Adultery Friend's Mother
#21
Ramesh rolled onto his side, his heavy arm still dbangd over her. He began to caress her again, his hand sliding down to cup her breast, his thumb playing with her nipple. The touch was gentle this time, almost tender, a stark contrast to the brutal way he had taken her moments ago.

He leaned in and kissed her again, his lips moving softly against hers. "See, Divya," he whispered, his voice a sultry purr. "It's not so bad, is it? Just give in to it." His hand slid down further, his fingers brushing against her stomach, then lower, until they found the slick mess between her legs. He parted her folds, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder. "Do you like this?"

Her voice was a ragged whisper, her throat raw from the screams she had bitten back. "Please, Ramesh," she begged, not sure if she was asking for more or for it to stop. "I don't... I can't..."

He kissed her again, his tongue pushing past her lips, tasting her desperation and fear. "It's okay," he murmured, his hand never stopping its gentle exploration. "You don't have to think. Just feel."

And she did. She felt the heat of his hand, the way his fingers slid easily through her arousal. She felt the way her body responded to him, despite the horror of what had just happened. Her nipples were still hard, her pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks of her forced climax.

As he talked to her, his voice a soothing murmur, she couldn't help but feel a strange comfort in his touch. His words were like a drug, coaxing her to relax, to let go of the fear that had been her constant companion. "You're going to be such a good little slut," he whispered, his thumb circling her clit. "Such a good, obedient wife."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of remorse, any sign that he knew what he had done. But all she saw was hunger, a deep, insatiable hunger that she knew she couldn't fill. His hand kept moving, his touch growing bolder, more insistent. And she realized with a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.

Her husband's business trip would be over soon, and she had no idea how she would face him, how she would explain the changes in her, the way her body now craved the very thing that had once repulsed her. But for now, she could only lie there, his arm around her, his hand between her legs, and pretend that this was what she wanted.

The room was a prison of shadows, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the window. It cast a pale glow across the bed, highlighting the sweat on Ramesh's body and the tears on Divya's cheeks. His hand didn't stop moving, his fingers sliding through her sticky folds, and she couldn't help but arch into his touch, despite the war raging in her mind she came hard whimpering, shaking and quivering.

After a while she got up to clean herself. She showered alone, water scalding her skin, trying to wash away the evidence—the bruises blooming on her hips, the ache deep inside. But emerging towel-wrapped, she felt his eyes on her like brands. "Drop the towel and come here, whore," he ordered, his tone a mix of hunger and contempt.

Her knees felt like jelly, but she complied, letting the terrycloth fall to the floor. She didn't bother to cover herself, knowing it was futile. She took tentative steps towards the bed, her eyes downcast.

"Look at me," he said, his voice a command.

Her eyes slowly lifted, meeting his, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. The look in his eyes was a blend of hunger and dominance that she had never seen before. He patted the bed beside him, and she knew what he wanted. With trembling legs, she approached, the cold floor a stark contrast to the warmth of the room. Her knees hit the mattress, and she lowered herself onto it, the softness a cruel taunt to the pain in her body.

Without a word, Ramesh reached out, his hand wrapping around her wet hair. He yanked her head back, and she gasped. His armpit, thick and hairy, was thrust into her face. "Unhhh," he grunted, the sound of pure pleasure, "Inhale me, bitch", he grunted, holding her there as she choked on the raw, intimate stink—disgusting, yet stirring a dark throb between her legs, humiliation twisting into forbidden arousal. The scent of his sweat, musky and male, filled her nostrils, and she had to fight the urge to retch. He held her there, her nose buried in his underarm, his hand tightening in her hair. "Breathe it in," he said, his voice thick with amusement.

Divya's eyes watered as she inhaled the scent of him, her face contorted in a mix of disgust and despair. She could feel the coarse hairs brushing against her cheeks, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the coldness of the room. The smell was overpowering, a heady mix of sweat and pheromones that seemed to invade her very being. She could feel his hand tighten in her hair, pulling harder, forcing her to stay in place.

"You smell so good," he murmured, his voice a dark purr. "So clean from the shower. But I'm going to dirty you up again. And you're going to love it." He released her hair, and she gasped for breath, her face red and splotchy from the effort of holding back her tears. He leaned back, his cock already hardening again, the evidence of his desire for her stark against the white of the bedsheets.

Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of compassion, any sign that he saw her as anything more than a conquest. But all she found was the cold, hard gleam of lust. He was going to take her again, she knew it. And she didn't know if she had the strength to fight him off. Her body was still trembling from the last round, her pussy sore and swollen. But she knew that she didn't have a choice.

Ramesh reached out and stroked her cheek, his touch feather-light, almost gentle. "You're so beautiful, Divya," he whispered. "So much better than any of the other whores I've had." His fingers trailed down her neck, across her collarbone, and she shivered. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "But you're mine now," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Mine to use whenever I want."

Her heart sank at his words, a lead weight in her chest. She was his now, his to use and discard as he saw fit. And she had no one to blame but herself for letting him into her house, into her life. Her eyes searched the room, looking for something, anything that could save her from this hell. But all she saw was the same floral wallpaper.

With a sigh, she turned back to him, her eyes filled with a resigned acceptance. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice a barely audible whisper.

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Everything," he said, his voice a dark promise. "I want everything you have to give, and more."

Her stomach turned at his words, but she knew she had no choice. With a heavy heart, she reached out and touched his chest, her hand trembling. His skin was warm, his heart beating strong beneath her fingertips. It was a stark reminder that he was real, that this wasn't some twisted nightmare she could wake up from.

He leaned in and kissed her again, his tongue pushing into her mouth. She could taste herself on him, a bitter reminder of what had happened. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she kissed him back, her body responding despite her mind's protests. His hands found her breasts again, his thumbs flicking over the sensitive peaks.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let herself be lost in the sensation of his touch. It was wrong, so wrong, but she couldn't help it. Her body was a traitor, responding to his every move, betraying her with every gasp and moan that escaped her lips. The fear and anger were still there, but they were overshadowed by the dark, twisted need that he had awoken in her.

His hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit again. He began to rub it, his touch firm and demanding. "You're going to cum for me," he said, his voice a low growl. "Again and again."

Her eyes opened, and she looked into his, a silent plea for mercy. But all she saw was the same hunger, the same desire to own her completely. And she knew that she was going to give in, that she was going to let him have what he wanted. Because in that moment, she didn't know if she could fight anymore.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, her body a traitor that craved more. His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of her, stretching her to the limit.

"You're going to take all of me," he growled against her neck. "You're going to take everything I give you."

Her eyes searched his, looking for the monster she knew was there, but all she saw was the man she had once trusted, the man who had stolen her innocence and replaced it with this twisted need.

With every thrust, she felt herself slipping further into the abyss, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts that she couldn't control.

Ramesh pulled out abruptly, his cock glistening with her juices. He turned her around with a brutal force that sent her sprawling onto her stomach.

He grabbed her by the hips, lifting her up so that her ass was in the air, exposed and vulnerable. The slap echoed through the room, the sound of his palm connecting with her flesh like a gunshot. The pain was immediate and intense, a stark contrast to the numbness she had felt only moments before. She gasped, her eyes welling with tears.

The second slap was harder, the sound of flesh meeting flesh like a punctuation mark in the silence. Her ass was red and hot, his palm prints standing out like a map of her degradation. He leaned over her, his breath hot on her skin, his teeth nipping at her earlobe.

"You're going to love this," he murmured, his voice a dark whisper. "You're going to beg for more."

And she did. Her body was a traitor, responding to his touch with a need that washed away the fear and pain. He slapped her again, the sound echoing through the room, and she felt the beginnings of another orgasm building.

He released her hips, his hand moving to her ass, his fingers tracing the outline of his handprint. The touch was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal slaps that had come before. He leaned in, his nose pressing into the cleft of her ass, inhaling her scent.

And then his tongue was there, licking her, tasting her. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of humiliation and arousal that she had never felt before. Her body quivered beneath him, her ass cheeks clenching and unclenching with every swipe of his tongue.

He groaned, the vibration sending shockwaves through her. His tongue moved in circles, exploring every inch of her. The feel of his hot, wet mouth on her most private place was a revelation, a dark thrill that she hadn't anticipated.

Her pussy was wet and swollen, begging for his attention. She could feel his breath against her, hot and heavy, his desire for her palpable. He didn't give it to her, though. Instead, he focused on her ass, his tongue moving deeper, teasing the tight ring of muscle.

Her mind rebelled at the thought, but her body responded, her pussy clenching in anticipation. He slid a finger inside her, his tongue still working her ass, and she moaned, the pleasure intense.

The sound of his finger moving in and out of her filled the room, the slickness of her arousal a testament to her body's betrayal. She could feel herself getting wetter, the need for more becoming unbearable.

He pulled away, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're going to love what's coming next," he said, his voice a dark promise.

Her heart raced, her body trembling with anticipation and fear. She knew she couldn't stop him, couldn't fight him anymore. Her will was broken, shattered into a million pieces.

He positioned himself behind her, his cock pressing against her pussy. The head of it was slick with her juices, a grim reminder of what was about to happen. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a mockery of concern.

Her only answer was a whimper, a pathetic sound that she hated herself for making. But she knew there was no going back now, no escape from this nightmare.

With one swift move, he pushed himself inside her, the pain sharp and intense. She screamed, her nails digging into the sheets as he began to fuck her, his cock moving in and out of her with a brutal efficiency.

Her pussy was stretched to the limit, the pain a living, breathing entity that consumed her. But amidst the agony, she felt the beginnings of pleasure, a twisted, dark need that she had never known. Her body was his, her mind a slave to his desires.

He reached around her, his hand moving to her ass. His spit-slicked thumb hovered over her tight, untouched hole, the anticipation a knife's edge in the air. "You're going to love this, mummy," he murmured, his voice a mocking parody of the affectionate term.

He spat on her arse hole and the spit hit her like a slap, the coldness of it a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. It trickled down, the wetness a promise of what was to come. His thumb pushed against the tight ring of muscle, and she tensed, her body fighting against the invasion.

He groaned, the sound a mix of pleasure and triumph. "Cum for me, mummy," he growled, his voice deep and demanding. "Cum for your baby boy."

The tip of his thumb slid in, the pressure intense, the sensation foreign. She could feel him watching her, his eyes on the mirrored reflection of their joined bodies, savoring her humiliation. The sound of his hand slapping her ass mingled with her cries, a symphony of degradation that seemed to fill the room.

Her body was on fire, a mix of pain and pleasure that she didn't know how to process. She felt like she was drowning, like she was being torn apart from the inside out. But she couldn't fight it anymore, couldn't fight the need that had taken hold of her.

Her pussy clenched around his cock, her body arching back, pushing herself onto his invading thumb. And she did as he asked, her orgasm ripping through her like lightning, her body shaking with the intensity of it.

"Yes, mummy," he moaned, his cock pumping deep inside her, filling her with his hot, sticky cum. "Yes, that's it. Cum for your son."

Her eyes squeezed shut, the tears slipping down her face. She had never felt so used, so utterly degraded. But even as she hated herself for it, she knew that she had loved it. The power of his words, the claim he had over her, it was like a drug, a dark, twisted thrill that she hadn't known she needed.

He pulled out, his cock glistening with their combined juices. He leaned over her, his breath hot and ragged in her ear. "You're mine now," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "Forever."

Her body was his, her soul a shattered mess at his feet. She didn't know if she could survive this week, didn't know if she wanted to. But as he pulled her into his arms, the warmth of his embrace a stark contrast to the coldness of his words, she realized that she didn't have a choice. She was his now, to do with as he wished.

And as the night deepened, she lay there, trembling in his arms, her mind a whirlwind of fear and desire. The line between love and hate, between pleasure and pain, had blurred beyond recognition. All she knew was that she was his, and she would do anything, anything at all, to feel his touch again.

"I haven't cum mummy," Ramesh whispered, his voice a seductive purr. His hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit. "But I will," he promised, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. "I will make you cum until you can't think, until you can't breathe."

Her body trembled at his words, her heart racing in her chest. The fear and revulsion she had felt earlier had transformed into something else, something dark and all-consuming. Her eyes searched his, looking for any hint of the person she had once known. But all she saw was a stranger, a predator who had claimed her as his prey.

He began to rub her clit again, his touch firm and insistent. She felt the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pressure like a dam about to burst. "Make me cum," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

Her eyes snapped to his, a spark of defiance flaring in the depths of her gaze. Without a word, she rolled onto her side, her eyes never leaving his. He watched with a mix of shock and excitement as she took his cock in her hand, her grip firm and sure.

She leaned over, her mouth opening wide, and took him in, her tongue sliding over the head with a slow, deliberate movement that had him groaning. This wasn't the tentative, fearful woman he had broken earlier. This was a creature of fire and passion, a woman who knew what she wanted and took it without hesitation.

Her mouth was a wet, suckling vortex of pleasure, her tongue swirling and dancing over his sensitive flesh. He felt himself swell within her, the pressure building. His eyes rolled back in his head, his hands fisting in the sheets as she worked him with a skill that belied her innocence.

He had expected resistance, more tears, but what he got was a fiery determination that only served to make him harder. He watched in the mirror as she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. The sight was mesmerizing, a dark, twisted beauty that had him on the edge of his sanity.

Her hand moved to the base of his cock, her grip tightening as she took him deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that had his toes curling. He could feel himself getting closer, the tension coiling in his balls.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came, his seed spurting into her mouth. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, a challenge in her gaze that made him feel alive in a way he hadn't in years. The power dynamic had shifted, the lines of dominance and submission blurred into something new and exciting.

He leaned back, his chest heaving with the exertion. "You're a natural," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. "A dirty little whore, just like I knew you would be."

Her response was a smirk, a knowing look that made him feel both thrilled and a little scared. "I'm not your whore," she murmured, her voice a silky purr that made him shiver. "But I am your mother."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that sent a thrill through him. He knew then that he had unlocked something within her, a hunger that he could never have anticipated. This wasn't just about power anymore; it was about a connection that was as twisted as it was intoxicating.

He watched as she climbed over him, her naked body glowing in the moonlight. She straddled his chest, her pussy still wet and swollen from his earlier assault. "You're mine," she said, her eyes glinting with a newfound strength. "And I will make you cum until you can't think."

Her words were like a spell, a dark incantation that had him hardening again. He watched as she lowered herself onto his face, her pussy enveloping him in a warm, wet embrace. Her taste was like nothing he had ever known, a mix of sweetness and spice that had him groaning.

Her hips began to move, her pussy grinding against his mouth as she rode his face. The sensation was overwhelming, the mix of pleasure and pain a heady cocktail that had him drunk with lust. He could feel her getting closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

And when she came, her body shuddering and spasming above him, he knew that he had created a monster, a creature of desire that would never be sated. She collapsed onto the bed beside him, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her release.

He pulled her into his arms, his cock still hard, his need for her unquenchable. "This isn't over," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "We're just getting started."

Her eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between them. This was a game that had no end in sight, a dance of power and passion that they were both eager to explore. The lines between love and hate had blurred into a twisted tapestry that bound them together in a way that neither had ever imagined.

And as he pulled her closer, her hand found his cock again, stroking it with a renewed vigor. The power of the moment was intoxicating, a thrill that neither of them could resist. His breath hitched as she took him in her mouth once more, her eyes never leaving his, the challenge in her gaze unmistakable.

He could feel the tension building within him, his cock swelling with each suck and lick. It was as if she was drawing the very essence of his being out of him, reducing him to a mere plaything in her hands. The idea of it should have been degrading, but instead, it only served to make him harder.

Her eyes gleamed with a newfound hunger, a darkness that mirrored his own. They were two lost souls, bound by a force that neither of them could name. The only thing that mattered was the here and now, the feel of their bodies joined in a dance of depravity that transcended the mundane.

His hand found her pussy again, his fingers sliding in easily. She was so wet, so ready for him, and he knew that he had to take her, had to claim her fully. He rolled her onto her back, his body covering hers, his cock poised at her entrance. "You're going to take all of me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

Her eyes widened with a mix of fear and excitement. She knew what was coming, knew that there was no going back. But she didn't protest, didn't try to stop him. Instead, she spread her legs wider, her body an open invitation to his dominance.

With a growl, he thrust into her, the feeling of her tight, wet warmth enveloping him like a glove. Her nails raked down his back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He didn't hold back, didn't ease into it. He fucked her hard and fast, his hips pistoning into her with a brutal efficiency that made her scream.

The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the wet slap of their flesh, the grunts of his effort, and her cries of pleasure that grew more desperate with each passing second. It was a symphony of lust that had them both teetering on the edge of sanity.

Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around him. He watched with a mix of awe and possession, feeling the power of his own climax building. He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck, his breath hot and ragged in her ear. "You're mine," he murmured, the words a declaration of ownership.

Her eyes met his, and she knew it was true. She was his, body and soul, a creature of his making. And as he came, filling her with his cum, she realized that she didn't want it any other way.

Their bodies lay entwined, their hearts pounding in unison. The line between victim and aggressor had been erased, replaced by a bond that neither could deny. The week stretched out before them, a canvas of endless possibilities, each moment a chance to explore the depths of their twisted desires.

The silence was broken only by their heavy breathing, the sound of their hearts beating in time with the rhythm of their lust. They were bound by a secret that no one else would ever understand, a secret that was both their salvation and their damnation.

And as the dawn began to break, casting a soft glow over their entwined forms, Divya knew that she had crossed a line from which there was no return. But in the arms of the man who had once been her son's friend, she found a strange, twisted comfort, a place where she could be both the conservative mother she had once been and the sexual being she had never dared to explore.

The horror of it all was lost in the haze of pleasure and pain, a heady mix that she couldn't get enough of. And as the sun rose, she whispered his name, her voice a soft benediction in the quiet of the room.

Ramesh looked down at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He knew that he had won, that she was his now, fully and completely. "Welcome to your new life," he murmured, his voice a dark caress. "Welcome to your new role."

Her only response was a soft moan, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her release.
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#22
As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, unforgiving glow over the tangled sheets, Ramesh stirred. His body, heavy and sated from the night's excesses, pressed against Divya's for a lingering moment before he rolled away. She lay there, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling, her mind a fog of exhaustion, guilt gnawing like a dull ache in her chest. The room smelled of sweat and sex, a reminder she couldn't escape. She pulled the sheet up to her chin, as if it could shield her from the reality settling in.

Ramesh sat up, scratching his belly absently, his dark hair tousled. He glanced at her, a smirk tugging at his lips, possessive, almost casual, like this was just another morning. "Morning," he said, voice gravelly from sleep, the word twisting her insides anew. He leaned down, planting a rough kiss on her forehead, his stubble scbanging her skin. "Be good today. I'll be back by evening."

Divya didn't respond, her throat tight. She watched as he stood, naked and unashamed, stretching with a yawn that revealed the mundane boy beneath the monster—obese but tall, average in every way except the depravity he'd unleashed. He rummaged through his discarded clothes on the floor, pulling on his boxers, then jeans and a rumpled t-shirt. No shower, no rush, just the lazy efficiency of someone who owned the space. He grabbed his backpack from the corner, where he'd tossed it the night before, slinging it over one shoulder.

"College calls," he said with a wink, as if this were normal, as if he weren't leaving her alone in the wreckage of her life. He paused at the door, turning back. "Cook something nice for dinner. And think about me, about what we'll do tonight."

His eyes raked over her form under the sheet, hunger flickering again, before he slipped out, the front door clicking shut behind him.

The house fell silent, oppressively so. Divya lay there for what felt like hours, the weight of it all pressing down. Ajay's face in her mind, Mohit's trusting voice on the phone yesterday, the mangalsutra still around her neck like a chain of lies. Tears came unbidden, hot and silent, soaking the pillow. Eventually, she forced herself up, legs shaky, the soreness between her thighs a constant throb. She showered again, scrubbing until her skin was raw, but the marks, the faint bruises on her hips, red welts on her ass—stared back in the mirror. "What have I become?" she whispered to her reflection, eyes hollow, the conservative homemaker fractured.

The wooden spoon scbangd the copper pot, a rhythmic, grating sound that was Divya’s only anchor in the rising storm inside her. The kitchen air was thick with cumin and garlic, a rich, spicy cloud that should have been comforting, but instead felt suffocating. Her pale blue sleeveless shalwar kurta clung to her, a damp second skin in the Hyderabad heat. Her full breasts pushed against the fabric, straining slightly, and the modest neckline still revealed the vulnerable curve of her collarbone, a faint sheen of sweat on her fair skin. The salwar pants, soft cotton, hugged her hips and thighs, outlining their generous curve. A sheer dupatta, worn thin and frayed, dbangd loosely, offering little cover. This was just what she wore every day, sleeveless by necessity, never once thinking about it until now. Now, every exposed inch felt like a flare, a silent invitation she’d never intended. Her dark hair, damp at the roots, pulled back in a loose, heavy bun, strands already escaping to frame her face.

Her North Indian features, still delicate, almond eyes, faint kohl, the small red bindi. They were a mask she struggled to maintain. The gold mangalsutra at her throat felt heavy, a mocking weight.

The clock on the wall pulsed, each tick a hammer blow. Seven PM. The dread in her stomach was a cold, spreading stain. She dropped the spoon with a clatter, wiping her wet hands on a kitchen towel, and leaned against the cool counter, letting her mind sink into the familiar abyss.
What the hell have I become? The thought was a rasping whisper. Just weeks ago, I was Divya: Ajay’s devoted wife, up before dawn to pack his lunch, a chaste peck goodbye. Mohit’s loving mother, fussing over his college meals, laughing at his stupid jokes. A good, respectable North Indian woman, raised with modesty, duty, family above all.

I wore these very clothes, sleeveless in the heat, never feeling exposed, never imagining they could be... a trigger to turn someone on. Just comfortable. And I was always warm, welcoming. Especially to Mohit’s friends. Ramesh. God, Ramesh.

That average boy with the shy smile, a little soft, dark-skinned, so unremarkable. I treated him like another son. How could I have been so blind? That behind those eyes was this… this animal?

She lifted her arm absently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her nose grazed her underarm. A faint scent rose: clean soap, mingling with the subtle, warm musk of her own body, a day’s sweat. Why is he so obsessed with this? she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if confessing to the empty kitchen. "Armpits... of all things. It’s not like I ever flaunted myself, exposed myself indecently. I was always proper. But he... he just soiled me that first night."

The memory slammed into her: the sheer, tearing shock of his lies about Mohit, the rough rip of her maxi dress, the cold, wet spit in her mouth, his tongue on her face, the vile words—"randi," "kutiya"—as he plowed into her on her own marital bed, marking her. That raw, savage hunger in his eyes. His breath was hot, ragged, smelling faintly of stale cigarettes and something else, something animalistic. His body, heavy and sweating, crushed me into the mattress, his weight a suffocating reality. I felt his rough hands, calloused from God knows what, forcing my thighs apart, obscenely wide. These were his friend  Mohit's mother’s thighs, Ajay’s wife’s loyal thighs, spread open for him, a crude invasion. The heat, the friction, the tearing shame, and then... that terrifying, shameful flicker of something else, a response deep inside me I never knew existed. How could I have felt anything but revulsion? What is wrong with me? What drives a boy like him? His mother’s absence? Or just pure, sick evil? Or to just destroy something pure that he could never have?

And me... why did my body respond? Am I still the wife Ajay deserves, the mother Mohit needs? Or just a woman now, awakened to this dark, shameful hunger I never knew existed? God, help me...

The front door clicked, a sharp, metallic sound that ripped through her thoughts. Ramesh. His backpack hit the floor with a dull thud. He didn't rush, didn't offer any casual greeting. He moved slowly, deliberately, a predator enjoying the drawn-out chase. He paused in the hallway, kicking off his shoes, a soft scuffing sound. His eyes scanned the house, then locked onto her silhouette in the kitchen doorway. His t-shirt, dark with sweat from the commute, clung to his obese frame, the faint outline of his belly prominent. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his dark skin glistening under the harsh overhead light. His expression was unreadable, but his patience was a cruel, terrifying thing, savoring the anticipation.
Divya’s heart began to hammer, a frantic drum against her ribs. Her hands clamped onto the counter’s edge, the laminate digging into her palms. He’s back. He thinks he owns this place. He thinks he owns me. She turned back to the stove, a futile pretense of checking the curry, but her entire body tightened, every nerve alive to his approach. He stopped at the threshold, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His eyes moved over her, a slow, possessive crawl: the pale blue cotton, the full, rounded swell of her breasts, the sleeveless cut exposing the smooth, fair skin of her arms. The dupatta had slipped, revealing the soft, vulnerable curve of her shoulder. Her salwar pants felt impossibly tight, outlining her fertile hips, the fabric whispering as she shifted, a nervous tremor under his heavy, oppressive gaze. She felt utterly exposed now, not just physically, but deep inside.

Those sleeveless tops, once innocent, now felt like a deliberate lure, and her armpits suddenly prickled, hyper-aware, burning with the vivid memory of his obsession.
"Smells good," he said at last, his voice low, a flat, measured tone, devoid of any warmth, pure, chilling appraisal. He took a step closer, then another, each movement agonizingly slow, calculated. Close enough for her to feel his heat, but not touching her yet. "Stand up straight," he commanded softly, the cruel edge in his voice sharpening. "Raise your arms. Let me see you properly."

Her breath hitched, a painful knot in her chest. As Ajay’s wife, I should scream, fight. As Mohit’s mother, protect our home. But as a woman... god, why does this stir something in me? Her hands trembled, but she obeyed. She stood taller, slowly lifting her arms above her head, the kurta riding up just a sliver, exposing the soft, yielding flesh of her midriff. The dupatta slid further down, falling to her elbows, baring her underarms. Clean-shaven, faintly scented with soap and the day’s subtle sweat. Ramesh’s eyes darkened, that predatory gleam intensifying. He leaned in, his breath warm and heavy against her right side, his nose inches from her armpit. He inhaled deeply, audibly, a long, savoring sound, a low grunt escaping his throat. The faint, musky feminine aroma fueled his hunger, and she could feel, rather than see, the shameful, hard twitch of his cock pressing against his jeans.
"Fuck, that's what I needed," he murmured, his voice now thick with depravity, a cruel, slow smile twisting his lips. He savored her scent like a drug, drawing out the torment. "All day at college, thinking of this, your smell, your body. Now, turn around. Let me get hungrier."

Guilt surged, a hot wave: Ajay’s gentle, loving touches, Mohit’s innocent, comforting hugs. But her body, against her will, responded. Her nipples hardened under the thin kurta, a shameful, hot wetness began to build low in her groin as Ramesh’s breath ghosted her skin, his cruelty a slow, deliberate burn igniting something deep within her, despite everything.
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#23
Very hot
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#24
Mind-blowing
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#25
Good update.

Divya is now undergoing the best sexual part of life. She knows that her wimp husband cannot give these pleasure and he does not know how to handle a woman. Ramesh will bring the bitch out of her and make her slave of his monster.
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#26
Divya turned slowly, her arms still raised, the pale blue kurta pulling taut across her back, the fabric whispering against her skin. The kitchen light cast harsh shadows, highlighting the faint sheen of sweat on her exposed underarms and the curve of her shoulders. Ramesh's eyes devoured her, his breath quickening as he stepped closer, his presence a suffocating heat.

He didn't touch her immediately, instead, he circled her like a wolf, slow and deliberate, his gaze lingering on the way the salwar pants clung to her ass, the soft jiggle of her flesh with each nervous shift of her weight. "Look at you," he murmured, voice low and sleazy, dripping with crude appreciation. "All dressed up like a proper aunty, but I know what's underneath—wet and waiting."

He reached out finally, his rough hand sliding under the kurta's hem, fingers grazing the soft skin of her lower back, tracing up to the dupatta and tugged it away completely. It fluttered to the floor like a discarded veil. "Keep those arms up," he ordered, his tone laced with that cruel amusement.

He pressed his body against her from behind, his hardening cock grinding against her ass through his jeans, the friction rough and insistent. One hand snaked around to cup her breast over the fabric, squeezing possessively, thumb flicking the nipple until it peaked visibly against the cotton. The other hand dipped lower, pressing between her thighs, rubbing her pussy through the salwar, feeling the growing dampness. "Spread your legs a bit, aunty," he whispered, hot breath on her neck. "Let me feel how much you've been thinking about this all day."

Divya's body trembled, a mix of revulsion and that unwelcome heat building despite her will. She complied with a small step apart, her breath hitching as his fingers pressed harder, circling her clit through the thin material. He leaned in again, nose burying into her left underarm this time, inhaling deeply with a guttural groan, the scent sharper now, mingled with her rising arousal, making him grind harder. "Mmm, that's my good girl, sweaty and ripe just for me."

His free hand yanked the kurta's neckline down slightly, exposing more of her cleavage, and he pinched her nipple raw, twisting until she whimpered.

It was too much—the sleaziness of it, the casual violation in her own kitchen, where she'd cooked for her family a thousand times. Tears welled up, hot and uncontrollable, spilling down her cheeks. Her arms ached, but she lowered them suddenly, spinning to face him, shoving his hands away with surprising force.

"Stop! Just... stop," she sobbed, voice breaking, chest heaving. She backed against the counter, dupatta forgotten on the floor, her face a mask of anguish.

"Ramesh, please... let's talk. Really talk. Like humans. Why are you doing this? I... I treated you like family. When Mohit brought you home, I saw a boy who needed kindness—a friend for my son. You were just... like my son, harmless. I made you tea, asked about your studies, your dad. I never... never gave you a reason to see me like this."

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her words tumbling out genuine and raw, pleading for some shred of the boy she thought she'd known.

"I'm a wife, Ramesh. Ajay's wife for twenty years. We built a life, a home. And Mohit... he's my world. I'd die for him. I was faithful, devoted—a simple woman who prayed every morning, cooked with love, never strayed. What did I do to deserve this? Is it because of your mother? The pain of losing her? Or... or something I said, or did? Tell me. Help me understand you.

Because right now, you're destroying me, and I... I don't know if I can take it anymore."

Her voice cracked, eyes searching his, desperate for empathy, for a crack in his armor, a heart-to-heart that might salvage something humane from this nightmare.

Ramesh paused, his smirk fading slightly, frustration flickering in his eyes. He'd thought her broken, pliant after last night, but here was that fire again, that guilt-fueled fight. It irritated him, this reminder she wasn't fully his yet. He stepped back, running a hand over his face, hiding the annoyance.

"Talk? Fine, let's talk," he said, voice controlled but edged with manipulation. "You want to understand me? It's simple—you're everything I never had. Warm, curvy, motherly. Yeah, my mom's gone, left a hole. But you?  You are so pure, so homely, so conservative. You filled it that first day, with your smiles, your food. The way you carried yourself so effortlessly. The way your lips moved when you spoke, the way your bangles clinked when you worked around the house. You were so unattainable,  so far from the filth of my mind of my desires, so innocent and I wanted to corrupt you, soil you, defile you as I wanted to get that woman out, which you buried so deeply in the characters of a mother and wife that you played. And now... you're mine to take. Don't fight it, Divya. It's good for you too—admit it, your body's screaming for it. Stop the guilt; Ajay's away, Mohit's clueless. Be the woman you are now."

But she shook her head, tears flowing freer. "No... I can't. I'm not that. Please, Ramesh... let's eat. Or... or just leave me alone tonight." Her plea was earnest, a last grasp at normalcy.

Frustration boiled over—he slammed a hand on the counter, making her flinch. "Damn it, I thought you were done with this shit. Fine, we'll eat." He turned abruptly, grabbing plates from the cabinet with rough clanks, spooning curry and rice onto them, the steam rising like his temper. He set them on the small kitchen table, pulling out a chair with a scbang. "Sit. Eat with me. Like a good... wife." The word was laced with sarcasm, a manipulative twist to pull her in.

Divya hesitated, her stomach churning, with no appetite, just nausea from the inner war. "I... I can't. Not like this." She backed away, arms crossed protectively over her chest, the sleeveless kurta feeling even more exposing under his glare.

His eyes narrowed, frustration mounting—he'd expected submission, not this lingering resistance. "Sit down, Divya. Or I'll make you. You think you can fight me? After everything? Eat, and maybe I'll be gentle tonight." He softened his tone falsely, a predator's lure, but inside, anger simmered at her unbroken spirit.

She shook her head again, sobbing quietly, the guilt too heavy. Ramesh huffed, pushing back from the table, his eyes scanning the room for distraction.....or leverage. They landed on the DVD collection tucked in the living room shelf, visible through the doorway. He stood, walking over slowly, fingers trailing the spines. "Mohit showed me this once," he said casually, pulling out a disc labeled "Ajay & Divya - Wedding." "Never got to watch it. Today, I will."

Divya's face drained of color, blood rushing from her head—she swayed, gripping the counter. "No... Ramesh, please. Not that. Anything but that." It was her marriage video, pure and playful, captured joy from a day of vows and laughter, now about to be tainted.

Ramesh ignored her, shoving the disc into the DVD player next to the TV. The thing buzzed and clicked as it started up, the screen jumping a bit before the video kicked in. Old, shaky footage from a cheap camera. There she was, younger, in her red sari loaded with gold threads that looked heavy and itchy under the lights. Her face was all smiles, nervous but happy, with family crowding around, yelling jokes and clapping. The priest's voice came through the speakers, chanting those long, drawn-out words, the sound a bit scratchy like the disc was worn.

Divya's stomach dropped, her face going pale, heart thumping so hard she felt it in her throat. "Ramesh, no... please, turn it off." Her voice shook, tears starting right away, hot and messy down her cheeks.

That day....it was all coming back: Ajay's hand holding hers, steady and warm, the fire hot on her face, everyone cheering like life was perfect. Now it felt like a punch, seeing it here while this nightmare played out.

He grabbed her hands instead, holding them tight in his, rough palms squeezing hers like he was trying to comfort her. He pulled her close on the couch, his voice dropping low, whispering right in her ear.

"Shh, Divya, it's okay. Just watch with me. This too shall pass, you know? Everything that's happened—your life, meeting me—it's all led to this exact moment. You're right where you're supposed to be." His words came out soft, like an elder calming someone down, but it twisted everything. The irony hitting her hard, him talking sweet while ruining her.

She tried to pull away, shaking her head. "No, Ramesh... this is my wedding. With Ajay. It's sacred. Why are you doing this?"

He chuckled low, still holding her hands, his thumbs rubbing circles on her knuckles. "Because it's hot, that's why. Seeing you all innocent there, and now... with me. Don't fight it. It's fate or whatever. Just let it happen." He let go of one hand, reaching for her kurta, tugging it up slow over her head. She didn't stop him, too numb, the fabric catching on her arms before he yanked it off, tossing it aside. She wore no bra as the previous night's ministrations had left her breasts sore.

Her tits bounced free, heavy and full, nipples getting hard from the cool air. Ramesh marveled at the sight of her naked breasts, looking at those hickeys the lust bites he gave her the previous night.

"Stand up," he said, voice still that fake gentle. She did, legs shaky, and he pulled down her salwar and panties in one go, the waistband snapping against her thighs as they hit the floor. She stepped out, naked now, skin prickling, the mangalsutra dangling between her breasts like a joke.

Ramesh stood too, peeling off his t-shirt—damp and stinky from the day, that strong sweat smell hitting her right away. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, his cock springing out half-hard, balls hanging heavy, the whole area musky and sweaty. He was all sticky, body odor strong, like he hadn't showered on purpose. "Come here," he said, sitting back on the couch, pulling her down to kneel in front of him. The video kept playing—Ajay putting a garland around her neck, everyone clapping loud.

He grabbed her head, not rough but firm, pushing her face right into his balls. The skin was moist, warm, hairy, that thick, salty smell filling her nose—sweat and cum from earlier, marking her like he wanted it stuck in her head. "Smell that? That's me, all over you now." Her eyes stayed on the TV, glued to it, watching her old self laugh while her nose rubbed against his sack, the pubes tickling her cheeks, the stench making her eyes water. "See that? You were his back then. Now you're down here, sniffing my balls like a good mature slut."

Divya choked back a sob, whispering, "Ramesh... this is wrong. I was happy there. With Ajay. We had a life." Ramesh grabbed her head firmly and lodged his balls in her mouth as she started muffling and gagging while speaking.

He stroked her hair, still whispering like he was soothing her. "I know, I know. But look how far you've come. That girl's gone. This is your reality. Keep watching."

On screen, the priest was talking about vows, and Ramesh spat into his palm, a thick glob, smearing it right into his hairy armpit, mixing with the sweat there. The smell got stronger, wet and gross. He pulled her up by the hair, gentle but controlling, shoving her face into the pit. "Inhale deep. Slow breaths. That's it—breathe me in while your wedding plays."

She did, nose buried in the coarse hairs, the mix of spit and sweat salty and overwhelming, filling her lungs. "Why... why this?" she mumbled, voice muffled.

"Shhhh take your tongue out and give it long licks", Ramesh interrupted her and turned his own head towards his armpit and kissed her deep as they both started licking the armpit and each other’s tongue.

"Because it sticks," he said, grinning down at her. "My stink in your head, every time you think of your wedding day."

He grabbed her hand, wrapping it around his cock—thick and veiny, getting harder in her grip. "Stroke me now. Nice and slow."

She started pumping, hand sliding up and down the shaft, feeling it throb, pre-cum leaking sticky on her fingers. The video showed her and Ajay circling the fire, hands linked, and she kept stroking, eyes locked on the screen, tears mixing with the sweat on her face.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he whispered, still in that pacifying tone. "All that guilt... let it go. This is your moment now." His free hand reached down, rubbing her tit, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her gasp into his armpit. "Keep breathing deep. Stroke faster."

He could see some of his coarse hair strands on her face around her lips as she looked at him with half open eyes with her mouth slightly apart. Ramesh spat in her mouth and she gulped it down submissively as some of his spit trickled down by the side of her mouth to her chin.

This was an hyper erotic sight for him. Divya the beautiful married wife and mother of his friend in all her glory with all the marital accessories on her sitting naked and sweaty with her face buried in his stinky sweaty armpit.

She sped up, hand slick now, the wet sounds mixing with the video's chants. "Ramesh... I can't....."

"Shh, it's okay," he cooed, like comforting a kid. "Everything led to this. You're mine now—feel how hard you make me?" He pulled her face away finally, spitting in his palm again, smearing it on her lips and nose this time. "Taste and smell that."

Then he stood, pulling her up, bending her over the couch arm, facing the TV. The mangalsutra scene was coming up. Ajay holding the chain, hands shaking, happy nervousness around.

Ramesh spread her legs apart wider, dropping to his knees behind her. "Gonna eat this married pussy first, make you drip while he ties that knot." His hands gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them rough, the air hitting her wet folds. He buried his face in, tongue lapping flat and hard at her slit—sloppy, wet sounds filling the room as he sucked her juices, tasting salty and tangy. "Fuck, you taste like a mother now," he mumbled against her, voice muffled, vibrations buzzing her clit. His stubble scratched her inner thighs, rough and irritating, while his tongue plunged in deep, fucking her hole with it, nose pressing into her ass crack, that sweaty stink of him mixing with her scent. He slurped loud, crude, like he was starving— "Mmm, so fucking wet for your son's friend, huh? While hubby puts that chain on you." His fingers joined, two shoving in knuckle-deep, curling to hit her spot, pumping fast as his mouth clamped on her clit, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

Divya's legs shook, moans escaping despite her sobs. "Ramesh... stop... it's my wedding video....how can you do this..." But her hips pushed back, grinding on his face, the video showing Ajay smiling as he lifted the mangalsutra. The chants droned on, clashing with the wet smacks of his tongue and fingers.

He pulled back, face shiny with her slick, standing up quick. "Now you're ready, bitch." His cock rubbed her pussy, head catching on her entrance, as he tapped it against her folds, teasing. "Beg for it, mummy. Tell me to fuck you while Ajay claims you."

She whimpered no, but he thrust in anyway, slow at first—stretching her wide, the burn making her gasp. "Take it, you slut—feel my dick while your man's on screen." He started pounding, thap thap thap of skin slapping, wet and loud, his balls smacking her clit with each drive.

"Hear that? That's your pussy loving it." His hands grabbed her tits from behind, squeezing hard, nipples pinched between fingers. "Cum when he ties it, whore. Make it dirty forever."

The knot tightened on screen—Ajay's hands pulling it snug. Ramesh rammed harder, thap thap thap echoing, one hand yanking her hair to force her eyes on the TV. "Yes, mummy—squeeze that cunt for your boy." She broke, orgasm hitting like a slap, pussy clamping down, milking him as she cried "Ajay.......!" Ramesh grunted "Fuck ahhhhhh yes," shooting cum deep, hot spurts filling her, leaking out with each final thap. They collapsed, the video cheering fading, her wedding smile frozen on screen.
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#27
Fucking awesome
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#28
Story in fucking awesome. Why not make a real marriage between with Divya and Ramesh and relation gets changed and hot. please add photos and gif to make story even sexier.
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#29
Great going dude. Keep it up
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#30
super
HeartLovePookie congrats
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#31
Awesome, waiting for next update
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#32
Unbelievably good
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#33
awesome bro..
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#34
Sexcellent update
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#35
Again another unfinished story
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