Adultery Beneath Modesty

[Pinkboy]

Awesome update

[JHS19]

Great going. Excellent writing.

[Zoz34]

Terrific and thrilling update. Exciting and erotic writings.

Wonderful and beautiful update ❤️

Interesting and incredibly hot writing.

Marvelous and fabulous update ❤️

Awesome update

Great going. Excellent writing.

Thanks u all

[pedapandu]

nice narration, keep Rocking....

[Zoz34]

The whole evening dragged like a slow punishment. From the moment she left the office until dinner, Kinza kept glancing at her phone, heart skipping at every buzz. She knew he would harass her somehow Vikram never left her alone for long.
In the office he had boasted shamelessly, bragging about seeing her boobs. He hadn’t named her, hadn’t exposed her but the arrogant prick had planted his filth like poison in her ears. His words still rang inside her head, Rahul’s laughter echoing after them:
“In a few days my mouth will be buried between her breasts.”
A chill crept down her spine every time she remembered it. She hated him. She hated the heat those words stirred in her despite everything.
By 10:30 pm, still no message. She retreated to her room, phone in hand, trying to distract herself with endless scrolling. Her thumb hovered over the Reddit app. The cursed app if not for it, none of this would have happened. With a muttered prayer she pressed and held the icon, ready to uninstall.
That was when her screen lit up. A new message. Unknown number again.
Vikram: “Hi… Kinza baby.”
Kinza: “I am not your baby…”
Vikram: “Why always so sour?”
Kinza: “You know it, bastard. You’re blackmailing me… and even boasting about it in the office.”
Vikram: “It’s not blackmail, Kinza babe… and I think you’re pretty much enjoying it.”
Kinza: “I don’t, you sick bastard…”
Vikram: “Don’t lie to yourself, Kinza. Ask your pussy. And by the way, in the office no one knows—although they’d all kill to see your fat tits. But I’m possessive. I don’t share.”
His crude words crawled straight between her legs. Heat pulsed there, unwanted.
Kinza: “Why are you doing this? Just delete that photo, please.”
Vikram: “Because I like to play with my kitten. Now send me another pic like yesterday…”
Her heart hammered. She knew he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.
Kinza: “Please, don’t make me do this…”
Vikram: “I love when you beg. But I still need those pics.”
Kinza: “You got one yesterday. Please don’t…”
Vikram: “I need one every day. Besides, you’re still cropping your face. If you send one with your face, I might stop.”
“Bastard,” she cursed under her breath. She knew she would have to. With shaking hands she locked her room again.
Vikram: “Send whole body. Your tits. Your pussy.”
Her fingers moved like she was under a spell, trembling but obedient. She undid the clasp of her top, the fabric loosening with a soft sigh before sliding off her shoulders. The gown followed, peeling down her waist, clinging for a moment to the swell of her hips before pooling at her feet.
Now she stood completely bare, the single contrast of her hij*b framing her flushed face. She knew that bastard would drink in that sight the pious dbang above, the sinful nakedness below.
The air kissed her skin cold, raising goosebumps across her arms and chest. Her nipples stiffened instantly, dark peaks jutting out proudly from her heavy breasts as though begging to be captured. Her stomach was taut with nerves, thighs pressing together, but still she lifted the phone.


Click her breasts filled the frame, soft globes with fat, aching tips. Click her waist tapering into the curve of her hips, thick thighs shining faintly under the dim yellow light. Click her whole body, stripped and trembling, veil framing her bare shame like a cruel halo.
Each snap felt like a lash against her modesty, but the camera lens made her body look obscene in ways she had never imagined. The flesh of her tits seemed fuller, her pussy lips swollen and inviting under the faint shadow, her thighs looking like soft white cushions waiting to trap a man’s head.
Her heart pounded louder with every shot, fingers quivering as she reviewed the images each one filthier than what she thought she was capable of sending.
With a choked breath, she sent them. The blue ticks appeared almost instantly.

[img]<a href=[/img]" />
His reply came instantly:
Vikram: “My my… look at that figure. So slutty. Those fat tits… those thick thighs. Such a slutty body you possess, Kinza baby. Always hiding it under your modest attire.”
His lewd compliment made her shiver; her thighs pressed together as a wetness grew.
Vikram: “Send a close pic of your thighs and your pussy.”
Kinza: “Enough for today. You got your pic.”
She regretted sending the text the moment it left her phone it was as good as a promise for tomorrow. Before she could delete it, the double tick appeared.
Another message:
Vikram: “Those smooth toned thighs, Kinza… I’d love to have my head crushed between them…”
The imagery pierced her. No one had ever said anything like that to her. She had always thought her thighs were too fat now this arrogant prick wanted his face buried between them.
She closed her phone. All night the images he had painted crept into her dreams, filthy, vivid, unstoppable. Her body tossed under the sheet, caught between shame and a heat she hated.She closed her phone. All night the words replayed, wrapping around her like shackles. When sleep finally claimed her, it dragged her into his filth.
She dreamt of nothing else but his face buried deep between her thighs. Her legs, thick and pale in the dream, clenched around his head, squeezing him tight. His stubble scratched her soft skin as his tongue forced its way through her folds.
She moaned in her sleep, twisting under the sheet. In the dream his hands were locked onto her ass, kneading, pulling her down harder onto his mouth. The heat of his breath against her pussy made her shudder, hips grinding helplessly.
Her thighs, the ones she always thought were too heavy, now looked like weapons thick, smooth pillars trapping his skull. He groaned into her flesh like he wanted to suffocate there.
The sensation in the dream was unbearable his mouth wet and greedy, his tongue lashing, his words muffled against her dripping core: “Fuck… my kitten…”
Her toes curled. Her body jerked. Even in her sleep, shame battled with the throbbing ache between her legs. She hated it, hated that her pussy pulsed harder every time she saw his face smothered in her thighs.
By dawn, she woke with damp sheets, thighs pressed together tight as if still holding his head prisoner.

Next day at office, Kinza kept her eyes down, avoiding Vikram’s gaze. It was meeting day she had no choice but to see him across the table, his smug smirk needling her every second.
Later, by the coffee machine, she overheard his voice again. Rahul was with him, and Neha stood close by, half amused, half scolding.
Vikram : “I told you, dude… this one is some fine maal. Her figure, uff—” He puckered his lips and made a kissing gesture.
Rahul : “You always bag the fine baddies, man.”
Neha (teasing, rolling her eyes): “Who’s this new fish of yours?”
Vikram: “I’ll tell you in time, but man… her thighs. I can’t wait to bury my face in them before I eat her alive.”
Neha slapped him lightly on the shoulder, mock scolding.
Neha: “Uff, you both are perverts! No manners talking like this in front of a lady.”
Vikram: “What’s improper about it? I bet she’ll love it when I eat her pussy. Don’t you like it when yours gets eaten, Neha?”
She gasped, slapped him again.
Neha: “Bastard! I should report you to HR.”
Vikram : “Please do.”
They all laughed it off, but from her desk across the room, Kinza’s heart thudded painfully. His eyes flicked toward her for a brief second long enough to let her know exactly who he was describing. Shame burned her cheeks, but worse was the shiver that slid down her spine, the echo of his words colliding with the filth of her dreams from last night.She tried not to think about his cruel words ,try not to add it fuel her imagination.
She fled the office as soon as the clock struck out, her body heavy with dread. She knew it: tonight he would make her do something even more daring, even more degrading. She spent the evening restless, trying to steel herself.
At 11 p.m., the text came.
Vikram: “Why were you so silent today?”
Kinza: “You know why. You’re the reason for all my problems.”
Vikram: “I don’t like this moody Kinza. I like my bold, cheerful baby girl. So… to get you out of your comfort zone, I’ve got a little task for you.”
Her heartbeat stuttered.
Kinza: “What task?”
Vikram: “First, send me tonight’s pics. I want three.”
She didn’t even argue this time her body moved faster than her shame. She stripped, clicked three trembling shots, and sent them across. Within seconds, his reply buzzed her phone.
[img]<a href=[/img]" />
Vikram: “This one will do.”  “Now listen.”
Kinza: “Do what?”
Vikram: “I want you to post it on Reddit. Right now.”
Her chest locked. Fear surged up her throat. But beneath that fear, shameful heat spread between her thighs.
Kinza: “No… I can’t. Please, Vikram. I can’t.”
Vikram: “You can, baby girl. There’s no face in this one, no one will know it’s you. Come on don’t waste my time.”
Kinza: “Please… why are you making me do this?”
Vikram: “Because I want the world to admire what you’ve been hiding under those modest clothes. Because I want you to taste how men will worship that body. And because if you don’t, I’ll post the car pic instead.”
Her knees weakened. That car photo would ruin her. Helpless, trembling, wet, she did as told. Her hands shook as she tapped through the app, uploaded the photo, hit post.

[img]<a href=[/img]" />
By the time she collapsed back onto her bed, heart hammering, she could feel her pussy itching, throbbing, soaked despite the fear.
Minutes crawled.
Vikram: “Good girl. Now, don’t sleep. Wait one hour before you open it again.”
She obeyed. Her screen lay face down beside her, the weight of humiliation pressing on her chest. When the hour passed, she finally unlocked it.
Notifications lit up her feed dozens, maybe hundreds of comments.
“Fuck, those tits are heaven. Look at the size of them.”
“Juicy melons. I’d suck them till she cries.”
“That pussy looks like candy, so smooth. I’d spread those thighs and eat for hours.”
“
“Perfect wife material… perfect fucktoy material too.”
“Bet she moans like a bitch when her nipples are pulled.”
“I want to bend her over, bury myself balls deep.”
Her eyes darted across every filth-soaked line. Each word was a knife of shame, but each knife twisted straight into the wet knot between her thighs. Her breathing grew shallow, gown riding up her legs as her trembling fingers hovered over the damp heat of her panties. She fought the urge, pressing her thighs tight.
The phone buzzed again.
Vikram: “See? The whole world wants you. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
Kinza: “Why are you making me do this?”
Vikram: “Because I know you, baby girl. You enjoy it. Just like you enjoyed roaming the market that day under your b*rkha, naked beneath.”
Kinza: “I didn’t…”
Vikram: “Such a pretty liar. I bet your fingers are already touching that wet pussy. But no don’t play with yourself tonight. Save it. Tomorrow I’ll give you your next task.”
Her screen dimmed, but the ache in her body refused to. She curled into her pillow, thighs pressed shut, fighting tears and the unbearable throbbing between her legs. She knew tomorrow he would push her even further. And terrifyingly, her pussy throbbed harder at the thought.

[Daredevil]

Absolutely wonderful and superb writings. One request,please don't let Vikram share Kinza with anyone. Kinza should be the personal whore only for Vikram. Thanks again for writing this fantastic story.

[Slyboy]

Awesome update

[Vampire]

Just superb and marvelous update. Fantastic and fascinating writing.

[Mafiadon]

Superbly written story.

[Invisible]

Thrilling and sizzling update

[The Pervert]

Exciting and enticing update.

[Ishita]

Mind blowing and sensational update.

[Zoz34]

Absolutely wonderful and superb writings. One request,please don't let Vikram share Kinza with anyone. Kinza should be the personal whore only for Vikram. Thanks again for writing this fantastic story.

Awesome update

Just superb and marvelous update. Fantastic and fascinating writing.

Superbly written story.

Thrilling and sizzling update

Exciting and enticing update.

Mind blowing and sensational update.

Thanks

[Assanlisan]

I found such a uniquely structured story after a long time, one with a different concept. Writer, please give the updates ASAP.

And thank you for writing such a beautiful story.

[sa9891]

please update

[behka]

Make Kinza very arrogant and righteous who gets defeated by Vikram slowly

[Zoz34]

Kinza had spent the entire morning trying to map an escape in her head. HR was out of the question if even one of those pictures leaked, she’d be finished. The Reddit post already had strangers drooling over her body. She felt like she was in a labyrinth built by him: every turn, every wall, leading back to Vikram. .

She had been clinging to the fact that at least in the office they never spoke face to face. Since that night in the car, all their interactions had been confined to WhatsApp. He’d demand, she’d send, he’d promise a “next challenge.”

But today, just past lunch, when most of the office had emptied out for food, she was still at her desk. That’s when he came. Then he was leaning on the edge of her desk, blocking her view.

Vikram: “Looking good, Kinza… hot, but not as hot as last night. Those tits—uff. Perfect, ripe, fat, juicy. A sight to behold.”

Her stomach clenched.

Kinza : “Stop, you pervert. Don’t you have any shame? You’re blackmailing me for your dirty mind.”

His eyes dropped openly to her chest, where her modest dress stretched across her body. She instinctively crossed her arms, trying to shield herself, which only made his smirk deepen.

Vikram: “It’s not blackmail. It’s… an arrangement. Our little secret arrangement. And you know what? I think you like it.”

Kinza : “I don’t.”

Vikram : “We’ll see about that. But first tomorrow. You’re coming to my house.”

 She stared at him, speechless. His eyes didn’t blink. The words hung in the empty office like a hook.Her heart was hammering so loud she could feel it in her throat.What does he mean by his house? Will he try to force himself on me? Will he finally blackmail me into sex?
A cold shiver slid down her spine. She was a little terrified, yet her palms were sweating.He smiled like he could read every thought inside her.

Vikram: “Relax, baby. I’m not going to do what you think I will. You still haven’t earned my big cock yet…” He leaned even closer, his voice a low, dirty purr. “…and besides, I’m not the forcing kind. Until you beg me multiple times I’m not gonna fuck you.”

The words landed like stones in her chest. Crude. Arrogant. He was spelling it out, taunting her. Saying he wouldn’t force her but promising, with that same breath, that one day she would beg.

Her pulse skittered; she hated him, hated the way his filth made her heart race, hated the flicker of heat that built low in her stomach at his confidence.He says he won’t force me. But how can I trust him? Why is he so sure? I will never let him touch me.

.

Kinza: “Why… your house? What do you want there?”

Vikram: “That’s a secret.” 

Kinza: “But… I’m not going to do anything immoral.”

Vikram: “Like I said ” he cut her off, eyes flicking to her lips, “you’ll have to beg multiple times before you get my cock.”

Her anger flared, cutting through her fear.

Kinza: “And if I deny coming to your house?”

His smirk widened.

Vikram: “I don’t think you have a choice, Kinza.”



In her home

All night she tossed, her mind running in circles.What if he doesn’t hold to his words? What if he forces me? But I can’t refuse… he has those photos…

By morning her nerves were raw. It was Sunday. She told Ammi she was going for shopping. Her phone’s location was on, pepper spray hidden in her bag. Even then, her heart wouldn’t stop racing as she climbed the stairs to his flat.She knocked once. The door swung open.

Vikram stood there in just a grey vest and trousers, his arms veined and muscular, chest stretching the thin cotton. His eyes raked down her body slowly, lingering at her chest, before his mouth curled into that smirk she hated.

Vikram: “Looking good, Kinza baby…”

Kinza : “I’m not your baby.”

Vikram : “Come in.”

She hesitated, clutching the strap of her bag, fingers brushing the pepper spray inside. Her legs carried her in anyway.The door clicked shut behind her. She was dressed in black modest top which covers her fully,baggy jeans ,and a pink hij*b covering her hair.

Kinza: “Why am I here, Vikram? Tell me straight.”

Vikram : “Hmm… I was thinking of having some mutton biryani today.”

Her brows furrowed.

Kinza: “…So?”

Vikram: “Mutton’s already in the kitchen.”

Her stomach dropped.

Kinza: “You… want me to cook?”

Vikram : “Why do you think you’re here? You’re such a perverted girl, Kinza. Always imagining the dirtiest things in that modest little head of yours.”

Her cheeks burned. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or shame or both. She had expected him to force on her..used her body as plaything.But here bastard was asking her to cook for him.


Kinza : “You called me all the way here… for this? To cook for you?”

Vikram : “Not just cook, Kinza. To serve me. That’s different.”

Kinza : “I am not your servant.”

Vikram : “No, you’re my dirty little secret. And secrets come with… duties.”

Her fingers brushed the outline of the pepper spray in her bag. Her pulse skipped.

Kinza: “You think you can order me around like this? This isn’t right.”

Vikram: “Right, wrong… who decides? The truth is, you’re here. In my flat. Lying to your family. Hi*ab wrapped, face red. And you’ll still do what I say, because your body knows the game better than your mouth.”

Kinza : “Stop talking like that.”

Vikram : “Or what? You’ll spray me with that spray u hiding in ur bag?Call the security officer? Then watch your photos spread like fire? No, Kinza… you won’t. Because a part of you dirty part, wants to know what happens when you listen.”

Kinza: “What do you want?”

Vikram : “Like I said. Biryani. The meat’s thawed, the masala’s on the counter. Go to the kitchen.”

Vikram : “Go, Kinza.”

she went to kitchen.She began to prepare the dish.Sometime later.

Vikram : “Household work suits you… apron, spoon, stove. Cooking fits you far better than architecture ever will.”

Kinza : “Shut up… you misogynist pig.”

He chuckled, stepping close enough that she felt the warmth of his chest brush her back.

Vikram : “I want you to make it good, baby. Rich, spicy, dripping with flavor… just like you. And one thing more—” his lips almost grazed her ear, “from now on, you’ll call me daddy.”

Kinza : “What? I will not”

The sudden SMACK echoed in the tiled kitchen. His palm landed on the curve of her ass, a sharp sting spreading through the thin fabric of her jeans .

Kinza : “Ahh—!”

Vikram : “That’s for arguing with your daddy.”

Her thighs squeezed together against the unexpected jolt of heat pooling between them. She hated it, hated him but her nipples rubbed stiff against the inside of her dress, her pussy betraying her with a slow, wet throb.

Kinza : “You—”

---

[img]<a href=[/img]" />

Another hard SMACK! Her spoon clattered in the pan, her body jolting again.

She almost moan,biting her lips.

Kinza : “Mmmh—” She tried to swallow the sound, tried not to let him hear.

Vikram : “Do you understand?”

Kinza : “W-what…”

The third SMACK landed, firmer, spreading a hot ache over her ass. Her knees almost buckled, her breath catching.

Vikram : “I said—do you understand?”

She nodded quickly, not wanting more.

Kinza: “I… I understand.”

Vikram : “Say it right.”

Her lips trembled, shame crawling up her throat, but the sting on her ass and the weight of his presence pushed the words out.

Kinza : “I… understand… daddy.”


Vikram : “Good girl.”

Kinza’s face burned red. Her hand tightened around the ladle, but her thighs pressed together, betraying her with that forbidden wetness.



An hour later ,she came back to drawing room,told him that it will took some time.

Vikram sprawled lazily on the big leather couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, his vest clinging to the swell of his chest. He looked up at her with that same cocky smirk.

Vikram: “Yesterday was too much work… don’t you agree?”

Kinza: “…Yes.”

Vikram :“Yes… what?”

Her cheeks flushed. The word caught in her throat. Finally, with a shaky breath
Kinza: “…Yes… daddy.”


Vikram : “Good girl. My body’s stiff today. Go heat some oil… and massage my arms.”

Kinza: “What? You think I’m your servant now? I cooked your food already, that’s enough.”

Vikram: “Not servant. Pet. And pets do what they’re told.”

Kinza : “I am not your pet, and I’m definitely not touching you.”

His voice softened, mock sweet.
Vikram: “You’ll touch me, Kinza baby. You’ll rub that oil into me till your delicate hands ache. Because you know what happens if you don’t.” He tapped his phone.

Her chest tightened. She stood frozen, her anger boiling against her helplessness.

Kinza : “You’re disgusting.”

Vikram : “Maybe. But you’ll still kneel beside me with that bottle of oil. You’ll still stroke my arms while calling me daddy. "

Her thighs pressed together unconsciously, betraying her even as she whispered 
Kinza: “I… hate you.”

Vikram : “Go get the oil. My kitten.


Kinza returned from the kitchen with a small steel bowl of warmed oil. 

Vikram stretched out on the couch like a king waiting for service, his vest pulled tight over broad shoulders.

Vikram : “Good girl. Now sit here… closer. Don’t act like you’re scared of me. Put those delicate hands to use.”

She sat stiffly at his side, dipped her fingers into the warm oil, and began rubbing it onto his arm. His skin was hard, muscles shifting under her touch. She tried to keep her mind blank, but the contact burned.

Vikram : “Mmm… see that? You’re already learning your role. Stroking daddy’s arms like a dutiful girl. You feel how strong they are? One flex and I could pin you down on this couch.”

Kinza swallowed hard, forcing her hands to move slower, pretending not to react.
Kinza: “You’re disgusting. I’m only doing this because you forced me.”

Vikram : “Forced? Baby, you’re touching me so carefully… like you want to memorize every curve of my muscle. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re enjoying it.”

Her breath caught. She pressed harder, trying to hide her trembling.

Vikram : “Your hands are so small… so soft. Makes me imagine them wrapped around something else of mine.”

Her cheeks burned crimson. She wanted to snatch her hands away, but his eyes held her there.

Kinza : “Shut up…”

Vikram: “Why? Does it make your pussy wetter when I say it?”

Her hands faltered for a second, and he chuckled darkly.

Vikram: “That’s what I thought. Go on… rub harder. Daddy likes it when you put your strength into it.”

Every stroke of her oily fingers over his muscular arm made her pussy throb. She hated him, hated herself for obeying, but the scent of oil, the heat of his skin, and his filthy words twisted inside her until she was nearly shaking.



Her fingers worked in slow circles, oil glistening on his bronze skin. The silence stretched heavy, broken only by the faint squeak of the couch. She was sweating, her hij*b edges clinging to her neck.

Vikram : “You know, you massage like you’ve done this before. Practiced on boyfriends, hmm?”

Kinza : “Shut up. I don’t… I’ve never done this.”

Vikram: “Good… I like that. Makes it hotter knowing these are the first arms your soft little hands have ever stroked.”

She bit her lip, looking away.

Vikram : “Ahhh… damn, feels good. I could get used to this. You oiling me up while I sit back… like a proper wife should.”

Kinza : “I am not your wife!”

Vikram (grinning, eyes glinting): “Not wife but pet But look at you, sitting at my feet, doing chores, cooking biryani, massaging me. You’re halfway there already, kitten.”

She froze, heart pounding.

Kinza: “Don’t call me that.”

Vikram: “Why not? You purr just fine. Last night, I bet you squirmed in bed remembering my words, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks flamed. She shook her head violently.
Kinza: “No! Never.”

Vikram “Lie again, and daddy will spank you till your ass glows. Tell me… when you dream, is it my face between those thick thighs of yours?”

Her stomach flipped his words hit the image from her nightmares-turned-dreams. She jerked her hand free, glaring at him.

Kinza: “You’re sick.”

Vikram : “Sick? No. Just honest. And deep down, your pussy loves honesty.”

Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. She hated how her body betrayed her.

Vikram : “Say it again. Call me daddy. Louder this time.”

Kinza : “…daddy.”

Vikram : “Good girl. Knew you’d learn. Now, keep massaging. Daddy’s not done yet.”


Vikram peeled off his vest in one smooth tug, muscles rippling, his back broad and glistening faintly in the afternoon light. He stretched like a lazy predator, then dropped down on the floor mat, lying face-down with his arms folded under his chin.

Vikram: “Oil my back, Kinza. Slowly. Don’t miss a spot.”

She froze with the small bottle of oil in her hand, pulse hammering.

Kinza : “This is too much… I’m not doing this.”

Vikram : “You are doing it. Because daddy asked. Or do you want me to show your brother those pretty little selfies?”

Her jaw clenched. She knelt beside him, drizzling oil onto her palms.

Kinza : “Pig.”

Vikram : “Careful, kitten. This pig’s got tusks… you’ll squeal soon enough.”

She placed her hands on his warm skin. His back was hard, ridged with muscle, so different from what she’d ever touched before. She moved tentatively.

Vikram : “Mmm… that’s it. Damn… feels good. See? You’re a natural slutty masseuse. I bet your hands were made for this… stroking, squeezing, serving.”

Kinza: “I’m not a slut!”

Vikram : “No? Then why are your hands shaking? Why do your thighs press together every time I call you my girl? Tell me, Kinza… who’s dripping under her clothes right now?”

Her face burned; she dug her fingers harder into his shoulder to hide her trembling.

Vikram : “Ahh… careful, kitten… unless you’re trying to hurt daddy. Naughty girl.”

Kinza: “Stop calling yourself that!”

Vikram : “Say it properly, or I’ll roll you under me right now.”

Her breath hitched. For a moment she thought he’d really flip over. She swallowed.

Kinza : “…daddy.”

Vikram : “Good. Now use more oil. Press harder. All that pent-up anger in your fingers? Put it into my muscles. Daddy likes it rough.”

She poured more oil, hands sliding down his wide back, dangerously close to his waistline. Her eyes betrayed her following the sharp V of his muscles, imagining what lay hidden beneath.

Vikram : “Don’t stop there, kitten


 Kinza’s hands trembled as she rubbed them together, slick, glistening, her fingertips shining under the light. Then slowly reluctantly she lowered them to his back.

His skin was hot, stretched tight over a map of muscles, the sheen of oil spreading as her palms moved. Every ridge of his back flexed under her touch broad shoulders, hard biceps, the deep groove of his spine. The smell of sandalwood oil mingled with his sweat, intoxicating, making her chest tighten.

Her modest hij"b slipped slightly as she leaned forward, breasts brushing her own arm. Her thighs pressed together under her baggy jeans the heat building shamefully between them.

Vikram “Ahh… that’s it… your soft hands sliding all over daddy’s back… mmm, feels sinful, doesn’t it?”
 

The oil ran in rivulets, tiny glistening trails slipping down the ridges of his muscles. She had to follow them, spread them with her hands her fingertips brushing dangerously close to his waistline.

Kinza : “Don’t… don’t say such dirty things.”

Vikram : “Dirty? Kitten, your hands are roaming all over a man’s bare body… and you’re wet aren’t you? Tell daddy, does it feel dirty… or delicious?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She pushed harder with her thumbs, as if punishing him, but his low groan made her own belly clench with unwanted heat.

Vikram: “Careful, baby girl… dig your nails in like that, and I’ll think you want to scratch my back while I bury myself inside you.”


Vikram rolled over lazily, his bare chest glistening with faint oil and sweat, abs ridged and hard as stone. He folded his arms behind his head, a wicked grin spreading across his lips as his gaze slid over her flushed face.

Vikram: “Now the front, kitten. Chest, shoulders… don’t leave daddy half-done.”

Kinza froze, clutching the little bottle of oil like it was a weapon.

Kinza : “No… I can’t. This is indecent. I’m not touching you like that.”

Vikram : “Indecent? You already had your hands roaming all over daddy’s back. What’s a chest compared to that? Or are you scared of what it’ll feel like under your palms?”

She tried to step away, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist with casual strength, pulling her closer.

Vikram: “Sit here.”

Before she could resist, he tugged her down until she was straddling his thighs, knees pressed against his hard muscles. The heat radiating from his body seeped through her modest salwar, making her thighs tingle.

Kinza : “Let me go! This is… this is wrong!”

Vikram : “Wrong? You look perfect sitting on me. Like you were meant to. Now pour the oil, baby girl. Daddy’s chest is waiting.”

Her stomach knotted as she leaned forward, dupatta slipping dangerously. The bottle tipped, oil sliding down her fingers, dripping onto his pecs glossy trails glistening across his muscles.

Her palms spread the slick warmth across his chest. His body was impossibly firm, hard planes shifting under her small hands. Each stroke forced her to lean over him, her breasts brushing the air between them, her thighs tightening unconsciously around his legs.

Her inner voice screamed at her to stop, but her senses betrayed her: the musky scent of his skin, the heat of him, the way his nipples hardened under her fingertips as she worked the oil in.

Vikram : “Mmm… yes… harder, kitten. Damn, your hands are soft. Look at you blushing while you rub me down. Do you know how slutty you look sitting there?”

Kinza : “I’m not… don’t call me that.”

Vikram : Then why are your hips pressing down, hmm? Why’s your pussy throbbing against my thighs through that jeans? '

Her hands faltered. She hated him for voicing the very thing she was trying to deny. The shame twisted in her belly, but so did the heat.

Kinza thought “Al*h… what’s happening to me… I shouldn’t feel this… but his body is so hot, so hard under me… my palms… my chest… even my thighs are tingling…”

Vikram: “Careful, kitten… if you keep staring at my chest like that, I’ll think you want to lick the oil off instead of rubbing it.”

Her breath hitched, the image burning in her mind against her will.


Her hands slid lower over his oiled chest, fingertips grazing the ridges of his abs. Each stroke made her lean further down, until her hips shifted against his thighs. That’s when she felt it hard, thick, unmistakable the swollen outline of his cock pressing up against her through his trousers.

For a heartbeat she froze, breath caught in her throat, her palms stilling on his hot skin.

Kinza : “Al**h it’s so big… I can feel it… throbbing under me… what am I doing… why is my body burning like this…?”

Heat flooded between her legs, wetness seeping into her salwar as if her body had betrayed every ounce of modesty she clung to. She could almost hear the blood pounding in her ears, her nipples tightening under her top as she straddled him, caught in that indecent contact.

Vikram tilted his head, eyes glinting, voice dark and mocking.

Vikram : “Mmm… feels nice, doesn’t it? Sitting on thighs"

Her lips parted, but no sound came out only a shaky breath that gave her away. Her hands trembled as she pulled back, cheeks flaming, shame clawing at her chest even as her pussy throbbed with heat.

And then 

Pheeeeeeeeeeetttttttt!

The cooker whistled sharply from the kitchen, hissing like a demon snapping her out of the spell. Kinza flinched, heart leaping, eyes wide as if she’d been caught.

 “Oh god… what was I doing? I need to get away… before he sees how wet I am…”

She scrambled off his thighs, nearly knocking over the oil bottle in her rush, her jeans clinging damply to her hips.Her legs felt weak as she stumbled toward the stove, shame and arousal twisting inside her like fire.


She took sometime in the kitchen to cooldown the dish..and her wet pussy.She had to gain control of her body.


Kinza carried the steaming plate to him

Vikram : “Mmm… smells amazing, baby girl. 

Kinza : “Yes… now eat. I have to go soon.”

Vikram : “Eat slowly. I want to taste every bite… but I have a feeling you’re the real delicacy here.”



Kinza : “You’re impossible…”


Vikram : “Mmm… oh yeah, this is delicious. But not as delicious as watching you squirm on my thighs. You know, your hands… your body… everything.”


Kinza : “I was not squirming… you’re imagining things.”

Vikram : “really?



Kinza: “I… I should go now… I have things to do.”

Vikram “Go then… but remember, baby girl, this is only the beginning. "

Back at home, Kinza kicked off her heels so hard they skittered across the floor. Her bag slid from her shoulder and landed on the couch with a dull thump. She headed straight for her bedroom, heart still hammering from everything she’d just done, everything she’d just felt.

She sank onto her bed, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to steady her breathing. The memory of his hands, his body under hers, the way she’d straddled his thighs while massaging his oiled muscles… it burned in her mind. That should have made her laugh, disgusted her even, but it didn’t. Her body had betrayed her arousal creeping through her, hot and wet between her thighs, pulsing against the modest fabric of her dress.

This is haram, she whispered to herself, ashamed, her own voice trembling. And yet… Her pussy pulsed in treacherous defiance, the memory of his dominance impossible to ignore.

She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her own body as if that could shield her from the shame and the heat pooling there. I’m not the kind of woman who lets things like this happen, she told herself fiercely. I don’t let a man grope me, make me kneel, make me call him Daddy… and yet I did. I felt it all. Every moment of it.

His voice echoed in her mind, low, commanding, teasing. You’ll beg for it. You’ll earn my cock. The thought made her shiver uncontrollably, cheeks flushing, belly twisting with a mix of fear and heat. What if I went back tomorrow and let him have this hold over me? Could I handle him? Or would I end up exactly where he wants me straddling his thighs, calling him Daddy, losing myself to his touch?

Kinza’s thighs pressed together involuntarily. Her body’s betrayal was cruel, a pulse of wet heat between her legs, reminding her that even if she fought, a part of her wanted it.

No, she whispered, sitting up straighter. I have to stay strong. Tomorrow, I’ll go in. I’ll hold my head high. His blackmail, his games it ends.And yet, even as she said it, her fingers traced the dampness beneath her dress, the memory of his hands lingering, and she gasped softly at the betrayal of her own body.

Kinza’s mind kept drifting back to Vikram’s house, to the way he had looked at her, like he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly the effect he was having on her. “When you’re ready to beg for it…” The memory of his low, deliberate voice sent a shiver crawling down her spine. His hand had held her in place, firm but not cruel, as if he were just waiting, curious to see what she would do next.

It had been overwhelming all of it. His presence, his confidence, the way he moved like he owned every moment in the room. And the worst part? Kinza had liked it.

She closed her eyes, pressing her palms to her thighs as if she could squeeze the heat away, but it refused to be dismissed. It curled through her thoughts, teasing her like invisible fingers tracing her skin. She imagined him pulling her close again, this time without letting her escape, his grip tightening just enough to make her ache. That same infuriating glint of amusement danced in his eyes, daring her to fight or surrender.

She could almost feel the warmth of his breath against her ear, hear the low certainty in his voice as he told her what he planned, how he wouldn’t let her walk away so easily next time. The image left her breathless. Her pussy throbbed at the memory, wetness pooling through her jeasn despite every attempt to deny it.

Kinza wanted to hate the way her body betrayed her, the way she replayed every detail over and over, like a private film she wasn’t supposed to enjoy. But the truth was undeniable: she had never felt anything like this. No one had ever unsettled her so completely. No one had ever looked at her with that impossible mix of challenge and certainty, like he already knew the outcome and he was just waiting for her to realize it too.


And **llah help her, part of Kinza wanted him to. Part of her wanted to see just how far he would go, to feel that strength, that control, even if it was blackmail, even if it was haram. What would it be like to give in, to let herself feel his power without resisting? To let him handle her with that same unshakable certainty, to let him pull her close and keep her there? To let Daddy give her what she secretly craved, even as shame clawed at her chest.

The thought made her cheeks flush hot, and she pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to force her mind to calm down. But it was impossible. Her pussy twisted tight with need, wetness pooling despite herself, a traitor to her prayers and her resolve. Nothing she could do or think would make it stop.

Kinza closed her eyes, breathing hard, heart hammering against her ribs. Every memory of him, every imagined touch, every whispered command burned through her mind, leaving her restless, trembling, and achingly aware of the heat coiling low in her body.


A dark, forbidden part of Kinza wanted Vikram. She wanted him wanted to feel what it would be like to surrender, to let him push her until she broke. No. That wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. It was haram for a pious, hij**bi girl like her, giving in to a man, especially a man like Vikram, arrogant, domineering, a little cruel. She shouldn’t let him get the best of her.

She had worked too hard to be taken seriously in her field, spent endless late nights and early mornings proving she could hold her own in an industry full of arrogant egos and smooth-talking charmers. She knew the type: confident, calculating, expecting women to fall in line with a smile and a few well-placed words. She had seen it before, and she had learned how to keep her distance, how to laugh without being pulled in. Men like him didn’t rattle her.

And yet… one wrong action, one moment, had given him a hold over her. The photos, the blackmail—it should have made her furious, humiliated, trapped. And yet a part of her didn’t feel like a victim. That same part craved it, craved the way he made her obey, the way he could draw from her what she didn’t even realize she wanted. That contradiction twisted her stomach, making her thighs clench involuntarily, wetness betraying her every attempt to remain in control.

And yet… there was something else, something more. Something unsettling she couldn’t shake. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, like he already knew exactly who she was, what she wanted even the parts she refused to admit to herself. It was maddening, infuriating, and unbearably arousing all at once. The thought made her pulse race, her heart thump, and a hot, guilty heat coil low in her body.

She pressed her palms to her thighs, as if holding herself back could contain it, could erase the memory of his hands on her, the feel of his weight beneath her, the commanding certainty in his voice that had made her tremble and ache. Every shred of logic and faith whispered to resist, to remain steadfast, but the allure the forbidden, dangerous thrill was intoxicating.

Kinza’s breath caught as her mind replayed it again, over and over. She hated the way her body betrayed her, hated the fact that part of her wanted more, even as the other part raged at her weakness.



Kinza leaned back on the bed, chest rising in ragged breaths, as though the air itself was thick with his scent. She told herself to stop, to pray, to smother the craving clawing up her spine but the hunger inside her was already loose, crawling over every inch of her skin.

Vikram’s touch lingered in her memory like fire on her flesh broad fingers grazing her waist, the ghost of his breath curling hot against her ear.

Daddy. Fuck me.

The filthy echo pulsed through her skull, shameless and raw, making her thighs clench so tightly the friction stung. Her nipples hardened under her shirt, straining, begging to be teased, and her cunt throbbed with a wet ache that terrified her even as it thrilled her.

Her hand trembled as it slid down, pushing her jeans lower, nails grazing the skin of her belly before sinking between her thighs. Heat radiated there, the damp cotton of her panties clinging obscenely to her folds. She bit her lip, eyes fluttering shut, pretending it was Vikram’s rough palm pushing the cloth aside, his thick fingers tracing the slick seam of her slit before plunging into her.

Her body arched. A shuddery moan spilled out as she imagined him pinning her wrists, his deep voice growling against her neck: “Say it… call me Daddy. Tell me whose little slut you are.”

Her shame tightened in her throat, but her pussy pulsed harder around her fingers, soaking them, betraying her. The wet sound of her own touch filled the roomobscene, desperate, each stroke dragging her closer to the edge.

Her head fell back, damp hair sticking to her cheeks, breath ragged. Guilt and desire tangled in her chest, each harder to resist than the other.

With a sudden jolt, she pushed herself upright, thighs slick and trembling, stumbling toward the door. She turned the lock with shaking hands, forehead pressed to the wood, as though that small click could cage the madness she’d just unleashed. But her body betrayed her again the ache still thrummed hot between her legs, louder than prayer, louder than shame.

She sank back into the bed, her breath ragged, her pulse hammering in her throat. Her lips parted, and Vikram’s name trembled out like a curse, like a forbidden prayer her tongue had no right to shape.

Her fingers slipped lower, brushing over her swollen clit, and her whole body jolted. Ya Al""ah, no… she pleaded silently, her lashes fluttering shut. But the sound that escaped her soft, broken, needy betrayed her weakness.

Behind her eyelids, his image came alive—Vikram’s hand buried in her hair, tugging hard until her throat arched, until she gasped. His lips at her neck, hot and rough. His thick fingers plunging into her soaked heat, curling, scbanging inside until she bucked helplessly. “Good girl…” The phantom praise cracked through her body like a whip, her cunt pulsing greedily around the fingers that weren’t even his.

Her thighs quivered, her hips rolled shamelessly, chasing the friction, her palm pressing harder, faster. She couldn’t stop picturing it him stripping her out of her modest clothes, tearing away layers of fabric as though her piety was nothing but wrapping paper over sin. The thought of his gaze devouring her, greedy and unashamed, made her whole body prickle with fever.

She imagined him pinning her to the wall, her veil still clinging around her head as he lifted her like she weighed nothing, his cock thick and brutal, plunging deep into her tightness, stretching her until she broke. Her mouth fell open on a silent scream as she imagined the filthy word slipping out -Daddy -her shame and surrender sealed in one trembling cry.

Her breath grew ragged, her body a blur of motion, slick wetness coating her hand as she circled her clit faster, harder, each touch sparking lightning under her skin. Guilt clawed at her chest, sharp as a knife. This is haram. I shouldn’t… I can’t… But the words tangled with her gasps, drowned in her own moans.

She should have been strong. She should have resisted. She should have prayed. Instead she was here—sweat beading her temples, thighs spread wide, hips jerking wildly, fucking herself to the thought of a man who had no right to her.

And then his voice thundered in her mind low, commanding, cruelly tender:

“That’s it, little one. Come for Daddy.”

Her body broke. Pleasure ripped through her like claws, savage and unrelenting. Her cry was muffled against her own palm as her climax tore her apart her hips bucking, thighs shuddering, toes curling hard into the sheets. Sticky wetness coated her fingers as wave after wave of release left her trembling, sobbing, gasping.

When it ebbed, she collapsed into the sweat-damp sheets, her body still twitching, her chest heaving. Her hand slipped from between her thighs, slick with her own sin, glistening with shame. She stared at her fingers, horrified at how wet, how obscene she’d made herself.

A sob broke in her throat. Asta*"hfirullah… The word came out cracked, broken, no stronger than the girl whispering it. She curled on her side, knees to chest, tears smearing hot across her cheeks.She was supposed to be poius,A hi*"abi girl wasn’t supposed to shiver and melt at the thought of a man’s hands, wasn’t supposed to moan his name into the pillow, to call him Daddy in her mind like a cheap, needy slut.And yether cunt still pulsed, aching, clenching on emptiness. 

And that was enough enough to break her, to shatter every boundary she had clung to. The orgasm slammed into her like a tidal wave, ripping a strangled moan from her throat. Kinza’s back bowed off the mattress, toes curling hard, her pussy clenching around emptiness as her fingers grew slick, soaked in her own filthy wetness.But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.Her hand moved with frantic hunger, sliding over her swollen clit, shamelessly spreading the mess between her thighs. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure so sharp it almost hurt, but her body begged for more, grinding down into her palm as though trying to milk the fantasy from thin air.Her mind turned darker, filthier Vikram bending her over his desk, tugging her hij*b back so her cheek pressed flat against the polished wood. His palm cracked against her ass with a sound so vivid she gasped, her whole body tingling. “That was awfully naughty of you, wasn’t it, baby girl?”

Her chest heaved, nipples stabbing against the thin gown, the imagined sting of his slap arrowing straight to her dripping cunt. She bit her lip until it hurt, shame choking her throat even as the thought made her wetter. I’m so dirty… so fucking dirty.The fantasy ripped her clothes away layer by layer h"jab peeled off, blouse torn open, panties yanked aside until nothing shielded her but the veil clinging to her head, damp against her temples with sweat. She pictured his smirk, the glint in his eyes, that mocking, cruel command: “Say it. Say what you want, baby girl.”

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Her fingers obeyed, sliding lower, plunging into her soaked cunt. Two slipped inside with a wet squelch, spreading her wide, pumping fast and desperate. Her knuckles gleamed with her slick as her thighs shook, her hips bucking. She imagined it was his hand thick fingers splitting her open, curling just right, making her sob like a plaything.

Her voice broke into the silence, a needy whimper:
“Please… Daddy… harder…”

The word tasted like poison and honey all at once.Her pussy convulsed around her own fingers, gushing wetness, the sheets beneath her darkening. Another orgasm tore through her, sharper, meaner than the last. Her body spasmed violently, cunt pulsing, spraying across her hand. Still she didn’t stop.She couldn’t.Her clit throbbed painfully, swollen and red, but her hand moved anyway, rubbing furiously, chasing that brutal rhythm. In her mind, Vikram was holding her down, pinning her wrist, spanking her raw until she broke, forcing her to take every orgasm like his little toy. His voice growled, low and merciless:

“Good little slut. Daddy’s girl. Come again for me.”

And she did. Another climax ripped through her body, leaving her sobbing into the pillow, her thighs trembling uncontrollably. Pleasure and shame warred inside her chest, tearing her apart. Her muscles clenched around her soaked fingers, slick spilling hot down her thighs, the air thick with the stench of sex her sin staining everything.When the waves finally released her, she collapsed face-first into the damp sheets, her body trembling, skin slick with sweat. Her hand slipped free with a wet squelch, sticky and shining with filth. The shame hit then, heavy and crushing.Tears blurred her vision as she whispered brokenly, “Asta""hfirullah… Astaghf*"ullah…” The prayer clung to her lips, fragile and weak, drowned under the echo of her moans. Because the truth was cruel, undeniable—she had touched herself to the thought of Vikram, begged for his cock in her mind, called him Daddy like a needy little whore.

Her faith, her modesty, her discipline
betrayed by her own body.

And yet, even as the sobs shook her chest, her cunt still throbbed hungrily, clenching on emptiness. Her shame couldn’t smother the truth that curled low in her belly.




She lay there panting, thighs still trembling, fingers sticky with her own slick. The room smelled of sweat and sin, her body shuddering from the aftershocks. For a moment, she just stared at her hand shiny, wet, proof of everything she’d just done.

what have I done?

Her lips trembled as she whispered, Asta *"hfirullah, but the words tasted hollow, drowned under the echo of his voice still in her head—“Good girl… Daddy’s little slut.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. No. No. This never happened. I didn’t touch myself. I didn’t moan his name. I didn’t imagine him spanking me until I cried. I didn’t beg him, call him Daddy while I came all over my own fingers.

Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. She turned on her side, clutching the pillow tight, as if smothering the memory in its cotton. Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be a new day. I will pray, I will repent, I will stop this madness. I will stop him before he ruins me completely.But as her thighs pressed together, the soreness between her legs still pulsing, she knew she was lying to herself. Because no matter how many times she whispered Asta*"firullah, no matter how many times she told herself it never happened…

She could still feel the ghost of his palm cracking across her ass. She could still hear her own desperate moan Daddy.

[SweetSonali]

Absolutely wonderful and rocking update

[Rahul007]

Marvelous and fabulous update ❤️

[Ishita]

Excellent update. Exciting and erotic story writing.