beach was deserted, the rain had driven everyone away, leaving only the two of them in the dimly lit space. The rhythmic stroking sound from the front seat snapped her out of her thoughts.
 
Her eyes locked onto the rearview mirror, and she saw it. Rajesh's hand moving up and down, his grip tight around his erection, his eyes never leaving her reflection. The sight sent a bolt of electricity through her, a potent cocktail of fear and arousal. She had felt the weight of his gaze earlier, but now, it was undeniable, a silent demand that made her breath hitch.
 
Fathima stepped out of the rickshaw into the rain, the cool droplets kissing her flushed skin, mixing with the sticky residue of Dsouza's cum. She knew she had to get away, to clear her head before the situation spiraled further out of control. The rain soaked her white shirt, the fabric clinging to her curves and leaving nothing to the imagination. Her black bra was clearly visible through the translucent fabric, her nipples pebbled from the cold and the excitement of the evening's events.
 
Without a word, she made her way to the front of the rickshaw, the rain muffling the sound of her heels on the wet asphalt. Rajesh looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide with surprise and hunger. Fathima could see his uncut cock, the size of it making her gulp. It was bigger than Dsouza's, the head engorged and throbbing with need. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through her, a reminder that the game she played was far from over.
 
Ignoring the rain, she bent forward, taking his dick in her hands. It felt heavy, the heat of it pulsing against her palm. She began to stroke it slowly, feeling the velvety skin slide over the steel beneath. His moan was music to her ears, a symphony of want that resonated deep within her. Her own arousal grew, her pussy clenching with the need for release.
 
Rajesh's hand reached out, cupping her breast gently. His touch was tentative at first, as if afraid she would pull away, but Fathima leaned into it, craving the contact. His thumb brushed over her nipple, and she couldn't help but let out a soft gasp. The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her core, and she knew she was lost to the moment.
 
Fathima's eyes met his and she saw the hunger in them. She didn't stop stroking him, her hand moving faster now, her grip tightening with every pulse of his cock in her palm. The rain continued to fall around them, muffling their gasps and the slick sound of skin on skin. The wind whipped their hair, plastering it to their faces, but neither of them cared.
 
Then, without warning, Rajesh lunged forward, his mouth crashing into hers. His breath was hot and heavy, the scent of his arousal mingling with the musky aroma of the rain-drenched city. His tongue slipped between her lips, and she tasted the desperation in his kiss. His stubble scbangd against her skin, and she felt a thrill run through her body, her nipples hardening even more beneath the wet fabric of her shirt.
 
Fathima responded with an urgency of her own, her hands moving faster on his cock. She could feel the tension building in him, the way his muscles tightened and his breathing grew ragged. His kiss grew more demanding, his hands exploring her body, pushing the wet fabric of her shirt aside to reveal her bare skin. She didn't resist, instead arching her back to give him better access, her own need taking over.
 
The stench of his body filled her nose, a mix of sweat and desperation that she found strangely arousing. His tongue danced with hers, the kiss deepening as he reached around to cup her ass, pulling her closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of her shirt the only barrier between them. His grip was firm, almost painful, but she reveled in the feeling, the way he claimed her body without asking.
 
Fathima's hand never left his cock, her strokes growing more erratic as she felt his own need spike. She could feel the veins pulsing beneath her fingertips, the head swollen and slick with pre-cum. His kiss grew more frantic, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as the storm raged around them. The rain washed away the last veneer of her resistance, leaving only the raw, primal need that pulsed through her.
 
With a grunt, Rajesh pulled away from her, his eyes dark with lust. He stepped out of the rickshaw, the rain pummeling his bare chest, his cock standing tall and proud. Fathima followed, her legs unsteady, her heart racing. He took her hand and led her to the beach, the sand cold and wet beneath her feet. Each step she took was a silent surrender to the chaos of the moment, the rain a symbol of their passion and desperation.
 
On the shore, he pushed her down onto the sand, the force of his grip sending a thrill through her. She landed with a soft thud, the grit of the beach biting into her skin. The rain hammered down on them, soaking her hair and plastering it to her face, obscuring her vision. But she could feel him, his presence a living, breathing entity that seemed to consume her very essence.
 
Rajesh's hands were everywhere, pulling at her clothes, his mouth finding her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. His teeth grazed her skin, nipping and sucking, leaving a trail of sensation in his wake. She could feel the heat of his body as he straddled her, the weight of him a delicious pressure that she hadn't felt in years. His kisses grew more urgent, his hands more insistent, and Fathima felt a part of her she had buried deep within her begin to uncoil.
 
Her shirt and bra were torn away, leaving her breasts bare to the rain. He took one in his mouth, his tongue flicking at the sensitive peak, and she cried out, arching her back. The rain pattered against her skin, a staccato rhythm that mirrored the pulse between her legs. His hands moved down to her waist, unbuckling her belt and yanking her skirt down in one fluid motion. The fabric tangled around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her stockings and heels.
 
Rajesh kissed her stomach, his mouth a trail of fire as he descended. Fathima's breath caught as he reached her mound, his tongue tracing the outline of her pussy, teasing her before plunging inside. The first touch of his mouth on her made her back bow off the sand, her nails digging into his shoulders. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt, the coolness of the rain on her overheated skin a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth.
 
His tongue swirled around her clit, the pressure building as the rain pummeled her breasts, making her nipples tighten to painful points. Her moans grew louder, echoing over the crash of the waves. Each flick sent bolts of pleasure through her, making her hips buck against his face. The sand was cold and uncomfortable beneath her, but she barely registered it as the world narrowed to the connection between her body and his mouth.
 
Fathima's hand found its way into her hair, gripping tightly as she tried to hold on to reality, to the feeling of his mouth on her pussy, his tongue delving into her depths. The rain washed the city's grime away, leaving only the raw, earthy scent of sex and the salty tang of the ocean. She could feel the tension coiling in her belly, a storm of pleasure ready to break.


 
Her legs trembled as Rajesh's mouth worked her clit, his tongue flicking and sucking, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. His hands gripped her hips, keeping her in place as she thrashed beneath him, her moans growing louder, a symphony of need that resonated with the thunder above them. The rain stung her skin, a delicious punishment that only heightened the sensations.
 
And then it hit her, the orgasm ripping through her like lightning, stealing her breath and making her back arch off the sand. Her body spasmed, her pussy clenching around his tongue as waves of pleasure washed over her. Fathima's eyes rolled back, and she screamed into the storm, the sound swallowed by the howling wind and the relentless downpour. The rain pelted her, mingling with her sweat and the juices that flowed from her body.
 
Rajesh pulled back, his mouth wet and gleaming in the dim light. He looked at her with a triumphant smile, his eyes dark with passion. Without a word, he lay beside her, and she could feel the heat of his body radiating through the cold rain. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest rising and falling as she tried to regain control of herself.
 
Fathima hovered above him, the rain plastering her hair to her face, her eyes gleaming with a newfound hunger. She leaned in, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was as fierce as the storm that raged around them. His taste was a heady mix of rainwater and lust, and she found herself craving more, her hands roaming over his chest, feeling the coarse hair beneath her palms. His skin was slick with rain and sweat, and she reveled in the primal feel of him.
 
Her kiss grew more insistent as she made her way down his body, her teeth scbanging gently against his skin, eliciting a hiss from his lips. Her mouth found his neck, and she kissed her way down to his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart against her own. His body was a landscape of muscles and scars, each one telling a story she was eager to explore. She took a moment to appreciate the contrast of his dark chest hair against her paler skin, the coarse strands a stark reminder of his masculinity.
 
Her mouth moved further down, and she took his cock in her hand again, feeling the weight of it, the power it held over her. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the smell she knew would come. But when she brought it to her lips, the scent was surprisingly faint, almost lost in the clean scent of the rain. Fathima closed her eyes and took him in her mouth, his cock sliding past her lips with ease. The taste was familiar now, a blend of salt and musk that was uniquely his.
 
Her cheeks hollowed as she began to suck him with a fervor that surprised even herself. The sounds of the storm were replaced by the wet noises of her mouth on his skin, the occasional splash of rainwater hitting her face. His moans grew louder, his hands moving to her head to guide her movements. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing around his thickness, the sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat sending a thrill down her spine.
 
The saltiness of him filled her mouth, mixing with the rainwater that dripped from her hair. Fathima's eyes watered, but she didn't pull away, instead, she took it as a challenge, her own moans joining the symphony of the storm. The power she held in that moment was intoxicating, the knowledge that she could bring this man to his knees with nothing but her mouth.
 
"Mam, I'm going to cum," Rajesh groaned, his voice thick with need. Fathima's eyes snapped open, and she looked up at him, the rain making rivulets down her face. She could see the desperation in his eyes, the way his hips thrust upward, seeking release. Her grip tightened on his cock, her strokes growing faster. She had never felt so alive, so in control.
 
With a final, guttural moan, he came, his cum shooting out to splatter across her face. She felt the hot spurts hit her cheeks, her nose, and her mouth. The taste was bitter, but she didn't flinch, instead, she closed her eyes and let the rain wash the sticky mess away. A sense of triumph filled her as she swallowed, feeling the power of the moment.


 
Once the storm had passed, Fathima lay beside him, her hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath her palms. His breathing grew even as his body relaxed into the sand. She took a moment to appreciate the feel of him, the warmth of his skin against the coldness of the rain, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The rain had washed away the evidence of their tryst, leaving only the raw, naked reality of what they had done.
 
"Madam, thank you for this," Rajesh whispered, his voice a mix of awe and reverence. "I have never been with an elegant woman before, I have only been with prostitutes." The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the gentle rhythm of the waves. Fathima felt a pang of something, guilt maybe, but it was quickly drowned out by the thrill of power.


 
"You're welcome," she replied, her voice cool despite the warmth that spread through her. The rain had eased to a gentle patter, leaving them both panting and exposed. Fathima's eyes searched his, looking for some hint of what he was thinking. "But remember, this is our little secret," she added, her grip on his hand tightening slightly.
 
Rajesh nodded, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and amazement. "I will tell no one," he promised, his voice earnest. Fathima knew he was telling the truth. For a man who had never known the touch of a woman not paid for it, the experience was no doubt a revelation. She felt a strange sense of pride, as if she had given him a gift that no one else could.
 
Standing up, she made her way to the water's edge, the sand sticking to her skin and the fabric of her clothes. The waves lapped at her feet, the coldness of the sea water a stark contrast to the heat that still pulsed through her veins. The rain had eased to a gentle drizzle, allowing her to see the horizon where the dark sky met the even darker sea. The beach was deserted, their clandestine encounter a secret shared only by the two of them and the indifferent ocean.
 
Fathima took a deep breath, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the musk of sex that clung to her. She bent down to pick up her panties, feeling a thrill of excitement as she slipped them on beneath her skirt. The fabric was wet and cold, but the sensation only served to remind her of the warmth of Rajesh's mouth on her. She pulled her shirt over her head, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. Her bra was visible through the wet fabric, the dark lace stark against her pale skin.


 
Rajesh watched her with a mix of awe and hunger, his own desire not fully sated. He pulled his lungi back up around his waist, the fabric sticking to his thighs, leaving his still-hard cock in full view. He reached for his shirt, sliding it over his broad shoulders, the material plastered to his chest, revealing every muscle and drop of rainwater. The sight of him, so primal and unabashed, made Fathima's pulse race.
 
"Am hungry, Rajesh," she said, her voice low and needy. The words hung between them, a declaration of her newfound appetite for the illicit and the unexplored. The rain had stoked a fire within her that she hadn't known existed, and she craved more, much more than just food.
 
"There is a street vendor nearby," Rajesh offered, his eyes never leaving hers, "but it's local. It might not be what you're used to."
 
Fathima considered this for a moment, the rain slowly tapering off, leaving her skin feeling clean yet sticky with desire. The idea of indulging in something so simple, so unrefined, thrilled her in a way that the fancy dinners with Aslam never could. "Take me there," she said with a nod, her voice still thick with lust.
 
The rickshaw jolted back to life as Rajesh started the engine, the sound echoing through the quiet beach. He looked over at her, his eyes gleaming with a newfound respect and admiration. The windshield was foggy, the rain's aftermath leaving a soft veil over the world outside. The streets of Chennai were mostly empty, the occasional car passing by, the headlights piercing the gloom like searchlights.
 
Fathima sat in the autorickshaw, her clothes sticking to her skin, the rainwater drying off to leave her feeling sticky and uncomfortable. Yet, she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. There was something exhilarating about the way he looked at her now, something that made her feel alive in a way she hadn't in years. They talked and laughed as they drove, the conversation flowing easily between them despite the stark differences in their social statuses.
 
When they reached the street vendor, the smell of sizzling meat and spices filled the air. The lights from the stall cast an eerie glow on the surrounding area, the only source of light in the otherwise dark alleyway. The rain had driven most of the usual patrons away, leaving them mostly alone. They stepped out of the rickshaw, the plastic chairs under the makeshift shelter creaking under their weight.
 
Fathima's shirt was indeed translucent from the rain, her lacy bra visible to anyone who cared to look. The vendor, an old man with a toothless smile, handed them steaming plates of biryani, the aroma of cardamom and saffron wafting up to mingle with the scent of the rain. She took a bite, the spices exploding in her mouth, and she realized she was ravenous. The food was heavenly, a stark contrast to the bland, health-conscious meals she usually ate at home.
 
The warmth of the food seeped into her bones as she ate, each morsel a silent rebellion against the life she had built for herself. Rainwater dripped from her hair, down her neck, and into the crevice of her breasts, creating a tantalizing path that drew the eyes of the other men nearby. But Fathima didn't care. In fact, she reveled in the attention, feeling a power that had long been dormant surge through her.
 
They sat in the plastic chairs, the rainwater puddling around their feet, as they devoured their meal. The spicy biryani was a stark contrast to the cold, calculated life she led, a reminder of the passion and hunger she had been suppressing. She watched as the other customers cast sly glances her way, their eyes lingering on the shadowy outline of her bra. The knowledge that she was desired, that she was a creature of temptation in this otherwise mundane setting, filled her with a thrill she hadn't felt in a very long time.
 
After they had eaten their fill, Fathima stood up, her movements languid and deliberate. She could feel the eyes of the other men on her, their gazes a silent testament to the power she now wielded. She looked over at Rajesh, who was watching her with a mix of awe and hunger. "It's 11:30," she said, her voice low and sultry, "Take me home, Rajesh."
 
The drive back to her apartment was a blur of neon lights and slick streets, the city's noises a cacophony that seemed to echo the tumultuous symphony of her thoughts. Rainwater still clung to her skin, the cold fabric of her shirt a constant reminder of the heated encounter they had shared. Fathima felt alive, her body humming with energy that she hadn't felt in years. The confines of the autorickshaw seemed to shrink around them, the space charged with a palpable tension that made the air thick and heavy.
 
When they finally pulled up outside the apartment block, Fathima's heart was racing. She climbed out of the rickshaw, her legs feeling wobbly, the cold air hitting her like a slap in the face. She turned to look at Rajesh, his eyes still on her, filled with a hunger that was almost painful to behold. "Thank you for today," she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the distant sound of the storm's final whispers.
 
Before she could say another word, he was out of the vehicle and had her in his arms. His mouth found hers, the kiss hot and needy, a silent declaration of his gratitude. She responded with a passion that surprised her, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves that the wet fabric of her shirt had revealed. The rain had stopped, but the world around them remained wet, a reflection of the passion that burned between them.
 
"Thank you," he murmured against her lips, the words a warm breath that sent shivers down her spine. Fathima could feel his hardness pressing against her, and she knew he wanted more, so much more than the quick release he had found on the beach. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and she felt a thrill at the thought of what she had unleashed in him.
 
"Some other day," she whispered, her voice a siren's song, "I will let you fuck me." The promise hung in the air, a tantalizing morsel that made his grip on her tighten. She stepped back, breaking the kiss, the cold night air a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies.
 
Fathima walked towards the lift, the rainwater from her hair leaving a trail on the concrete. Each step was a deliberate act of defiance, a silent declaration that she was in charge. She knew that she had to go back to her apartment, back to the life she had built with Aslam, but for now, she could still taste the salt of the ocean on her lips and feel the sand clinging to her skin.
 
The lift was a small, claustrophobic space that seemed to amplify the thundering of her heart. The mirrored walls reflected her disheveled state, the wet fabric of her clothes clinging to her body, revealing more than she had intended. Her eyes searched her own reflection, looking for the woman who had just given in to her desires so freely. The woman who had been born again in the storm's embrace.
 
Fathima felt the weight of the night's events pressing down on her as the lift ascended. Each floor that passed was a reminder of the life she was leaving behind and the one she was returning to. The cold steel of the lift's interior was a stark contrast to the warmth of the rain and the heat of Rajesh's skin. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself for what awaited her at home.
 
The doors slid open with a ding, and she stepped out into the empty corridor. Her high heels clicked against the tiles, the only sound in the quietness of the night. The lights flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls, a silent testament to the tumultuous emotions raging within her. Her hand trembled slightly as she slid the key into the lock, the metal cold against her skin.
 
As she opened the door, the familiar sight of the darkened living room greeted her. The only light came from the kitchen, where she could see the fridge's open door, the soft glow illuminating a figure. It was Rahman again, just as it had been yesterday, standing in his underwear, his body partially obscured by the shadows. The sight of him didn't bother her as much as it should have, instead, it stirred a strange cocktail of emotions within her. Desire, anger, confusion – they all swirled together in a toxic mix that made her feel alive.
 
Fathima stepped into the apartment, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Were you waiting for me to get a glance at what sexy dress I would be wearing tonight?" The question hung in the air, charged with accusation and challenge. She knew the game he played, the same one she had been playing with the men at work, but it was different when it was her own brother-in-law. The power dynamics shifted, and she felt the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the forbidden.
 
Rahman's eyes darted from the open fridge to her wet, transparent shirt, the lacy outline of her bra clearly visible. He stuttered, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Anni, no, I—"
 
Fathima stepped further in, kicking off her heels with a satisfying clack against the marble floor. "Cut the bullshit, I know the mentalities of the boys your age," she said, her voice sharp as a knife, cutting through the tension. She sailed past him into the bedroom, her hips swaying with each step, the rainwater from her hair leaving a trail behind her.
 
Her movements were deliberate and seductive, a silent challenge that made his eyes follow her hungrily. She knew he was watching, that he couldn't help it. She was a prize to be won, a temptation that he had been denied for far too long. As she sat down heavily on the single seater sofa, her skirt riding up her thighs, she felt the familiar ache of desire stirring within her. The rain had awakened something in her, something wild and untamed, and she wasn't quite ready to let it go.
 
"Get me the orange juice, Rahman," she said, her voice a soft purr that seemed to fill the room. "I'm tired." Her words hung in the air, a silent invitation for him to come closer, to indulge in the feast that lay before him. She watched as he set the carton of juice down on the counter, his eyes never leaving her. The kitchen light cast a warm glow over her wet, disheveled form, highlighting the curve of her breasts, the dark shadow between her legs.
 
Rahman's hand trembled slightly as he handed her the glass, his eyes darting to her mouth as she took a sip. The juice was cold and sweet, a stark contrast to the salty tang of the ocean that still clung to her. She took her time, savoring the taste, watching him watching her. His arousal was clear, his manhood straining against the fabric of his underwear, begging for her attention.
 
Fathima felt a thrill of power, a delicious sense of control. She knew that she could have him, that all she had to do was lean back on the couch and crook a finger, and he would come to her. But she didn't. Not yet. Instead, she set the glass down on the coffee table, the sound echoing through the stillness of the room. She leaned back, her legs spread slightly, the fabric of her skirt riding up even further.
 
"I won't be coming home late every day, so you can call me," she said, her voice a soft purr that seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. "That way, I can let you know when to expect me. And maybe," she added with a sly smile, "you can get a little glimpse of me, hm?"
 
Rahman's eyes grew wide with a mix of shock and arousal, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Fathima enjoyed the power she had over him, the way his eyes followed her every move. She stood up from the couch, the fabric of her skirt whispering against her thighs. The room was silent except for the sound of the fridge humming in the background.
 
Her eyes lingered on the bulge in his underwear for a brief moment, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. Then, she turned and began to sashay towards her bedroom, the rainwater still dripping from her hair and her shirt still clinging to her body. She knew he was watching, his gaze glued to her ass as it swayed with each step. The thought made her heart race, the thrill of temptation coursing through her veins.
 
Just as she reached the threshold of her room, Fathima decided to turn the heat up a notch. With a casual grace that belied the storm inside her, she unbuttoned her shirt halfway down, revealing the top of her bra-covered breasts. The cold air kissed her damp skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She threw a look over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Rahman's wide gaze in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were dilated with desire.


 
Her smile was knowing, a secret shared between the two of them in the quiet of the night. "Goodnight, Rahman," she said sweetly, her voice a siren's call that seemed to resonate through the air. She knew the sight of her bare skin was like a drug to him, something he hadn't seen since she had gotten married. The fabric of her shirt parted, revealing the smooth expanse of her midriff, her stomach muscles taut from their recent tryst on the beach.
 
With one last, lingering look, she disappeared into the sanctity of her bedroom, leaving him standing in the doorway, his breath shallow and his thoughts racing. As she shut the door, she could almost hear the thud of his heart against his chest, the sound echoing in her ears. She leaned against the wood, her body trembling with the excitement of the evening's events. The rain had stopped, but the storm inside her hadn't abated.
 
Slipping out of her wet clothes, Fathima felt a sense of liberation, the fabric peeling away to reveal her naked form. The air was cool on her skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature. She slid into bed next to Aslam, his snores rumbling through the quiet room. His body was warm and heavy, a stark contrast to the lightness she felt in her own.

[Abhi T]

Sexy sexy update kya likhate ho yaar padh kar maja hi a jata hai Kamal Ho best of luck for the next update

[Cuckoldindian]

Next update rahman and fathima shopping

[xboard1986]

Amazing

[dragonslair]

going great

[Sage_69]

Excellent update. Fathima is on fire.

[val.coutinho]

Marvelous update..... Keep going the story is more hotter than expected in the coming updates ....
Eagerly waiting for more....

[giannapriya]

The story is my priority in this forum. Excellent?work from the author with hot, spicy? and most importantly regular recent updates.

Thanks to the author.Great fan of his other stories as well

[Gajakidost]

This bitch has little secret with many men.

[Cuckoldindian]

The story is my priority in this forum. Excellent?work from the author with hot, spicy? and most importantly regular recent updates.

Thanks to the author.Great fan of his other stories as well

[Cuckoldindian]

Update 12:

Her thoughts were a whirlwind as she lay there, her eyes wide open in the dark. The feeling of the sand between her toes, the taste of the salty ocean on her lips, the roughness of Rajesh's hands as they explored her body – it was all still so vivid, so real. She could feel his breath against her neck, his heartbeat pounding in her ear. Her hand slid down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, her fingers lightly brushing over her swollen flesh. She bit back a gasp, the memory of their encounter sending a jolt of arousal through her.
 
Aslam's arm lay heavy across her waist, his snores a gentle reminder of the world she was supposed to inhabit. But Fathima's mind was still on the beach, on the waves crashing against the shore as she had ridden Rajesh with an abandon she had never felt before. She felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly buried under the avalanche of desire that consumed her. Her hand grew bolder, her fingers circling her clit, mimicking the rhythm of their lovemaking.
 
Her breath grew ragged, her hips rising to meet the ghostly touch of his phantom kisses. In her mind's eye, she saw not her husband's sleeping form but Rajesh's intense gaze, the way his eyes had darkened as she had taken him in her mouth. The room spun around her, a cocoon of lust and longing that seemed to have no end. She moaned softly, trying to keep the sound from escaping, but the pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming.
 
Her orgasm was like a lightning strike, a sudden explosion of sensation that made her toes curl and her back arch off the bed. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the pleasure ricocheting through her body like a thousand little explosions. When she finally came down from the peak, her chest heaving with quiet gasps, she felt a strange emptiness. It was as if she had been filled with a hunger that no amount of food could ever satisfy.
 
Fathima rolled onto her side, her eyes still closed, the aftershocks of her climax rippling through her. Her hand remained between her legs, her fingers lightly playing with her sensitive flesh, savoring the lingering sensation. The guilt that had been niggling at the back of her mind was now a full-blown storm, raging and uncontrollable. But even amidst the chaos, she couldn't ignore the fact that she felt more alive than she had in years.
 
Her eyes snapped open at the sensation of the bed shaking. She looked over to see Aslam standing beside her, fully dressed in his banking attire. The stark contrast between his formal wear and her nakedness was almost comical, but she couldn't find the humor in it. "What time is it?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and lust.
 
"It's 7:30, Fathima," Aslam said, his voice a gentle prod into the reality she was trying to escape. The digital clock on the bedside table blinked back at her, the red digits taunting her with the time she had wasted in the throes of her illicit fantasy.
 
Fathima sat up with a start, the sheets slipping down to reveal her nakedness. Her hand still playing between her legs. But Aslam seemed oblivious to her internal turmoil, his eyes focused on the phone in his hand as he checked for any last-minute work emails.
 
"I am leaving for work," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of her reality. The words echoed in her ears, a stark reminder of the mundane routine that awaited her once he was gone.
 
"Can you come early from work?" she asked tentatively, her voice a soft caress in the early morning light. "I will have to go shopping. I need to pack for Mumbai." The words slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and sticky with the promise of something more.
 
Aslam's eyes snapped up, his gaze piercing through the fog of his early morning routine. "Mumbai? What's in Mumbai?" His curiosity was palpable, a thread of tension stretching between them.
 
Fathima's heart skipped a beat. She had to be careful, had to maintain her façade. "An investor's meeting," she replied smoothly, her voice as clear as the rainwater that still clung to her skin. "It's a big deal for Elite Properties, and they want me to handle it." She watched as understanding dawned on his face, the pride at her professional growth warring with the suspicion that had crept in.
 
"Okay, no problem," Aslam said, his tone measured, "but I can't come early tonight. I have work." His eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of deception, but she had become a master at hiding her true feelings. "Go shopping alone," he added, a hint of resignation in his voice. "Just make sure you're safe."
 
As the door clicked shut behind him, Fathima couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her lips. She picked up her phone, the screen lighting up the darkness of the room. The message from Dsouza was like a beacon, illuminating the path she had chosen for herself. Two days of meetings in Mumbai, and a ticket attached. The thrill of her secret life washed over her again, the promise of more power and passion too tantalizing to resist.
 
But before she could revel in her illicit plans, the phone rang, the shrill sound piercing the quiet. The name on the screen sent a jolt of excitement through her body – it was Rahul. Her pulse quickened, and she swiped to answer, her voice a low whisper. "Hello?"
 
"Hey, Fathima," he said, his voice filled with urgency. "I need a favor. There are two big-shot clients coming in tomorrow to view an office space. I need you to help me close the deal. Think you can handle it?"
 
Fathima's smirk grew wider, the thrill of the challenge setting her pulse racing. "Of course," she purred, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What's in it for me?"
 
Rahul's voice grew low, a seductive promise in his tone. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise," he said, the words a caress that sent shivers down her spine. "Half the commission. That's a big deal, isn't it?"
 
Fathima's mind raced with the implications of his proposal. More money meant more power, more control. She could feel the excitement building within her, a thrilling cocktail of greed and desire. "What exactly do you need me to do?" she asked, playing coy, though she already knew the answer.
 
Rahul's voice grew a little gruffer, a hint of his own hunger seeping through the line. "Just be your charming self, Fathima," he said, the double entendre not lost on her. "You know how these types are. They want to feel important, to be wined and dined. And they always have an eye for a pretty face." His words were a clear invitation to use her sexuality as a weapon in their cutthroat world of real estate.
 
Fathima's smirk grew wider at the thought. She had done it before, used her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. It was a heady feeling, a rush of power that she had grown to crave. "Alright," she said, her voice a silky purr. "I'll help you out. But remember, half the commission."
 
Rahul chuckled, the sound sending a thrill down her spine. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he assured her, his tone filled with a confidence that made her stomach flutter. "Just wear something... persuasive." The way he emphasized the word made it clear what he was asking for.
 
Fathima couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. This was a challenge she was more than ready to accept. She had always enjoyed the art of seduction, the subtle dance of power and desire. And if it meant splitting a hefty commission with Rahul, then all the better. "I'll make sure to wear something that will make their wallets a little... looser," she responded, her voice dripping with innuendo.
 
Rahul's chuckle was cut off abruptly by his sudden shift in tone. "Fathima, about what happened in the Sheraton restroom," he began, his voice now a tremor of uncertainty.
 
Fathima's smirk froze on her lips. She had almost forgotten their impulsive encounter, the one that had started this whole whirlwind of secrets and lies. But she had learned to be a master of the game, to never let her guard down. "What about it?" she replied, her voice cool and collected, betraying none of the turmoil his words had stirred within her.
 
There was a pause on the line, the kind that stretched and grew heavy with unspoken confessions. "I just... I wanted to make sure we're on the same page," he said, his voice a tightrope of tension. "It's not going to affect our professional relationship, is it?"
 
Fathima took a deep breath, her hand still resting between her legs, the memory of her beach encounter still pulsing through her. "Rahul, it will never happen again," she said firmly, her voice a soft yet unyielding whisper. "We were both drunk. It was a mistake." The words felt strange on her lips, a lie wrapped in the truth. But in the world she had crafted for herself, it was a necessary deception.
 
On the other end of the line, Rahul was silent for a moment, the tension palpable. She could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind, the calculation of his next move. Finally, he spoke, his tone a mix of relief and something else – something darker. "Okay, Fathima," he said slowly. "I understand. It won't affect our working relationship."
 
But even as she assured him, Fathima knew it was a lie. She had tasted the forbidden fruit, and now she craved it more than ever. The thrill of the secret, the danger of discovery – it all added to the potent cocktail of her newfound power. She had seen the way men looked at her, the way they leaned in when she spoke, eager to catch every syllable that dripped from her lips like honeyed poison.
 
With a sigh, she slid out of bed, her naked body leaving a damp imprint on the sheets. Her legs were still unsteady from the aftershocks of her climax, but she managed to make her way to the bathroom. The shower was already running, the steam curling around her like a seductive mist. She stepped into the warm embrace of the water, letting it cascade over her body, washing away the stickiness of her guilt along with the rainwater.
 
As she lathered her skin with the sweet-smelling soap, the bathroom door creaked open. Fathima's heart leaped, but she didn't turn around. It was Lakshmi, her voice a teasing purr. "Bathing without me?" she cooed, her eyes raking over Fathima's naked form.
 
Fathima stiffened, the water suddenly cold against her back. "Lakshmi, you scared me," she managed to say, trying to keep her voice steady. "I thought it was Rahman. He's always looking for an opportunity with me."
 
Lakshmi leaned against the sink, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She was dressed in a figure-hugging dress that left little to the imagination, her hair still slightly damp from her own sweat. "Oh, I'm sure he is," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you seem to be handling his advances quite well."


 
Fathima felt a flash of irritation, but she bit her tongue. Lakshmi had always had a sharp tongue, one that could cut through the thickest of facades. But she had learned to give as good as she got. "Maybe I'm just better at playing the game than you," she replied coolly, her eyes never leaving Lakshmi's reflection in the mirror.
 
Lakshmi's smirk grew wider, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that was almost a purr. "Did your boss fuck you yesterday?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Is that what you're so good at, Fathima?"
 
Fathima turned to face her, a smile playing on her lips. "No, he didn't fuck me," she said, her voice as smooth as silk. "But I had a good time teasing Rahman." She watched Lakshmi's expression shift, the jealousy in her eyes flickering like a candle in the wind. "You know how it is," she continued, "just a little harmless flirting to get ahead."
 
With a knowing smile, Fathima handed over the shower scrub to Lakshmi, instructing her to scrub her back. Lakshmi took it, her eyes never leaving Fathima's face, the challenge clear in her gaze. Fathima knew she was baiting her, but she was in no mood to play games. "Just remember, Lakshmi," she said, her voice dropping an octave, "the only person you should be worried about in this game is me."
 
As Lakshmi's hands moved over her skin, Fathima felt a strange mix of emotions – anger, arousal, and a hint of something darker. She closed her eyes, the water cascading down her face, as Lakshmi's words echoed through her mind. "So, that's why Rahman was fucking me harder this morning, calling me 'annie'?" Lakshmi's voice was a sultry purr, her fingers digging into Fathima's flesh a little too hard for comfort.
 
Fathima opened her eyes and met Lakshmi's gaze in the mirror. She couldn't help the smile that curled her lips. "So he is imagining me while you fuck him, ah!" she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Is he good?" It was a deliberate provocation, a test to see how far Lakshmi would go.
 
Lakshmi's eyes narrowed, her grip on the shower scrub tightening. "He's not bad," she admitted, her voice laced with spite. "But if you want the best sex, you should try someone with experience." Her hand slid down Fathima's back, pausing at the curve of her ass. "Someone like your father-in-law." The words were like a slap in the face, a blend of challenge and mockery that sent a jolt of something unidentifiable through Fathima's body.
 
Fathima's smile didn't falter, but the muscles in her jaw tightened. "You fuck my father-in-law still, I thought you stopped," she said, her voice a cool, deadly whisper. The shower water washed away the bubbles, but the tension remained thick between them, a palpable force that seemed to cling to their skin. Lakshmi's smirk grew into a full-fledged smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
 
"Oh, I didn't stop," Lakshmi said, her voice as smooth as the soap sliding over Fathima's skin. "I just got better at hiding it." Her hand slid down Fathima's side, her fingertips grazing the sensitive flesh just above her hip. "And I fucked him yesterday, right here in your bed," she whispered, her breath hot against Fathima's ear. "While you were out playing the good wife."
 
Fathima's stomach twisted, a strange mix of disgust and arousal swirling within her. "I don't see my father-in-law in that way," she murmured, her voice as soft as the falling rain outside. But even as she said the words, she couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to Lakshmi's taunt. After all, she had used her sexuality to get what she wanted in her own life. Was it really that much of a stretch to think that Lakshmi had done the same?
 
"But Rahman?" Lakshmi pressed, her voice a seductive purr. "You've been eyeing him for a while now, haven't you?" She stepped closer, her breasts brushing against Fathima's back, the warmth of her skin a stark contrast to the coolness of the shower. "I can see it in the way you look at him, the way your voice changes when you talk about him." Her hand slid around Fathima's waist, her fingertips playing with the sensitive skin of her belly. "Do you want him?" she whispered, her breath hot against Fathima's neck.
 
Fathima's heart pounded in her chest, the line between reality and desire blurring. "I won't deny it," she murmured, her voice thick with a mix of anger and arousal. "But how can I, Lakshmi? He's my BIL, my husband's brother. It's not right."
 
Lakshmi's laugh was low and throaty, her hand sliding further down to cup Fathima's sex. "Oh, but it is, Fathima," she said, her voice a siren's song. "You're already playing the game, aren't you? Why stop now?" Her thumb began to rub slow circles around Fathima's clit, the sensation making her knees wobble. "Let's make it interesting," Lakshmi continued, her breath hot on Fathima's neck. "I'll plan something for tomorrow morning. Something that will show you just how sweet the forbidden fruit can be."
 
Fathima's eyes snapped open, the fog of desire dissipating in the face of Lakshmi's blatant challenge. She stepped out of Lakshmi's embrace, the water now cold on her skin. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. Lakshmi's smirk grew wider, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, you'll see," she said, her voice a sultry promise.
 
And with that, Lakshmi leaned in and kissed Fathima hard, her tongue invading Fathima's mouth with an aggression that took her by surprise. Fathima's body responded instinctively, her arms wrapping around Lakshmi's waist as she kissed back, their tongues dancing together in a passionate duel. The taste of Lakshmi's mouth was like a drug, sweet and bitter, a taste of the forbidden that she hadn't expected to crave.
 
But as quickly as it had begun, Lakshmi pulled away, her eyes gleaming with victory. She stepped out of the shower, leaving Fathima gasping for breath, the water now cold against her skin. "I'll see you tomorrow," she called over her shoulder, her laughter echoing through the bathroom. "Be ready for the main event."
 
Fathima stared after her, a mix of anger and confusion swirling within her. Lakshmi had always been a wild card, but this was something new. Her thoughts racing, she stepped out of the shower, her body trembling. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, trying to shake off the feeling of Lakshmi's hands on her body.
 
The bathroom mirror fogged over, and she wiped a clear spot with her hand. Her reflection was a blur, her eyes dark with unspoken desires. She knew what Lakshmi was up to – pushing her buttons, trying to get under her skin. But why? Was it because of the power she had over Fathima, the way she could manipulate her with just a few words? Or was there something more, something that Lakshmi wasn't telling her?
 
Fathima stepped out of the bathroom, the plush towel barely concealing her wet body. The apartment was silent, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioner. She walked into her bedroom, the floor cool beneath her bare feet. Her closet was a sea of colors, each dress a silent promise of the life she had left behind. But she didn't want that life anymore – she wanted the rush of adrenaline that came with her secret affairs, the power that thrummed through her veins with every whispered secret.
 
The door to her room creaked open, and she knew without looking that it was Rahman. She took her time, casually turning towards the door, her eyes meeting his hungry gaze. He was standing in the doorway, his eyes unabashedly raking over her exposed cleavage. "How do you correctly come when I'm in such situations?" she asked, her voice as smooth as the silk that whispered against her skin.


 
Rahman's gaze snapped up to meet hers, his eyes dark with desire. "I... I'm sorry, Anni," he stuttered, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But she could see the raw need in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated as he took in the sight of her. She knew he wasn't sorry – not really. He was just surprised she had called him out on his blatant staring.
 
"What you need now?" she repeated, her voice a seductive purr as she flicked her hair over her shoulder, sending droplets of water flying through the air. The towel slipped slightly, revealing the swell of her breasts. She knew the sight was tempting, knew the power it held over him.


 
Rahman swallowed hard, his eyes flicking away from her chest. "Mom and Dad are going out for a wedding," he said, his voice a little too high. "They asked me to tell you."
 
Fathima raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a smug smile. "A wedding, you say?" she mused, the towel still clutched tightly to her body. "How convenient."
 
Rahman's eyes darted back to her chest, unable to resist the allure of the barely concealed flesh. "Yeah, they're leaving tonight," he replied, his voice thick with lust. "It's going to be a long weekend for all of us."
 
Fathima's smile grew knowing, the power she held over him was intoxicating. "Okay, Rahman," she said, her tone a sultry whisper that seemed to echo through the room. "Don't you have college today?"
 
Rahman's eyes snapped up to meet hers, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable. "College?" he repeated, his voice thick with desire. "I... I don't have classes today." He took a step towards her, his eyes never leaving hers, the tension between them as palpable as the humidity outside.
 
Fathima felt a thrill at the raw need in his eyes. She knew she had him hooked, knew that she could reel him in whenever she wanted. "Okay then," she said, her voice a purr. "Come with me shopping today. I need help picking out something... special."
 
Rahman nodded, his eyes glazed over with desire. "Sure, Anni," he murmured, the endearment slipping easily from his lips. He had called her that before, when they were alone, when he thought no one would hear. But today, it felt different – it felt like a declaration of his intentions.
 
Fathima watched him leave, her heart racing. She knew she had him under her spell, knew that she could manipulate him to do whatever she wanted. With a smug smile, she turned back to her closet, letting the towel fall to the floor. Her hand trailed over the soft fabrics, lingering on the dresses that would leave little to the imagination. She had always been a good actor, playing the part of the innocent wife and the temptress at work. But now, she was starting to enjoy the game she played, the thrill of keeping her secrets and the power it gave her.
 
Her eyes fell on a simple black shirt and a pair of tight blue jeans. With a knowing smile, she pulled out a lacy push-up bra that would do wonders for her already ample cleavage. She knew that Rahman had a weakness for her breasts, and she was more than willing to use that to her advantage. Dressing quickly, she applied a touch of makeup, enhancing her natural beauty with a seductive smoky eye and a shade of lipstick that would drive men wild.
 
The buttons on her shirt were all closed, she did not want the neighbors to gossip. Fathima was aware of the whispers that could travel through the walls of their apartment complex, the judgments that could be cast by eyes that saw too much. But as she buttoned her shirt, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of the secret she was keeping from everyone, especially Aslam. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped into the living room.


 
Rahman was sitting on the sofa, his eyes glued to the TV, but she knew he was waiting for her. His eyes flickered towards her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of her. Fathima felt a twinge of satisfaction – she had dressed to kill today. The tight jeans and the shirt that emphasized her curves, the way her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders – she knew it was all for him.
 
"Shall we go?" he asked, his voice a little too eager, a little too hopeful.
 
Fathima looked over at him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "We shall," she replied, her voice a soft purr that sent a shiver down his spine. She could feel the anticipation building in him, his eyes flicking to her breasts and back to her face as if he couldn't decide which was more tempting.
 
As they stepped out into the bustling streets of Chennai, the heat and the smells of street food mingling with the sound of honking horns, Fathima felt a strange sense of exhilaration. The wind played with her hair, lifting the ends and tickling the back of her neck. She knew that today was going to be different from the others – she could feel it in the air, taste it on her tongue like a sweet, forbidden fruit.
 
Rahman looked over at her, his eyes hungry. "Let me get my motor bike," he said, his voice gruff with anticipation. Fathima nodded, watching him as he jogged down the stairs, his lean body moving with the grace of a predator. The engine roared to life, a beastly sound that seemed to resonate with the pulsing rhythm of her own heart. He was so eager, so willing to please her – it was almost comical.
 
When he returned, she climbed onto the back of the bike, placing her arms around his waist and leaning slightly away from him. She felt the heat from his body, the vibrations of the engine thrumming through her. But she kept her distance, her breasts pressed against the cool leather of his jacket. It was a deliberate move, a reminder of the power dynamics at play. She knew he wanted her.
 
They sped through the crowded streets of Chennai, the wind whipping through her hair, the occasional jolt from a speed bump causing her breasts to brush against his back. Each time it happened, she felt a little thrill, a spark of excitement that ignited a fire deep within her. She knew it was wrong, that she was playing with fire. But she couldn't resist the temptation, the rush of adrenaline that came with each touch.
 
The mall was bustling with activity, the air-conditioned oasis a stark contrast to the heat outside. The scent of perfumes and cologne mingled with the aroma of food from the food court, creating an intoxicating blend that filled her nose. As they weaved through the crowds, she felt a sense of freedom, a break from the confines of her apartment and the prying eyes of her in-laws.
 
Entering the first store, Fathima's eyes lit up like a child in a candy store. She picked up a few tank tops, their fabric as thin as a whisper, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the muted tones of her usual attire. She held them up to her body, imagining the way they would cling to her skin, revealing just enough to make men stare. Then she moved to the mini skirts, her fingertips grazing the fabric as she selected one that barely covered her ass. It was a bold choice, but she knew it would serve its purpose – to keep Rahman's eyes on her and off the other women they might encounter.
 
Rahman followed her, his gaze lingering on every curve she revealed with each item she held up to herself. When she pulled out a minidress, his eyes went wide. "Anni," he said, his voice laced with a hint of concern, "it's small, I think?"
 
Fathima turned to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's perfect," she assured him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's for a party at work, and I want to make sure all eyes are on me." She stepped closer, allowing the fabric of the dress to brush against his thighs as she held it up to her body. The dress was indeed tiny, a daring choice that would leave little to the imagination. It was short enough to show off her shapely legs and tight enough to accentuate every curve.
 
Rahman's eyes were glued to her, his voice a mere whisper. "But, Anni, it's... it's not exactly what I would call 'work appropriate.'"
 
Fathima's smile grew, the challenge in his eyes only fueling her desire to push the boundaries. "Exactly," she murmured, her hand trailing down the length of the dress, her nails scbanging lightly against the fabric. "That's the point."
 
With a knowing look, she sailed into the trial room, the flimsy garment a silent promise of what was to come. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing in the quiet space. She could feel Rahman's gaze on her through the crack in the door, his anticipation palpable. She slipped out of her jeans and shirt, leaving them in a heap on the floor. The dress slid over her body like a second skin, hugging every curve and leaving nothing to the imagination. She twirled in front of the mirror, watching the way the material clung to her, revealing the lacy black lingerie she had chosen to wear underneath.
 
"Rahman," she called out, her voice a siren's song. "Come here, I need your opinion." The door creaked open, and he stepped inside, his eyes wide with desire. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, but Fathima could see the hunger in his gaze as it traveled over her body. "What do you think?" she asked, turning to face him, the dress's hem brushing against her bare thighs.
 
He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's... it's perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She could feel the tension in the air, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with every beat of their hearts. She knew she had him, that he was hers to do with as she pleased. The power was intoxicating, a heady rush that made her feel alive in a way she never had before.
 
"Now you can go out and wait," she said, her voice a soft command that sent a shiver down his spine. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, his need for her almost tangible. As he turned to leave, she leaned forward slightly, her skirt riding up to expose the lacy edge of her black panties. The mirror behind her reflected the sight, and she watched as his eyes widened, his gaze lingering on the exposed flesh.


 
Fathima couldn't help but smirk as she saw him bite his bottom lip, the desire in his eyes unmistakable. She enjoyed the power she held over him, the way he was putty in her hands. She knew that she could manipulate him into doing anything she wanted, and it was a thrill she hadn't anticipated. She had always been the good wife, the obedient daughter-in-law, but now, she felt like she could rule the world.
 
Rahman stepped out of the trial room, his eyes never leaving her. He leaned against the wall, his body tight with restrained passion. Fathima watched him, her heart racing as she stepped out of the dress, the cool air of the room caressing her naked skin. She slipped into the  attire she had arrived in, the stark contrast to the sexy outfit she had just tried on only adding to the thrill of her secret.
 
As she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, revealing the lacy bra beneath, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. But the thrill of it all, the power it gave her, was too much to resist. She could see the way Rahman's eyes widened, the way his breath hitched in his throat. She was in control, and she reveled in it.


 
They walked to the cashier, her hips swaying with each step, the dress whispering against her legs. But as they approached the checkout, Rahman's gaze flicked away from her, focusing instead on a couple a few feet away. Fathima followed his gaze, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the woman. It was her, the one she had caught him with in the parking lot just a week ago. She felt a flash of anger, but she quickly tamped it down. Instead, she let a smug smile play on her lips.
 
"Rahman," she said, her voice sweet and innocent, "that was the woman you were with in the parking lot right?"
 
He stiffened beside her, his eyes flicking to hers before darting away again. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and gruff. "But she's nothing to me now. She broke up with me."
 
Fathima's smile grew, the sweetness in her voice now edged with something darker, something more predatory. "How unfortunate," she murmured, watching as the couple laughed, their hands entwined. "But it seems she's moved on quite nicely," she continued, her eyes lingering on the boy's muscular arms.
 
Rahman's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth, "she broke up with me and now she's with that college hotshot." Fathima could see the anger in his eyes, the betrayal that still burned. It was a weapon she could use, a way to bring him closer, to make him want her more.
 
"It's okay," she said, her voice soothing, her hand reaching out to stroke his arm. "You're so much better than him, anyway." Her touch was a promise, a silent pact that she knew would have him eating out of her hand. "Look at you, all successful and handsome. Why would she ever want someone like him?"
 
Rahman's eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of deceit. But all he saw was sincerity, a spark of something that made his chest tighten with hope. "I don't know," he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of anger and longing. "But I can't help but feel..."
 
Fathima leaned in closer, her voice a gentle caress. "Feel what?" she asked, her hand still resting on his arm, her thumb tracing slow, soothing circles.
 
"I just can't believe she would choose someone like that over me," Rahman said, the pain in his voice raw and palpable. "He's just a kid, no future."
 
Fathima's smile grew, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Ok, leave that," she murmured, her hand sliding down to his hand. "Come on, let's go look for a dress for you."
 
Rahman looked at her in surprise, his eyes flicking from the dress he had been holding to her face. "For me?" he repeated, his voice filled with confusion and a hint of excitement.
 
Fathima nodded, her smile widening. "Yes," she said, her voice a siren's call that seemed to resonate through his very soul. "I want to see you in something that makes you feel as good as I do in this dress." She took the dress from him, her fingertips brushing against his as she did so. The contact was electric, sending a shiver down his spine.
 
They moved through the store, her hand in his, as they laughed and chatted. It was easy, natural, as if they had been friends for years, sharing secrets and stories. Fathima knew that this was a dangerous game, but she couldn't help the thrill it brought her. She had never felt so alive, so in control. The dresses they passed were a blur of color and fabric, but she had her eyes set on the prize – a sleek black number that she knew would look stunning on him.
 
When she found it, she held it up against his chest, her fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "This one," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It'll make you look like a million bucks."
 
Rahman took the dress from her, his cheeks flushing slightly. He knew it was a bold choice, something he never would have picked out for himself. But with Fathima by his side, he felt invincible. He could feel the heat from her hand on his chest, even as she stepped away. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing.
 
Fathima watched him with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She turned away, grabbing a few more t-shirts and jeans that she thought would look good on him. They were all tight, form-fitting pieces that would accentuate his body in the same way that her dress had accentuated hers. She tossed them into the basket casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for them to be shopping for clothes together like this.
 
As they approached the cashier, she couldn't help but sneak a peek at the lingerie section. It was as if it called to her, beckoning with its delicate lace and seductive whispers of what lay beneath. Without a second thought, she slipped away from Rahman's side and made her way over, her hips swaying with the grace of a sultry siren.
 
Rahman's eyes followed her, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of red. He knew he should follow her, but his feet felt rooted to the spot. The thought of walking into that section with her, surrounded by all those intimate garments, was too much for him to handle. He felt a strange mix of excitement and fear, his heart hammering in his chest.
 
Fathima's laugh was like a siren's call, echoing through the mall and drawing him closer. She held up a scrap of lace and silk, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, Rahman," she teased, "feeling shy, are we? You didn't seem so shy when you saw me in just a towel." Her voice was a purr, a soft challenge that sent a jolt of electricity through his body.
 
With a flick of her wrist, she led him into the lingerie section, the air thick with the scent of desire and the whispers of silk. The lights were low, the shadows dancing across the walls, creating a sensual atmosphere that seemed to wrap around them like a lover's embrace. He felt his heart pound in his chest, his palms growing damp with nervous excitement as they moved deeper into the heart of the store.
 
Fathima held up a lacy black bra, the cups barely there, the fabric as delicate as a spiderweb. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to caress his ears. "Would this look good on me?" She twirled it around her finger, the lace fluttering like a dark butterfly.
 
Rahman's eyes went wide, his cheeks flaming red as he took in the sight of the lingerie. He stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yeah, it... it's... nice," he managed to say, his eyes darting around the store as if searching for an escape.
 
Fathima giggled, enjoying his discomfort. She held up a pair of matching black lace panties, the same delicate fabric as the bra. "And these?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr. "What do you think?"
 
Rahman swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the garments in her hand. He had never seen anything so... intimate, so revealing. "They're... um... they're nice," he stuttered, his cheeks flaming.
 
Fathima giggled again, enjoying the effect she had on him. "You're so cute when you're flustered," she said, her voice a soft caress that seemed to wrap around him like a warm blanket. "Now, let's pay for these and get out of here before we cause a scene."
 
They approached the cashier, their basket filled with a mix of clothes that seemed to shout their secrets to the world. Fathima felt a thrill of excitement as the cashier scanned each item, the total growing higher and higher. When the final number flashed on the screen – 58,000 Rs – Rahman's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What the...?" he sputtered, looking from the total to her in shock.
 
"It's okay," she said soothingly, her hand sliding into her purse to withdraw her credit card. "I've got it." She swiped the card with the confidence of a woman who knew she could handle anything. "Rahman, cool down," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "I'm working now, remember?"
 
The words hung in the air like a challenge, a reminder of the unspoken deal they had made. Her hand lingered on the card reader, the plastic card gliding through the slot with a smooth, metallic whisper. The cashier's eyes darted between them, curiosity piqued by their intimate exchange.
 
Fathima looked at Rahman, her eyes dancing with the thrill of the game. She knew he was hurt, that the pain of his recent breakup still stung like a fresh wound. But she also knew that he was weak, that he craved the attention and validation she could give him. And she was more than willing to play along, if it meant keeping him wrapped around her finger.
 
They walked out of the shop, the sound of the door chiming a sweet victory in her ears. The mall was bustling with life, the smells of food and perfume mixing with the distant hum of music. Fathima felt like she was on top of the world, her heart racing with the thrill of the power she wielded.
 
"Anni," Rahman said, his voice a little too eager. "Can we take a selfie?" He held up his phone, the screen reflecting the hope in his eyes. "It'll be good. If I post it on Instagram, she'll see it."
 
Fathima leaned in closer, her heart racing. The dress was doing its job, her cleavage displayed like a prize. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Do it."
 
Rahman's thumb hovered over the button, his eyes flicking from the camera to Fathima's face and back again. She watched as he took a deep breath, his hand steadying. "She'll know what she's missing," Fathima said, a devilish smile playing on her lips. She reached up, her hand brushing against his chest as she tried to cover herself up, but he caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle.
 
"Let it be," he murmured, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and desire. "Let her see." And with that, he snapped the picture, the flash of the camera lighting up their faces for a brief moment. The image was saved to his phone, a tangible piece of evidence of their growing bond, a declaration of war against the woman who had hurt him. Fathima felt a thrill of excitement at the thought, her pulse racing as she stepped back and looked at the photo.


 
The dress had done its work, her ample cleavage displayed in all its glory. She knew that the woman in the picture was going to be furious, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. This was power, pure and simple. The power to make someone feel something so intense just by being near her, to make them crave what she had. It was a heady feeling, one that she had never experienced before.

[Cuckoldindian]

Need more with rahman or shall we move to rahul snd other two clients?

[cobain7799]

Need more with rahman or shall we move to rahul snd other two clients?

Uffff..... hot description bro..... Seduction at its best. We can move with Rahul and other two clients. Thank you.