Adultery Sakshi's Universe

[readersp]

Your story is one of the best stories in the forum!!! Please continue!!!

[Aman34]

Please request hai update dedo na

[masti.bhai]

Update, bro, please

[yodam69420]

-- Chapter 4 ---

The evening dbangd itself heavily over the small, cluttered living room, the air thick with the scent of stale curry and the faint hum of a distant street vendor’s call. Murugan sat hunched on the edge of the sofa, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against his knee, his jaw tight with a restless unease that gnawed at his bones. The old ceiling fan creaked above, stirring the humid air but doing little to cool the fire simmering in his chest. His son, barely two, slept fitfully in the next room, his soft snores a stark contrast to the storm raging in Murugan’s mind.


*She’s been gone too long,* he thought, his gaze fixed on the cracked paint of the opposite wall, as if it might hold answers. *Two days for some college friend’s wedding? In Hmph. Meena’s cousin, she said. Why does it feel like a lie?* His fingers stilled, curling into a fist. The image of Sakshi, her laughter bright and her saree swaying as she left with a small bag, burned behind his eyes. She’d been too eager, too quick to dismiss his questions, her eyes darting away when he pressed about this Mythili. *Who even is Mythili? Some vague college name, thrown out like it means something. She thinks I’m a fool.*

He stood abruptly, pacing the narrow room, his bare feet scuffing against the cool tile. His mind churned, replaying every moment of her departure—the way she’d fussed over their son’s clothes, packed snacks, promised to call, but her voice had carried an edge, a secret glee he couldn’t place. *She’s changed,* he thought, his chest tightening. *Ever since we moved here, she’s been… distant. Smiling too much. Dressing too carefully. That low-neck blouse yesterday, the one she wore to “clean” Ramu’s room. For an old man? Really?* The thought of Ramu, that quiet, watchful widower upstairs, sent a sharp pang through him. *He’s always around, isn’t he? Lingering. Watching her. And she… she doesn’t seem to mind.*

Jealousy coiled in his gut like a snake, its venom seeping into his thoughts. He stopped pacing, running a hand through his hair, his breath uneven. *I’m not imagining this. Something’s wrong. She’s slipping away, and I’m just sitting here, letting her drift.* He glanced toward the bedroom, where their son’s tiny form lay curled under a thin blanket. *She’s his mother. She should be here, not gallivanting at some wedding I wasn’t even invited to. What kind of wife leaves her husband and child for days?*

He sank back onto the sofa, his mind racing for a solution, a way to pull her back, to anchor her to this home, to him. *I could demand she return. Call her now, tell her I’m done with this nonsense. But she’ll fight back, accuse me of controlling her.* His lips twisted bitterly. *She’s been doing that lately—snapping, turning my words against me. No, I need something she can’t argue with. Something that’ll make her come running.*

His eyes darted around the room, landing on the small pile of their son’s toys in the corner—a plastic rattle, a stuffed elephant, a wooden block. *The boy.* His heart quickened as an idea sparked, fragile but growing. *If I say he’s sick—really sick—she’ll have to come back. No mother would stay away if her child needs her.* He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his mind spinning through the possibilities. *A fever. Yes, a high fever. Something urgent, but not so bad she’ll demand a doctor’s note or call the neighbors to check. Just enough to scare her home.*

He imagined her voice on the phone, sharp with worry, maybe even guilt. *She’ll ask questions, though. She’s not stupid. She’ll want to know when it started, how bad it is. I’ll say it came on suddenly, this afternoon. He was fussy, hot to the touch, crying for her.* His jaw clenched. *She’ll believe it. She has to. And if she hesitates, I’ll push harder—say he’s asking for his Amma, that I can’t manage alone.* The thought of her rushing back, her focus on their son and him, soothed the jealous ache for a moment, but it flared again as he pictured her now, somewhere far, maybe laughing with someone else. *Is she with Ramu? Is that why she was so eager to go?*

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. *No time for that now. I need her home.* He stood again, his decision solidifying. *A train ticket. She’ll need to come back tomorrow, no delays. I’ll book it tonight, tell her it’s already done, non-negotiable.* He grabbed his phone from the table, scrolling through his contacts until he found the number for Ravi, the local travel agent who always managed last-minute bookings for the factory workers. His fingers hovered over the call button, his pulse quickening with the weight of the lie he was about to spin.

*She’ll be suspicious,* he admitted to himself, his thumb pausing. *She’s too sharp. She’ll wonder why I didn’t call earlier, why I waited until evening. But she can’t refuse—not when it’s about our son.* He pictured her face, the way her eyes would narrow, searching his words for cracks. *Let her suspect. Let her ask her questions. She’ll come anyway, because she’s his mother, and I’m her husband.* The word felt hollow, tinged with the bitter edge of doubt, but he pressed the call button, his voice steady as Ravi picked up.

“Ravi, it’s Murugan,” he said, keeping his tone urgent but controlled. “I need a ticket booked for Sakshi.  to here, tomorrow morning, earliest train you can get. It’s urgent—family matter.” He paused, listening to Ravi’s questions, his mind already crafting the story he’d tell Sakshi. *Our son’s fever. High, sudden, worrying. You need to come home now.* The lie felt heavy, but it was his only way to pull her back, to reclaim what he feared was slipping through his fingers.

Ravi confirmed a ticket on the 6:45 AM express, and Murugan ended the call, his heart pounding with a mix of triumph and unease. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the fan’s creak mirroring the restless churn of his thoughts. *She’ll come home. She has to.* But deep inside, a nagging voice whispered: *What if she doesn’t want to?*


The wedding hall buzzed with the fading echoes of celebration—clinking glasses, laughter, and the rhythmic thump of dhol drums now softened into memory. Sakshi stood in a quiet corner of the guest room, the air heavy with jasmine and sweat, slipping out of her heavy lehenga. The silk clung to her skin, reluctant to let go, much like the heat of the day. She sighed, reaching for a pair of fitted jeans and a loose cotton top, the fabric cool against her flushed body. Comfort settled over her like a long-awaited exhale. She glanced at Ramu, who leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing her every move with that familiar hunger, his lungi tied low, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“You look good in anything,” he said, voice low, stepping closer as she zipped up her jeans. His fingers brushed her waist, sending a jolt through her. “But this… this is trouble.” He tugged playfully at the hem of her top, his touch lingering, teasing.

Sakshi swatted his hand, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Behave, old man. We’re not in your room now.” But her eyes betrayed her, sparkling with the thrill of his attention. She turned to face him, her hair falling loose over one shoulder, and he caught her wrist, pulling her gently against him. His lips found hers, soft at first, then insistent, tasting of cardamom and desire. She melted into the kiss, her hands sliding up his bare chest, fingers curling into the wiry hair there.

The taxi honked outside, impatient, breaking their rhythm. Sakshi pulled back, breathless, her cheeks warm. “We’ll miss the ride to the hotel if you keep this up,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. Ramu’s hand slid to her breast, squeezing gently through her top, his thumb circling with deliberate slowness. She gasped, a soft moan escaping before she could catch it, her body arching instinctively into his touch.

“Let them wait,” he murmured, kissing her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “I’ve waited long enough for you.” His fingers pressed harder, kneading her breast, and she bit her lip, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The taxi honked again, sharper this time, and she shoved him playfully, stepping back to grab her small bag.

“Come on, we’re not animals,” she teased, though her pulse raced, her body still humming from his touch. She adjusted her top, smoothing it over her jeans, and headed for the door, Ramu trailing close behind, his hand grazing her lower back as they stepped into the humid evening air.

The taxi was a cramped Maruti, its seats worn and sticky, the driver muttering about traffic as they slid into the back. The city blurred past—neon signs, honking scooters, and the distant wail of a temple bell. Sakshi settled against Ramu, her thigh pressed against his, the heat of his body grounding her. He leaned in, whispering, “You smell like sin,” and kissed her earlobe, his hand slipping to her thigh, squeezing with a boldness that made her breath hitch. She glanced at the driver, who seemed oblivious, lost in his radio’s static hum.

“Ramu, stop,” she hissed, but her voice was playful, her hand resting on his, not pushing it away. He chuckled, undeterred, his fingers sliding higher, brushing the seam of her jeans. She squirmed, a mix of annoyance and arousal flaring as he pressed his lips to her jaw, then her mouth, kissing her deeply. Her hand gripped his wrist, but she didn’t stop him when his other hand cupped her breast again, squeezing with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her toes curl.

Her phone buzzed in her bag, sharp and insistent, cutting through the haze. She froze, pulling back, her breath ragged. Ramu’s hand stayed on her breast, his thumb still teasing, as she fumbled for the phone. The screen lit up with Murugan’s name, and her stomach twisted, a cold jolt of reality dousing the heat in her veins. She shot Ramu a glare, mouthing, “Stop it,” but he only grinned, his hand sliding to her waist, fingers dipping just under the waistband of her jeans.

She swiped to answer, her voice forced into a calm she didn’t feel. “Hello? Murugan?”

“Sakshi, where are you?” His voice was tight, edged with something sharp—anger, maybe, or fear. “You need to come home. Now.”

She frowned, shifting in the seat, Ramu’s fingers still teasing her skin, making her flinch. “What’s wrong? I told you, I’m at Meena’s cousin’s wedding. I’ll be back in a couple of days.” Ramu’s hand squeezed her thigh, and she stifled a gasp, swatting at him, her annoyance spiking. Not now, damn it.

“It’s our son,” Murugan said, his voice dropping, heavy with urgency. “He’s sick, Sakshi. High fever, came on this afternoon. He’s been crying for you, asking for his Amma. I can’t handle this alone.”

Her heart lurched, guilt and worry crashing over her like a wave. “A fever? How bad is it?” She pushed Ramu’s hand away firmly this time, her voice trembling. “Did you check his temperature? Is he eating?” Ramu leaned closer, kissing her neck, and she hissed under her breath, “Ramu, stop!” Her tone was sharp, her body tense as she tried to focus on Murugan’s words.

“It’s bad, Sakshi. He’s burning up, fussy, not eating much.” Murugan’s voice cracked, and she could hear the creak of the sofa in the background, picturing him pacing their small living room. “I’ve booked you a ticket for the 6:45 AM express tomorrow. You need to be on it. No arguments.”

Sakshi’s mind spun, her son’s small, flushed face flashing before her eyes. “Tomorrow morning? Murugan, I—why didn’t you call earlier?” Ramu’s fingers brushed her breast again, and she slapped his hand hard, her whisper furious. “I said stop!” Her voice was low, but the irritation bled through, and Murugan caught it.

“What’s that? Who’re you talking to?” His tone sharpened, suspicion creeping in. “Sakshi, where are you really?”

“I’m in a taxi, heading to the hotel,” she snapped, her voice louder than intended, her worry for her son tangling with her frustration at Ramu’s relentless advances. “I met my another childhood friend, she’s with me, okay? We’re just… talking.” Ramu chuckled softly, his lips grazing her ear, and she elbowed him, her patience fraying. “Murugan, tell me about the fever. Did you give him anything? Crocin? Water?”

“I gave him Crocin, but he’s still hot,” Murugan said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “He needs you, Sakshi. I need you here. Just… come home. The ticket’s booked, Ravi’s sending the details. Be at the station by 6.”

She closed her eyes, her son’s soft snores from memory now replaced by imagined whimpers, his tiny hands reaching for her. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice heavy. “I’ll be there. Just… take care of him, Murugan. Keep him cool, sponge him down if you have to. I’ll call you when I’m at the station.” Ramu’s hand slid to her inner thigh, and she grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply, her glare promising retribution. He pulled back, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk didn’t fade.

“Fine,” Murugan said, his tone clipped. “Just don’t miss that train.” The call ended abruptly, the silence in the taxi deafening. Sakshi stared at the phone, her chest tight with conflicting emotions—worry for her son, anger at Ramu’s reckless teasing, and a gnawing unease about Murugan’s urgency. Is he really sick? Or is this… something else? Her mind flickered to Murugan’s recent distance, his sharp glances, the way he’d watched her with Ramu. He’s jealous. But my son…

She turned to Ramu, her eyes blazing. “You couldn’t stop for one damn minute?” she hissed, keeping her voice low so the driver wouldn’t hear. “My son’s sick, and you’re groping me like some teenager!”

Ramu’s smirk faded, his eyes softening, but only slightly. “You liked it,” he said, voice low, unapologetic. “And your son—he’ll be fine. Murugan’s just pulling you back, keeping you on his leash.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, her worry flaring into anger. “You don’t get to talk about my son. ” But even as she said it, her heart twisted, torn between the pull of her maternal instincts and the fire Ramu had ignited in her. She leaned back, staring out the window at the passing city lights, her mind a storm of guilt, desire, and fear.

The taxi rattled along the city’s uneven roads, the hum of its engine a dull counterpoint to the storm raging in Sakshi’s chest. The neon glow of streetlights flickered through the window, casting fleeting shadows across her face, each one mirroring the turmoil within her. She clutched her phone, its screen now dark, but Murugan’s voice still echoed in her ears—urgent, accusing, tugging at her heart with the weight of her son’s supposed fever. Her fingers trembled, her breath uneven, as guilt and anger wrestled for dominance. Ramu sat beside her, his presence a heavy, unspoken challenge, his hand resting lightly on the seat between them, no longer teasing but still too close, too warm. The air in the taxi felt thick, suffocating, as if it carried the weight of every choice she’d made since stepping into Ramu’s orbit.

Sakshi turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her voice raw and jagged. “This is my fault,” she whispered, barely audible over the taxi’s rumble. “I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have left him.” Her hands twisted in her lap, nails digging into her palms as if pain could anchor her spiraling thoughts. “He’s just a baby, Ramu. My baby. And I’m here, playing these… these games with you, while he’s burning up, crying for me.” Her voice broke, a sob catching in her throat. “What kind of mother does that? What kind of woman am I?”

Ramu’s gaze softened, but there was a steel beneath it, a quiet conviction that made her pause. He leaned closer, his voice low, steady, cutting through her self-recrimination like a blade. “Sakshi, listen to me. You’re not a bad mother. You’re a woman, alive, burning with need, same as me. You didn’t abandon your son. You took a moment for yourself—something your husband’s never given you.” He reached for her hand, his fingers warm and rough, grounding her. “And I don’t buy this fever story. Murugan’s pulling at your strings, trying to drag you back. He’s scared, Sakshi. Scared he’s losing you.”

She yanked her hand away, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t know that! You don’t know him! He wouldn’t lie about our son!” But even as she said it, doubt crept in, a cold tendril wrapping around her heart. Murugan’s voice had been too sharp, too rehearsed, the urgency laced with something else—jealousy, maybe, or control. She shook her head, tears spilling now, hot against her cheeks. “I have to go, Ramu. I have to. If he’s sick, I can’t just… stay here, kissing you, pretending it’s fine.”

Ramu’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled out his phone, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. “Fine. But let’s be sure. I’m not letting you run back to him on a lie.” He scrolled through his contacts, finding Arun’s number, and pressed call, his voice low and commanding when his son answered. “Arun, it’s me. I need you to do something, quietly. Go to Murugan’s place. Don’t go upstairs, don’t let him know you’re there. Just… watch. Check on the boy. See if he’s sick, if he’s crying, or if he’s fine. Call me back. Now.”

Sakshi stared at him, her breath hitching, torn between hope and dread. “What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You can’t just… spy on him.”

“I’m protecting you,” Ramu said, his tone unyielding, his eyes locked on hers. “If your son’s sick, I’ll drive you to the station myself. But if Murugan’s lying, you deserve to know. You’re not his puppet, Sakshi.” He reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek, his touch gentle but firm. “You’re mine.”

Her heart stuttered at his words, a dangerous thrill cutting through her guilt. She wanted to argue, to push back, but the weight of his gaze held her, anchoring her in the storm. The taxi slowed, caught in traffic, the driver cursing softly under his breath. Sakshi leaned back, her hands clenched, her mind a battlefield of love for her son and fury at the possibility of Murugan’s deception. *Please, let him be okay,* she prayed silently, picturing her son’s chubby cheeks, his trusting eyes. *Please.*

Minutes dragged like hours, the silence between them heavy, charged with unspoken words. Ramu’s phone buzzed, and he answered it quickly, his voice clipped. “Arun, what do you see?” He listened, his expression unreadable, then nodded. “Good. Thanks. Don’t say anything.” He hung up, turning to Sakshi, his eyes gleaming with a quiet triumph. “Your son’s fine. Arun saw him through the window, playing on an iPad, laughing. No fever, no crying. Just a boy with his toys.”

Relief flooded Sakshi, so sharp it stole her breath. She pressed a hand to her chest, tears spilling anew, but these were different—lighter, tinged with gratitude. “He’s okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Oh, thank God, he’s okay.” But the relief quickly soured, curdling into a white-hot anger that burned through her veins. She turned to Ramu, her eyes blazing, her voice low and venomous. “That bastard. That lying, manipulative bastard. He knew I’d come running. He knew I’d drop everything for our son, and he used it. Used *him*.”

Ramu’s lips curved, a dark satisfaction in his gaze. “Told you. He’s scared, Sakshi. Scared you’re slipping out of his grip. And he should be.” He leaned closer, his voice a low growl. “You’re not his anymore. You feel it, don’t you? The way your body sings for me, the way you come alive when I touch you.”

She glared at him, her anger spilling over, undirected now. “Don’t. Not now. I’m so pissed off, I could scream. He ruined this—ruined my night, my mood, everything. Making me think my son was suffering, just to control me.” She cursed under her breath, her words sharp and cutting. “Fuck him. Fuck his lies, his jealousy, his pathetic little games. He doesn’t deserve me. He never did.”

The taxi lurched forward, the city lights blurring past, but Sakshi barely noticed. Her heart pounded, a mix of relief for her son and rage at Murugan’s betrayal. She felt untethered, wild, the weight of her guilt lifting only to be replaced by a fierce, reckless energy. Ramu watched her, his silence heavy with intent, his hand resting on the seat, close but not touching, as if giving her space to burn. She turned to him, her eyes fierce, her voice low. “He’s not going to win this. I’m not going back tomorrow. Not for him.”

Ramu’s smile was slow, predatory. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride. The taxi rolled on, carrying them toward the hotel, toward whatever came next, the air between them crackling with the promise of rebellion.

----


The taxi jolted forward through the tangled veins of the city, its engine a low growl beneath the storm brewing in Sakshi’s heart. Her chest heaved with a volatile mix of relief for her son’s safety and a scalding rage at Murugan’s deceit, the emotions churning like a tempest trapped beneath her skin. The blurred city lights outside painted fleeting streaks of color across her face, but her eyes—dark, fierce, and glistening with unshed tears—were fixed on Ramu. His presence beside her was a steady flame, warming her anger into something wilder, something reckless. Her hands trembled in her lap, the weight of her earlier guilt lifting only to be replaced by a fierce determination to defy the cage Murugan had tried to lock her in. She was alive, burning, and Ramu’s gaze fueled that fire.

Ramu shifted closer, his shoulder brushing hers, his voice a low rumble that cut through the taxi’s hum. “Let’s go back tomorrow, Sakshi,” he said, his tone firm, laced with a cunning edge that made her pause. “You said you’re not going today, and I agree—don’t let that bastard drag you back now. He’s lying, playing you, and you know it. Your son’s fine—Arun saw him. This is Murugan’s game, and we’re not playing it on his terms.”

She turned to him, her breath sharp, her eyes narrowing with a mix of defiance and uncertainty. “Tomorrow? But he’s expecting me on that train. If I don’t go, he’ll suspect something—maybe even come looking. I can’t risk that, not with everything…” Her voice faltered, the image of her son’s innocent face flickering in her mind, warring with the heat of Ramu’s proximity.

He grinned, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that sent a shiver down her spine. “I’ve got it figured out, my fire. We’ll stay, spend the night, and head back tomorrow on our terms. I’m booking us a plane ticket—first flight out tomorrow evening. We’ll have the whole day together, just you and me, no interruptions. Then we’ll fly back, land by evening, and slip in separately. You come from the station like you took that train, and I’ll sneak back home. No one’s the wiser.”

Sakshi’s breath caught, her heart pounding with a wild, exhilarating thrill. She stared at him, her anger morphing into admiration, a spark of genius igniting in her chest. “You’re a devil, Ramu,” she whispered, her voice trembling with awe. “A bloody genius. All day with you… and he’ll never know.” Her lips curved into a reluctant smile, the weight of Murugan’s lie dissolving under the promise of freedom. “How do you even think of this?”

Ramu chuckled, his eyes glinting with triumph as he confirmed the booking, the faint chime of the transaction sealing their plan. “Because I know what I want, Sakshi. And I know you want it too. We’ll have our day—our night—and he can rot with his jealousy.” He pocketed the phone, his hand sliding to her knee, a possessive warmth spreading through her. “We’ll be back . You’ll walk in, tired from your ‘train ride,’ and he’ll be none the wiser. Trust me.”

She leaned into him, her body softening, her mind racing with the audacity of it all. “Trust you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I do. God help me, I do.” The relief, the rebellion, the raw desire—it all swirled together, pulling her closer to him. She tilted her head, her lips brushing his, a tentative spark that ignited instantly. Ramu responded with hunger, his mouth claiming hers, deep and demanding, tasting of cardamom and forbidden promise.

The taxi’s motion faded into the background as they kissed, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. His hands roamed, one cupping her face, the other pulling her closer, pressing her breast through the thin fabric of her top. She moaned softly into his mouth, the sound muffled by the intensity of their connection, her anger fueling her passion. He kneaded her breast, his thumb circling with a slow, deliberate pressure that made her arch against him, her breath hitching with every touch.

“Ramu,” she gasped between kisses, her voice a mix of protest and plea as his hand slid lower, teasing the waistband of her jeans. “The driver…” But her words dissolved as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, lost in the heat of the moment. The city lights blurred past, the honks and shouts of the street a distant roar, as their lips met again and again, each kiss deeper, more desperate.

The taxi slowed, pulling up to the hotel’s dim entrance, its neon sign casting a pink glow over them. Ramu pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. “We’re here,” he murmured, his voice rough, his hand lingering on her thigh. Sakshi nodded, her chest heaving, her lips swollen from his kisses. She adjusted her top, her heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and anticipation, the day ahead stretching before her like a forbidden paradise. They stepped out, hands brushing, the promise of tomorrow electric between them as they disappeared into the hotel’s shadowed lobby.

[yodam69420]

The hotel room door clicked shut behind them, the faint hum of the city fading into a distant murmur as Sakshi and Ramu stepped into the dim sanctuary of their temporary haven. The night air clung to their skin, heavy with the scent of jasmine and the electric charge of their earlier kisses in the taxi. Sakshi’s heart thudded with a wild mix of exhaustion and exhilaration, her mind still reeling from the day’s revelations—her son’s safety, Murugan’s deceit, and the audacious plan Ramu had woven like a lifeline. Her body ached with the weight of her emotions, a tangled knot of guilt, desire, and rebellion that pulsed beneath her skin. She dropped her small bag near the door, her hands trembling as she turned to face Ramu, her eyes dark with a storm she couldn’t name.


Ramu locked the door with a decisive click, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving her. The room was modest—cracked walls, a creaky double bed with a faded quilt, and a single bulb casting a warm, amber glow—but to Sakshi, it felt like a battleground where her old life clashed with the new fire Ramu had ignited. He stepped closer, his presence filling the space, and before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms, locking her against his chest. The heat of his body seeped into hers, and they stumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and unspoken need. His hands found her breasts, squeezing with a possessive urgency as his lips crashed against hers, kissing and licking with a hunger that made her gasp.

Within five minutes, their clothes lay scattered across the floor—her jeans and top, his shirt and lungi—leaving their bare bodies pressed together on the bed, skin against skin, a raw, primal connection. Ramu’s hands gripped her breasts tightly, his mouth devouring them with a fervor that sent shivers down her spine. The intensity of his touch overwhelmed her, her body responding with a surge of desire that drowned out the day’s turmoil. Sakshi’s arousal was a wildfire, her longing for him so acute that she had no patience for foreplay.

“Ramu, enough of this,” she breathed, her voice thick with lust, her accent slipping into the raw cadence of her emotions. “Just come to me, now—please!” She lifted her hips, guiding his hardening cock with her hand, rubbing it against the wet heat of her core. The sensation made her moan, and she positioned him at her entrance, arching her back to take him in. With a soft, slick slide, he entered her, and a shuddering sigh escaped her lips, her body welcoming him like a home she’d forgotten.

“Ramu, push it all in—one go,” she urged, her hands gripping his hips, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the rhythm of their union. Her voice was a desperate plea, her fingers digging into his flesh.

Ramu paused, his breath ragged against her neck, his lips brushing her ear. “Sakshi, my love, let me savor you first. let me worship this temple of yours.” His words were tender, laced with a reverence that made her heart stutter.

“Ramu, look all you want, taste all you want—we’ve got the whole night,” she murmured, her voice a sultry tease as she rocked her hips again, urging him on. “But please, just take me now—chodo mujhe, jaldi se!” Her plea was raw, her body trembling with need.

He grinned, his teeth clenching as he pulled back slightly, then thrust deep, filling her completely. The force of it drew a cry from her, and he began to move with a relentless rhythm, their bodies locked in a dance of desperation. Neither had the patience for a prolonged battle—within seven or eight minutes, the tension snapped. Ramu’s release came in hot spurts, his groans mingling with hers as she climaxed, her arms wrapping around him, her inner muscles clenching around him, milking every drop as if claiming him fully. Her body shuddered, then relaxed, pushing him out as the aftershocks faded.

They lay there, tangled and breathless, the air thick with the scent of their lovemaking. Sakshi’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her mind drifting in the haze of spent passion, while Ramu’s hand rested on her hip, his fingers tracing idle patterns. “I love you, Sakshi,” he whispered, his voice rough but tender, his fingers combing through her disheveled hair.

“I love you too, Ramu,” she replied, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she nestled closer, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the erratic thud of his heart. The words felt like a confession, a bond forged in the heat of their rebellion.

After a moment, she stirred, her voice breaking the silence. “Chalo, Ramu, let’s get up. We need to sleep—tomorrow’s our day, remember? The plane’s at evening, and we’ve got the whole day to ourselves.” Her tone was light, but her eyes held a flicker of worry. “You’re sure this plan will work? Murugan won’t suspect?”

Ramu chuckled, pulling her back for a quick kiss. “Trust me, jaan. We’ll slip in separately, you from the station, me from the back. He’ll never know. Now, let’s rest—save your energy for tomorrow.” He patted her hip, rolling to his side as she nodded, her body relaxing into the mattress.

She watched him for a moment, the tension easing from her frame, replaced by a quiet anticipation. Tomorrow was theirs—a stolen day of freedom, a defiance of Murugan’s control. As she closed her eyes, the hotel room faded into darkness, the promise of the day ahead lulling her into a restless sleep.

[readersp]

Amazing!!! Keep them coming!!! You are on heck of a writer!!!

[yodam69420]

The first light of dawn was a faint, hesitant presence, a soft, ethereal gray bleeding through the gaps in the hotel room’s tattered, sun-faded curtains. It sliced through the inky darkness, illuminating the debris of a night spent in a maelstrom of desire: a crumpled saree on the floor, a discarded condom wrapper, the disarray of a life willingly abandoned for a few stolen hours. Sakshi’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with a restless, sensual exhaustion, her body humming with the ghost of Ramu’s touch. The air was thick and heavy, a potent cocktail of stale air conditioning, their own musky scent, and the lingering, sweet perfume of her own arousal. The faded quilt beneath her was a map of their movements, damp with sweat and the evidence of their feverish lovemaking.


She lay on her side, her bare skin flush against Ramu’s, his sinewy arm slung across her waist, a possessive anchor. A tempest brewed within her, a violent clash of warring tides. Guilt, a sharp, cold shard of glass, pierced her for leaving her son, even though her rational mind knew he was safe. A fierce, defiant rebellion against Murugan’s manipulative lie roared to life, a fire she had never known she possessed. And beneath it all, a raw, pulsing, untamable desire for the man beside her, a hunger so primal it terrified her. She was a woman torn in two, the dutiful mother she had always been wrestling with the wild, untamed creature Ramu’s touch had awakened within her.

Her small movement stirred him from sleep. His eyes opened, dark and fathomless, a languid, hungry smirk tugging at his lips as he took in her disheveled state. Her hair was a wild, fragrant storm across the pillow, her lips still swollen and bruised from his kisses, her skin flushed with the afterglow of their passion. “Morning, my fire,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, thick with sleep and undiminished lust. His hand, so gentle and so firm, slid up her side, his fingers brushing the perfect curve of her breast.

A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped her. The shiver that raced through her was a delicious betrayal, a hot flush that had her pulling away, half-sitting, her breath catching in her throat. Her gaze landed on her crumpled top, and she reached for it, her hands trembling. “Ramu, stop,” she whispered, but the words lacked all conviction, the tremor in her voice a silent admission of her own need. She tugged the top over her head, the soft fabric clinging to her skin as she stood, her hands adjusting the material with a desperate, nervous energy. “We need to get ready. The day’s ours, remember?” Her tone was a fragile blend of defiance and apprehension, her mind flickering to the train ticket and the fleeting freedom it promised, yet shadowed by the inexorable pull of home.

He chuckled, a low, guttural sound as he rolled onto his back, his eyes tracing every inch of her as she stepped into her jeans. “You can’t hide that hunger, Sakshi,” he said, his voice a soft growl that was all the more dangerous for its quietness. “Look at you—dressed like that, and you’re already teasing me.” He sat up in one fluid motion, grabbing her wrist as she passed, a firm but gentle tug that pulled her down onto his lap. His lips found her neck, a quick, rough kiss that made her moan softly before she pushed him away, a laugh bubbling up from her chest despite herself. “Bas, Ramu, enough for now,” she said, her voice firm but laced with the reluctant thrill he always managed to ignite. “Save it for later.” She stood, smoothing her salwar kameez, the tight fit accentuating her curves, a silent, delicious challenge in her eyes as she dared him to follow her into the day.

The taxi ride to Agra was a crucible of tension, the morning sun painting the countryside in hues of molten gold and hazy amber as the vehicle rattled along the highway. Sakshi sat close to Ramu, her thigh pressed against his, the heat of his body a constant, potent reminder of the night before. Her mind was a battlefield, a dizzying spiral of thoughts and feelings. The relief that her son was safe warred with a simmering, righteous anger at Murugan’s emotional deception. Ramu’s proximity was a constant, dangerous fire, stoking a hunger she couldn’t quench. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, nails digging into her palms as she stared out the window, the passing fields a verdant blur. He lied to me, she thought, her chest tightening with rage. Used our son to pull me back. Bastard. But the thought was quickly overshadowed by the thrill of Ramu’s hand on her knee, his fingers tracing lazy, deliberate circles that sent jolts of pure electricity up her spine.

“Relax, jaan,” Ramu whispered, leaning close, his breath a warm caress against her ear. “We’re free today. No Murugan, no rules—just us.” His hand slid higher, brushing the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she stiffened, her gaze darting to the driver, who hummed obliviously to a syrupy Bollywood tune. “Ramu, not here,” she hissed, her voice a mix of arousal and irritation, but she didn’t push his hand away. Her body leaned into his touch, a traitor to her mind’s protests, and she bit her lip, torn between the thrill of his boldness and the primal fear of being caught. The taxi swerved to avoid a stray cow, the jolt throwing her against him, and she laughed—a sharp, nervous sound—her emotions spiraling as Ramu’s grip tightened, his eyes promising more.

They reached the Taj Mahal as the sun climbed higher, its marble facade glowing like a divine, pristine witness to their forbidden passion. Sakshi stepped out of the taxi, her salwar kameez hugging her frame, the dupatta slipping slightly to reveal the full, delicious swell of her breasts. She felt the weight of every stare—tourists, vendors, guards—and straightened her shoulders, a queen reclaiming her power, her rebellion. Her heart pounded with a mix of pride and defiance; this was her day, her liberation from Murugan’s control. She strode ahead, her hips swaying with a deliberate, confident intent, the tight fabric accentuating her every move, drawing Ramu’s gaze like a moth to a flame.

Ramu followed, his stride confident, his eyes glinting with a possessive pride that sent a shiver of excitement through her. “Look at you, Sakshi,” he called, catching up to her, his voice low and teasing. “Parading like you own this place—and me.” He grabbed her waist, pulling her close, his hands sliding down to cup her hips as they stood before the monument’s grandeur. She smirked, turning to face him, her eyes blazing with challenge. “Maybe I do,” she shot back, pressing herself against him, her breasts brushing his chest. The public setting heightened the thrill, her pulse racing as she tilted her head, daring him to kiss her. He did, a quick, fierce press of lips that left her breathless, before stepping back, a conqueror’s grin on his face.

“Careful, my fire,” he murmured, his hand lingering on her lower back. “You’re starting something we might not finish here.” Sakshi laughed, a wild, liberated sound, her emotions a chaotic dance of desire, defiance, and the lingering shadow of guilt. She pulled away, strutting toward the entrance, her mind alight with the power she wielded—and the man who’d set it free.

The Taj Mahal pulsed with a vibrant, chaotic life as Sakshi and Ramu ventured deeper into the throng of tourists, the midday sun beating down with an unrelenting ferocity. It was a perfect, merciless, golden heat that cast sharp, dancing shadows across the pristine marble expanse. The crowd was a chaotic symphony of sound and movement—the chattering of foreigners with sunburned necks, the insistent calls of hawkers peddling cheap trinkets, the rhythmic clicking of cameras as local families snapped selfies. Sakshi moved through it all, a woman in a waking dream, her salwar kameez clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, the dupatta slipping further to reveal the delicate curve of her collarbone and the tantalizing swell of her breasts.

Her heart thundered in her chest, a volatile percussion of exhilaration and gnawing unease. It was a cocktail of emotions swirling within her like a brewing monsoon storm. She felt so utterly alive, her senses heightened, her very being a beacon of rebellion against Murugan’s deceit. Every step she took was fueled by a defiant, intoxicating fire. Yet, beneath that blaze, a quiet, insistent anxiety simmered—a fear of being seen, of the catastrophic consequences if word of their stolen day reached home. And a sharp, lingering pang of guilt for her son, a tiny, persistent ache she couldn't shake, even knowing he was safe.

Her eyes darted around, taking in the kaleidoscope of humanity that moved around them. A group of foreign women caught her attention—blonde, leggy, and clad in skimpy tank tops and shorts that barely covered their thighs, their laughter ringing out in the oppressive air as they posed for photos. A small, involuntary shudder of unease passed through her. Ramu’s gaze lingered on them, his head tilting slightly, and Sakshi felt a sharp, furious stab of jealousy pierce her chest, a venomous snake coiling in her gut.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as he muttered under his breath, his words for her ears only. “Look at those gori mems—bet their chuts are pink and buttery, made for a good, hard fuck.”

The crude words were a jolt of ice water, a slap in the face. A furious mix of arousal and irritation flared in her gut, and she stopped abruptly, turning to face him. Her hands went to her hips, her voice a low growl, edged with the venom she was so unused to wielding. “Really, Ramu? You’re ogling them like some roadside romeo while I’m right here?” she hissed, her accent thick with emotion, her eyes narrowing to slits. The crowd pressed around them, a churning sea of oblivious humanity, but she felt utterly exposed, her pride wounded and bleeding. “After last night, after everything, you’re staring at those half-naked firangs?”

Ramu’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes as he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial growl. “Arre, Sakshi, don’t get your dori in a twist. Just a man’s eye wandering—doesn’t mean a thing. You’re the fire in my loins, jaan. Those mems can’t hold a candle to your chikna badan.” He reached out, his hand brushing her waist, but she swatted it away, her cheeks flushing with a volatile mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Don’t touch me right now,” she snapped, stepping back, her voice trembling with the force of her emotions. “I’m not some toy you can play with and then drool over others. I came here with you, risked everything—my marriage, my son’s trust—and you’re gawking like a teenager?” Her words carried a raw, desperate edge, the noise of the crowd amplifying her isolation. She felt the heavy, suffocating weight of her choices pressing down on her, the thrilling high of rebellion clashing violently with the terrifying fear of losing herself entirely.

Ramu’s expression hardened, but his eyes softened, a flicker of genuine regret breaking through his bravado. “Sakshi, listen,” he said, his voice lowering, his hand hovering near her arm but not touching. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Those women—they’re just a distraction, a passing thought. You’re my world, my secret fire. I’d burn this whole damn place down before I let you go.” His tone was earnest, laced with a possessive intensity that made her heart stutter, the anger in her chest beginning to melt.

She glared at him, her chest heaving, the jealousy morphing into a fierce, possessive need of her own. “Then prove it,” she challenged, her voice a whisper laced with defiance. “Stop looking at them. Look at me. Only me.” The crowd surged around them, a sea of a million faces, but in that moment, it was just the two of them—her anger, his contrition, and the electric tension that bound them together.

He nodded, stepping closer, his gaze locking onto hers with a hunger that erased the foreign women from his mind as if they had never existed. “Done,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re my Taj, Sakshi—my monument, my obsession. Let’s walk, jaan—show these fools what real passion looks like.” He offered his hand, and after a tense beat that stretched for an eternity, she took it, her fingers trembling but firm, her emotions a chaotic dance of relief, desire, and a lingering wariness.

As they moved forward, the crowd seemed to part for them, and Sakshi felt the stares—men eyeing her curves, women whispering behind hands. Her skin prickled with a sudden, delicious self-consciousness, but she lifted her chin, drawing strength from Ramu’s possessive grip. A young guide approached, his smile too wide, his eyes lingering on her figure with an impertinent hunger. “Madam, need a tour? Special rate for a beauty like you,” he said, winking.

Ramu’s jaw tightened, and before Sakshi could respond, he stepped between them, his voice a low growl, edged with a dangerous threat. “Piss off, chhokra. She’s with me.” The guide backed away, his hands raised in surrender, and Sakshi felt a surge of pure, triumphant satisfaction. Her anger at Ramu’s earlier lapse dissolved into a sultry smirk. She leaned into him, her voice a low taunt. “Jealous already, huh? Good. Keep that fire for me.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer, his hand sliding to her lower back, a searing brand through the fabric of her kameez. “Always, my fire. Always.” The crowd buzzed around them, a chaotic backdrop to their private war, but Sakshi’s heart steadied, the tension transforming into a fierce, rebellious joy. She was his, and he was hers—and for this stolen day, that was all that mattered.

The sun, a dying ember of fire and copper, dipped lower over Agra, casting long, dramatic shadows across the bustling, chaotic market streets. Sakshi and Ramu wove through the throng, the air thick with the competing aromas of roasting spices, sweet petha, and the raw, earthy scent of the dust being kicked up by a thousand passing feet. The clamor of vendors shouting their wares was a constant, insistent hum, a chaotic symphony that both concealed and amplified the frantic thrum of Sakshi’s heart. She was a woman intoxicated, her body a live wire, still buzzing with the glorious tension and public defiance of their morning at the Taj Mahal. The raw, cutting jealousy that had flared earlier had melted into a fierce, possessive fire, a bond forged in that brazen moment that was now a part of her soul. Her salwar kameez clung to her sweat-slick skin, the dupatta dangling loosely, and with every step, she felt like a declaration, a rebellious act against Murugan’s invisible chains. Yet, beneath the thrill, a flicker of unease danced like a ghost—time was slipping away, the clock ticking, and the flight loomed, an inexorable force pulling her back to the life she was so desperately, so gloriously escaping.

They paused at a stall piled high with gleaming sweets, the vendor thrusting packets of petha and dalmoth into their hands. Sakshi’s eyes, bright with mischief, landed on a stack of cheap glass bangles, their beads catching the fading light in a brilliant flash. She slipped one onto her wrist, the delicate click of glass a whisper of sound in the chaos. A small, defiant smile played on her lips as she held out her arm, the bangle a tiny, glittering symbol of their stolen day. “Look, Ramu,” she said, her voice a soft, teasing sound laced with the edge of a secret. “Our little bond—something he’ll never understand.” The intimacy of the gesture swelled in her chest, a dare and a confession all at once.

Ramu grinned, his eyes darkening with a potent pride as he haggled with the vendor, his voice a rough bark. “Ek sau mein doh, bhai—don’t cheat me!” He tossed the money down, then, with a swift, predatory move, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a narrow alleyway, away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The sudden, dizzying motion made her gasp, and before she could protest, he had her pinned against the rough, unforgiving wall, his hands gripping her hips with a crushing strength. “You and that bangle—you’re driving me mad, jaan,” he growled, his tone low and hungry, his breath a hot caress against her neck. She laughed, a sharp, nervous sound, pushing at his chest with her hands, but the resistance was weak, a half-hearted attempt to break free. “Ramu, not here—someone might see!” she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of thrill and embarrassment, her pulse racing as his fingers brushed the soft fabric of her waistband.

“Let them,” he muttered, his lips grazing her ear before he stepped back, a wicked smirk on his face. “But save that fire for later.” Her cheeks flushed, a blend of irritation and desire swirling within her, and she adjusted her dupatta, a small, breathless gasp escaping her as she followed him back into the crowd, her mind alight with the edge of their reckless, dangerous game.

They found a roadside dhaba, the aroma of spicy chole and fresh, greasy rotis drawing them in. Sakshi sank onto the rickety bench, her legs aching, her emotions a tangled mess—relief at their day together, anger at Murugan’s lie, and a growing, delicious anticipation for their final hours. They ate with their hands, the messiness of the food a perfect mirror to the chaotic passion they shared, and Ramu broke the comfortable silence, his tone shifting to a conspiratorial drawl. “So, jaan, the plan’s set. Flight’s at 10 PM—reaches Chennai by 11:30 PM. You’ll take a cab from the airport, act like you came by train. I’ll slip in separately, quiet as a ghost.”

Sakshi paused, a roti halfway to her mouth, her eyes narrowing as she processed his words. “And if he asks questions, Ramu? What do I say if Murugan smells something off?” Her voice was sharp, edged with a cold worry, her fingers tightening around the bread. The thought of facing him, of having to look him in the eye and lie, sent a shiver through her, her guilt flaring despite her defiance.

Ramu leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze steady and commanding, a promise in his dark eyes. “Tell him the train was late, traffic was hell—make it up, Sakshi. He’s too busy wallowing in his jealousy to dig deep. And if he does, I’ll handle it.” His tone was firm, almost a dare, a quiet promise to protect her from the life she had briefly escaped. He reached across, his touch lingering as he wiped a smear of chole from her chin. “We’ve got this, jaan. One more night, then we play it smart.”

She sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “You’re a bloody mastermind, Ramu,” she said, her voice softening, laced with admiration and a delicious surrender. “But if this blows up, I’m blaming you.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes held a flicker of vulnerability, the weight of their secret pressing against her chest like a physical thing.

“Blame me all you want,” he chuckled, his voice warm and rough. “Just don’t stop loving me.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, her heart steadying, the plan anchoring her defiance, a silent vow to him.

As they approached the airport hotel later, the sky a deep indigo, Sakshi’s pulse quickened with the promise of their final hours together. The hotel loomed near the departure gates, a convenient, luxurious escape, and she turned to Ramu, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper that was all heat and no fear. “One last session before the flight, huh? You’d better make it worth it.” She lifted her dupatta, a flash of cleavage a silent, tempting promise, her eyes daring him to accept the challenge.

Ramu’s grin was predatory, a feral flash of white in the fading light, his voice a low growl. “Oh, I will, jaan. You’ll be begging for more by the time we board.” He grabbed her hand, his fingers laced with hers, pulling her toward the entrance, their laughter mingling with the low hum of departing planes. Her emotions soared—desire, rebellion, and a fleeting, thrilling fear of what awaited—each step a testament to the fire they’d kindled, a blaze burning bright until their inevitable return.

The afternoon sun, a brazen, merciless orb of fire, blazed over Agra, its relentless heat turning the bustling market streets into a suffocating furnace. As Sakshi and Ramu emerged from the dhaba, their hands still sticky with the remnants of chole, a suffocating wave of heat washed over her. Her salwar kameez clung to her skin like a second, sweat-soaked skin, the damp fabric chafing uncomfortably against her thighs and underarms. A tidal wave of irritation crashed over her, her emotional state a volatile blend of exhilaration from the day’s rebellion and a growing, physical discomfort that gnawed at her confidence. The tight, traditional outfit, once a symbol of her heritage, now felt like a prison, amplifying her awareness of every bead of perspiration trickling down her back, a physical manifestation of the lie she was living.

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, her chest heaving, the air thick with dust and the clamor of a thousand voices. She turned to Ramu, her voice sharp with a sudden, cutting frustration. “Ramu, I can’t stand this anymore. This damn kameez is drenched—I feel like a wet rag. I need to change before we head back.”

Ramu raised a dark eyebrow, his lips twitching into a slow, knowing smirk as he took in her flushed, disheveled face. “Arre, jaan, you’re still a vision, sweat or no sweat,” he teased, his tone a low rumble thick with appreciation. “But if you’re that uncomfortable, let’s find a shop. Can’t have my fire wilting on me.” His words carried a playful, possessive edge, but his eyes softened, a flicker of genuine understanding breaking through his bravado as he sensed her unease. He gestured toward a row of colorful storefronts ahead, a silent promise to indulge her.

Sakshi nodded, her resolve hardening as she wiped her brow with the edge of her dupatta, her heart pounding with a mix of relief and daring anticipation. The idea of shedding the damp, suffocating garment lifted her spirits, replacing irritation with a thrilling sense of recklessness. They navigated the crowded market, the air thick with the competing aromas of street food and incense, until they found a small clothing boutique tucked away in a corner. The shopkeeper, a wiry man with a toothy grin, ushered them in, his eyes lingering on Sakshi with an impertinent hunger as she scanned the racks.

Her gaze landed on a rack of tank tops and jeans, and a spark of delicious mischief ignited within her. This was not just about comfort; it was about defiance. She wanted something bold, something to reclaim her power and to tease Ramu further. She plucked a fitted black tank top from the rack, its neckline plunging just enough to hint at the delicious curves beneath, and a pair of snug blue jeans that promised to hug her hips and thighs like a second skin. “This,” she declared, her voice firm but tinged with a delicious excitement, holding them up for Ramu to see. “I want to feel like a college girl again—free, reckless.” Her tone carried a defiant lilt, her emotions swirling with a heady nostalgia and a rebellious joy at the thought of transforming.

Ramu’s eyes widened, a hungry glint flashing as he leaned against the counter, his voice dropping to a low growl that was all lust. “Bloody hell, Sakshi, you’ll kill me with that. Go for it—let’s see you strut like the queen you are.” His words were a mix of encouragement and raw desire, his smirk widening as he handed over the cash to the shopkeeper, who muttered something under his breath about “modern fashion” with a disapproving shake of his head.

Sakshi slipped into the tiny changing room, her fingers trembling with a delicious anticipation as she peeled off the damp, clinging salwar kameez. The cool, soft fabric of the tank top slid over her skin, accentuating her breasts and shoulders, while the jeans molded to her legs, the tightness a thrilling, sensual contrast to her earlier discomfort. She stepped out, her heart racing, her reflection in a cracked mirror revealing a younger, bolder version of herself. A surge of confidence, pure and intoxicating, flooded her, washing away the day’s fatigue and replacing it with a heady sense of liberation. She caught Ramu’s stare, his jaw slack with a combination of lust and awe, and a triumphant smile curved her lips. “What do you think?” she asked, her tone playful yet challenging, twirling slightly to show off the outfit and the way it moved with her body.

Ramu stepped closer, his voice a rough, barely-there whisper. “Jaan, you’re a bloody temptress. That body—those jeans—I’m tempted to drag you back to the alley right now.” His tone was thick with a primal lust, his hand brushing her hip with a searing touch before she swatted it away, laughing. “Behave, old man,” she teased, her voice light but charged with a thrilling excitement, her emotions soaring with the power she felt in her new skin.

With the old clothes stuffed into a bag, they left the shop, Sakshi’s stride confident, her hips swaying with a newfound swagger. The walk to the hotel near the airport was short, the evening sky deepening to a rich indigo, and her anticipation grew with every step. The tank top and jeans felt like armor, a shield against Murugan’s imagined judgment while fueling her desire for the session ahead with Ramu. As they reached the hotel entrance, she glanced at him, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, a promise and a dare all in one. “Ready for what’s next, Ramu? This outfit’s just the start.” Her tone was a challenge, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and exhilaration, the day’s rebellion culminating in the promise of their final, stolen hours.


The hotel room door clicked shut at precisely 5:00 PM, the low hum of the nearby airport filtering through the thin walls like a distant heartbeat. Sakshi and Ramu stepped into the cramped, temporary sanctuary, the air-conditioning a sudden, welcome shock against their skin. The clock on the bedside table ticked relentlessly toward their 9:00 PM flight, leaving them a scant four hours—a window that felt both tantalizingly brief and oppressively urgent. Sakshi’s heart raced, a tumultuous blend of exhilaration from her new tank top and jeans, a lingering defiance against Murugan, and a nervous, delicious anticipation for the intimacy they were about to squeeze into this stolen time. The tight outfit, a bold, rebellious transformation, clung to her skin not with sweat, but with the dust and grime of their long, frantic day, amplifying her awareness of every curve, every glance from Ramu.

She dropped her small bag to the floor, her chest heaving, and turned to him, her voice shaky but resolute. “Ramu, we need a quick breather. I feel like I’ve been soaked in the city’s dirt. Let me at least wash my face before… you know.” Her tone carried a mix of exhaustion and a daring edge, her eyes flickering with the promise of what was to come.

Ramu nodded, kicking off his shoes, his gaze raking over her with unbridled hunger. “Arre, jaan, you look like a 21-year-old college chick in that getup—sexy as hell,” he said, his voice a rough growl, stepping closer. He reached for her top, but she swatted his hand away, laughing nervously. “Wait, Ramu, not yet—let me at least get this city grime off me first!” she protested, her tone playful but firm, her emotions a whirlwind of desire and a practical need to feel clean.

He grinned, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough, my fire. But don’t you dare change out of that outfit—it’s driving me wild. You’re like some young lass sneaking off with her boyfriend, and I’m the lucky bastard who gets you.” His words were laced with a teasing warmth, his eyes darkening as he leaned against the wall, watching her every move.

Sakshi paused, a mischievous spark igniting in her chest. “Okay, fine—imagine I’m that 21-year-old student, bunking class to meet you. We’ve got just an hour before I have to ‘go back to my hostel.’ What would you do with me?” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, her hands on her hips, her pose a deliberate challenge as she tilted her head, her emotions shifting from fatigue to a bold, reckless thrill.

Ramu’s smirk widened, and he closed the distance, pulling her into his arms. “Haan, jaan, if that’s the game, then let’s play,” he murmured, his lips brushing her neck as his hands slid to her breasts, squeezing through the fabric of the tank top. “I’d devour you right here—mould that young body into a woman.” His tone was thick with lust, his fingers tracing the edge of her bra beneath the thin material.

Sakshi gasped, a soft moan escaping as she pressed against him, her voice a mix of protest and desire. “Ramu, slow down—someone might hear! We’ve got a plane to catch!” Her words trembled, her body betraying her with a flush of heat, but she pushed him back gently, her heart pounding with the thrill of their roleplay.

“Arre, my love, no one’s here to judge,” he growled, spinning her around and bending her over the edge of the bed, his hands deftly unbuttoning her jeans. “We’ve got time—let me feel that tight ass.” He slid the jeans and panties down to her knees, his palms caressing her smooth, rounded buttocks, delivering a playful smack that made her yelp.

“Uff, Ramu, stop—people might see! I’ll die of shame!” she cried, her tone a dramatic lilt, her hips wiggling despite herself, her emotions a chaotic dance of embarrassment and arousal. The tight jeans restricted her movement, heightening the intensity.

“No one’s coming, jaan—relax. Time’s short, and I’ve got work to do,” he said, his voice a commanding rumble as he pressed himself against her, his arousal evident. He guided himself to her entrance, the tip teasing her wetness, and she tensed, a sharp intake of breath escaping. “Oh, Ramu, it’s too much—take it out, please, it’s huge!” she gasped, her voice a perfect act of pained surprise, though her body welcomed him, drawing him in.

“First time’s always a shock, my love,” he chuckled, his hands sliding up to grip her breasts through the tank top, kneading as he began to move. “But you’ll take it—all of it.” His tone was possessive, his thrusts deliberate, and Sakshi’s moans mingled with the room’s hum, her emotions spiraling into a heady mix of surrender and defiance.

The session was brief, a frantic crescendo that ended with a shared release, their breaths ragged as they collapsed onto the bed. Sakshi laughed, pulling up her jeans, her voice light with relief. “Maza aa gaya, Ramu—felt like a college girl losing it to her lover!” Her tone was giddy, her heart still racing with the thrill.

Ramu grinned, adjusting his clothes, his voice warm. “Same here, jaan—like I’m some professor claiming his student. But now, what’s the plan? Flight’s at 9—we’ve got to move.” His tone shifted to practicality, though his eyes lingered on her.

Sakshi nodded, smoothing her tank top, her emotions settling into a satisfied anticipation. “Chalo, let’s freshen up quick and head out. No more delays—we’ll catch that plane and play it cool back home.” Her voice was firm, a hint of nervousness creeping in as she thought of facing Murugan.

They hurriedly washed up, the clock ticking toward 8:00 PM as they checked out and rushed to the airport. The terminal buzzed with travelers, and at 8:45 PM, they boarded the flight, Sakshi’s heart a tumult of triumph and dread. As the plane lifted off at 9:00 PM, she squeezed Ramu’s hand, her whispered, “We did it,” carrying a mix of pride and the heavy weight of their secret

--- to be continued in chapter 5 ----

[readersp]

Super!!! Keep going boss!!!

[abcturbine]

excellent narration.....great building...superb...
eagerly waiting for next....

[masti.bhai]

Please make Ramu share Sakshi with Ismail, maybe threesome.
If they leave for home now, it's rather disappointing. They should stay back and more sexcapades should take place.

[Gajakidost]

Awesome and finally back home. Hope she is pregnant now.

[Dinesh5]

Awesome update bro

[fuckandforget]

She has already married Ramu and she has no respect/fear/guilt to he EX husband.

[Dorabooji]

What is meant by we did it. They did everything in her home itself.

[Aman34]

Update nhi doge kya bhai

[Jagan1991]

Update super please new update

[Jagan1991]

Update super please new update

[pvn95]

Sir , please continue this epic saga

[fuckandforget]

Did the wimp husband came to know about the wife affair with old bastard.

[Jagan1991]

Please update