Adultery Contractual Sex - Munai's journey

[Blackdick11]

Just reviewed the agreement terms — all good, legal, and fair

[Glenlivet]

Just reviewed the agreement terms — all good, legal, and fair

For conflict resolution, there should be provision of arbitration. Mr. Blackdick11 may be appointed as Arbitrator.

[DeviKamasutra]

Just reviewed the agreement terms — all good, legal, and fair

I'm glad you reviewed it thoroughly

[DeviKamasutra]

Carry on, Devi.

Thsnk you so much for your feedback. With wishes like this, I can surely mske s worthy conclusion

[Bakchod Londa]

Love your input on it. However, in my belief it would create more tension and insecurity between their bonds. They still have mutual respect for each other. And ultimately she's thankful that her husband put her in that position.

Yes, their bond would definitely be filled with tension and insecurity… when dipankar discovers that munai is falling for mr. singh, he’ll have no choice but to endure it. according to the agreement terms, he has no right to interfere or object. 

*****an additional clause shall be included under the GENERAL PROVISIONS: Munai must wear a belly ring engraved with Mr. Singh’s initials whenever she is in his presence—serving both as a symbolic condition of the agreement and as a discreet reminder of his claim over her.

[DeviKamasutra]

Chapter 5: Hate Thy Neighbour

The steam from the shower clung to the bathroom, thick and warm, as Munai stood beneath the stream of water, her skin glistening. Her round face was tilted back, the droplets tracing the curve of her cheeks, her pale moon complexion glowing under the soft light. Her hands moved slowly over her chubby frame, the soap sliding over her fleshy love handles and waist folds. She lingered on her heavy breasts as she lathered them with lavender gel turning into thick foam. Her areolas, a lighter shade than expected, were wide and inviting, and she couldn’t help but admire how they seemed to beg for attention.

The door creaked open abruptly, snapping her out of her reverie. Her head turned sharply, and there stood Surya, his lean frame filling the doorway. He wore nothing but a thin white vest that clung to his wiry torso and a lungi tied loosely around his waist. The fabric did little to hide the bulge beneath it, and Munai’s eyes flicked down involuntarily before she quickly covered herself with her hands, her nipples and pussy hidden from view.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp but laced with unease.

Surya leaned against the doorframe, his lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, don’t play innocent with me, Munai. I know what you’ve been up to. Whoring around while Dipankar’s away? Shame on you.”

Munai’s eyes narrowed, her cheeks flushing with anger. “How dare you barge in here and accuse me? Get the fuck out right now!” But Surya didn’t move. His eyes raked over her wet body, lingering on the curves she tried so desperately to hide. “You’re not fooling anyone,” he sneered. “I’ve seen the way you look at other men. You’re no saint.” Her hands tightened over her chest, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her boobs as she glared at him. But then, something shifted in her expression—a flicker of defiance that burned through her unease and sparked into something sharper. 

Slowly, deliberately, she dropped her arms, letting them fall to her sides. The water cascaded over her nakedness, tracing every curve, every fold, as she turned to face him fully. Her lips curved into a smirk, and she let out a low, mocking laugh. “Oh, please,” she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that all you’ve got? A pathetic little man like you, trying to shame me? Look at you—can’t even keep your own trousers straight.” Surya’s eyes widened slightly, his smirk faltering for just a moment before he recovered, his jaw tightening. “You think you’re so clever,” he spat, taking a step closer. His lungi clung to his hips, the fabric barely containing the stiff bulge beneath it. “But I know what kind of woman you are. You’re nothing but a—” “A what?” she interrupted, her voice cutting through his words like a knife. She stepped forward too, closing the distance between them, her body glistening under the water. Her heavy boobs swayed slightly as she moved, and she saw his eyes flicker downward despite himself. “Go on, say it. Call me whatever filthy name makes you feel like a big man. But let’s be honest, Surya—you’re not scaring anyone. Least of all me.”

She tilted her head, her wet hair clinging to her neck as she gave him a pointed look. His face flushed with anger, his fists clenching at his sides, but Munai didn’t back down. Instead, she reached out and flicked a stream of water directly at him with her fingers, the droplets splashing against his chest. “You think I’m scared of you?” she asked, her tone light but edged with steel. “You?” Her laughter was soft, almost cruel, as she took another step closer, forcing him to either retreat or stand his ground. “The only thing you’re good at is puffing up your chest and spitting nonsense. But we both know you don’t have the guts to do anything about it.” Surya’s nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his anger boiled over. He opened his mouth to retort, but Munai cut him off again, her voice rising now. “And let’s not forget who’s really in control here,” she said, her eyes locking onto his. “You might strut around like some kind of alpha male, but at the end of the day, you’re just a coward. You can’t even handle your own wife without raising a hand to her. So tell me, Surya—what makes you think you could ever handle me?”

He stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line, his body tense with suppressed rage. But Munai didn’t wait for a response. She turned away from him dismissively, stepping back under the showerhead and letting the water wash over her once more. Her voice carried over the sound of the rushing water, calm and unyielding. “Now get out before I make you regret coming in here.” Surya’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. The bulge beneath his lungi seemed to grow more prominent, and Munai’s eyes flicked down again, this time with deliberate mockery. “What’s the matter, Surya? Does it hurt your pride to see a woman who doesn’t cower at your words?”
“You pompous bitch,” he growled, taking a step forward. “I will teach you a lesson you wouldn’t forget.” Munai tilted her head, her wet hair clinging to her neck as she smirked. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love to try. But let’s be honest—what could a man like you possibly do to me? You can barely keep your erection maintained. Do you really think you could handle me? To be honest, you are beaming with small dick energy. Pathetic.”

His face turned red with rage, and he took another step closer, his breath coming fast now. But Munai didn’t flinch. She turned the showerhead so the water sprayed directly at him, soaking his vest and lungi in seconds. “Go ahead,” she taunted, her voice soft but cutting. “Show me how much of a man you really are.” Surya stood there for a moment, water dripping from his clothes, his erection now unmistakable. But he didn’t move. He just glared at her, his chest heaving with anger. Munai laughed again, the sound light and cruel as she turned her back to him, resuming her shower as if he weren’t even there. “You’ll regret this,” he spat finally, his voice low and dangerous.

Munai glanced over her shoulder, her eyes cold and unyielding. “Oh, I highly doubt that. Now get out before I call Dipankar—or worse, your wife.”

The sound of the shower was deafening, but it couldn’t drown out the fury in Surya’s eyes. He took off his soaked vest, the thin fabric clinging to his skin as he threw it to the floor. His lungi followed, landing in a wet heap at his feet. Now completely naked, his half-erect cock twitched with a mix of anger and arousal. Munai didn’t turn around, but she could feel him—his presence, his heat, his rage. “You think you can mock me?” Surya growled, his voice low and grittier than the bathroom tiles beneath his feet. He stepped forward, closing the scant distance between them, his rough hands finding her bare shoulders first. His fingers traced down her spine, sending an involuntary shiver through Munai’s wet skin, before gripping her hips with a possessive force that made her gasp. Not out of fear—no, she refused to give him that satisfaction—but from the sheer audacity of his boldness. He didn’t stop there. His hands slid around to the front of her body, cupping her heavy boobs in his calloused palms. The contrast of his cold, rough skin against her warm, soft flesh sent a jolt through her, a spark of defiance igniting deep within her core. Munai stiffened, her back arching slightly as his fingers squeezed experimentally, testing her resolve. She could feel the heat of his breath on her neck, his chest pressing against her back as he leaned in closer.

“You think you’re untouchable?” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom and something darker, something primal. “You strut around this neighborhood like you own it, flaunting yourself like some cheap whore. You think I don’t see you?” His hand shot out, rough and demanding, and began to rub her left nipple through the water-slicked skin. The touch was harsh, possessive, and it sent a jolt through her body. Munai’s eyes narrowed as she felt his fingers claim what wasn’t his. That nipple—that left nipple—had already been claimed by Mr. Singh, and the memory of his touch, deliberate and commanding, surged through her mind. She stiffened as she turned to face him, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "Oh, Surya," she purred, her voice laced with sarcasm, "you really think you can just take what you want? That’s not yours to claim—not anymore." His grip tightened, but so did her resolve. She didn’t flinch, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. Instead, she leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear as she hissed, "You’re not even in the same league as him. You’re just a boy playing at being a man."

The insult hit its mark, and his face twisted with rage. But Munai didn’t care. She straightened, her boobs glistening under the shower’s spray, and let out a low, derisive laugh. "Go ahead, Surya. Try to prove me wrong. I dare you." Surya’s grip tightened momentarily, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breasts as if trying to silence her. But Munai wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand. She twisted in his grasp, turning to face him fully, her nipples brushing against his chest as she tilted her chin up to meet his glare. “You think you can shame me? Humiliate me?” she continued, her voice low but sharp as a blade. “You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man, Surya. You can’t even touch me without crumbling.” His nostrils flared, and for a moment, it seemed like he might strike her. But instead, he let out a low, almost feral growl, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her flush against him. “You talk too much,” he hissed, his breath hot against her ear. “Let’s see if you’re still so cocky when I’m done with you.” Munai laughed, a dark, melodic sound that only seemed to infuriate him more. She pressed her body against his, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his cock against her stomach. “Go ahead,” she dared, her voice dripping with mockery. “Show me what you’ve got. But I doubt it’ll be much to talk about.”

She spun around, her wet body pressing against his. Her heavy breasts flattened against his chest, their pale nipples hard from the chill of the water and the intensity of the moment. Her hands moved instinctively, one gripping his wrist to pry it away, the other finding its way to his cock. It was medium-sized, still only half-hard, but she wrapped her fingers around it firmly, her grip unyielding. “You think your hands have any right to touch me?” Munai hissed, her voice dripping with contempt. She tightened her hold on him, her fingers sliding up and down his length with deliberate precision. Surya’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re nothing but a drunk fool who beats his wife and thinks he can control women. This”—she gave his cock a sharp tug—“is all you’ve got? Shame.” Surya’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he tried to maintain control. “You’re a whore,” he spat, his voice raw and rough. “You think you can humiliate me? I’ll show you what happens to women like you.”

Munai laughed, a dark, musical sound that filled the steamy bathroom. “Oh, please. You can’t even keep it up without my help. Look at you—quivering like a scared little boy.” She increased the pace of her hand, her fingers sliding over his shaft with a firm, steady rhythm. His cock responded, growing harder in her grasp, but she didn’t let up. “Is this what you wanted? To come here and prove how weak you are?”
Surya’s hands moved to her waist, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. He tried to pull her closer, but Munai pushed him back against the tiled wall. Her wet body pressed against his, her breasts mashed against his chest, her hips brushing against his growing erection. She leaned in, her lips close to his ear, her breath hot against his skin. “You’re nothing but a bully,” she whispered, her voice low and mocking. “You think you can come into my home and take what you want? I’m in control here. Not you.” Her hand moved faster now, her fingers working him with expert precision. Surya’s breathing grew ragged, his hips bucking involuntarily as he tried to resist the pleasure coursing through him. But Munai didn’t stop. She watched him intently, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she felt him getting closer to the edge.
“That’s it,” she taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let it out. Show me just how much of a man you really are.”

Surya’s nails dug into her sides as he fought to hold back, but it was no use. Moments later, he came with a low, guttural groan, his release spilling over her fingers and onto the floor. Munai didn’t stop until he was completely spent, his cock limp in her hand. She pulled away, wiping her hand on the damp towel hanging nearby. Her eyes met his, cold and unyielding. “Was that all you had? I expected more from someone who talks so big.” Surya’s chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his face flushed with humiliation and anger. “You… you bitch,” he stammered, his voice trembling with rage. Munai smirked, stepping back under the stream of water as if nothing had happened. “Get the fuck out of here now,” she said calmly, her tone dismissive. “And please use the front door from the next time.”

Surya stood there for a moment, seething with anger but unable to muster a response. Finally, he grabbed his wet clothes and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Looking over the backyard wall, where her jumped from earlier, Surya wore his wet clothes. His humiliation still boiling beneath the surface, but a twisted sense of satisfaction lingered—he’d gotten his hands on Munai’s voluptuous breasts, their creamy softness a memory he’d indulge in later. Meanwhile, Munai stood under the cascading water, a slow smirk spreading across her lips as she felt the intoxicating thrill of dominance course through her veins, a sensation she hadn’t tasted in far too long. The encounter left her electrified, her confidence reignited, as if she’d finally reclaimed a part of herself that had been buried for years.

[Blackdick11]

First thing I’d say—Munai better fix her house doors lock, seems like anyone can just walk right in! :) :)  and seeing what just happened in the bathroom, it feels like a lot has changed in these six months… I didn't expect munai to do something this bold and daring. 
It looks like she's not afraid of society anymore and the way she handled and humiliated surya shows she's not scared of men like him either.

[DeviKamasutra]

First thing I’d say—Munai better fix her house doors lock, seems like anyone can just walk right in! :) :)  and seeing what just happened in the bathroom, it feels like a lot has changed in these six months… I didn't expect munai to do something this bold and daring. 
It looks like she's not afraid of society anymore and the way she handled and humiliated surya shows she's not scared of men like him either.

In a realistic world, yes she should get her locks updated. However, it's been a miss from my side to provide more information about the neighbourhood. It's more of a 1 BHK row houses and 4 houses in a block (shared walls). Open frontyard and backyard. Everyone in the street knows everyone and particularly the nearby blocks. So there's no practice of keeping doors locked during daylight hours.

[Blackdick11]

In a realistic world, yes she should get her locks updated. However, it's been a miss from my side to provide more information about the neighbourhood. It's more of a 1 BHK row houses and 4 houses in a block (shared walls). Open frontyard and backyard. Everyone in the street knows everyone and particularly the nearby blocks. So there's no practice of keeping doors locked during daylight hours.

Got it. if the door stays shut all the time, neighbours will start assuming something shady’s going on inside. 

honestly, the bathroom scene felt way too natural for a ‘first time’ encounter… she was naked in front of surya and didn’t give a single damn like she knew he was harmless...man of big words but no big action... that’s some serious confidence.

[Bakchod Londa]

Wonderful update...things got pretty steamy in the bathroom with the neighbor... & hope to see more such encounters of this slutty bangalan...

[rangeeladesi]

This sure is some high class writing.

[Bakchod Londa]

Next update please...

[ratipremi]

Very well wtitten.

[DeviKamasutra]

Already working on the next update. Hopefully we will have a new chapter this week itself.

[santhu304]

Update

[Bakchod Londa]

Surya is getting a really good Swedish massage from his slutty bangalan neighbor.

[DeviKamasutra]

Chapter 6: Birthday Celebration

The message from Dipankar was short and clipped, the way he always spoke when annoyed. Mother’s fever is worse. Taking the later train. Be back in a week. Don’t bother calling, the reception is terrible. Munai sighed, placing her phone face down on the kitchen counter. A week alone. The silence of the apartment pressed in on her, a heavy blanket of predictability. The ringtone that shattered the quiet was jarringly cheerful. Mr. Singh.
“Bhabhi! A very good evening to you!” His voice was a familiar boom, even through the tiny speaker.
“Good evening, Mr. Singh. How are you?”
“How can a man be when his birthday is here and his entire family has abandoned him?” he lamented, though she could hear the grin in his voice. “Radha and the boy are still at the village. This old house is too quiet. You must come. Help me celebrate. A piece of cake, some good company. What do you say?”
“Can't wait! How about a bit of an open space”
“My terrace is beautiful tonight. Full moon. I’ll order your favorite rasgullas from that Bengali sweet shop. A small party for two.”

The invitation hung in the air, thick with implication. She knew his reputation, the way his eyes often lingered a moment too long on the swell of her blouse. A tremor, not entirely unpleasant, passed through her. A week alone. “Alright.”

His terrace was exactly as he’d promised. The moon was a perfect, luminous pearl in the vast inkwell of the sky. A cold breeze whispered through the city, carrying the distant hum of traffic, but up here, it felt isolated, a world apart. A low divan piled with cushions was arranged near the edge, a small table holding a half-eaten cake and two plates. Mr. Singh emerged from the stairwell, a bottle of oil in one hand. “There you are! You brighten up the whole night, Bhabhi.” The open collar of his shirt revealing a thatch of coarse chest hair, his smile bold and unapologetic. “Happy birthday,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. He gestured to the bottle. “This cold air is terrible for the joints. A little massage oil, warmed in the kitchen. My treat. For coming to keep an old man company.”
“Mr. Singh, I love how you still keep the formalities to enjoy our little game.”
“True that, Bhabhi! Always a perceptive one but you are always so tense, I can see it in your shoulders. Sit. The view is best from here.”
Readily, she lowered herself onto the divan, turning her back to him. The stone was cool through her sari. She heard the slick sound of oil being poured into his palm, the scent of sandalwood and almond filling the air between them. His hands were surprisingly skilled. Strong, warm palms pressed into the knots of her shoulders, working the tension away with a firm, circular motion. The oil was indeed warm, spreading a luxurious heat across her skin. She let her eyes fall closed. This is nice, she thought, a yearning concession.“See?” he  murmured, his voice closer to her ear now. “God gave us bodies to feel pleasure, not just to carry burdens.” His thumbs dug deep along her spine, making her gasp softly. “You carry so much, Bhabhi. A woman like you… built for comfort. For worship.” His hands slid lower, down to the small of her back, his fingers skimming the top of her sari’s waistband. The touch was electric, a clear line being crossed. Her pulse, a frantic drum against her ribs, was a stark contrast to the slow, deliberate circles his hands were making. “Dipankar… he is a lucky, lucky man,” he continued, his voice a low rumble. “To have all this softness to come home to. A real woman. Not like my Radha—all bones and silence. A man needs something to hold on to.” One hand strayed from her back, coming to rest on the generous curve of her hip. His grip was possessive.

Munai’s breathing shallowed. She always missed the extensive foreplay warming her up. Dipankar never dived into the notion, whereas Mr. Singh always know her pulse. The warmth of the oil, the hypnotic motion of his hands, the heady scent, and the illicit thrill of the moon bearing witness kept her rooted to the spot. Her body warming up every moment to his touch. He shifted his position, moving to sit beside her on the divan, his thigh pressing against hers. His dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight, fixed unblinkingly on her face. “You have the most beautiful complexion. Like the moon herself decided to become a woman.” Before she could form a reply, his hand came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek. The scent of sandalwood was overwhelming. “Dipankar… does he ever tell you this? Does he look at you like you are the only sweet worth tasting?” His face moved closer, his intention clear. Munai’s world narrowed to the space between their lips. She could feel the warmth of his breath, see the undisguised hunger in his eyes. A small sound escaped her—a faint, tight exhalation that was neither a yes nor a no. It was all the permission he seemed to need. His mouth found hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was claiming, confident, flavored with the sweet frosting from the cake and something distinctly male. His free hand slid from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. The coarse hair on his chest brushed against the thin fabric of her blouse, a rough, thrilling friction.

She felt herself responding, her lips parting under the insistent pressure of his. One of his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head for a better angle. The other hand moved again, this time sliding around to her front, his palm coming to rest, heavy and warm, on the abundant swell of her boobs. The touch jolted through her. Through the layers of her sari and blouse, he kneaded the soft flesh, his thumb searching for and finding the peak of her nipple. It hardened instantly under his attention, a sharp point of sensation that made her arch into his touch despite herself. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged. His eyes dropped to where his hand possessed her. “This is what I live for,” he breathed, his voice husky with want. “So full. So heavy. A man could get lost here.” He fumbled with the folds of her sari, his fingers seeking the closure of her blouse. The hooks gave way with a soft pop. The cool night air hit her heated skin, followed a second later by the scorching heat of his palm on her bare stomach. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound from his chest. “Let me see,” he pleaded, his voice thick. “Just let me un-cage your trapped birds.” His fingers hooked into the edge of her bra, and with a practiced tug, the cup was pulled down. The moonlight cascaded over her pale skin, transforming it into a canvas of ethereal glow. Her boobs, now freed from its confinement, was a vision of lush decadence. The areola, wide and pale, was encircled by a taut, dusky peak that seemed to beckon him closer. Just above it was that single, perfect beauty mark—a dark speck that had pushed him to claim that boob as his. He gazed upon it with a reverence reserved for the divine. His breath hitched as he took in the soft, natural curve of her flesh, the way it seemed to cradle the moonlight like a precious jewel. His thumb traced the edge of her areola with a gentleness that belied the storm of desire raging within him. “God himself must have sculpted you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Every curve, every line… perfection.”

Her nipple responded to his touch, hardening into a rigid peak that seemed to beg for his attention. He leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over her sensitive skin, sending shivers cascading down her spine. His lips hovered just inches from her boob, the anticipation a palpable force between them. “You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice trembling with barely restrained lust, “the lengths I would go to devour you whole.” His hand cupped her boob fully now, the sheer weight of it sending a jolt of pleasure through him. He marveled at how his big palm couldn't hold the whole of it, like an impossible dream. His thumb brushed against her nipple again, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. “So responsive,” he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire. “Tonight I'm going to claim you again.” The beauty mark, that tiny, dark speck above her nipple, seemed to draw him in like a moth to a flame. He kissed it gently, a chaste press of his lips against her skin that felt anything but innocent. His tongue flicked out, tracing the mark with agonizing slowness, savoring the way she trembled beneath him. “You taste divine,” he breathed, his voice heavy with need. “Like sin and salvation all at once.” In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the moon and the cool caress of the night breeze, her body became his altar, and he its most devoted worshiper. Every touch, every kiss was an offering, a prayer to the goddess of forbidden desires that she had become in his eyes. And as he prepared to take her nipple into his mouth, he knew that this night would forever be etched in his memory—a moment of unbridled passion and untamed lust beneath the open sky. His gaze was rapturous, worshipful. “Perfect,” he whispered, his thumb reverently tracing the dark speck before circling the areola, making her shiver. He leaned down, his intentions clear, his warm breath ghosting over her sensitized skin.

His other hand found its way under her sari, sliding up the bare skin of her thigh. “Let me show you what a birthday treat can really be.” He leaned in again, his mouth hovering just inches from her nipple. “You have no idea the storm I am holding back for you.” His words painted a vivid, terrifying, thrilling picture. She looked down at him, at his utter fixation on her body, and managed a single, shaky question. “What… what kind of storm?”

His low chuckle vibrated against the nape of her neck. “You want to see the storm, Munai? You have to stand in the rain.” His hands, suddenly impatient, were at the clasp of her blouse. The delicate hook gave way with a sharp snap. The cool night air touched her damp skin, and she flinched. He didn’t pause, his fingers working with a rough urgency, peeling the silk blouse from her shoulders. The sari, its intricate weave suddenly feeling impossibly heavy, was unwound in a single, swift motion, pooling at her feet like a discarded flower. Her petticoat followed, then the final scrap of lace, her panties, tugged down her hips and kicked aside. She stood bathed in the moon’s silver glow, utterly exposed. The cold breeze, once a caress, now felt like a thousand eyes on her skin, raising goosebumps across her arms and making her heavy, naked boobs feel impossibly sensitive. “Look at you,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe. “Moonlight was made for a body like yours.” He stepped back, his own clothes joining hers in a heap before he kicked the entire bundle over the low terrace wall, sending her identity, her modesty, fluttering down into the dark garden below.

He stood naked behind her, his body a stark contrast to hers. His skin was the color of dark earth, a canvas of coarse black hair that trailed down his chest and stomach. And there, jutting from that dark thicket, was his cock. It was thick, veined, and rigidly erect, the dusky head already glistening. It looked both brutal and magnificent, a weapon and an offering. He pressed against her, the heat of his torso searing her bare back. One arm banded around her waist, pulling her bubbly ass against him, while his other hand found the small bottle of scented oil they’d used for the massage. “Now we make you shine for me,” he murmured, pouring the slick, warm liquid between her shoulder blades. It cascaded over her skin in a golden river, catching the moonlight. He spread it with his palms, his rough hands smoothing over the plump curve of her waist, the soft folds of her love handles, worshiping every inch of her pale, ample flesh. He cupped the heavy, pendulous weight of her boobs from beneath, his dark hands stark against their moonlit paleness. He coated them thoroughly, the oil making them gleam, his thumbs finding her nipples with unerring accuracy. They were large, areolas the color of pale sand, the beauty spot just above the left one a dark, tantalizing secret. He circled them with a deliberate slowness, the pads of his fingers tracing the edges as if mapping every curve and dip. His touch was both reverent and possessive, a blend of worship and dominance that sent shivers down her spine. He pinched them gently at first, then with increasing pressure, rolling the stiffening peaks between his fingers until she gasped, her breath hitching in her throat.

“Such perfect tits,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every man’s dream. So full, so soft, yet so eager to respond.” His hands moved to cup their weight, lifting them slightly, letting them spill over his palms. The moonlight caught the glistening oil on her skin, turning her boobs into shimmering orbs of desire. He squeezed them gently, feeling the heavy warmth, before bringing his mouth to one nipple, sucking it deeply into his mouth. She cried out, her hands fisting in his hair as he lavished attention on her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled around the hardened peak, teasing it with a skill that made her hips buck involuntarily. He switched to the other boob, giving it the same treatment, his teeth grazing lightly over the nipple before tugging on it. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against her skin. “You love having your tits played with, being treated like the whore you are.” His hands roamed down her body, squeezing and kneading her ample curves, before returning to her breasts. He took one in each hand, pressing them together, his thumbs rubbing over the nipples in unison. “Look at these beauties,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and lust. “I could spend hours here, worshipping them, making you writhe with pleasure.”

Munai moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as he continued his assault on her senses. His hands were relentless, alternating between gentle caresses and hard squeezes, keeping her on the edge of ecstasy. “You’re so responsive,” he said, his voice a low rumble in her ear. “Every touch makes you quiver. You’re made for this, made to be used and pleasured.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “And I’m going to make sure you never forget this night. Your tits will ache for days, reminding you of how I made them mine.” His hands tightened on her breasts, pulling on her nipples sharply, before releasing them with a soft slap that made her gasp. “Now, let’s see how much more you can take,” he said, his voice dark with promise. “These are not like my wife’s,” he growled into her ear, his voice a low rumble. “Hers are like two barren craters. But these… these are a feast. A man could get lost here. A man would go to war for these juicy tits.” He slid his oil-slick hand down her quivering stomach, through the neat thatch of dark hair, and into the wet heat between her legs. She cried out as his fingers parted her, finding her clitoris already swollen and eager. “And this… this is a temple. And I am a devoted man.” He withdrew his hand, using her own slickness, mixed with the oil, to coat his towering erection. The scent of her arousal, musky and sweet, filled the space between them. He positioned himself behind her, the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing not at her entrance, but against the tight, oiled seam of her inner thighs, just nudging the outer lips of her pussy.

“Grind on it,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Show me how much your Bengali body wants this Bihari’s cock.” A tremor of pure, undiluted lust shook her. She pressed back against him, rocking her hips, rubbing her slick folds up and down the hard length of him. The friction was maddening. Every pass sent jolts of pleasure through her core. She could feel the ridge of his head catching on her sensitive nub, teasing it mercilessly.
“Oh god…” she moaned, the words torn from her.
“Tell me,” he insisted, his grip on her hip tightening. “Tell me what you are.”
“I’m… I’m so wet for you,” she gasped, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate.
“Not enough. What are you, Munai? With your husband away and you rubbing on me like a bitch in heat under the moon? What does that make you?”
The vulgarity should have shamed her. It did the opposite. It unleashed something raw and hungry. She pushed back against him harder, driving his cock against her throbbing center.
“A slut,” she confessed, the word a breathy whisper. “I’m your slut.”
“Louder.”
“I’m a slut!” she cried out, her voice echoing faintly in the quiet night. “I’ve dreamed of this. Of a thick, dirty cock taking me, using me. I’ve dreamed of being a whore for a man who knows how to fuck!”

Her admission seemed to shatter the last of his control. With a guttural sound, he shifted his hips. The broad crown of his penis finally pressed against her entrance, parting her, stretching her. He didn’t thrust; he pushed, a slow, inexorable invasion that made her eyes roll back in her head. She was so incredibly full, stretched to a breathless limit around his girth. He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that was both punishing and exquisite. Each thrust rubbed his coarse pubic hair against her slickness, each retreat made her clench around him, trying to keep him inside. His hands were back on her breasts, kneading the oil-slicked flesh, pulling on her nipples in time with his thrusts.
“Whose whore are you?” he grunted, his pace quickening.
“Yours!”
“And what does this whore want?” He drove into her, a sharp,precise thrust that stole her breath.
She could feel the coiling tension in her belly, the promise of a shattering climax. But she wanted more. She wanted the ultimate surrender.
“I want you to breed me,” she begged, the words coming in ragged gasps. “Please… fill me up. I need to feel it. I need to feel all of your cum pumping into me. Please, give it to me!”

A guttural groan tore from Mr. Singh’s throat as Munai’s plea echoed in the moonlit air. But before he could respond, a metamorphosis overtook her. The submissive posture she had held, the desperate arch of her back against him, shattered. The raw, breeding-craving animal he had unleashed now turned on its master. With a strength that surprised them both, she pushed him towards the diwan, spinning on her heels to face him. Her oil-slicked body gleamed under the full moon, every generous curve a pale, tempting promise. Her heavy boobs, swaying with the sudden movement, captured the silvery light, their dark, expansive areolas and that tantalizing beauty mark just above her left nipple a focal point that made his mouth go dry. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice husky with a newfound power. Her eyes, dark and glittering, held his with an intensity that was more than just lust. It was possession.

She shoved his shoulders back against the cushions, her fleshy thighs straddling his hips in one fluid motion. The cold night air was a shock against his wet skin, but it was nothing compared to the furnace heat of her core as she positioned herself above his rigid cock. Her pussy lips, swollen and slick from their previous joining, glistened. He could see them, a dark, inviting flower poised over the throbbing length of him. “You wanted to breed me?” she purred, her round face tipping down to his. “Then watch me take what’s mine.” She didn’t lower herself slowly. She sank down onto him in one devastating, claiming plunge, her inner muscles clamping around him like a silken fist the moment he was fully sheathed. Mr. Singh’s head snapped back, a choked cry escaping him. It was a penetration of pure ownership, a complete and utter conquest. “Fuck, Bhabhi!” he rasped, his hands flying to her wide hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her love handles. She began to move, a wild, untamable rhythm that was all her own. Her hips rolled and pistoned, riding him with a ferocity that stole the air from his lungs. The diwan creaked in protest beneath their frantic bodies. With every downstroke, her magnificent boobs bounced and jiggled, a mesmerizing, heavy sway that drew his gaze like a magnet. He reached for them, his rough, dark hands engulfing their pale softness, his thumbs finding her nipples and rubbing rough circles over them. “These… fuck… these perfect tits,” he grunted, his voice thick with awe. “Made for a real man. Made for milking a real cock.”

She threw her head back, her dark hair whipping across her shoulders, a moan tearing from her throat as he mauled her boobs. Her own hands roamed over her body, one pinching and pulling at her other nipple, the other sliding down the slick plane of her stomach to where their bodies joined. Her fingers found her swollen clit, rubbing frantic circles as she rode him. “Yes! Look at you… look at this perfect cock stretching my perfect pussy,” she chanted, her voice rising with her building frenzy. “It’s so deep! I can feel you in my womb, Singh… I can feel you filling me up there!” Her inner muscles clenched around him again, a deliberate, pulsing contraction that was unlike anything he had ever felt. It wasn’t just a spasm of pleasure; it was a skilled, milking pressure that travelled the entire length of his shaft, pulling at him, demanding his very essence. “What are you doing?” he gasped, his own control beginning to splinter. His thrusts upward became more desperate, trying to match her chaotic tempo. “That… that feel….” “I evolved,” she moaned, her eyes fluttering open to look down at him, glazed with a potent mix of love and madness. “My pussy knows knows what it needs. It’s hungry for your cum. It wants to suck every last drop from you!” Another vicious contraction, longer and stronger than the last, ripped through her channel. His balls drew up tight against his body, a dangerous, tingling heat igniting at the base of his spine. He was a man known for his stamina, but this… this was a new kind of warfare. Her body was actively wrestling his orgasm from him, pulling it out with greedy, internal hands. “I’m not… I can’t hold…” he warned, his voice a strained whisper. His hips stuttered, losing their rhythm entirely, becoming shallow, frantic jerks. “No! Don’t hold back!” she begged, slamming down onto him with renewed force, her body absorbing his every twitch. “Give it to me! Fill my womb! I want to feel it flood me, I want to feel your child taking root inside me! Please! Breed me like the good whore I am for you! Only for you!”

Her words, her contractions, the sight of her magnificent body dominating his—it was all too much. The coil in his gut snapped. With a roar that was ripped from the depths of his soul, he surrendered. His orgasm wasn’t a release; it was an eruption, a primal explosion of need and desire that shattered any remaining semblance of control. The first jet of semen hit her deepest recesses with such force that her eyes flew wide open, a silent scream of ecstasy frozen on her lips. Her body arched, her pussy clamping down on him with a vice-like grip, as if determined to wring every drop from him. “Oh God!” she cried, her voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. Her hands flew to her stomach, feeling the pulsating heat as another thick, scalding rope of cum surged into her. The sensation was overwhelming, a potent mix of pleasure and surrender that made her quiver uncontrollably. Each spurt seemed to ignite a new wave of euphoria, her entire body convulsing in response.

He bucked beneath her, his hips jerking upward with each forceful release, driving himself even deeper into her slick, willing core. His fingers dug into her hips, leaving angry red marks as he held her down, ensuring she took every last drop of his essence. The sound of their bodies slapping together, slick with oil and sweat, filled the night air, mingling with their guttural moans and gasps. “Bhabh… Munai!” he groaned, his voice hoarse and ragged, each syllable punctuated by another violent pulse of his cock. His vision swam, the world narrowing down to the feel of her tight, milking walls and the sight of her perfect, bouncing boobs glistening under the moonlight. Her chest heaved with every breath, her nipples taut and begging for attention, but his hands were too busy keeping her locked in place. The torrent of his release seemed endless, each wave hotter and thicker than the last. Her pussy greedily accepted it all, her inner muscles working tirelessly to coax out every precious drop. She could feel it pooling deep inside her, a warm, liquid claim that left no doubt as to who she belonged to. Her moans turned into incoherent babbling, her mind drowning in the sheer intensity of the moment. “Yes… fill me… breed me…” she chanted mindlessly, her voice tinged with a desperate need. Her own orgasm crashed over her again, triggered by the relentless pounding of his seed into her womb. Her body spasmed wildly, her thighs clenching around his hips as she rode out the dual sensations of his release and hers.

When the final shuddering pulse subsided, they both collapsed, breathless and spent. Their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and oil, their hearts pounding in unison. The cool night air washed over them, a stark contrast to the fire that still burned between them. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the world reduced to just the two of them under the watchful gaze of the full moon. The intensity of the moment, the sheer overwhelming force of his release and the profound vulnerability of hers, shattered the last pretense between them. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and tracing paths through the sheen of sweat and oil on her cheeks. She collapsed forward onto his chest, her heavy breasts pressing against him, her lips finding his ear. “I love you,” she breathed, the confession as shocking and inevitable as the moon in the sky. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

He gathered her shaking body into his arms, holding her tightly as the last few pulses of his spend filled her. “And I you….”

A sharp, shattered gasp cut through the heavy silence of the night, followed by the sharp clatter of something metal hitting the stone floor of the balcony. Their heads snapped toward the terrace door. Framed in the moonlight, their forms casting long shadows into the intimate space, stood Radha and a young man—Ankesh. Radha’s hand was clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with a horror so absolute it seemed to swallow her whole. The sound that finally broke from her wasn’t a word, but a piercing, soul-rending shriek that ripped through the night air.

[khemucha]

Very hot story, but the way the contract is drawn up, it seems that Munai and Singh were already at it before the contract. Maybe when Singh was moving heaven and earth to free her husband. Whatever be the case, hope how and when all this started will be clarified as we go along. Right now shit has just hit the fan with Radha's arrival.

[Bakchod Londa]

Worst moment ever—lost in ecstasy with your partner and then boom, your wife walks in :)

[Blackdick11]

Holy shit… both of them caught red-handed, and that too right after they were done, from pleasure to panic in seconds, now the real question—will the agreement still hold, or does it end