Adultery Betrayal

[Sherlocked]

The late afternoon sun bled through the gap in the heavy bedroom curtains, slicing a thick, golden beam across the plush rug. Dust motes danced frantically within it, like trapped sparks. Moli lay sprawled across the vast expanse of the marital bed, the expensive Egyptian cotton cool against her skin where her silk robe had fallen open. Subimol’s robe. As always.
A restless heat prickled under her skin, a familiar, unwelcome ache settling low in her belly. It wasn’t just lust, though that was part of it. It was a gnawing wanting, a frustration that curdled into something sharper when she was alone in this too-quiet house. Her hand, almost of its own volion, slid beneath the silk. Her fingertips brushed the lace edge of her panties, then dipped lower, finding the damp heat beneath. A soft sigh escaped her lips, not quite pleasure, more like relief at acknowledging the persistent thrum.
She closed her eyes, trying to conjure something. A fantasy. A memory that wasn’t… him. But Subimol’s face, his careful, detached touch, kept intruding. The frustration bloomed hotter. Her touch became less exploratory, more insistent. Fingers pressing, circling, seeking the friction that might drown out the thoughts. She bit down on her lower lip, tasting the faint waxy residue of her lipstick. Her hips lifted slightly off the bed, meeting her own touch with a desperate urgency.
Faster. Harder. The command was silent, internal, a rebellion against the quiet desperation. Her breath hitched, sharp little gasps escaping. The world narrowed to the pounding of her own pulse in her ears and the intense, focused pressure between her thighs. She wasn't thinking of anyone, just chasing the release, the oblivion that would quiet the restless void for a few precious moments. The expensive room, the golden light, the security Subimol provided – it all blurred into irrelevance against this raw, physical need.
Her eyes flew open, wide with panic. Not at her own actions, but at the sudden, chilling certainty that she wasn't alone. The air in the room hadn't moved. No sound had betrayed an entrance. Yet, the instinct was primal, undeniable. She froze, every muscle locking tight. Her hand stilled, trapped beneath the silk.
Slowly, with a dread that felt like ice water dumped down her spine, she turned her head towards the doorway.
Sumu stood there.
"Sumu," she breathed, her voice a ragged whisper, barely audible. "I… I didn’t hear you." Stupid. Obvious. Meaningless.
Sumu blinked, the raw heat in his gaze instantly replaced by horrified realization. His face flushed crimson, a wave of scalding embarrassment crashing over him. He couldn't look at her, couldn't meet Moli's terrified, wide eyes staring back from the bed. "I— sorry! Door... open," he stammered, the words thick and clumsy in his throat. "Forgot books." He spun on his heel, nearly tripping over the ornate rug in his haste to flee the room, the heavy door slamming shut behind him with a jarring thud that echoed in Moli’s stunned silence.
For three days, Sumu didn't return. The memory played on a relentless loop behind his eyelids: the golden light, the sprawl of her body, the desperate urgency of her touch. He buried himself in engineering schematics and loud campus cafes, trying to drown it out, but the image clung, vivid and intoxicating. Duty, and a gnawing, unwelcome compulsion, finally forced him back. He needed his textbooks, stored in Subimol's study.
The air in the grand hallway felt thick and charged when he let himself in. Moli, arranging flowers in a cut-crystal vase near the entrance, froze mid-snip. Her knuckles whitened on the stem she held. "Sumu," she said, her voice unnaturally bright, brittle. "Your uncle’s in the library." She didn't look up, focusing with intense concentration on a single white bloom.
"Yeah. Thanks," he mumbled, his own gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the marble floor. He practically ran past her towards the study, shoulders hunched. Later, Subimol bustled into the kitchen where Moli was mechanically chopping vegetables and Sumu was pretending to be intensely interested in the contents of the refrigerator. "Ah, Sumu! Good to see you, beta," Subimol boomed, clapping his nephew on the back, oblivious to the way Sumu flinched and Moli’s knife slipped, nicking her finger. "Moli, dear, what’s for dinner? Guests tonight. Sumu, you’ll stay?" He beamed, utterly unaware of the storm crackling silently between them. Moli pressed her bleeding finger to her lips, her eyes meeting Sumu’s for a split second – a flash of shared panic – before darting away.
The blood tasted metallic, sharp against her tongue. Moli pressed her finger tighter to her lips, the tiny cut burning. Her eyes met Sumu’s across the kitchen island – a single, searing moment of shared panic, a silent scream of he knows, oh god he knows – before she wrenched her gaze away, focusing fiercely on the pile of onions needing chopping. Sumu flinched as if burned, his own face flushing crimson. He practically bolted towards the study, muttering something incoherent about textbooks.
Dinner was an exercise in exquisite torture. Subimol, expansive after a successful deal, dominated the conversation, his voice booming in the cavernous dining room. He piled food onto Sumu’s plate, oblivious to the teenager’s monosyllabic replies and the way he pushed his rice around.
"Eat, beta! Growing boy needs fuel!" Subimol chuckled, spooning another helping of dal onto Sumu’s nearly untouched mound. "Moli makes the best dal, no? Better than your hostel mess, I bet!"
Moli forced a tight smile, her knuckles white where she gripped her fork. The rich aroma of spices, usually comforting, now churned her stomach. Her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, loud enough she was sure Sumu could hear it across the table. She dared a glance. He was staring fixedly at his plate, a muscle jumping in his jaw. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken shame and something else, darker, hotter, that neither dared name. Subimol, happily chewing, saw none of it. He saw his dutiful wife and his studious nephew. The storm brewing beneath the surface of civility might as well have been happening on another planet.
"Sumu," Subimol announced, dabbing his mouth with a napkin as they finished dessert, "you’re staying the night. Too late to drive back to campus now."
Sumu’s head snapped up. "No, truly, Jethu, it's fine. I can drive. I don't mind." Panic edged his voice. Staying here, trapped with her, with that memory vibrating in the very walls... it was unthinkable.
"Nonsense!" Subimol waved a dismissive hand. "Risky at this hour. I insist." He pushed back his chair, already pulling out his phone. "I'll just call your father, tell him you're bunking here. He won't mind." He dialed, already turning away, sealing Sumu’s fate with cheerful authority. "Ram? Yes, yes, all good! Listen, Sumu’s staying with us tonight... Yes, yes, drove here, but it's late now... Of course! Don't worry, he's safe here..." Subimol wandered towards the veranda, his voice fading, utterly unaware he was placing a lit match next to a powder keg.
Moli felt a fresh wave of dizziness. Stay the night. The words echoed in the suddenly silent dining room. Sumu wouldn’t meet her eyes. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the distant murmur of Subimol’s voice. Restlessness coiled in Moli’s core, a snake made of guilt and that relentless, aching frustration. Her heart felt like it might burst through her chest.
Subimol bustled back in, pocketing his phone. "Sorted! Now, Moli," he gestured towards the kitchen, "Sumu will help you with the dishes."
Moli’s protest was swift, almost violent. "No! Absolutely not necessary, Subimol. I can manage perfectly well myself. Sumu must be tired."
"Nonsense!" Subimol boomed again, the word like a gavel falling. "It’s the least he can do after that feast. Won’t take long with two pairs of hands. Off you go!" He gave Sumu an encouraging clap on the shoulder that nearly made the younger man stumble. "I'll be in the study, catching up on some reading. Don't disturb me unless it's urgent." He winked, a gesture meant to be conspiratorial, utterly missing the horrified tension twisting his wife's features. He turned, humming tunelessly, and disappeared down the hall towards his study.
The kitchen felt cavernous and claustrophobic all at once, lit only by the weak glow of the under-cabinet lights. The air hung heavy with the lingering smells of dinner – turmeric, cumin, fried onions – and the cloying sweetness of Moli’s jasmine perfume. Sumu moved stiffly to the sink, avoiding looking at her. Moli stood frozen for a heartbeat, the weight of Subimol’s unknowing decree pressing down on her, before mechanically gathering plates.
Silence descended, thick and charged. The only sounds were the clatter of china, the rush of water from the tap Sumu turned on too forcefully, and the frantic pounding of two hearts. Moli scrubbed a plate, her movements jerky. Sumu stood beside her at the sink, rinsing, his shoulder inches from hers. His proximity was a physical shock, radiating heat she could feel even through her saree. Every accidental brush of his arm against hers, every time their fingers grazed reaching for the same dripping dish, sent a jolt of electricity through her. Her breath hitched, becoming shallow, uneven gasps she struggled to control. She heard his breathing too, rougher, heavier than it should be for simply rinsing a glass.
She risked a sideways glance. Sumu’s gaze wasn’t on the dishes. It was fixed lower, transfixed. The dim light caught the sheen of sweat glistening in the deep valley of her cleavage, barely contained by the scandalously low-cut, sheer chiffon blouse she’d chosen that morning, a choice that now felt like fate playing a cruel joke. The delicate fabric clung, outlining the full, heavy swell of her breasts. His nostrils flared slightly, inhaling her perfume – jasmine, yes, but beneath it, the muskier, primal scent of her skin. It was intoxicating, dizzying. He felt numb, disconnected, operating on pure, raw instinct.
They both reached for the large serving bowl at the same time. Not just hands brushing this time. Hands grasping. Fingers tangled over the wet porcelain rim. Time stopped.
Slowly, as if moving through thick syrup, their eyes met. Sumu saw it then, stripped bare in the dim light. Not just panic or shame. A raw, desperate yearning that mirrored the firestorm blazing inside him. It was the unspoken hunger he’d witnessed days ago, magnified a thousand times – a craving for touch, for release, for a man’s rough, demanding passion, not the careful, distant affection of her husband. He saw the craving her own fingers had tried and failed to satisfy. It was an invitation, a silent scream.
He couldn’t look away. Neither could she. They were drowning in each other's eyes, the world narrowing to the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat, the heat radiating from his skin. The air crackled. The running water was a distant roar.
Sumu felt it first – the warm puff of her breath against his lips. They were so close. Inches. Less. He watched, mesmerized, as Moli’s lips parted slightly, unknowingly, a soft, inviting bloom of pink. Was he leaning in? Was she? It didn't matter. The chasm vanished.
Their mouths crashed together. Not a kiss. A collision. A desperate, furious mashing of lips, teeth scbanging, a muffled gasp torn from Moli’s throat. It was hungry, clumsy, fueled by three days of tortured imagining and a lifetime of stifled frustration. The forgotten dish slipped from their grasp, clattering loudly into the sink, ignored. The water cascaded over it, unheeded.
Sumu moved like a man possessed. His hands flew to her waist, spinning her roughly, slamming her back against the cool granite counter. One hand slid down, fingers digging possessively into the lush curve of her ass through the silk of her saree, pulling her hips hard against the rigid bulge straining against his jeans. The other hand tangled in the hair at her nape, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss with brutal intensity.
Moli moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his lips. Her own saree’s aanchal, dislodged, slithered off her shoulder, pooling around her elbow, leaving the sheer blouse fully exposed. Her arms snaked around his neck, fingers plunging into his hair, gripping, pulling him closer still, as if she wanted to devour him whole. Their tongues clashed, tangled, explored with a frantic, searching heat that left them both breathless. They kissed like drowning people finding air, oblivious to the sink overflowing, the cluttered counter, the world beyond the steam rising from the tap.
They broke apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together. Sumu turned her again, pressing her back flush against his chest. His arousal, thick and insistent, ground against the cleft of her ass through their clothes. One hand slid around her waist, fingers splaying possessively over her stomach before sliding upwards, pushing beneath the dbang of her saree, finding the soft swell of her breast beneath the thin blouse. He palmed the heavy weight, thumb finding the hardened peak of her nipple through the damp chiffon, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Moli arched back into him, her head lolling against his shoulder, a low whimper escaping her lips. She twisted her neck, seeking his mouth again. He met her halfway, their lips fusing in another deep, wet kiss as his hand continued its deliberate exploration, squeezing, kneading her flesh.
They stayed like that, fused together against the counter, for what felt like an eternity. Fifteen minutes stolen from reality. Her back against his chest, his hand claiming her breast, his erection a persistent pressure against her. Their kisses were deep, hungry, punctuated by ragged breaths and the slick sounds of their mouths moving together. Moli’s free hand reached back, fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her. They moved in a silent, desperate rhythm, hips grinding back and forth, seeking friction, lost in a haze of touch and taste and forbidden heat. Every sense was amplified: the cool granite against her back, the rough denim of his jeans against her silk-covered ass, the intoxicating scent of him mixed with soap and sweat and her perfume, the desperate, wet sounds of their kisses echoing softly in the steamy kitchen.
Down the hall, in the study, Subimol snored softly, slumped in his leather recliner, a financial report slipping from his fingers. Oblivious. Utterly unaware that just yards away, his nephew’s mouth was hot and demanding on his wife’s exposed shoulder, trailing kisses down towards the glistening curve of her cleavage revealed by the low blouse, his hand still working her breast beneath the thin fabric.
Sumu spun Moli back to face him. His eyes, dark with lust, locked onto hers. Without a word, he hooked one arm under her thigh, lifting her leg to wrap around his waist. He pulled her forward, forcing her other leg up instinctively until she was wrapped around him, suspended, her arms clinging to his neck for balance. He supported her weight easily, his hands gripping her ass firmly through the layers of silk. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressed intimately against her core. Their lips crashed together again, a frantic, bruising kiss.
"Jethima," Sumu breathed, the formal term a shocking intimacy against her swollen lips. His voice was thick, raw with need. "Let's go to the bedroom."
He didn't wait for an answer. He simply started walking, carrying her effortlessly, her legs locked around his waist, their mouths still fused. He moved silently, quickly, down the dim hallway. He paused at the open door of the study. Subimol was sprawled, mouth slack, chest rising and falling steadily in deep sleep. Utterly vulnerable. Unknowing.
Moli, clinging to Sumu, her body humming with adrenaline and desire, looked at her sleeping husband. A flicker of something complex – guilt? defiance? – crossed her face, instantly extinguished by a fresh wave of lust. She turned Sumu’s face back to hers and kissed him hungrily, deep and searching, her tongue plunging into his mouth. If Subimol had opened his eyes at that moment, he would have seen his wife, wrapped around his nephew, her saree rumpled, blouse askew, breasts pressed against Sumu’s chest, locked in a passionate, devouring kiss right outside his door.
Sumu tore his mouth away, urgency overriding everything. He carried her swiftly across the wide hallway, up the curved staircase, each step jolting their bodies together. He didn’t hesitate at the landing, turning immediately into the grand master bedroom – Subimol’s bedroom, their marital bed. He kicked the heavy oak door shut behind them with a soft thud. The click of the lock sliding into place echoed in the sudden silence of the room, louder than any shout. The golden afternoon light was long gone, replaced by the soft gloom of evening filtering through the drawn curtains. The large, opulent room felt like a cage and a sanctuary all at once. He set her down on her feet just inside the door, their chests heaving, eyes locked in the semi-darkness, the air thick with the storm they had unleashed. The silence now was deafening, filled only by the frantic pounding of two hearts and the heavy weight of what was about to happen in the bed that belonged to the man snoring peacefully downstairs.
The silence now was deafening, filled only by the frantic pounding of two hearts and the heavy weight of what was about to happen in the bed that belonged to the man snoring peacefully downstairs. The only light came from a low, glowing blue nightlamp in the corner, casting deep, erotic shadows that painted the vast room in shades of cobalt and indigo. It felt illicit, a hidden grotto for forbidden acts.
Before the silence could solidify, Sumu moved. He slammed Moli back against the heavy oak door they’d just locked, the impact rattling the frame. His body crushed against hers, hot and demanding. His mouth descended on hers with bruising force, not a kiss but pure devouring. His tongue plunged past her lips, rough, insistent, claiming her mouth with a hunger that stole her breath. Moli gasped, the sound swallowed by him, then met his ferocity with her own. Her hands weren’t passive; they raked down his back, clawing at the thin cotton of his t-shirt, then slid under the hem to scbang nails over the hard muscles of his lower back, pulling him impossibly closer. His hips ground his rigid erection against her belly through their clothes.
"This... this is so wrong," Moli gasped, wrenching her mouth free for a split second, her words hot against his lips, her body arching into him even as she spoke. "We shouldn’t be doing this..."
Sumu captured her lips again, sucking her lower lip hard before pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, his own dark pools reflecting the blue glow. "That's what makes it more fun, Jethima," he breathed, his voice thick, husky. His hands slid up her sides, gripping her waist possessively. "I bet you've never felt this much excitement before." His thumb found the hard peak of her nipple through her blouse and squeezed. Moli moaned, a low, hungry sound she barely recognized as her own. He was right. The sheer wrongness, the proximity of Subimol asleep mere rooms away, sent electric currents of terror and desire crackling through her veins, amplifying every sensation tenfold. It wasn't just Sumu; it was the illicit thrill of the betrayal itself.
Fueled by that dangerous cocktail of lust and defiance, Moli shoved against his chest, breaking his hold just long enough to grab the hem of his t-shirt. With a violent yank, she pulled it up and over his head, tossing the crumpled fabric blindly across the room. Her breath hitched. The blue light sculpted the lean, defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. The hard planes, the ridges and valleys, were a stark, breathtaking contrast to Subimol’s softer, older physique. "Fuck," she whispered. She leaned in, her tongue tracing the line of his collarbone, then swirling around a flat nipple, feeling it tighten instantly under her touch. She licked a hot trail down the center of his torso, tasting salt and youth, her teeth grazing the firm skin just above the waistband of his jeans.
Sumu groaned, his hands tangling in her hair. "Your turn, Jethima," he growled. His fingers found the pinned pleats of her saree. With a sharp tug, he unrolled yards of silk in one fluid, almost violent motion. The expensive fabric pooled heavily at her feet like a discarded skin. She stood before him in her delicate chiffon blouse and the thin petticoat beneath, tied with a lace drawstring at her waist. Sumu didn't hesitate. He hooked a finger under the lace and pulled. The knot gave way, and the petticoat slithered down her legs, puddling around her ankles. Now she was barefoot, clad only in the nearly transparent blouse gaping open at her chest and a scrap of sheer black lace panties clinging to her hips. Sumu stared, his chest heaving. "Holy shit," he breathed, awed, almost reverent. "I can't believe I get to fuck this goddess." He pulled her hard against him again, the heat of his bare chest searing against her covered breasts, her nipples hard points against his skin. Their lips crashed together, tongues tangling, teeth clashing, swallowing each other's desperate moans.
Moli’s hands were frantic, fumbling with the button and zip of his jeans. She shoved the denim down his hips just far enough, her fingers diving inside his briefs. Her hand wrapped around the thick, rigid length of him. He was already slick at the tip. She squeezed, her thumb rubbing firmly over the sensitive head, feeling him pulse in her grip. "Fuck, Jethima," Sumu gasped, hips jerking involuntarily. She pumped him, her fist sliding up and down his shaft roughly, relishing the hard heat, the velvety skin sliding over steel, the choked sounds tearing from his throat.
Sumu retaliated. His hands flew to her blouse, fingers tearing at the tiny pearl buttons. They scattered onto the plush carpet like forgotten pearls. He shoved the blouse off her shoulders, leaving her clad only in the flimsy black lace bra and matching panties. The blue light played over the generous swell of her breasts spilling from the demi-cups, the dark nipples clearly visible through the lace.
Suddenly, Moli pushed him back against the door. Her eyes, dark with lust, locked onto his. She dropped to her knees before him, the cool carpet beneath her. Her hands pushed his jeans and briefs down further, freeing his cock completely. It stood thick and heavy before her face, glistening. Without preamble, her mouth closed over the head. Sumu hissed, his head thudding back against the door. Her tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salty pre-come, then she took him deeper, sinking down his shaft, her lips stretching tight. She sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks, one hand gripping his hip, the other wrapped around the base, pumping in rhythm with her mouth. Her head bobbed, taking him deep into her throat again and again, gagging slightly but pushing past it, fueled by the guttural groans tearing from Sumu’s throat and the heavy throb in her own core. Spit slicked his cock, dripped onto her chin, her breasts. The wet, sucking sounds filled the blue-lit space, obscene and electric.
"Gonna... fuck... Jethima..." Sumu choked out, his fingers tightening painfully in her hair. She sucked harder, faster, feeling him swell impossibly larger in her mouth. Just as his hips began to stutter, she pulled off with a wet pop. He was panting, trembling with the effort not to come.
In one fluid motion, Sumu hauled her up. He hooked her legs around his waist again, his hands gripping her bare ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh under the lace of her panties. Her arms clung to his neck as he carried her away from the door, across the shadowed bedroom. Sweat glistened on their skin, mingling with spit, the slickness making their bodies slide together. Her wetness soaked through the thin lace, smearing against his abdomen.
He lowered her onto the massive bed – Subimol’s bed, their marital bed. The cool sheets were a shock against her heated skin. Before she could move, Sumu shoved her thighs apart, kneeling between them. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and ripped them down her legs. He paused for a heartbeat, staring down at her exposed pussy in the dim blue glow, glistening and swollen. Then he buried his face between her legs.
His tongue was relentless. A flat, broad stroke from her opening straight up to her clit. Then circling, flicking, sucking the sensitive bud hard. Moli arched off the bed with a choked cry, her hands fisting in the sheets. He licked deep inside her, his tongue thrusting, then returned to her clit, sucking it into his mouth, applying just the right pressure and vibration. He was ravenous, exploring every fold, tasting her deeply, lapping at her wetness. She’d never felt anything like it. Subimol’s dutiful licks were nothing compared to this devouring hunger. Pleasure, sharp and white-hot, detonated through her, building impossibly fast. "Sumu! Oh god, Sumu!" she cried out, her voice raw and loud in the silent room, uncaring who might hear, the name of her nephew tearing from her lips as her hips bucked against his face. "Right there! Fuck! Don’t stop!" He didn’t. His fingers joined his mouth, two sliding deep inside her, curling upwards, finding that spot while his tongue continued its assault on her clit. The orgasm hit her like a freight train, a violent, shuddering explosion that ripped through her core, making her scream out his name once more, her body convulsing helplessly under his mouth.
Before the last tremor faded, Sumu was on her. He tore off her bra, his mouth closing hungrily over one nipple, sucking hard, his free hand roughly kneading the other breast. His cock, thick and slick, dragged hard against her clit, making her gasp. He positioned himself at her entrance. "Tell me you want it, Jethima," he demanded, his voice ragged. "Tell me you want your nephew's cock."
"Yes! Fuck me, Sumu! Now!" she gasped, beyond shame, pure need consuming her.
He slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Moli cried out, a sound of shock and overwhelming fullness. He was thick, stretching her deliciously. There was no slow build, only raw, driving need. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper with every thrust. The bed rocked violently, the heavy frame thudding softly against the wall. Above them, the large framed wedding photo of Subimol and Moli looked down, Subimol’s smiling face oblivious to the obscene scene unfolding beneath it – his nephew’s sweat-slicked back flexing as he relentlessly fucked his wife.
"Oh fuck, Jethima," Sumu groaned, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. "You feel... so fucking tight... around your nephew's cock... Bet he never fucks you like this..." He punctuated each word with a deep, driving plunge. "Bet he never makes you scream like a slut..."
Moli met his thrusts, arching her hips, lost in the brutal pleasure. "No!" she gasped, the truth spilling out. "Never... like this! Harder! Fuck me harder, Sumu!" The sindur marking her marital status was smeared across her sweaty forehead, a crimson streak against her skin. It mingled with the sweat slicking her sinthi, the red powder staining the parting of her hair like warpaint for adultery.
Sumu shifted, pulling her legs up over his shoulders, driving into her even deeper. The angle was brutal, exquisite. She cried out, nails raking down his back. He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his teeth, biting gently, then sucking hard. They flipped, Moli scrambling on top, straddling him. She rode him hard, bouncing on his cock, her breasts swaying, her head thrown back, a low moan rumbling in her chest. She ground down, rotating her hips, taking him impossibly deep. He gripped her hips, guiding her, thrusting up to meet her downward plunge. The sounds were filthy: skin slapping against skin, wet squelching with every deep penetration, their ragged breaths, guttural moans, and broken words. "Take it... take your nephew's cock, you dirty aunty... Fuck yes... milk it..."
He flipped her again, onto her hands and knees. He entered her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back. His thrusts were animalistic, powerful, driving her forward with each snap of his hips. The slapping sound was louder now. Moli braced herself, pushing back against him, meeting his force, moaning obscenities lost in the roar of her own blood. She could feel the pressure building again, coiling tight in her belly.
"Gonna come, Jethima?" Sumu grunted, his pace becoming erratic, frantic. "Gonna come on your nephew's cock while your husband sleeps?" His hand snaked around her hip, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing hard circles.
"Yes! Oh god, Sumu! I'm coming!" she screamed, the orgasm tearing through her, violent and all-consuming. Her inner walls clenched and fluttered around his cock, milking him.
That was all it took. With a harsh, guttural cry, Sumu plunged deep and held himself there, buried to the hilt. She felt the hot, thick pulses of his release deep inside her, filling her, spurt after spurt. He collapsed onto her back, his weight crushing her into the mattress, both of them slick with sweat, saliva, and the wetness smeared between her thighs. He stayed inside her, softening slowly, his breath hot and ragged against her neck.
They lay tangled like that, naked, exhausted in the blue glow. The only sound was their laboured breathing and the faint, distant sound of Subimol’s snores drifting up from the study below. The massive bed was destroyed, sheets ripped and tangled, pillows scattered. Moli’s sindur streaked the pillowcase, her sinthi was a mess. Sumu’s head rested on her shoulder, his arm heavy across her waist. Oblivious to the wreckage around them, to the profound violation committed in his own bed, Subimol slept on.

[Chennai Veeran]

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