Adultery Mily compromises

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

The Delhi sun, a relentless hammer, beat down on Vasant Kunj. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, distorting the familiar lines of the colony, making everything appear fluid, uncertain.
 
Mily clutched the worn strap of her purse, the faux leather slick with perspiration. Her saree, a simple cotton affair, clung to her skin, each fold a testament to the oppressive humidity. She felt the familiar weight of the silver anklet on her left ankle, a cool band against her skin, a small comfort in a world that felt increasingly devoid of it.
 
Thirty-six years, and she had never felt so utterly adrift. The clinic in Patna had called again. Arpita, her mother, was fading. The surgery, they said, was her only chance.
 
One and a half lakh rupees. A sum that might as well have been a king’s ransom. Amit, her husband, had merely grunted, his eyes fixed on the flickering television screen. "One and a half lakh? You think money grows on trees, Mily?" His voice, thick with disinterest, had been a dull thud in the suffocating silence of their small apartment. "Your mother's old. It's… God's will."
 
God's will. The words tasted like ash. Mily knew Amit wouldn't help. His meagre salary barely covered their own existence, and his affection for her mother had always been a thin, brittle thing, easily shattered.
 
He saw Arpita as a burden, a drain. Her gaze drifted to the house next door, Sid's house.
 
A tremor ran through her. Sid. Forty-two, a walking advertisement for neglect, his unkempt hair and perpetually stained clothes screaming of a life lived without consequence. The stench of stale alcohol and unwashed linen often preceded him, a foul herald.
 
He owned a small, struggling business, but sometimes, Mily had heard whispers, he had access to… funds. Unsavory funds. Her feet, clad in simple sandals, moved almost against her will, carrying her towards his gate. Each step was a descent, a surrender to a desperate hope. The gate creaked open, a groan of protest.
 
The air in his small, overgrown yard was thick with the scent of jasmine, clashing incongruously with the faint, metallic tang of something unpleasant. She knocked, her knuckles rapping softly against the peeling paint of his front door.
 
A long moment passed, then the door swung inward. Sid stood there, a loose vest hanging off his shoulders, his eyes, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, taking her in with a slow, predatory sweep. A smile, more a leer, stretched his lips, revealing stained teeth. "Mily, Mily. What a pleasant surprise." His voice, raspy, carried the faint echo of last night's whiskey. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking her path, his body radiating a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. Mily swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Sid, I… I need your help." His eyebrows rose, a slow, deliberate movement. "My help, is it? What kind of help would a beautiful woman like you need from a scoundrel like me?" The words dripped with insinuation.
 
"My mother… she needs an operation. It's urgent. I need one and a half lakh rupees." The words tumbled out, rushed and breathless. Sid's smile widened, a slow, unfolding thing that chilled her to the bone. He pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, his scent, a pungent mix of sweat, cheap liquor, and something vaguely musky, filling her nostrils. "One and a half lakh, you say? That's a lot of money, Mily. A lot of money." He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against the silk of her saree, near her breast.
 
Mily flinched, pulling back instinctively. "I… I'll pay you back. I promise. Every rupee." Her voice was a desperate plea. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound. "Pay me back? How, Mily? Your husband barely earns enough to feed himself. What do you have to offer that's worth one and a half lakh rupees?"
 
His gaze dropped, lingering on the gentle curve of her hips beneath the saree, then back up to her face, his eyes burning with an unspoken demand. Mily’s breath hitched. She knew. She had known the moment she decided to come here. The shame, a hot blush, spread across her cheeks. "Anything, Sid. Please. My mother…" "Anything?"
 
He repeated, his voice a low growl. He stepped fully into the doorway, beckoning her inside with a tilt of his head. "Come in, Mily. Let's discuss 'anything'." Her legs felt like lead, but she stepped across the threshold, into the dim, stale air of his house.
 
The living room was cluttered, dust motes dancing in the shafts of light that pierced the grimy windows. He led her past it, down a narrow hallway, to a bedroom. The air in here was even heavier, saturated with the smell of old sheets and a faint, cloying sweetness. "Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the edge of his unmade bed.
 
Mily perched on the edge, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her silver anklet a cold weight against her skin. He closed the door, the click of the latch echoing loudly in the sudden silence. He turned, his eyes fixed on her, no longer veiled by pretense. "So, Mily. One and a half lakh." He began to unbutton his vest, his movements slow and deliberate. "I think you know what I want." A cold dread seeped into her bones.
 
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but there was none. The window was small, barred. The door, locked. "Sid, please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My mother is dying." He pulled the vest off, tossing it onto a nearby chair. His chest, surprisingly broad, was covered in a sparse scattering of dark hair. "And you, Mily, are a beautiful woman. A very beautiful woman." He started on the buttons of his trousers. "I've watched you for years. Always in your sarees, so modest. But I know what lies beneath." Tears pricked at her eyes. Her hands trembled. "I… I can't. Please."
 
He chuckled, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Can't? Or won't? Your mother's life hangs in the balance, Mily. Is her life worth one and a half lakh? Or is it worth… this?" He gestured to himself, then to her. The trousers dropped to his ankles, revealing a pair of soiled briefs. He kicked them off, his erection, thick and veined, springing free. It pulsed, a dark, menacing presence. Mily gasped, her breath catching in her throat.
 
She had seen Amit naked countless times, but this was different. This was raw, exposed, demanding. "Now, Mily," he said, his voice softer, but no less menacing. "Take off your saree." Her fingers fumbled, tracing the edge of her pallu. Her mind screamed, *No!* But her mother's face, pale and drawn, flashed before her eyes.
 
The image of the sterile hospital room, the beeping machines, the desperate plea in the doctor's voice. With trembling hands, she began to unpin the folds of her saree. Each movement felt agonizingly slow, a public disrobing in the privacy of this sordid room. The cotton fabric, soft against her skin, now felt like a shroud.
 
She unwrapped it, letting it pool around her feet, revealing the delicate lace of her petticoat and the simple cotton blouse. Sid watched, his eyes unblinking, devouring every inch of exposed skin. "Now the blouse." Her fingers, cold and clumsy, struggled with the tiny buttons. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The blouse came away, exposing the simple white bra underneath, and the gentle swell of her breasts. Her nipples, usually demure, hardened in the cool air, betraying her. "And the rest."
 
His voice was a low command. The petticoat slid down, rustling softly, pooling around her feet with the saree. She stood before him in her bra and panties, her body, usually hidden, now laid bare. Shame burned through her, but beneath it, a flicker of something else, a primal fear, a desperate resignation. "Please, Sid," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Don't do this." He laughed, a short, sharp bark. "Don't do this? Mily, you walked into my house, you asked for my money. You knew what I wanted."
 
He moved closer, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against the lace of her bra, then cupping one of her breasts. His thumb circled her nipple, a rough, insistent touch. A shiver ran through her, a mix of revulsion and a strange, unwelcome spark. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like this, since Amit had even looked at her with desire. "Take it off," he murmured, his voice husky.
 
Her hands, still shaking, unhooked the bra, letting it fall. Her breasts, full and pale, spilled free, her nipples, dark and prominent, pointing at him. He stared, his eyes widening slightly. "Beautiful," he breathed, his voice rough. He reached out, his fingers closing around her other breast, squeezing gently. "So soft." She stood there, frozen, the air thick with tension. He then moved to her panties, his fingers tracing the elastic band. "The last barrier, Mily." Her mind screamed, but her body remained still.
 
She could feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of him, now closer, more potent. Her breath came in shallow gasps. She had to do this. For her mother. With a deep, shuddering breath, she reached down, her fingers fumbling with the elastic of her panties. She pulled them down, slowly, deliberately, until they joined the pile of clothes at her feet. She stood naked before him, her body exposed, vulnerable.
 
The silver anklet on her left leg glinted in the dim light, a stark contrast to the raw intimacy of the moment. Sid's eyes, dark and hungry, raked over her, from her bare shoulders to the soft curve of her belly, to the dark triangle between her legs. A low groan escaped his lips. "Come here, Mily." He held out a hand. Her feet moved on their own, carrying her towards him. She felt like a puppet, her strings pulled by an unseen force.
 
He pulled her against him, his erection pressing hard against her belly. The shock of his naked skin against hers, the rough texture of his chest hair, sent a jolt through her. His lips descended, rough and demanding, crushing hers. His tongue pushed past her teeth, invading her mouth, tasting of stale whiskey and something else, something primal. He sucked on her tongue, a deep, insistent pull, his hands grasping her buttocks, pulling her closer, grinding her against his hardness. A whimper escaped her. Her hands, almost unconsciously, found purchase on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Her body, starved of intimacy for so long, began to betray her. A warmth spread through her loins, a slow, insistent throb.
 
He broke the kiss, his breath ragged. "Down on your knees, Mily." His voice was a low command, his eyes burning into hers. Her knees, weak and trembling, bent slowly. She knelt before him, her head bowed, her hair falling around her face. He stood over her, his erection, thick and engorged, jutting out before her. "Take it," he ordered, his voice thick with desire. Her eyes, filled with tears, lifted to his. The shame was overwhelming, but the image of her mother, frail and fading, spurred her on. Slowly, tentatively, she reached out, her fingers closing around the thick shaft of his cock. It was hot, surprisingly smooth, and heavy in her hand. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.
 
He merely nodded, his jaw set. Her lips parted, and she leaned forward, her tongue darting out, tasting the tip of him. It was salty, slightly metallic. A shiver ran through her. She took him into her mouth, slowly, carefully, her lips closing around him. The head was large, filling her mouth, and she gagged slightly, but forced herself to continue. She licked, she sucked, her tongue circling the sensitive tip, then moving down the shaft. He groaned, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest.
 
His hands found her hair, guiding her, pushing her deeper. She felt the thick veins beneath her tongue, the slight roughness of his skin. She worked him, her mouth a warm, wet sheath, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. She tasted him fully, the muskiness, the sheer male scent of him, filling her senses. She felt him swell, growing harder, thicker in her mouth. She felt a slight pre-cum, a slick, salty liquid, coat her tongue. "Ah, Mily," he moaned, his voice strained. "That's it. Yes." She continued, her movements becoming more confident, more practiced. She moved her head up and down, sucking, licking, using her throat to take him deeper, until she felt the base of his shaft brush against the back of her throat. She heard his ragged breathing, felt the tension in his body.
 
 Suddenly, he pulled her up, his grip on her arms surprisingly gentle. He guided her to the bed, pushing her back onto the stained sheets. She lay there, naked and vulnerable, her body tingling, a strange mix of disgust and a nascent, unwelcome arousal. He knelt between her legs, his eyes still fixed on hers. He spread her legs, his hands firm on her thighs. Her silver anklet, still on her left leg, brushed against the rough fabric of the sheets.
 
He leaned down, his head descending between her legs. Mily gasped, her eyes widening. His tongue, rough and insistent, found her clit, circling it, licking, then sucking. A shockwave of pleasure, sharp and unexpected, shot through her. She arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips. It had been years since she had felt such direct, focused attention. He continued, his tongue delving into her folds, lapping at her juices, drawing them out. The sensation was intense, overwhelming.
 
She felt her body clenching, tightening, a deep ache building within her. He nibbled at her labia, teased her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it deep into his mouth, drawing on it with a primal hunger. "Oh… oh, God," she whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets, her fingers clenching into fists. Her hips began to buck, an involuntary rhythm. She was wet, so wet, the slickness spreading between her legs, a testament to her body's betrayal. She felt a dizzying rush, a building pressure, and then, with a gasp, her body convulsed, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over her. Her back arched, her legs trembled, and a long, drawn-out moan escaped her lips. He lifted his head, his face wet, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Ready now, Mily?"
 
She could only with glazed stare, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. Shame, yes, but also a raw, physical need that had been dormant for too long. He positioned himself above her, his cock, slick and engorged, pressing against her wet entrance. He looked down at her, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
 
He leaned in, kissing her again, a deep, bruising kiss, his tongue tangling with hers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed. Mily felt the blunt head of him pressing against her, stretching her. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He pushed further, a slow, agonizing slide, until she felt him fully inside her, filling her completely. A deep, guttural groan escaped him. He began to move, a slow, steady rhythm, pushing in, pulling out. The sensation was overwhelming, a deep, intense pressure. Her body, still thrumming from her orgasm, responded, clenching around him. The sounds of their bodies meeting, a wet *shlick, shlick*, filled the small room.
 
His balls slapped against her ass with each thrust, a rhythmic thud. Mily closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, but not just tears of shame. There was also a strange, primal satisfaction, a release of tension that had been building for years. Her hands, almost of their own accord, wrapped around his back, her shapely nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks.
 
She met his thrusts, her hips rising to meet him, her body moving in sync with his. She was sex-starved, and her body, despite her mind's protests, was revelling in this raw, carnal act. He grunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Ah, Mily… so tight. So good." He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, harder. The bed creaked beneath them, a rhythmic protest. She felt him surge, a deep, visceral groan escaping him as he pumped into her, filling her with his hot, sticky cum. She felt the warm liquid gush inside her, a primal invasion. He collapsed onto her, his body heavy, his breath hot against her neck.
 
They lay there for a long moment, the sounds of their ragged breathing filling the silence. The scent of sex, musky and potent, hung heavy in the air. Mily felt utterly spent, her body a trembling mess.
 
After a few minutes, he stirred, rolling onto his back, pulling her with him. She lay against his side, her head on his shoulder, her body still intertwined with his. Her silver anklet, cold against her skin, brushed against his bare shoulder. He shifted, pulling her legs up, resting them on his shoulders. Her knees bent, her pussy, still swollen and wet, was exposed to him.
 
He looked down, his eyes still heavy-lidded with desire. "Again," he murmured, his voice hoarse. Mily’s eyes fluttered open. She was exhausted, but a strange, insistent throb still pulsed between her legs. He leaned forward, his cock, still hard, pressing against her entrance again. He pushed, slowly, deliberately, re-entering her. Her body, though tired, stretched to accommodate him. He began to thrust again, a slower, more deliberate rhythm this time, his eyes fixed on hers. Her anklet, cold and metallic, rubbed against his shoulder with each thrust, a strange, rhythmic friction.
 
She felt him deep inside her, filling her, stretching her. The shame was still there, a dull ache, but it was overshadowed by the sheer, raw intensity of the sensations. She felt herself clenching around him again, her body responding, moving with him. He moved faster, his grunts becoming more guttural. Mily felt the familiar build-up, the tightening in her belly, the rush of heat.
 
Her legs, still resting on his shoulders, trembled. He leaned down, kissing her again, a deep, possessive kiss. Then, with a final, deep thrust, he groaned, a raw, primal sound, and came inside her again, a hot, pulsing gush that filled her. He collapsed, his body heavy, his breath ragged against her ear.
 
They lay there, entwined, for a long time. The afternoon sun, now lower in the sky, cast long shadows across the room. Mily felt utterly drained, physically and emotionally. Her body ached, but beneath the ache, a strange, unsettling calm settled over her.
 
She had done it. For her mother. Finally, he stirred, pulling away from her. He reached for a crumpled wad of notes on his bedside table. He counted out the money, a thick stack of thousands, and placed it on her belly. "One and a half lakh," he said, his voice flat. "Your mother's operation." Mily looked down at the money, then back at him. His face was unreadable. She felt a cold emptiness spread through her. The price of her mother's life. She slowly sat up, her body protesting with every movement. She reached for her saree, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and began to dress, her movements slow and deliberate. Each fold of the fabric, each button, felt heavy, weighted with the events of the last hour.
 
The silver anklet on her left leg felt like a brand, a permanent mark. She picked up the money, clutching it tightly in her hand. She didn't look at him again. She walked out of the room, through the cluttered living room, and out of his house.
 
The Delhi sun still beat down, but it felt colder now, its light harsh and unforgiving. The jasmine scent in his yard now seemed sickly sweet, cloying. As she walked back to her own home, the money clutched in her hand, Mily felt nothing but a profound emptiness. Her mother would live. But a part of Mily, something precious and inviolable, had died in that stale, dim bedroom. The memory of his touch, his taste, his smell, would forever be etched into her, a bitter reminder of the price she had paid. Her mother would live, but Mily would carry the ghost of that afternoon, a silent scream trapped within her, forever.

[PELURI]

fantastic as usual..

the narration and the language skills are simple yet delivering maximum effect....i fell in love with Mily ( who would not) a beautiful creation , both inside and outside ( picked up from a telugu movie) and hero worships Sid, someone a la Jackie shroff ( rough exterior and loveable interior)always bullying Mily but helping her nevertheless........but waiting for a long erotic story begining their post college days ( remember in one of the stories, they were lovers till Sid went away to gulf or something like that....

Welcome back Sid !

[eslx1212]

Nice short story. Neatly narrated.

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

The afternoon sun, a pale, indifferent eye, bled through the thin curtains of Mily’s Vasant Kunj home.
 
 Dust motes danced in the muted light, tiny, shimmering specks in the oppressive quiet. Her left ankle, slender and pale, bore the cool weight of a silver anklet, its tiny bells silent, waiting.
 
Her fingers, still faintly perfumed with the scent of fresh coriander and market dust, traced the rim of a chipped teacup. Amit, her husband, was at his paltry job, leaving her at peace but today, it was a gaping maw, ready to swallow her whole. The memory of two days prior, a brutal exchange of her dignity for her mother’s life, clawed at her throat. One lakh fifty thousand rupees, a sum that felt like an entire universe, had bought her mother a chance, and in turn, sold Mily to a devil named Sid.
 
The sharp, insistent rap on the door ripped through the stillness. Mily flinched, the teacup rattling against the saucer. Her heart hammered, a frantic drum against her ribs. No one ever called unannounced. Amit’s friends were rare, and her own few acquaintances always phoned. The sound came again, louder, more demanding. Dread, cold and slick, coiled in her stomach. It couldn't be. Not him.
 
 She moved towards the door, her pale yellow saree rustling like dry leaves. Its silk, once vibrant, now felt heavy, clinging to her skin. Her chocolate-colored lipstick, applied with care that morning, suddenly felt like a garish mask. She peered through the peephole, her breath catching. Sid. His face, a landscape of unshaven stubble and dull, bloodshot eyes, filled the tiny circle.
 
A primal scream caught in her throat, but no sound escaped. “Mily, open up!” His voice, a gravelly rasp, penetrated the thick wood. The door shuddered under another heavy knock. She stood frozen, her mind a frantic scramble of denial and terror. *He wouldn’t. Not here. Not now.* The knocking intensified, a relentless assault. “I know you’re in there. Don’t make me break it down.”
 
Her hand, trembling, fumbled with the latch. The click echoed like a gunshot in the silent flat. Sid pushed the door inward before she could even fully open it, his heavy frame filling the narrow entryway.
 
 A wave of stale sweat, cheap liquor, and something vaguely metallic, hit her first. He hadn't showered in days, she knew that much. His eyes, dark and predatory, raked over her, from the top of her head to the silver anklet peeking from beneath her saree’s hem. “Well, well, kya maal lag rahi ho, ready for me ??,” he sneered, stepping over the threshold without invitation.
 
The door slammed shut behind him, severing her connection to the outside world. Mily stumbled back, her hand flying to her chest. “What are you doing here? Amit is… he’ll be home soon.” The lie felt thin and brittle, even to her own ears. Sid chuckled, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his chest. “Amit? That little worm?
He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you, Mily. He’s probably busy counting pennies.” He took another step, his presence dominating the small living room. “You look… edible. That yellow suits you. Makes your skin glow.” His gaze lingered on her lips, then dropped to her chest, where the saree’s fabric strained subtly over her 34B curves.
 
He reached out, his fingers, thick and calloused, snagging the edge of her saree. The delicate silk bunched in his fist. “Too many clothes, Mily. Always too many clothes.” A cold shiver ran down her spine. “No! Please, Sid. Not here. Someone will see.” Her voice was a desperate whisper.
 
He ignored her, his eyes fixed on the fabric. With a swift, brutal tug, he slipped the saree from her shoulder. The soft material slipped from her fair shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her shoulder, the dark strap of her black bra. Her breath hitched. “Black. Knew it.” A predatory grin stretched across his face.
 
He pulled again, stripping the remaining fabric from her body. The pale yellow saree slithered to the floor, pooling around her feet like a discarded skin. She stood before him in her petticoat and black blouse, suddenly feeling naked despite the remaining layers. His hands, rough and unyielding, moved to the buttons of her blouse. “Such a pretty thing. Hiding all this.” Each button gave way with a small pop, exposing more of the black lace beneath.
 
The blouse fell open, revealing the swell of her breasts, barely contained by the delicate fabric of her bra. She crossed her arms, trying to cover herself, but his eyes were already devouring her. “Stop it, Sid. You can’t—” “Oh, I can.” His voice was low, menacing. He grabbed the hem of her petticoat, pulling it up with a single, sharp motion. The thin cotton rode high on her thighs, then bunched around her waist. He ripped it downwards, the fabric tearing with a sound like a sigh.
 
The petticoat joined the saree on the floor. Mily stood before him in her black lace bra and matching panties, her skin milky white against the dark lingerie. Her left leg, exposed now, showed the silver anklet, glinting in the dim light. It felt like a spotlight on her shame. “There,” he breathed, his eyes tracing the curve of her hip, the delicate lace of her panties. “Much better.” He took another step, closing the distance between them.
 
The stench of him, a cloying mix of stale sweat and unwashed body, enveloped her. He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw. “Now, open up.” Her lips, still glowing with chocolate lipstick, trembled. She tried to turn her head, to resist, but his grip was iron. “No.” He squeezed harder. “I didn’t ask. I told you.” He pressed down his rough smelly lips upon her and shoved his tongue inside. Sucked her tongue as Mily struggled not to vomit from the stench. He licked mostly of her lip gloss.
 
He released her chin, his hand moving to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. He pushed her down, forcing her to her knees before him. Mily’s knees hit the rough carpet with a soft thud. Her eyes, wide with fear and humiliation, stared at the dark fabric of his trousers, then up at his face.
 
His expression was devoid of mercy. “Come on, Mily. You know what to do.” He unzipped his fly. The sound was loud, definitive. His cock, thick and engorged, sprang free, dark and veiny and smelly. It pulsed, a living thing, right before her face. The smell of it, musky and distinctly male, filled her nostrils.
 
She hesitated, her gaze flicking from the throbbing head to his unyielding face. “Don’t make me ask again.” His voice was a low growl. Slowly, her hands, still smelling of market dust, rose. She took his heavy shaft in her grasp, her fingers barely encircling its girth. It was hot, slick with pre-cum. Her stomach churned.
 
She looked up at him, a plea in her eyes, but he only stared back, his face a mask of expectation. Her lips parted, revealing the tip of her tongue. She took the tip of his cock into her mouth, the taste of him, salty and metallic, a shock to her senses. She gagged, a small, involuntary sound. He pushed her head down. “No. Deeper.” Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging. She swallowed, forcing herself to take more of him. Her tongue flicked around the head, tasting the pre-cum, the musky scent filling her mouth. She felt the rough texture of his foreskin against her lips, the thick vein pressing against her palate.
 
She moved her head, slowly at first, then with more rhythm, trying to make it quick, to get it over with. His hips began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm. His fingers tangled deeper in her hair, gripping it, guiding her movements. She felt his balls slap against her chin, the soft skin brushing her jaw. Her throat ached, stretched to its limit. He groaned, a deep sound of pleasure, as she sucked harder, her lips sealing around his shaft, pulling him deeper into her mouth. She felt the throb, the growing pressure, the increasing speed of his thrusts. She was just a vessel, a mouth, a body to be used.
 
Shame burned through her, a hot, searing flame. Suddenly, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet *shlick*. Mily gasped for air, her throat raw. “Good girl,” he rasped, zipping up his trousers. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up from the floor. She stumbled, regaining her balance. He led her to the sofa, its floral pattern faded with time.
 
“Now, for the main course.” He pushed her down onto the cushions, then pulled her legs apart. Her black lace panties were still clinging to her hips. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace, and with a swift, decisive motion, yanked them down. The thin fabric tore, snapping around her ankles before he kicked them away. Her pussy, clean-shaved and glistening with a faint moisture of fear, was exposed.
 
The labia, a delicate pink, quivered slightly. Her clit, a tiny pearl, peeked out from its hood. Sid knelt before her, his face inches from her core, he spread her milky thighs and placed them on his shoulder. He leaned in, his nose grazing her pubic mound. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her sensitive skin. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “Hmm, sweet. Very sweet.” Then, his tongue, rough and wet, flicked out. It landed directly on her clit.
 
Mily gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound. Her hips bucked, a jolt of unexpected sensation shooting through her. His tongue was relentless, circling, flicking, sucking. He opened his mouth wider, taking her clit and part of her inner labia between his lips, sucking hard, like a hungry child at a breast. “Ah! N-no!” The protest was weak, lost in the rising tide of sensation. Her fingers, shapely and adorned with short, neat nails, clenched into fists.
 
A deep, primal moan escaped her lips, vibrating in the quiet room. He pressed his face deeper into her, his nose buried in her wet folds, his tongue a constant, demanding presence. He licked, he sucked, he swirled, his stubble scbanging against her tender skin. The heat built, a coil tightening in her belly. Her body, despite her mind’s protest, responded. Her pussy pulsed, a silent throb. “Sid!” The name tore from her throat, a desperate plea, a nascent cry of pleasure. Her hips arched higher, pushing herself into his mouth. Her fingers, no longer fists, flew to his head, tangling in his sparse, near-bald hair. She dug her nails in, pulling him closer, deeper into her wetness.
 
The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over her. His tongue worked faster, harder, a relentless rhythm. He pushed his face even further, his breath hot against her perineum, his tongue tracing the sensitive seam. The pressure in her core became unbearable, exquisite. “Oh! Oh, God!” Her body convulsed, a violent shudder rippling through her. Her back arched, her legs trembled. A loud, guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Her pussy contracted around his mouth, spurting hot, slick liquid. She came, a shattering, earth-shaking orgasm, her body writhing, shuddering against the sofa cushions. The taste of herself, mingled with his saliva, filled his mouth.
 
He pulled back, his lips glistening, a smear of her juices on his chin. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the taste. “Delicious.” Mily lay panting, her body still trembling, her eyes squeezed shut, hot tears escaping from beneath her lids. Shame, profound and suffocating, washed over her. She had come. She had *begged* him to make her come.
 
He stood, pulling her up with surprising ease. He lifted her into his arms, her body feeling strangely light and pliant after the shattering climax. She didn’t resist, too spent, too humiliated. He carried her through the short hallway, past the small temple with its flickering diya, into her bedroom. The room was cool, shadowed. He laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. Her eyes fluttered open, seeing the familiar ceiling, the faint pattern of the wallpaper. This was *her* bed. Amit’s bed. He stood over her, his eyes still dark, still predatory. He reached down, his fingers finding the delicate clasp of her black bra.
 
With a practiced movement, he unhooked it. The lace parted, and her 34B breasts, pale and full, spilled free. Her nipples, already erect from the previous encounter, stood proud and dark. He leaned down, his mouth, still smelling faintly of her, covering one of her nipples. He suckled, a deep, pulling suction that sent a jolt through her. His tongue swirled around the tender peak, then he took the whole areola into his mouth, tugging gently.
 
Mily moaned, a low, helpless sound. He moved between her legs, his knees pressing against her thighs. His cock, still hard and throbbing, brushed against her wet pussy lips. The sensation was a shock, a jolt of electricity. “Ready for round two, Mily?” His voice was a low murmur against her ear as he leaned down, his breath warm on her skin. She didn’t answer, couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on his face, a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome anticipation churning within her. He positioned himself, his cock pressing against her opening.
 
He looked down at her, his eyes locking with hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, he entered her. Mily gasped, a sharp intake of breath. He was thick, filling her completely. The initial discomfort quickly gave way to a stretching, a fullness that was both painful and intensely pleasurable. Her muscles clenched around him, involuntarily. He began to move, a slow, deep thrust, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in. The bed creaked with the rhythm.
 
His hips bumped against hers, his hairy chest crushing her soft breasts. She felt the coarse hair against her sensitive skin, the weight of him heavy on her. He lowered his head, his mouth finding hers. His lips, rough and demanding, covered hers. His tongue pushed past her teeth, invading her mouth, tasting of her, of himself, of stale liquor. He kissed her deeply, forcefully, his tongue intertwining with hers, a rough, intimate dance. His teeth scbangd against her lip, a sharp sting. He pulled back from her mouth, his lips moving to her neck, sucking, biting gently, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses.
 
His breath, smelling faintly of alcohol, was hot against her skin. He bit her shoulder, a gentle nip that still left a faint mark. “You’re so tight, Mily,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his hips still grinding against her. “So good.” Her hands, almost unconsciously, rose to his back. Her fingers dug into the flesh, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt. She wrapped her milky thighs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting more of the heavy, stretching fullness. The primal rhythm took over.
 
He pounded into her, each thrust deep and deliberate, stretching her, filling her. The bed thumped against the wall with each powerful stroke. “Faster,” she gasped, her voice raw, barely audible. “Please, faster.” He obliged, his pace quickening, his grunts growing louder. He moved inside her, a relentless piston, driving her deeper into the mattress. Her body bucked and arched, meeting his thrusts, her hips rising to welcome him. The friction was intense, a burning pleasure that built and built. Her pussy slicked around him, making a wet *squelching* sound with each pull and push. He leaned down, his mouth finding her ear. “Almost there, Mily. Almost.”
 
A wave of sensation hit her, stronger than before. Her muscles spasmed around him, milking him. Her nails dug deeper into his back, leaving angry red marks. Her legs clamped around him, holding him captive. “Ah! Oh, God!” she cried out, her voice cracking. Her body convulsed, another powerful orgasm racking her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin, tears of shame and release streaming down her face, mingling with the sweat on her temples. She felt him stiffen, felt the hot gush inside her, a warm, thick flood.
 
He groaned, a deep, ragged sound, and collapsed on her, his weight crushing her, his breathing heavy. He lay there for a few moments, his body heavy and still on hers, his cock still buried deep inside her. Then, with a loud *plop*, he pulled out, his body still slick with sweat and her juices. The sudden emptiness was jarring, cold. He rolled off her, turning her over onto her stomach. Her face was buried in the pillow, her body still trembling.
 
Her back was exposed, pale and vulnerable. He leaned down, his tongue trailing a hot, wet path from her shoulder blade down her spine. The unexpected sensation made her shiver. He licked, a long, wet swipe, then bit her skin gently, leaving a faint red mark just below her shoulder. “My mark,” he whispered against her skin. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him.
 
His cock, still hard, pressed against her ass. He lifted her left leg, bending it at the knee, pushing her hips up, exposing her ass. He pressed his cock against her wet pussy lips again, then, with a hard push, he plunged into her from behind. Mily cried out, a muffled sound against the pillow. The angle was different, deeper, stretching her in a new way.
 
He grabbed her breasts, his rough hands squeezing, kneading them from behind. The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pain and pleasure. He drove into her, a relentless rhythm, his hips slamming against her ass cheeks. “Faster!” she begged, her voice hoarse, her face still buried in the pillow. “Faster, Sid! Deeper!” The words, raw and desperate, tore from her throat. Her body, betraying her mind, craved the brutal friction, the deep, animalistic thrusts. The words from a very beautiful housewife and mother of one turned him on more.
 
He gripped her breasts harder, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pounded into her, a primal, unthinking rhythm. Her ass cheeks slapped against his hips with each thrust, a rhythmic *thwack*. He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her lower back, licking, sucking, leaving another wet mark.
 
Her body was a vessel, responding to his every command, every thrust. The world narrowed to the sensations, the rhythmic pounding, the feeling of him filling her completely. She felt the pressure building again, a familiar coil tightening in her gut. He groaned, a long, drawn-out sound, his hips slamming into her with increasing force.
 
He pulled her hair, tilting her head back slightly. “Here I come, Mily! All for you!” He came, a hot, thick gush, splashing deep inside her. Mily howled, a guttural, primal sound, as her own climax slammed into her, a violent, shuddering wave that shook her to her core. Her body spasmed around him, milking his spent cock, her legs trembling, her fingers clutching at the bedsheets. He pulled out with a final, wet *plop*, his breath ragged.
 
He stood up, his body glistening with sweat, his face flushed. He didn’t look at her. Mily lay on the bed, her body spent, her pussy aching, her mind a blur of shame and exhaustion. The scent of sex, of him, of her, hung heavy in the air.
 
 He walked to the corner, pulling on his trousers, then his shirt. He didn’t say a word. The zipping of his fly, the rustle of his clothes, were the only sounds. She heard the soft click of the bedroom door, then the front door opening and closing. Silence. The afternoon sun still bled through the curtains, indifferent. Mily lay there, tears silently tracking paths through the sweat and grime on her face. Her body throbbed, raw and violated, yet strangely hollow. The silver anklet on her left leg glinted in the dim light, a silent, glittering testament to her shame.

[PELURI]

yet another sweet and short flick....may be its time, Mily is explored in depth....both physically and emotionally...by of course none other than our lover boy Sid....may be even Sid needs to be deeply explored for his obsession with beautiful females and why he's such an altruistic guy even while extracting hìs due....

[PELURI]

I have a doubt....mily went to Sid's place bcoz she wanted money....a trade off ....then when Sid came to her place,  what's the deal like...settled? or a freebie...but why...I want to know

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

I have a doubt....mily went to Sid's place bcoz she wanted money....a trade off ....then when Sid came to her place,  what's the deal like...settled? or a freebie...but why...I want to know

Sid gave her the money in return for sex , he got back some of it the day she took the money and got fucked , he visit her for the second EMI and will keep visiting her till the amount is recovered. how Mily takes it is up to her , she might remain faithful or might turn into a slut

[PELURI]

my dear छोटे भाई Sid....be kind to Mily...it was one off trnx and settled immediately......EMI not mentioned initially... अभी  जबरदस्त  करना टीका नहीं है.....my heart bleeds for the innocent sweet flower....

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

my dear छोटे भाई Sid....be kind to Mily...it was one off trnx and settled immediately......EMI not mentioned initially... अभी  जबरदस्त  करना टीका नहीं है.....my heart bleeds for the innocent sweet flower....

I understand but she needs to be punished once more. double penetrated . its in process

[PELURI]

dear bro Sid....you've sculpted Mily as a female, beautiful inside and outside....a responsible mother, a loving wife albeit a passionate creature.....but never a crass debauched randi....spare her from the ignominy of double penetration....

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

This is another version of the above episode : 

The Delhi sun, a relentless hammer, beat down on Vasant Kunj. Dust motes danced in the stagnant air, shimmering like malevolent fairies.
Sid, a man whose skin seemed perpetually coated in a film of grime and stale sweat, wiped a forearm across his brow. The stench of cheap liquor clung to him, a permanent aura.

 He eyed Mily’s apartment door, a predatory glint in his bloodshot eyes. Twice, she’d spread her legs for him, her desperation for her mother’s surgery a raw, open wound he’d expertly exploited. One and a half lacs. A pittance for a life, a fortune for a man like him, a king’s ransom for a woman like her.
Now, a different kind of hunger gnawed at him. He rapped knuckles on the door, a series of sharp, insistent thuds. Silence. He waited, a smirk twisting his lips. He knew Amit, her husband, was at his dead-end job, probably dreaming of the day he could afford a second-hand scooter.

Piu, their four-year-old, would be napping, lost in the innocent dreams of childhood. This was his time. He tried the handle. Locked. Of course. A low growl rumbled in his chest. He kicked the door, a dull, resonant thud echoing in the quiet stairwell. Again. The old wood groaned, splintering around the frame.
One more forceful kick and the door burst inward, tearing away from its hinges with a splintering shriek. “Mily!” he bellowed, his voice raw, laced with triumph. The apartment, usually a haven of quiet domesticity, now felt violated. The air, heavy with the scent of spices and something faintly floral, seemed to recoil from his intrusion. He stalked inside, his heavy boots scuffing the polished concrete floor.

The living room was neat, almost sparse, a testament to Mily’s careful management of their meagre resources. A single silver anklet, glinting on a low table, caught his eye. It was hers. He found her in the small bedroom, standing before a cracked mirror. She wore a deep maroon saree, its silk a rich contrast to her fair skin.
Her black hair, still damp from a recent wash, cascaded down her back, catching the light. She turned, her eyes wide, startled, reflecting the shattered door frame behind him. Fear, stark and undeniable, bloomed in their depths. “Sid? What are you doing here?” Her voice, usually soft, was a strained whisper. Her hand flew to her throat, a nervous flutter. He didn't answer, his gaze raking over her, lingering on the curve of her hip beneath the saree, the swell of her breasts.
A slow, lecherous smile spread across his face. He began to unbutton his shirt, each movement deliberate, a perverse declaration. His fingers fumbled with the buttons, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “What do you want?” Her voice shook, a tremor that ran through her entire body. She backed away, one step, then another, until her back pressed against the wall.

He ripped his shirt open, revealing a chest matted with coarse black hair, a thick golden chain glinting amidst the tangle. The sour smell of him, a cocktail of stale sweat and cheap whiskey, filled the room. He unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles, then kicked them away. His erection, thick and veined, sprang free, a grotesque monument to his desire. “You know what I want.” His voice was a low growl, thick with anticipation. He took a step towards her, then another, closing the distance.
Her eyes, wide and terrified, darted around the room, searching for an escape that wasn't there. Her breath hitched. “No, Sid, please. Not again.” Her voice cracked, a desperate plea. He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron. The silk of her saree rustled as he pulled her closer. Her skin, soft and smooth, felt like fire against his rough hand. He pushed her down onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. The saree bunched around her, a vibrant pool of color. “Get down.”
His voice brooked no argument. He pointed to his throbbing cock. Tears welled in her eyes, silent rivulets tracing paths down her fair cheeks. Her hands trembled as she reached for the knot of her saree, her fingers fumbling with the fabric. The rich material unwound slowly, reluctantly, revealing the smooth curve of her back, the delicate line of her spine.

She slipped it off, letting it pool around her waist. Beneath it, she wore a simple black bra and matching panties, a stark contrast to the vivid saree. He watched, a primal satisfaction unfurling within him. He ripped off her panties, the elastic snapping. Her dark pubic hair, a soft bush, was already damp. He pushed her head down, his hand firm on the back of her neck. “Open up.”

A whimper escaped her lips, quickly stifled. She hesitated, her body rigid with revulsion. His grip tightened. “Now!” She lowered her head, her lips, trembling, brushing against the tip of his cock. The texture, slick and warm, sent a jolt through her. She took him in, slowly, tentatively, her mouth barely wide enough to accommodate his girth. The taste of him, metallic and faintly sour, coated her tongue. Her stomach churned. He groaned, a guttural sound of pleasure.

He pressed down, urging her deeper. Her throat worked, struggling to swallow him. Her eyes, squeezed shut, were wet with tears. He thrust, a thick, insistent rhythm, her head bobbing with each movement. The delicate skin of her inner cheeks stretched, strained. He pulled out, then plunged back in, a repetitive, punishing motion. “Good girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “Such a good girl.” He pulled her up, her face flushed, her lips swollen and glistening.

He pushed her onto her back, her black bra still clinging to her breasts. He tore it off, the fabric ripping with a harsh sound. Her breasts, full and pale, spilled free, her dark nipples already erect. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one, suckling hard, his tongue rasping against the sensitive skin. She arched her back, a small gasp escaping her lips. He moved lower, his tongue tracing a path down her stomach, past her navel, stopping at her already wet pussy.

Her clit, a tiny bud, pulsed between the folds of her labia. He licked, a slow, deliberate sweep, then sucked, drawing her into his mouth. The taste of her, musky and sweet, filled his senses. Her hips began to buck, a frantic, involuntary movement. He groaned, delving deeper with his tongue, circling her clit, then flicking it with the tip. “Oh… oh, god…” Her voice was a broken moan, barely audible. Her fingers tangled in her hair, pulling at the strands. He ate her, his mouth a hungry maw, his tongue a relentless instrument of pleasure.

He heard the squelching sounds of his tongue against her wet folds, the soft gasps she couldn’t suppress. He pulled away, his face smeared with her juices, a triumphant grin on his lips. He climbed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. He saw the fear, still there, but now mixed with something else, a desperate, animalistic need that her body couldn't deny.

He positioned himself, his cock, thick and hard, pressing against her entrance. “Look at me, Mily.” She tried to turn her head, but he held her face firm, his eyes boring into hers. He pushed, slowly at first, then with a powerful thrust. A sharp gasp tore from her throat. He filled her, stretching her, his cock a solid mass inside her. “Ah… ahhh…” He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hips grinding against hers. The bedsprings creaked a mournful protest.

Her hands, delicate and trembling, found his back, her shapely nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She wrapped her ankles around his waist, pulling him deeper, seeking a perverse comfort in the invasion. “Faster,” she gasped, her voice raw, barely recognizable. “Faster, Sid!” He obliged, his thrusts growing more powerful, more insistent.

The bed slammed against the wall with each impact. Her head thrashed on the pillow, her hair a dark tangle. Her moans grew louder, uninhibited, primal. “Oh, god, yes! Yes!” A small noise, a whimper, came from the doorway. He ignored it, lost in the rhythm, in the intoxicating rush of her pleasure, her desperation.

Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared up at him, a mixture of agony and ecstasy swirling within them. He pulled out, a wet, sucking sound filling the air, and flipped her over. She landed on her hands and knees, her bottom raised, a perfect target. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him, his cock pressing against her asshole. “No, Sid, please, not there…” Her voice was a broken plea, but he was beyond listening. He pushed, a slow, deliberate invasion.

Her body tensed, a sharp cry escaping her lips. He heard the tear, a small ripping sound. She cried out, a guttural shriek of pain. He ignored it, pushing deeper, stretching her, filling her. He began to thrust, a relentless piston. Her whimpers turned into desperate gasps, then to full-throated moans. Her hips bucked, a desperate rhythm against his. Her hair, a dark curtain, swung with each movement.

“Mummy!” The small voice, shrill with alarm, cut through the haze of his lust. He paused, his body momentarily frozen. He turned his head, his eyes, still clouded with desire, focusing on the doorway. Piu stood there, a tiny figure in a pink nightgown, her eyes wide, her small face contorted in confusion and fear. Her dark hair, still mussed from sleep, framed her innocent face.

She stared at them, at her mother, naked and writhing, at the ugly man on top of her. “Mummy!” she cried again, a sob catching in her throat. Mily’s head snapped up, her eyes, glazed with pleasure and pain, meeting her daughter’s. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her face, a silent scream of shame and horror. Piu rushed forward, her small fists balled. “Leave Mummy alone!” she shrieked, her voice surprisingly strong. She began to pound on Sid’s back, her tiny fists thudding against his sweaty skin. “Bad uncle! Leave Mummy alone!” He barely registered the blows, her small fists no more than an annoying buzz. He looked at Mily, her face a mask of anguish. Her eyes pleaded with him, a silent entreaty to stop, to spare her this final, crushing humiliation. But he couldn't.

The sight of her, her lovely body trembling beneath him, her eyes begging, only fuelled his depraved desire. The image of her daughter, crying, punching him, was a perverse aphrodisiac. He gritted his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Shut up, kid!” he snarled, a crude, dismissive wave of his hand.

He slammed into Mily again, a deep, powerful thrust. Her body arched, a guttural groan ripping from her throat. Her eyes rolled back in her head. He felt the familiar surge, the building pressure. He closed his eyes, his hips pumping furiously. Piu’s cries faded, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his body against Mily’s, the wet, squelching sounds of their coupling. Her moans, now laced with a desperate, shattered pleasure, filled the room.

He felt the hot gush, a searing wave of release. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. He emptied himself inside her, a thick, warm torrent. Her body went limp beneath him, a spent vessel. He pulled out, a loud, wet pop, and collapsed onto her back, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
The air, thick with the smell of sex and sweat, hung heavy around them. Piu’s sobs, quiet now, mingled with Mily’s choked whimpers. He rolled off Mily, his body slick with sweat. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a triumphant smile on his face. He felt sated, utterly drained. He heard Mily’s ragged breathing, the soft sniffles of her daughter. He didn't care. He had taken what he wanted.

He sat up, his cock still dripping, and looked at Mily. She lay on her side, her body curled into a fetal position, her face buried in the pillow, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Piu, her small body trembling, was huddled at the foot of the bed, watching her mother, her innocent eyes stared blank, she didn’t not understand anything but the fact that the uncle was hurting her mother.

He stood up, his legs still unsteady. He grabbed his trousers from the floor, his movements slow, deliberate. He zipped them up, the sound a harsh rasp in the silence.
He didn't bother with his shirt. He glanced at Mily one last time, a fleeting moment of something akin to pity, quickly extinguished. He had paid her mother's medical bills, hadn't he? This was just… extra. He walked out of the bedroom, past the shattered door frame, leaving behind the wreckage of a woman and her daughter’s innocence. The Delhi sun still beat down, relentless and unforgiving, on Vasant Kunj, on the old colony, on the lives forever altered by his cruel desires. The dust motes still danced, shimmering like malevolent fairies, in the stagnant air.

[PELURI]

dear Sid ....love you and hate you bro...love the way you conjure up situations, the narrative ease and for the deft use of the language....And hate you bro...immensely rather, for the way you made dear mily suffer and humiliated...she's a devine gift, an epitome of graceful womanhood....as per kamasutra,  women are categorised into four types...the best being PADMINI JAT स्त्री....Rukmini in dwarapa yug and Mily in kaliyug fall into this category....their cunt lips are long and thin and aromatic...a delight for a man's tounge and yes Sid did pay a befitting tribute to the best cunt in the world but thereafter she's squandered....he could have worshipped with his mouth lips and tounge...that would have been a very befitting gesture...but tearing into with that massive thing, that too inpresence of the kid....i feel sad..

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

dear Sid ....love you and hate you bro...love the way you conjure up situations, the narrative ease and for the deft use of the language....And hate you bro...immensely rather, for the way you made dear mily suffer and humiliated...she's a devine gift, an epitome of graceful womanhood....as per kamasutra,  women are categorised into four types...the best being PADMINI JAT स्त्री....Rukmini in dwarapa yug and Mily in kaliyug fall into this category....their cunt lips are long and thin and aromatic...a delight for a man's tounge and yes Sid did pay a befitting tribute to the best cunt in the world but thereafter she's squandered....he could have worshipped with his mouth lips and tounge...that would have been a very befitting gesture...but tearing into with that massive thing, that too inpresence of the kid....i feel sad..

Dear Bro,

Enjoy the brutality. Mily is no longer a sati savitri . she enjoys being pounded in brutality by the beast and she is also starving , so in a way sid is serving her. Mily being a wife and mother is slowly being dragged into the pit of lust and cheating and she is enjoying it too. so enjoy it and next episode and last episode is coming up today evening.

[PELURI]

Yes enjoying Bro...rather eagerly awaiting the next update...nevertheless,  a small corner of my heart is grieving for my Mily.....

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

The last episode coming up , wont like to torture Mily anymore  :)

[hotguydelhi_sidharth]

The Delhi sun beat down, a relentless anvil forging heat into the very air. Mily’s black saree clung to her, a second skin damp with perspiration as she hauled a heavy grocery bag up the three flights of stairs to her apartment.
 
The silver anklet on her left foot, a delicate chain with tiny bells, chimed a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to her laboured breathing. Her milky skin, usually luminous, shimmered with a fine sheen of sweat.
 
Inside, the apartment offered little respite, the stale air thick and unmoving. She dropped the bag onto the kitchen floor with a sigh, the clatter of vegetables echoing in the quiet space. A faint scent of cumin and turmeric, remnants of yesterday’s cooking, mingled with the metallic tang of her own exertion. Her choco lipstick, carefully applied that morning, felt like a heavy paste on her lips, and she longed for a cool shower.
 
It was barely eleven, and the day already felt endless. A sharp, insistent ring sliced through the silence. The doorbell. Who could it be? Amit, her husband, was at work, undoubtedly struggling to make ends meet, oblivious to the quiet desperation that often settled around her like dust motes in the afternoon light. Her neighbours rarely visited.
 
Absentmindedly, she moved towards the door, her hand reaching for the latch. The cool metal offered a momentary comfort against her warm fingers. She pulled the door open. Her breath hitched. A cold dread, familiar and sickening, coiled in her stomach. Sid. His face, usually a map of petty grievances and cheap liquor, held a predatory glint.
 
The man beside him, a hulking figure with a sagging belly and a face like a crumpled paper bag, leered. Ballu. The name, whispered weeks ago by Sid, now solidified into a grim reality. Ballu’s eyes, small and beady, raked over her, from the loose strands of her hair framing her face to the curve of her hips beneath the black silk. A slow, wet smile spread across his thick lips. “See, Ballu? Told you she’s pretty, didn’t I?” Sid’s voice, rough and triumphant, sliced through the air.
 
He didn’t wait for an invitation, simply pushed past her, the stench of stale alcohol and unwashed skin preceding him into her sanctuary. Ballu followed, his heavy footsteps shaking the floorboards. The apartment, once her refuge, now felt small, suffocating.
 
Mily stood frozen, the black saree a stark contrast against the milky white of her skin, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to scream, to push them out, to slam the door and lock them away, but the words, the actions, remained trapped. Her mind raced, a frantic hamster on a wheel. The 1.5 lacs, the money for her mother’s operation, a debt she could never repay, a leash Sid held tight around her throat.
 
Twice that day, weeks ago. Then twice again, a few days later, his hands on her, his breath hot on her neck, the shame burning deep. And now this. “So, this is the one you were talking about, huh?” Ballu’s voice was a gravelly rumble, his gaze lingering on her chest, then dropping to her waist, where the saree fabric stretched taut. He licked his lips, a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver of disgust down her spine.
 
Sid’s hand clamped around her arm, his grip bruising. He spun her, shoving her against the cool wall of the hallway. The sudden impact knocked the wind from her lungs. Before she could react, his mouth descended, a wet, forceful assault. He licked her salty sweat from her face, neck before his tongue, thick and invasive, plunged past her lips, tasting of cheap tobacco and something sour. Her chocolate lipstick, a small attempt at reclaiming her composure, smeared and vanished, consumed by his hungry maw.
 
Her mind screamed, a silent, desperate wail, as his tongue scbangd against hers, a brutal invasion. Ballu, meanwhile, moved with surprising speed. His hand, heavy and calloused, found the bare skin of her waist, just above the saree’s edge. His lips, wet and coarse, followed, pressing against her flesh. A hot, slimy sensation. He kissed her skin, tasting her sweat, her fear. The silver anklet on her left leg, usually a source of quiet joy, now felt like a branding iron, marking her. Sid pulled back, a string of saliva connecting their mouths for a brief, disgusting moment. His eyes, dark and triumphant, locked onto hers. “Get her ready, Ballu.” His fingers, surprisingly deft, went to the knot of her saree, unravelling the fabric with practiced ease. The silk slid down, pooling around her feet, exposing the black lingerie beneath. The lace, meant for private comfort, now felt like a public display. She stood before them, bare to the waist, her breasts, 34B, pushed up by the flimsy bra, her nipples already taut from the raw humiliation.
 
A cold draft, or perhaps just a tremor of fear, prickled her skin. “Down on your knees, Mily,” Sid commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth. He gestured towards Ballu, who stood with a knowing smirk, his trousers already unbuttoned, his cock, thick and purplish, springing free.
 
Her legs felt like lead, heavy and unwilling. But the memory of her mother’s face, pale and weak in the hospital bed, flashed before her. The debt. The unspoken threat. Her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, the rough texture of the carpet digging into her skin. Her head felt light, a detached observer watching her own body betray her. Ballu stepped closer, his heavy scent filling her nostrils. He pushed her head down, his hand firm on the back of her neck. His cock, thick and unyielding, pressed against her lips. A gag rose in her throat, bile burning. She clamped her lips shut, resisting. “Open up, slut,” Sid snarled, his foot nudging her side. The words were a hammer blow. Her lips parted, trembling. Ballu’s cock pushed past, thick and unyielding, scbanging against her teeth, then plunging into her mouth. The taste was metallic, musky, sickening. She gagged, her stomach churning, tears stinging her eyes.
 
Her throat constricted, but Ballu’s hand held her head firm, forcing her to take him deeper. She felt the heavy head of his cock press against her soft palate, the veins prominent against its shaft. Her jaw ached, her cheeks stretched, as she tried to accommodate the sheer size of him. She couldn't breathe properly, her nose filling with the acrid scent of his unwashed body. Each thrust was a painful violation, a constant reminder of her helplessness.
 
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the faded floral pattern of the carpet. A whimper escaped her, choked and muffled by the invading flesh. She wanted to bite, to tear, to fight, but the fear of Sid’s retribution, the image of her mother, paralyzed her. The rough texture of his foreskin rubbed against the delicate skin of her inner lips, a constant, sickening friction. She felt the pressure build, the fullness of him making her eyes water more.
 
Sid watched, a cruel smile playing on his lips, then pulled her away from Ballu, her face streaked with tears and saliva. He shoved her onto the floor, her back hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Her bare legs, trembling, were pushed apart, exposing her. The delicate silver anklet, still on her left foot, seemed to mock her vulnerability. Sid knelt between her splayed thighs, his eyes devouring her. His gaze, hot and possessive, lingered on her pussy, the dark hair a soft contrast against her milky skin. He leaned down, his bald head gleaming under the dim light, and his tongue, broad and wet, touched her clit.
 
A shock ran through her, an electric current of disgust and a perverse, unwanted sensation. She tried to pull her legs together, but his hands clamped onto her inner thighs, holding them wide. His tongue worked with a practiced, relentless rhythm, licking and lapping, teasing and tormenting.
 
The wetness spread quickly, a betrayal from her own body. She fought against it, against the rising tide of sensation, but the relentless pressure, the hot, wet friction, began to unravel her. “Ah-ah-ahhh,” a moan escaped her, raw and uncontrolled. Her hips began to arch, involuntarily lifting towards his face. Her fingers, usually so gentle, curled into claws, digging into his bald head, pulling him deeper into her dripping pussy. The soft bells of her anklet jingled faintly as her leg twitched. Each lick, each suck, sent shivers through her, her body betraying her with its response.
 
She wanted to hate it, to push him away, but the pleasure, sharp and undeniable, began to bloom, eclipsing the shame. Her nails, digging deeper, pulled at his scalp, a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable. Her legs, strong and shapely, locked around his shoulders, holding him captive as he devoured her. “Oh, God, oh, God,” she gasped, her voice hoarse, her body arching higher and higher.
 
The world narrowed to the wet, insistent pressure between her legs, the rhythmic shlicking sounds his tongue made. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurring. A wave built inside her, a tsunami of sensation, pulling her under. Her body convulsed, a violent tremor shaking her from head to toe. “Ahhhhhh!” she screamed, a guttural cry ripped from her throat, as the orgasm tore through her, a blinding white light. Her muscles spasmed, her hips bucking wildly.
 
She came, a gush of wet heat, all over his face, his bald head glistening with her essence. The silver anklet, still clinging to her left ankle, trembled with the aftershocks of her release. Sid pulled away, his face slick with her cum, a triumphant grin stretching his lips. He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “She’s ready for you now, Ballu.”
 
 Ballu, who had been watching with an eager glint in his eyes, wasted no time. He moved into position, his heavy frame settling between her legs. Her body still thrummed, a hollow ache where Sid’s tongue had been. She felt weak, spent, yet the tension coiled again, a new dread mixing with the lingering echoes of pleasure. Ballu spread her legs wider, his touch rougher, less precise than Sid’s. His face, pitted and coarse, lowered between her thighs. The scent of him, musky and strong, filled her senses. His tongue, thick and surprisingly agile, began to work on her clit. It was a different kind of assault, less skilled, more brutal, but no less effective. Her pussy, still throbbing from the last orgasm, responded with a traitorous readiness. The wetness returned, a fresh wave, as his tongue scbangd and licked, his breath hot against her swollen flesh. She tried to fight it, to clench, to deny her body its response, but the sensations were too overwhelming.
 
The sharp pangs of pleasure, mixed with the lingering humiliation, began to build again. “Mmmph… ahhh…” she moaned, her voice thick with unwilling pleasure. Her hands, still trembling, found his bald head, her nails digging in again, not in an act of aggression, but in a desperate attempt to anchor herself against the rising tide. She pulled him closer, deeper, her hips lifting, seeking the relentless friction. The silver anklet jingled, a frantic, desperate rhythm. The wave built faster this time, a quick, intense surge. Her body arched, her back bowing. “Ahhhhhh!” another scream tore from her, raw and primal, as she came again, a torrent of release, her muscles clenching around his face, her pussy pulsing with the force of it.
 
Sid moved then, scooping her up into his arms with surprising strength. Her body, limp and yielding, felt like a rag doll. He carried her towards the bedroom, her bare legs dangling, the silver anklet catching the light. Ballu followed close behind, his breath heavy. The bedroom, usually a sanctuary of quiet rest, now felt like a stage for their depravity. Sid laid her gently on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress. The cool sheets offered a brief, fleeting comfort. He positioned her, her legs bent, her pussy open and exposed. Ballu, meanwhile, climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above her head. “Ready for round three, Mily?” Sid’s voice was a low growl, a promise of more to come.
 
Ballu’s heavy hand gripped her head, tilting it back. His cock, still thick and engorged, pressed against her lips once more. This time, there was no resistance left, only a weary acceptance. Her mouth opened, a silent invitation, and he plunged inside, filling her. The familiar gag rose, but she swallowed it down, her throat accepting the invasion. He began to thrust, a slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing deep into her mouth, her cheeks stretching, her jaw aching. At the same time, Sid positioned himself between her legs.
 
He lifted them, resting her ankles on his shoulders, exposing her pussy fully. The silver anklet, cool against his skin, rubbed against his shoulder as he settled. His cock, thick and rigid, pressed against her wet folds, then slid inside, filling her with a deep, stretching sensation. Mily’s body was a battlefield, assaulted from both ends. Ballu’s cock pounded her mouth, a relentless, rhythmic invasion, while Sid’s thrust deep into her pussy, stretching her, filling her completely. She could only manage a muffled, guttural *“Mmmmmmffffff”* as Ballu’s cock worked her mouth, her throat a tight tunnel around him.
 
Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the ceiling, tears streaming down her temples, disappearing into her loose hair. Her hands, frantic, reached out, finding Sid’s arms. Her shapely nails dug in, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin as she writhed beneath him, a prisoner to their combined assault. The pain and the pleasure mingled, a dizzying concoction that stole her breath. Sid’s hips drove into her, a powerful, insistent rhythm, while Ballu’s thrusts pounded her mouth, pushing deeper and deeper. The sounds of their bodies, wet and sloshing, filled the room: *shlicking* from her pussy, a wet, *squelching* sound from her mouth.
 
The air was pushed out of her lungs with each deep thrust. Ballu grunted, a deep, satisfied sound. His thrusts intensified, a final, desperate push. Then, with a shuddering groan, he pulled out of her mouth, a thick stream of cum erupting, spraying across her face, her hair, her closed eyelids. It was warm, sticky, and smelled faintly of ammonia. Almost simultaneously, Sid let out a roar, his body convulsing.
 
He drove into her one last, powerful time, his cum erupting deep inside her pussy, a hot, liquid invasion. “Ahhhhhh! Oh, God, oh, God!” Mily screamed, her voice raw, a mixture of ecstasy and profound release as Sid pulled out, his cock dripping. Her body, spent and trembling, collapsed onto the bed, her muscles quivering. They left her there, a crumpled heap on the bed, her face streaked with cum and tears, her pussy and mouth still throbbing. The silence, when they finally moved away, was deafening. She lay for a moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body heavy and aching. The stickiness on her face, the metallic taste in her mouth, the wetness between her legs – it was all too much. With a monumental effort, she pushed herself up. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out with each step, but she dragged herself to the washroom.
 
The cool water on her face, washing away the cum, the tears, the lipstick, felt like a small act of reclamation. She scrubbed at her hair, trying to remove the sticky residue. The mirror reflected a stranger, a woman with haunted eyes and bruised lips. She stared, unseeing, at her own reflection, the image blurring through a fresh wave of tears. This wasn't her. This couldn't be her.
 
She returned to the bedroom, her legs still unsteady, the metallic taste of fear coating her tongue. The two men were waiting, their eyes hungry, their cocks, surprisingly, already hard again. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that it wasn’t over. Not yet. “Get on your hands and knees, Mily,” Sid commanded, his voice flat. She obeyed, her movements stiff, her mind numb. She knelt on the bed, her ass raised, her pussy, swollen and slick, presented to them.
 
The silver anklet, now free, dangled from her left ankle. Ballu moved first, his heavy body pressing against her back. He positioned his cock, thick and veiny, at her pussy. With a grunt, he pushed, slowly at first, then with more force. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as he slid inside, filling her again. The sensation was deep, stretching, a familiar invasion. Then, Sid was behind her, his hand pushing her ass cheeks apart. His cock, surprisingly large, pressed against her asshole. A wave of panic, cold and sharp, washed over her. Anal. She had never… “Relax, Mily,” Sid’s voice was close to her ear, a low, menacing whisper. “It’ll feel good.” He pushed, a slow, insistent pressure. A sharp, searing pain shot through her.
 
She cried out, a strangled sound, her body tensing. “No, no, please!” she whimpered, her voice cracking. But he didn’t stop. He pushed harder, slowly, relentlessly, until the initial pain gave way to a stretching, tearing sensation. Then, with a final, determined thrust, he was in, filling her, stretching her to her absolute limit. The feeling was alien, overwhelming, a profound invasion. Ballu, meanwhile, began to thrust from the front, his cock pounding into her pussy with a steady rhythm. Mily cried out, her hands clutching at the bedsheet, her knuckles white.
 
Her body was being torn, stretched, filled from both ends. The double penetration was agonizing, yet, as her body adjusted, a strange, perverse pleasure began to bloom in the midst of the pain. The pressure, the fullness, the sheer intensity of it all, was unlike anything she had ever experienced. “Ahhhhh! Please, please, please!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, raw, echoing through the silent apartment. Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging, blurring her vision. Were they tears of pain? Or pleasure? She couldn't tell. Her hips bucked, her body writhing, caught between the two invading forces. The rhythm intensified, a relentless pounding, a primal drumbeat. Her pussy, her ass, both stretched and filled, were being hammered, relentlessly.
 
The silver anklet jingled, a frantic, desperate symphony accompanying her cries. The combined assault was too much, too intense. Her mind fractured, her body taking over. The pain, sharp and exquisite, mingled with a rising, blinding pleasure. She felt herself unraveling, losing control, her body a mere vessel for their brutal desires. Her screams became a continuous wail, a desperate plea for more, for less, for something she couldn’t articulate. Both men grunted, their breaths coming in ragged gasps.
 
Their thrusts became more frantic, more powerful, building towards a crescendo. Mily felt the pressure building, a volcanic eruption threatening to tear her apart. “Ahhhhhhh! OH GOD! OH GOD!” she shrieked, her voice tearing, as both men groaned, their bodies convulsing. They pulled out almost simultaneously, a gush of warm cum erupting from both her pussy and her ass, flowing down her thighs, mixing with her sweat and tears. They collapsed beside her, one on each side, their heavy bodies pressing against her. Ballu, still breathing heavily, reached out, his hand finding her milky breast.
 
He began to knead it, his thumb circling her nipple, then leaned down, his mouth closing over it, sucking gently. Mily lay there, spent, exhausted, her body a mass of throbbing aches and lingering tremors. A soft moan escaped her lips, a sound of utter depletion. The marathon of sex had left her hollowed out, empty. She could feel the wetness between her legs, the sticky residue on her face, the soreness in her mouth, her pussy, her ass.
 
The silver anklet, a silent witness, gleamed faintly in the dim light. After a few minutes, a lifetime, they stirred. Sid and Ballu slowly got up, their movements heavy. They dressed, their clothes rustling in the quiet room. Mily lay still, watching them through half-closed eyes, her mind a blank slate. As they reached the door, Ballu paused.
 
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled 500 rupee notes. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he tossed them onto the bed beside her. The notes fluttered down, landing on the rumpled sheets, a stark, brutal insult. The metallic tang of the money, the crinkle of the paper, brought a fresh wave of nausea. Mily stared at the notes, then at the closed door where they had just exited. The question, sharp and searing, pierced through the haze of her exhaustion. *Am I their whore now?* The words echoed in the silence of the room, a bitter, chilling truth. The silver anklet, still on her left leg, felt heavier than lead. The sun, still high in the sky, cast long, accusatory shadows across the floor. The apartment, once her refuge, now felt like a cage. And Mily, the Bengali housewife, lay broken, violated, her identity shattered, the lingering scent of their cum a constant, sickening reminder of her new reality.