Adultery A Sexy Lactating Housewife And Some Ugly Low Class Men

[Vissle]

What an update brother. O like it. Usman and Dipa love story

[Itsonlyforu36]

Nice update, nice plot but go little bit slow,

Try to add more detailing, little bit of resistance so frontman try to convince her Praise her holy work , add little bit shyness as she thinks she is doing nobel work as a goddess not a hoe.

And my personal opinion try to avoid the scene of dipa with sabina (lesbo scence)

[Mrudhula]

Executive update

[ashuezy2]

9 likes out of 20. 11 more likes and new episode will be released.

[Lodabetweenboob]

Waiting for the next update

[Vissle]

Please dont just read but also support. Please like the post of writer so that he can proceed further. We want Usman chacha and Dipa love story. Its time for Usman to take away Dipa from her husband. Its time for Dipa to be usman chacha's lover and solemate.

[ashuezy2]

Looks like I have received 20 likes, this will be updated shortly.

[Vissle]

Looks like I have received 20 likes, this will be updated shortly.

Thank you so much writer. It's just that i can't wait to see Dipa and Usman's sexual relation.  I am so excited that Dipa and Usman will going to be one forever in upcoming night.

[ashuezy2]

Saga 7 - Scene 1 - The Hoor's desires 
==========================

Five days had passed since Dipa came to save Usman. 

It was the middle of the night. Usman was sleeping soundly on the cot, wearing a simple white dhoti, his bare, wizened chest rising and falling peacefully. Sabina was asleep on a mat on the floor nearby.

But Dipa was awake. A familiar, restless heat was coiling in her belly. She looked at the sleeping form of Usman, not with pity or a sense of duty, but with a simple, direct hunger. This man, his body, his pleasure they were now a part of her life, a part of her own satisfaction.

She rose silently from her own mat and crawled onto the cot beside him. She leaned down, her long hair brushing against his skin, and began to lick his chest.

Her tongue traced slow, wet circles around his nipple, tasting the salt on his skin.

He stirred in his sleep, a low groan rumbling in his chest. She continued her ministrations, her mouth moving lower, her tongue dipping into his navel, then tracing a path down his belly toward the soft fabric of his dhoti. He woke with a soft gasp, his eyes fluttering open in the darkness.

Usman: (a sleepy, confused whisper) Dipa? Beti? What are you doing?

Dipa: Shhh. I was hungry for you, Usman. I couldn't sleep.

She lifted her head, her face hovering just above his groin, her eyes gleaming in the faint moonlight filtering through a crack in the tin roof.

Usman: But… Sabina is sleeping…

Dipa: She is tired. Let her rest. Tonight is for you and me.

She lowered her head again and began to kiss and lick his inner thigh, her hand moving to untie the knot of his dhoti. He let out a shuddering breath, his body coming alive under her touch.

Usman: You are… a hoor of the night… a beautiful hoor sent to torment me with pleasure…

She freed his cock from the folds of the dhoti. It was already semi-erect. She took him in her hand, her thumb stroking the head, and then took him deep into her mouth. It was not a ritual this time. It was not medicine. It was pure, selfish pleasure. His pleasure, and hers.

He moaned, a sound that was half-pain, half-ecstasy, his hands tangling in her hair. As Dipa suckled him, a voice, soft and amused, came from the floor.

Sabina: Mmm… what is this beautiful sound? Ah… I see. The goddess is hungry tonight.

Dipa lifted her head, a look of surprise on her face. Sabina was sitting up on her mat, a knowing smile on her lips.

Dipa: Chachi… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you…

Sabina: You did not wake me. The sound of your pleasure woke me. Do not stop on my account. A goddess must eat when she is hungry.

Dipa looked from Sabina’s smiling face down to Usman’s hard, throbbing cock. She smiled back.

Dipa: Come, Chachi. Join us. There is enough pleasure for all of us.

Sabina rose and came to the cot. As Dipa took Usman back into her mouth, Sabina knelt behind her, her hands moving to cup Dipa’s heavy, bare breasts. She began to squeeze them in time with Dipa’s sucking, her thumbs rolling the hard nipples. Dipa moaned around Usman’s shaft.

Sabina then moved lower, her mouth finding Dipa’s wet, waiting cunt. She began to lick and suck with an expert’s touch, her tongue finding Dipa’s clit immediately. Dipa cried out, her own hips beginning to buck, her mouth working on Usman’s cock with a new, frantic energy.

Usman: Oh, Alla-h… both of you… I am… I am dying…

Dipa: (pulling off him for a second) No, you are living! We are all living!

She went back to his cock as Sabina continued to feast on her. The small hut was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of their three-way pleasure, a chain of ecstasy with Dipa at its center. Usman’s body began to tremble, his climax approaching.

Usman: I am coming, beti! I cannot hold it!

Dipa: Yes! Give it to me!

He exploded in her mouth, his hot seed a familiar, life-giving taste. At the same moment, feeling his release, and with Sabina’s tongue still working its magic on her, Dipa’s own orgasm ripped through her, a silent, screaming convulsion of pure bliss.

They collapsed into a tangled heap on the cot, a complete, self-contained, and profoundly unconventional family unit, their desires and pleasures inextricably bound together in the warm, dark intimacy of the hut.

Dipa lay in the tangled heap of limbs, her body still humming from her powerful orgasm, the taste of Usman’s life force a faint, salty memory in her throat. She looked at the old man, who was breathing heavily beside her, a look of blissful exhaustion on his face. But she could see a new fire rekindling in his eyes.

Dipa: My Love, Usman, I think you now have enough stamina for Round two.

Usman: (a slow, wolfish grin spreading across his face) Yes, you are right. I feel the power in my body to go again.

Dipa: Awesome! Chachi, I need you again. Please, lick my asshole.

Sabina: Yes, beti, anything for you.

Dipa: I am going to feed Usman now. My love, drink my milk. You deserve it.

She sat up, pulling on the old, borrowed blouse but not bothering to button it. She simply pushed the fabric aside, freeing her huge, milky breasts. Usman immediately moved, his mouth latching onto a nipple with the familiar greed of a devoted supplicant. Sabina moved to Dipa’s back, gently tilting her hips to get better access. Dipa moaned as she felt Sabina’s hot tongue begin to trace the crack of her ass.

Sabina: Let me put my fingers inside you, beti, while I lick.

Dipa: Oh, Chachi, you always know what I want.

Sabina: Oh, I know. I have been in this profession for many, many years now.

Usman: (pulling away for a breath) Ya Alla-h, aaj phir chusne ko milega. Tu mere par bahut meherban hai. (Oh Alla-h, I get to suck again today. You are very merciful to me.)

He latched back onto the nipple, sucking hard, the milk pouring from her breast into his mouth. Dipa moaned loudly, her head falling back.

Dipa: Usman, I love you so much. Kiss me.

He disentangled his mouth from her nipple and moved up, capturing her lips in a deep, wet kiss. They exchanged saliva, the taste of her milk mixing with the taste of her mouth.

Dipa: My love, suck my milk again.

He obeyed, returning to her breast. All the while, Sabina continued her ministrations, her fingers sliding deep inside Dipa’s ass, her tongue licking and probing.

Sabina: Oh Dipa, you are so wet.

Dipa: Yes, Chachi… you are making me so wet… your tongue… your fingers… ahhh…

Sabina worked her with an expert’s skill, her tongue swirling, her fingers stretching and massaging Dipa's insides. At the other end, Usman suckled with a renewed vigor, his free hand moving down to Dipa's wet cunt, his own fingers finding her clit.

Dipa: Oh God… Usman… Chachi… both of you… at the same time…

She was being worshipped from every angle, her body a being attended to by two lovers. Her breast was being drained, her clit was being rubbed, and her ass was being licked and fingered. It was an overwhelming symphony of pleasure.

Dipa: Don’t stop… please, don’t stop… I need it… I need you both… deeper, Chachi! Yes, right there! Usman, pinch my nipple… yes, bite it! I need the pain!

They obeyed her every command, their desire now completely subservient to hers. She was their queen, their goddess, and they were the instruments of her ecstasy.

Sabina: You are ready to burst, beti. So full. So responsive. Let it all out for me.

Dipa: I’m… I’m close… Chachi… Usman… I’m going to… ahhhhhh!

Her body went rigid, a massive orgasm ripping through her, triggered by the simultaneous stimulation. She screamed, a long, high-pitched sound of pure, unadulterated release. As she climaxed, Usman pulled his mouth from her breast, his own body trembling.

Usman: Now… I must be inside you now!

Dipa: (panting, her body still trembling) Yes… fuck me… both of you…

Sabina moved away from Dipa’s ass, her face slick. She gently pushed Dipa onto her back and guided Usman between her legs.

Dipa: No… Chachi, you too.

Sabina: What, beti?

Dipa: Your mouth. While he fucks me. I want your mouth.

Sabina smiled and positioned herself at the head of the cot. Usman entered Dipa with a single, powerful thrust, and at the same moment, Sabina took Dipa’s mouth in a deep, consuming kiss.

Dipa was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, her pussy being filled by Usman’s hard cock, her mouth being possessed by Sabina’s expert tongue, her breasts being squeezed by their free hands. It was a perfect, seamless loop of pleasure, a three bodied organism moving as one.

Usman: I am coming! Dipa! Sabina! I am coming!

Dipa: (muffled by Sabina’s kiss) Yes! Fill me!

He roared as he came, his hot seed flooding her womb. As she felt his release, Dipa climaxed again, her body bucking and spasming, her teeth biting down gently on Sabina’s tongue. They all collapsed together, a tangled, sweaty, spent heap, their individual desires momentarily satisfied in a shared, explosive release.

[Vissle]

I don't know why but Dipa is fall in love with Usman chacha. Well you should because Usman understand your emotion and physical need. Dipa should give her rest of life to usman

[Vissle]

Please update next

[ashuezy2]

Saga 7 - Scene 2 - The Hoor's Desires
==========================

Next morning.

The first hint of grey light was filtering through the cracks in the hut wall when Dipa woke. The air was cool and smelled of wet earth from the night's rain. Sabina was still sound asleep on her mat. Dipa turned and saw Usman lying on the cot, his eyes open, watching her. A soft, gentle smile was on his face.

Dipa: You are awake.

Usman: I have been awake for some time. I was watching you sleep. You look so pretty, beti.

Dipa: (smiling) Let's go for a morning walk, my love. Just you and me. The air smells of earth, rain, and something undefinably peaceful.

Usman: A walk? With you? It would be my honor.
She got up and found a simple, clean, light blue sari of Sabina’s. She wrapped it around her blouse and rest of the naked body, forgoing a petticoat, bra, or panties. The cool cotton felt soft against her skin. Usman, with a newfound energy, stood and put on a fresh white kurta and pajama. He looked less like a patient and more like a dignified elder.

They slipped out of the hut into the quiet, waking slum. The air was fresh and cool. Dipa took his arm, linking it with hers, and they began to walk slowly along the path by the canal. With every step, his elbow brushed against the heavy, unsupported side of her breast.

Usman: I never thought I would see a sunrise again. And certainly not like this, with the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm.

Dipa: There will be many more sunrises for you, Usman. I am here now.

Usman: The world seems new to me. The colors are brighter. The air is sweeter. You did not just heal my body, Dipa. You resurrected my soul.

Dipa: I only gave what was needed. You were the one who was brave enough to receive it.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, just enjoying the quiet intimacy. They reached a more secluded spot, where a large banyan tree grew by the water's edge, its roots creating a natural bench.

Dipa: Let’s sit here for a moment.
They sat on the roots, their bodies close, looking out over the still water of the canal.

Usman: Stay with us, Dipa. Be our light. Sabina and I… we are your family now. You are the heart of this home.

Dipa: (after a long pause) I am happy here. For now, this is my home.
He turned to her, his old eyes full of a love so profound it made her breath catch in her throat. He leaned in and kissed her, not with the desperate hunger of before, but with a deep, tender affection. She kissed him back, her hands coming up to cup his face.

Dipa: My love…
Usman: My hoor… my life…
His hand moved from her face down to her chest, his fingers gently tracing the outline of her breast through the thin cotton of her sari and blouse.

Usman: Even after all the milk you have given… you are still so full. So heavy.

Dipa: They are always full for you, Usman.
She took his hand and placed it fully on her breast, pressing his palm against her nipple. It hardened instantly under his touch.

Usman: I want to taste you again. Not like a desperate patient. But like a man tastes his beloved.

Dipa: Then taste me.

She unbuttoned her blouse, the morning air cool on her warm skin. She freed her breast, and he lowered his head, his mouth closing over the nipple with a soft, loving reverence. He suckled gently, not for nourishment, but for the sheer pleasure of her taste, her closeness.

Dipa: Yes… just like that…

Her own desire stirred, a slow, warm current spreading through her. She looked down at his lap. Even through his pajama, she could see that he was hard for her.

Dipa: You are ready for me again, my love.

Usman: I am always ready for you, Dipa. My body now lives only for your touch.
She gently pushed his head away from her breast.

Dipa: Then show me.
She stood up and unwrapped her sari, letting it fall in a heap on the ground. She was completely naked in the soft morning light. She knelt before him, unfastened his pajama, and freed his hard, thick cock.

Dipa: You have given me such beautiful words, my love. Now, let me give you a beautiful feeling.
She took him in her mouth, her movements slow, sensual, and full of the affection she felt for him. It was not the desperate healing of before, but an act of pure, romantic love. He groaned, his hands in her hair, his body trembling with a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable.

Usman: Dipa… my Dipa… I am…

Dipa: Yes, my love. Give it to me.

He came with a deep, shuddering sigh, his release a testament to the life she had given him back. She took it all, then lay her head in his lap, a profound sense of peace settling over them both as the sun rose higher, casting a golden glow over the strange, beautiful new world they had created together.

[ashuezy2]

Saga 7 - Scene 3 - The Hoor's desires
==========================

Dipa rested her head in Usman’s lap, a profound sense of peace settling over her. After a moment, she lifted her head and, with a slow, deliberate tenderness, began to clean his soft penis with her tongue, licking away the last traces of his release. He sighed, a soft, contented sound, his hand gently stroking her hair.

Usman: Ready for round two, my love?
Dipa looked up at him, a new, mischievous glint in her eyes. The anilingus she had received from Sabina had awakened a new curiosity in her, a desire to explore, to taste, to possess every part of the men she took as her own.

Dipa: I want to lick your ass.
Usman stared at her, his eyes widening in shock, then clouding over with a dark, intense arousal. He felt his cock, still soft in her hand, begin to stir and harden again with surprising speed.

Usman: Oh, you are making me erect again. Come.
He stood up, his body trembling slightly with anticipation.

Dipa: Turn around for me, my love. Bend over the root of this great tree. I want to worship you from behind.
He obeyed without question, placing his hands on a large, exposed root of the banyan tree and bending at the waist, presenting his wrinkled, aged backside to her. She knelt on the ground behind him, her hands coming up to cup his buttocks.

Dipa: So strong, even now. You have been through so much, and still, you are a man. Let me taste you. Let me taste your strength.
She leaned forward, her warm breath ghosting over his skin before her tongue darted out to trace the deep crack between his ass cheeks. He gasped, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the root.

Usman: Dipa… no one has ever…

Dipa: Shhh. I am the first. I am the only one. I am yours, and I will worship every part of you.
She parted his cheeks with her hands, exposing his anus. She licked it, slowly at first, then with more confidence, her tongue swirling and probing, learning the textures of his body. He was moaning now, low and deep in his throat, a sound of pure, shocked pleasure.

Usman: Ahhh… yes… right there… it feels… I cannot describe it…

Dipa: You don’t have to describe it. You only have to feel it.
She pushed her tongue inside him, and he cried out, his hips bucking back against her face. She held him steady, her mouth working on him with a focused intensity, bringing him to a new, unbearable peak of pleasure. His cock was now a rigid bar of iron, pressing against the rough bark of the tree.
After several minutes, she pulled away. He was panting, his body trembling.

Dipa: Now. You are ready. Fuck me now, my love. Fill me with the life I gave back to you.
He turned, his eyes blazing with a love and lust so intense it was almost frightening. He pressed her back against the thick trunk of the banyan tree, one of its low-hanging roots a perfect perch for her to sit on. He lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

Usman: You own me, Dipa… my body, my soul… it is all yours.
He entered her with a single, powerful thrust. She gasped, the feeling of him inside her again, here in the open, even more thrilling than before.

Dipa: Yes… fuck me against this tree… let the earth see how you worship me…
He began to move, his rhythm deep and steady, a primal dance in the soft morning light. They were hidden from the main path, but the risk of discovery was a sharp, delicious spice.

Usman: Every thrust… every breath… is your name…

Dipa: Harder, my love. Show me how alive you are. Fuck my in the open in this morning. 
He increased his pace, his body slamming against hers, the sound echoing softly in the quiet air. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her mouth finding his. They kissed, a deep, frantic, open-mouthed kiss, their tongues wrestling as he fucked her.

Dipa: I’m… I’m close… Usman…

Usman: Me too… together, my love... together!
They cried out at the same time, their bodies convulsing, his hot seed flooding her as her own orgasm ripped through her. They clung to each other, panting, their bodies slick with sweat, their shared climax a final, powerful seal on their strange, profound love.

They slowly dressed, their movements languid and sated. He helped her wrap her sari, his hands lingering on her waist. She helped him tie his pajama, her fingers brushing against his soft cock. They walked back to the hut, arm in arm, their shared secret a warm, glowing presence between them, the morning ritual complete.

[Vissle]

I must commend the writer here. Deepa's character wasn't portrayed as a mere lust, a street prostitute seeking to satisfy her body's thirst, or a sex machine. The writer revealed Deepa's inner self. She showed that Deepa is hungry for love, and if someone wants to love her, she doesn't care about age, color, or status. Usman is an old, ugly, and poor man. He had a lustful desire for Deepa, but that lust blossomed into love. Deepa accepted Usman, and now she is so deeply in love with him that if he calls her, she might leave everything behind and come to his house. I am so glad that the writer made Usman and Deepa a love couple. No matter how many times I see their love, I can't get enough of it. Deepa and Usman are made for each other. No one has any rights over Deepa. Only Usman has rights over her, and will have them for the rest of his life. Well done writer ashueyz2. You made this story legend.

[ashuezy2]

I must commend the writer here. Deepa's character wasn't portrayed as a mere lust, a street prostitute seeking to satisfy her body's thirst, or a sex machine. The writer revealed Deepa's inner self. She showed that Deepa is hungry for love, and if someone wants to love her, she doesn't care about age, color, or status. Usman is an old, ugly, and poor man. He had a lustful desire for Deepa, but that lust blossomed into love. Deepa accepted Usman, and now she is so deeply in love with him that if he calls her, she might leave everything behind and come to his house. I am so glad that the writer made Usman and Deepa a love couple. No matter how many times I see their love, I can't get enough of it. Deepa and Usman are made for each other. No one has any rights over Deepa. Only Usman has rights over her, and will have them for the rest of his life. Well done writer ashueyz2. You made this story legend.

Wait for the next turn of events after 10 days are over.
Usman is after all a retired gangster.
His instincts are going to kick in once he is healthy.
Sabina is a ex prostitute.

Don't expect real love, characters are flawed.

[Vissle]

Then bro believe me this story will going be more intense and awesome. All the best lets see the another side of Usman

[ashuezy2]

Saga 8 - Scene 1 - Usman Bhai - Return of the Gangster
===================================

It was the tenth day. The final day of the promise Dipa had made to herself. Usman was not just healthy; he was reborn, infused with a vitality that was almost frightening. That evening, the slum was alive with the sound of music and celebration. A local girl was getting married.

Usman: We are going.
It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered in a voice that no longer trembled with weakness but resonated with the old, gravelly authority of a man used to being obeyed. This was not the pathetic patient Dipa had come to heal; this was Usman Bhai, the gangster of local legend, returned from the grave.

Dipa had dressed for the occasion. She wore a black chiffon sari, so fine and sheer it was like a wisp of smoke against her skin. Underneath, she wore nothing. No petticoat, no bra, no panties. The blouse was knotted at her chest and dbangd over her shoulder, a single, diaphanous layer that both concealed and revealed her naked, powerful body. Her huge, heavy breasts were partially supported, their weight and shape and the dark circles of her areolas clearly visible through the transparent black blouse cloth.

She walked beside Usman, her hand on his arm. He was no longer a frail old man but a formidable presence, his back straight, his steps sure. His old gangster energy was back. Sabina, her face a mask of quiet pride, walked a respectful step behind them, a loyal woman in the presence of her king and his new queen.

As they entered the brightly lit area where the wedding was being held, a hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to them. They saw Usman, a man they thought was dying, now standing tall and strong. And they saw the high-class goddess on his arm, her near nakedness a shocking, breath taking spectacle under the wedding lights.

A group of older men, local toughs with hard faces, approached them.

Man 1: Usman Bhai! Is that really you? We heard… we thought…

Usman: (his voice a low, dangerous growl) You thought wrong. As you can see, I am in perfect health.

His voice was a low rumble, full of a cold authority they had not heard in years. His eyes swept over them, and they flinched like chastised dogs.

Man 2: And this… this is the Memsahab we have heard stories about? The angel?

Usman’s arm tightened around Dipa’s waist. He pulled her flush against his side and, in front of everyone, gave her a long, slow, possessive kiss on the lips.

Usman: She is no angel. She is the love of my life. And you will show her the proper respect.

He turned and led her deeper into the crowd, a king returning to his court with his new queen. Sabina followed, a proud, satisfied smile on her face.

A young, muscular man with a cruel face, a local tough named Raka, swaggered up to them, a cheap bottle of liquor in his hand.

Raka: Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. The old ghost, Usman. We heard you were dying. And you…

His insolent eyes roamed over Dipa’s body, lingering on her exposed breasts.

Raka: You must be the high-class whore who’s been giving him his medicine. How much for a taste, Memsahab?

The music seemed to falter. The air grew thick and heavy. But Usman didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look at Raka. He simply turned to one of the older men standing nearby.

Usman: (his voice dangerously quiet) Karim. This boy is new. He does not know our ways. He does not know me. Take him outside and explain to him why it is a very bad idea to speak to my woman. Use small words. Make sure he understands.

The older man, Karim, went pale. He nodded quickly and grabbed Raka’s arm.

Karim: Come, Raka. Let us have a talk.

Raka: Get your hands off me! I’m not afraid of this old man!

Usman: (still not looking at him) You are not afraid of me. You are afraid of what I can do. You are afraid of how quiet this slum can become for a boy who talks too much. Now go with Karim. Learn your lesson.

There was a finality in his tone that was more terrifying than any shout. Raka, for all his bravado, suddenly looked like a scared child. He allowed Karim to lead him away into the darkness. Usman then turned back to Dipa, a possessive fire blazing in his eyes.

Usman: You see how they look at you? You belong to me. Tonight, everyone will know it.

The adrenaline from the confrontation, the raw display of his power, was a potent aphrodisiac for Dipa. Her pussy was instantly wet, her nipples hard pebbles against the thin silk.

Dipa: They are all afraid of you.

Usman: They should be. Come.

He pulled her away from the main crowd, into the shadows behind one of the food tents. The air was thick with the smell of spices and woodsmoke. He pressed her back against the canvas wall, his body pinning hers.

Usman: You make me feel powerful, Dipa. More powerful than I have felt in twenty years.

Dipa: Show me how powerful you are, Usman.

He didn't need to be told twice. He lifted her sari, his hand finding her bare, wet cunt. She gasped as he pushed a finger inside her.

Usman: So wet for me. So ready.

Dipa: Yes… always for you…

He unfastened his pajama and freed his cock, already hard and thick. In the noisy, chaotic heart of the wedding, surrounded by hundreds of people, he lifted her slightly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He entered her with a single, brutal thrust.

Dipa: (a choked moan) Oh, God… Usman… here…

Usman: Yes. Here. Where they can all hear you if you scream too loud. Where they will all know that I am fucking you.

He began to move, his rhythm fast and hard, a primal, possessive fucking that was all about power and ownership. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her moans muffled against his shoulder, the risk of discovery making her wetter, Dipa bit Usman's ear hard, her pleasure sharper. It was quick, brutal, and utterly thrilling. He came with a low, guttural roar, his seed flooding her. She climaxed with him, her body convulsing against his in the shadows.

They composed themselves and walked back into the light of the party, their secret a hot, pulsing presence between them. Everyone looked at them, but no one dared to say a word. Raka was nowhere to be seen. Usman was king again, and she was his queen, their reign consecrated in a shared, public act of defiance and lust.

After an hour had passed, Dipa looked at Usman. She was walking backwards, away from the tents, a strange, unreadable expression on her face. Then, without a word, she turned around and walked out of the celebration, away from the slum, and went back to her family.

[ashuezy2]

Saga 8 - Scene 2 - Usman Bhai - The Return of the Gangster (Non sex scene)
=====================================================

Usman stood like a king in the heart of the celebration, accepting the fearful respect of the men who approached him. He felt the familiar fire of power in his veins, a fire Dipa had reignited. He turned, a possessive smile on his face, to share a look with his queen, but she was gone. The space beside him was empty.

Usman: Sabina! Where is Dipa?
Sabina, who was talking with some other women, looked around, confused.

Sabina: She was just here with you. Maybe she went to the ladies' area.

Usman: No. Go and check. Find her.
He pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face. The music seemed louder now, grating. He went back to the shadows behind the food tent. She wasn't there.

Usman: (his voice louder now, an edge of panic creeping in) Dipa! Where are you?
People began to notice. The whispers started. The king was looking for his queen. He strode back to the main area, his gangster composure beginning to crack. He grabbed Karim's arm, his grip strong.

Usman: Have you seen my woman?

Karim: No, Bhai. Not since you walked back in with her. Is everything alright?
Usman didn't answer. He shoved past him, his search becoming more frantic, his calls more desperate. He was no longer a king holding court; he was just an old man, lost and terrified. He circled the entire wedding area, his heart hammering against his ribs. She was nowhere. She had simply vanished.

He came to a stop in the middle of the noisy celebration, the sounds of laughter and music fading into a dull, meaningless roar. He stood there, alone, the cold reality crashing down on him with the force of a physical blow.

He remembered her words, spoken with such gentle pity what felt like a lifetime ago, on that first day she had come to his hut. "I will stay with you for ten days," she had said. "I will stay until I am sure you are healthy."
It was the tenth day.

Sabina came to his side, her face pale with dawning understanding.

Sabina: Usman? Someone is calling.
He didn't respond. With a sigh, Sabina picked up the phone. She saw the unknown number and was about to dismiss it, but something made her answer.

Sabina: Hello?
A voice, sweet and clear as a temple bell, came through the speaker. Dipa. Sabina’s breath caught in her throat.

Sabina: Dipa beti? Is that you?
At the sound of her name, Usman’s head turned slowly, Sabina immediately put the phone on speaker and held it out to him.

Dipa: Yes, Chachi. It’s me. How is… how is he?

Usman: (his voice a dry, broken whisper) Dipa?

Dipa: Yes, Usman. It’s me.

Usman: You… you left. You walked away. You are gone.
The pain in his voice was a raw, open wound.

Dipa: I know. I am sorry if it hurt you. But you must understand the purpose of my visit.

Usman: Purpose? The purpose was to save me. And you did. And then you killed me again.

Dipa: No, Usman. The purpose was to make you strong enough to live on your own. I told you from the beginning. Ten days. I came to help you get well, to bring you back to life. And I did. I saw you at the wedding. You are not a sick man anymore. You are Usman Bhai. You are strong. You are healthy. My work was done.

Usman: Healthy? I am nothing without you. The strength you gave me… it was your strength, not mine. It left with you. Come back, Dipa. Please. I am begging you. I cannot live without my love.
His voice broke, a pathetic, desperate sob. Dipa was silent for a moment on the other end of the line.

Dipa: I cannot come back to live there, Usman. I have a family. A son. A husband. That was never the promise.

Usman: Then what is the promise now? That I should just die?

Dipa: No. The promise now is different. You can stand on your own. But I know… I know you will feel lonely sometimes. The nights will be long. The memories will be painful.

Usman: Every moment is painful without you.

Dipa: Then listen to me. Whenever you feel lonely… whenever the sadness becomes too much… you can visit me. Anytime.
A stunned silence filled the hut. Usman stared at the phone, his mind struggling to process her words.

Usman: Visit… you? At your house?

Dipa: Yes. My home is open to you. You are my… my dearest friend. And I do not abandon my friends. When you feel the need, you can come to me. And I will take care of you.

Usman: Anytime?

Dipa: Anytime.

Usman: I will… I will come soon, Dipa.

Dipa: I will be waiting. Take care of yourself, Usman. And take care of Chachi.

The line went dead. Usman continued to stare at the phone, a fragile, hopeful smile beginning to form on his lips. He was not abandoned. He was not alone. His love had not forsaken him.

[ashuezy2]

Saga 9 - Scene 1 - Breastfeed the Beggars
=============================

When Dipa walked through the door, Sameer rushed to her, scooping her into his arms. He didn't ask where she had been for ten days; the wild, hungry look in his eyes told her he only wanted to know what had happened. Tukun, now in Ramla's arms, squealed with delight at the sight of his mother.

Sameer: You’re back! I was going crazy! Tell me everything. Was it… was the healing successful?

Dipa: (a serene, tired smile) Yes, darling. He is well now. But I am exhausted. I gave him everything.

Sameer: I can’t wait to hear about it. All of it.
Later that evening, after she had bathed and cuddled Tukun, and after she had given Sameer a highly edited but intensely arousing account of her "charity work," she made a declaration.

Dipa: My social work will continue, Sameer. Those people need me.

Sameer: Of course, my love. Whatever you need. Your work… it makes me very happy.
The next day, Ramla Aunty arrived with news.

Ramla: Madam, it is strange. Since the stories of your generosity have spread, many of the men in the slum have stopped looking for work. They are just… sitting. Some have started begging on the main road. They say, why should we break our backs for a few rupees when a goddess lives nearby who gives her blessings for free?
Dipa’s brow furrowed with concern. Her charity was having an unintended consequence.

Dipa: This is not right. They have misunderstood my purpose. I give strength so they can live better lives, not so they can stop living altogether.

Sameer: What will you do, darling?

Dipa: I need to understand what is going on. Ramla Masi, tomorrow, find three of the men who have started begging. The most desperate ones. Tell them the Memsahab wishes to speak with them. Tell them to come here.

The next afternoon, three men arrived at her door. They were thin, filthy, and their eyes were hollow with a mixture of shame and desperate hope.

Dipa had them wait in the living room while Arun served them water. She was wearing a simple, sleeveless kurti and leggings, but she wore no bra, and her large, heavy, lactating breasts were prominently outlined against the thin cotton. Sameer sat in an armchair, observing the scene with a quiet, intense curiosity.

Dipa: Thank you for coming. I have heard that many of you have stopped working. I want to understand why.
One of the men, who seemed to be the eldest, spoke, his voice raspy.

Beggar 1: Memsahab, what work is there for us? We are weak. We have no energy. We break stones for ten hours for fifty rupees. The body breaks, but the spirit is already dead. Food fills the belly for a day, but it does not give a man the strength to face the next morning.
His eyes were not on her face. They were fixed, like the eyes of all three men, on her chest. They stared at her big, lactating breasts with a raw, primal longing.

Beggar 2: We have heard stories, Memsahab. Stories of your kindness. Of your healing touch. They say you are a goddess. They say you have a special kind of blessing.

Beggar 3: They say your milk… it gives men strength. We do not want your money, Memsahab. We want your blessing. We want a taste of the life that you give to everyone.

Dipa: The stories you have heard are true. Healing is for those who are suffering. If it is strength you need, then I will give it to you.

Dipa looked over at Sameer. He was on the edge of his seat, his own eyes shining, a look of unbearable excitement on his face. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod.

That was all the permission she needed. This was not a betrayal. This was her duty. This was her purpose. This was what her husband wanted.

Dipa: Sit, all 3 of you. 
They scrambled to their knees on the Persian rug. She went to the first beggar, the eldest one, and placed her hands on his head.

Dipa: You are empty. I will fill you.
She pulled down the neckline of her kurti, freeing one of her massive breasts. She took the man’s head and guided his mouth to her nipple. He latched on with a desperate, hungry cry, his hands coming up to clutch her waist. She let him drink for a full minute, her eyes closed, a serene expression on her face. Then she gently pushed him away.

Dipa: That is enough for you, for now. Next.
She moved to the second beggar, offering him the same breast. He drank just as greedily. Then she moved to the third. As he suckled, she looked at her husband. Sameer was watching the scene, his jaw slack, his hand moving in his lap under a cushion, stroking his own hard cock as he watched his wife, his goddess, breastfeed a trio of filthy, desperate beggars in the middle of their living room.

When the third man was finished, Dipa adjusted her kurti. The three men remained on their knees, looking up at her with tears of gratitude streaming down their faces.

Dipa: Now you have my strength inside you. Go. Do not beg anymore. Use this strength to work. To live. And tell the others: the goddess gives her blessing not to the idle, but to the hardworking who have lost their way.
They bowed their heads to the floor, then rose and left without another word. As the door closed, Dipa turned to her husband, a triumphant, powerful smile on her face. He was staring at her, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.

Sameer: My God, Dipa… you are… you are incredible.

Dipa: I know.