Adultery Bound by Storm: Urvashi's Journey into Forbidden (Completed)

[untamable_rohini]

The grand Lucknow resort buzzed with the vibrant chaos of an Indian wedding. Strings of marigold flowers dbangd the halls, the air thick with the scent of incense and jasmine, while distant dhol beats echoed through the night. Pallavi's wedding day had arrived, a whirlwind of rituals and family gatherings that masked the undercurrents of forbidden desires simmering beneath the surface. Urvashi, dressed in a shimmering red lehenga that hugged her curvaceous 36D-28-36 figure, moved through the crowd with a practiced smile, her long dark hair cascading down her back. But her mind wandered to Zaid, her young lover, whose athletic frame and bold eyes had become her secret addiction. She caught glimpses of him mingling with guests, his toned arms flexing under his sherwani, and felt a familiar heat stir between her thighs.

Just before the main ceremonies began, as the baraat prepared to arrive, Zaid seized his chance. The resort's rooms overlooked lush gardens, and Pallavi's bridal suite had a private balcony shrouded by climbing vines. Heart pounding, Zaid scaled the low wall and slipped onto the balcony like a shadow. Pallavi, the 26-year-old bride-to-be, was alone, adjusting her heavy bridal lehenga in the mirror. Her figure was lithe yet voluptuous, with pert breasts straining against the embroidered blouse, her fair skin glowing under the golden jewelry. She gasped as Zaid's strong hands wrapped around her waist from behind, his breath hot against her neck.

"Zaid! Kya kar rahe ho? (What are you doing?)" she whispered, her voice a mix of shock and excitement, but she didn't pull away. Her dark eyes met his in the reflection, sparkling with mischief.

"Ek last thrill, before you become someone else's," he murmured, his fingers already hiking up the layers of her lehenga. Pallavi's breath hitched as he pressed against her, his hardness evident through his pants. She had teased him relentlessly in texts, her youthful confidence masking her curiosity about the passion Urvashi had hinted at. Now, with the wedding pheras looming, the thrill turned real.

He spun her around, their lips crashing in a hungry kiss. Pallavi moaned softly, her hands fumbling with his zipper as he backed her against the balcony railing. "Pre-marriage thrills turning real... ahh, Zaid, make it quick," she panted, her voice laced with urgency. Zaid wasted no time, lifting her lehenga fully and sliding her panties aside. His circumcised cock, thick and veined at 7 inches, sprang free, and he thrust into her wetness with a groan. Pallavi's nails dug into his shoulders, her moans muffled against his chest as he pumped rhythmically—deep, insistent strokes that made her legs tremble.

"Oh god, it's so good... harder, Zaid, just like that," she whimpered, her body arching as waves of pleasure built. The risk heightened everything—the distant sounds of guests below, the possibility of interruption. Zaid's hands roamed her breasts, pinching her nipples through the fabric until she cried out softly. He climaxed first, spilling deep inside her with a shudder, and Pallavi followed, her walls clenching around him in ecstasy. As he pulled out, his cum began to drip slowly down her thighs, warm and sticky under the lehenga.

They parted breathlessly, Zaid slipping away just as a knock sounded at the door—her makeup artist. Pallavi straightened her clothes, feeling the illicit warmth trickle with every step, a secret thrill that made her smile through the nervousness.

The ceremonies unfolded in a blur of colors and chants. Pallavi walked the pheras around the sacred fire with her groom, a steady but unremarkable man named Rohan, her lehenga swishing elegantly. But as she circled, she felt Zaid's essence dripping further, a naughty reminder pooling at her inner thighs. She caught Zaid's eye from the crowd, his smirk knowing, and bit her lip to suppress a grin. Urvashi, watching from the front row, sensed the tension but attributed it to wedding jitters.

As the night wore on and the rituals concluded, the family retired to their suites. Rashi, who had flown in from Dubai just days ago, felt a wave of exhaustion mixed with something else—nausea that had plagued her since the flight. Her early-30s figure was elegant, with long wavy hair and expressive eyes, but her milky fair skin looked paler than usual. She cornered Zaid in a quiet corridor near the banquet hall, her saree clinging to her ample curves.

"Zaid," she hissed, pulling him into an empty guest room. "We need to talk about what I saw. That wardrobe stunt? If you want me to keep quiet about you and Urvashi—and now Pallavi too—you owe me."

Zaid's eyes darkened with a mix of arousal and caution. Rashi had always been vivacious, her perky pink nipples and frustrated desires from her impotent husband Amit making her a powder keg. "What do you want, Bhabhi?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Full satisfaction," she demanded, her voice husky. She pushed him onto the bed, her hands undoing his sherwani as she straddled him. Zaid obliged, his mouth claiming hers in a fierce kiss. Rashi's nausea flickered but was drowned by desire as she deep-throated him, her lips stretching around his thick shaft, gagging slightly but persisting with expert suction. "Mmm, you're bigger than I imagined," she murmured, saliva dripping.

He flipped her onto her back, spreading her legs wide and wrapping them around his waist. Entering her in missionary, he thrust deeply, her walls gripping him tightly. "Ahh, yes... fuck me like Amit never could," Rashi moaned, her nails raking his back. The intensity built—sweat-slicked bodies slapping together, her breasts bouncing with each powerful stroke. But midway, nausea surged; she clenched her eyes, fighting it as pleasure overtook. Zaid climaxed with a groan, filling her with a hot liquid, and Rashi shattered in orgasm, her body convulsing.

As he pulled out, the nausea won. Rashi bolted to the bathroom, puking into the sink, her body heaving. Zaid followed, concerned, rubbing her back. "Are you okay?"

She wiped her mouth, a realization dawning. "Zaid... get me a pregnancy test kit. Discreetly. Now."

He nodded, slipping out to a nearby pharmacy under the guise of fetching medicine for a guest. Back in the room, Rashi peed on the stick, her hands trembling. Two lines appeared—positive. Tears welled up; she knew it was Faisal's from Dubai, not Amit's or even Qadir's. But the family would assume otherwise.

The wedding ended with emotional farewells and vidai, the resort emptying as guests departed. Back in their family home in Lucknow a few days later, Rashi gathered everyone—Amit, and the parents—for a tearful confession. "I'm pregnant," she announced, her voice breaking. Amit's face lit up with joy, pulling her into a hug, oblivious to the truth. "Our miracle baby!" he exclaimed. The family erupted in cheers, hugs, and sweets distributed—overjoyed at the news. Urvashi smiled warmly, but a spark of envy flickered; her own life felt routine despite the passion with Zaid.

Urvashi returned to Mumbai briefly before the family settled, diving back into her affair with renewed vigor. In Zaid's apartment, the sessions were regular and intense. One evening, she arrived in a simple saree, which he unwrapped like a gift. Pushing her against the wall, he took her from behind in doggy style, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust deeply. "Ahh, Zaid... deeper, yes!" she moaned, her multiple orgasms crashing over her like waves. He flipped her for oral, his tongue expertly teasing her clit until she squirted, then filled her mouth with his release. As they lay spent, Urvashi heard about Rashi's news via family chat and felt that envy—wanting that joy, even if her passion was secret.

Meanwhile, Pallavi, on her honeymoon in Goa, couldn't resist teasing Zaid. Late one night, after unsatisfying sex with Rohan—quick and mechanical—she messaged Zaid: "Husband tried, but it's nothing like you. Miss the real thrill." Attached was a blurry video from her phone: her riding Rohan in the dim hotel light, her moans forced and lackluster, breasts bouncing unenthusiastically. Zaid watched, aroused but conflicted, replying with a winking emoji and a promise of more.

The family reconvened for a celebratory dinner in Mumbai, the table laden with biryani, paneer tikka, and gulab jamun. Discussions revolved around Rashi's pregnancy—names, nursery plans, and old wives' tales. "I'm staying in India permanently," Rashi declared, her hand on her belly. "Resigning from Dubai. The baby needs family." Amit beamed, kissing her forehead, while Urvashi nodded supportively, her mind drifting to her own desires. The evening ended with toasts, the air filled with laughter, but beneath it, the women's secrets wove a tangled web of passion and possibility.

[untamable_rohini]

Months slipped by in a haze of Mumbai monsoons and family WhatsApp groups buzzing with baby names and ultrasound photos. Pallavi, now settled into married life in Delhi with Rohan, called Urvashi one humid afternoon while folding tiny onesies. Her voice was a playful mix of excitement and mock exasperation.

“Didi, guess what? I’m pregnant,” she announced, barely containing a giggle. “Totally accidental, I swear. We were on honeymoon in Goa, one too many cocktails, and Rohan… well, he forgot to pull out. One time, and boom—knocked up on the first try!”

Urvashi laughed warmly, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she stirred tea in her kitchen. “Accidental, huh? That’s what they all say. Congratulations, Pallu! Maa will be over the moon—another grandchild so soon after Rashi Bhabhi’s news.”

The family group exploded that evening. Photos of Pallavi’s barely-there bump, heart emojis from Amit and Shiva, and their mother tearfully declaring it a double blessing. Rashi, from her parents’ home in Lucknow where she had moved for the duration of her pregnancy, sent a string of celebration GIFs. No one questioned the timing; everyone simply rejoiced at the second baby on the way. But Pallavi knows who bred her.

Rashi’s pregnancy, however, was advancing noticeably. Her once-slim waist had softened into a gentle, rounded swell beneath her loose kurtas, and her cravings had become legendary—mango pickle at midnight, spicy chaat in the afternoons, and an inexplicable longing for the kind of raw, possessive touch she hadn’t felt since Dubai.

One sweltering Lucknow evening, unable to sleep, she texted Zaid.

**Rashi:** Come to Lucknow tomorrow. I need you. Don’t ask questions.

Zaid arrived the next afternoon on the earliest flight, checking into a quiet boutique hotel on the outskirts. Rashi slipped away from the house with the excuse of a prenatal check-up, her dupatta dbangd carefully over her five-month bump.

In the cool, dim hotel room, she let the dupatta fall. Zaid’s eyes darkened with hunger and reverence as he took in the changes—her fuller breasts straining against her blouse, the gentle curve of her belly, the glow on her milky skin.

“You’re even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, stepping close. He kissed her slowly, carefully, one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other resting lightly on her bump. Rashi sighed into his mouth, weeks of pent-up need flooding her.

They moved to the bed with unhurried tenderness. Zaid helped her out of her salwar kameez, kissing every new inch of skin he uncovered—her swollen breasts, the faint silver lines on her hips, the roundness of her stomach. When she lay on her side, he spooned behind her, his chest warm against her back, one arm sliding under her breasts to support them, the other guiding himself gently between her thighs.

He entered her slowly, inch by inch, letting her adjust to the fullness. Rashi moaned softly, her hand reaching back to grip his thigh. “Just like that… don’t stop,” she whispered. Zaid kept a steady, rolling rhythm—deep but gentle, his lips brushing her ear, telling her how perfect she felt, how he couldn’t stop thinking about her body changing like this.

Light dominance crept in: his hand sliding up to lightly pin her wrist against the pillow, his voice low and commanding. “You’re mine right now, Rashi. Every inch of you.” She came quietly the first time, trembling against him, then again when he reached around to circle her clit with careful fingers. He followed soon after, spilling inside her with a muffled groan against her shoulder, holding her close as they both caught their breath.

Afterward, he traced lazy circles on her bump. “Whose is it, really?” he asked softly, not accusing, just curious.

Rashi smiled faintly, eyes distant. “Doesn’t matter. The family thinks it’s Amit’s. That’s enough.” She kissed him once more before dressing and returning home, the ache finally eased.

Back in Mumbai, Urvashi’s routine with Zaid had only intensified. They met every Friday evening in his apartment—sometimes quick and desperate against the door, sometimes long and languid on his couch. Zaid had developed a new obsession: filling her completely, over and over, whispering filthy promises against her skin.

One Friday, she arrived in a simple black saree, the pallu slipping teasingly as she walked. Zaid didn’t bother with pleasantries—he pulled her inside, pinned her to the wall, and took her standing, her legs wrapped around his waist. Later on the bed, he flipped her onto all fours, gripping her hips as he drove into her from behind.

“Imagine it,” he growled against her ear, one hand sliding beneath to rub her clit. “My cum so deep inside you every week… one day it’ll take. You’ll carry my baby, Urvashi. Tell me you want it.”

She moaned, pushing back against him. “Yes… breed me, Zaid. Fill me up.” The dirty talk sent her over the edge twice before he finally let go, pumping another thick load deep inside her.

Afterward, lying tangled and sweaty, Urvashi began noticing small things—her breasts tender, a faint nausea in the mornings, cravings for sour tamarind. She dismissed them at first; they had been careful… mostly. But the symptoms persisted.

Exactly one month after Pallavi’s announcement, Urvashi sat on the edge of her bathtub staring at a third positive test. Three different brands, all showing the same unmistakable two lines. Her heart raced with a chaotic swirl of joy, fear, and guilty thrill.

She knew whose it was. Shiva hadn’t come inside her in months—he always pulled out, paranoid about planning. Zaid, on the other hand…

That evening, she cooked Shiva’s favorite rajma chawal, her hands trembling slightly. When he came home tired from work, she led him to the sofa, sat beside him, and placed the test in his palm.

“Shiva… I’m pregnant.”

His face transformed—shock melting into pure, disbelieving joy. He pulled her into his arms, tears in his eyes. “A baby? Our baby?” He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, laughing through happy sobs. “I can’t believe it!”

The family call that night was pandemonium. Their mother cried, father blessed them over speakerphone, Amit whooped, Rashi and Pallavi sent voice notes squealing about “three little cousins arriving together!” No one questioned the timing; they simply saw it as divine blessing—three daughters and daughters-in-law of the house pregnant within months of one another.

Urvashi smiled through the celebrations, her hand resting instinctively on her still-flat stomach. Later, alone in the bathroom, she texted Zaid a single photo of the positive test.

**Urvashi:** It took.

His reply came instantly: a string of heart-eyes emojis followed by, **Can’t wait to feel it grow because of me.**

She stared at the screen, a secret smile curving her lips. Three babies, three mothers, three different truths.

The family began planning joint baby showers, nursery themes, and hospital bookings, blissfully unaware of the delicious storms still brewing beneath the surface.

[untamable_rohini]

[untamable_rohini]

The news of Urvashi’s pregnancy spread like wildfire through the family, but one person received it with a very private kind of triumph.

Two nights after the family call, Urvashi slipped out of the house with the excuse of a late-night craving for ice cream. Shiva, ever the doting husband-to-be, kissed her goodbye without suspicion. She drove straight to Zaid’s apartment, her heart pounding harder than the Mumbai traffic.

Zaid opened the door barefoot, in just sweatpants, his eyes blazing the moment he saw her. He pulled her inside, shutting the door with his foot, and pressed her gently against the wall. No words at first—just a long, deep kiss that tasted of possession and wonder.

“You did it,” he whispered finally, his palm sliding over her still-flat stomach with reverence. “My seed took.”

Urvashi shivered, guilt and thrill twisting together. “We did it,” she corrected softly, but her body betrayed her, arching into his touch.

He led her to the bedroom, the lights dimmed low. Tonight there was no rush, no rough urgency. Zaid undressed her slowly, kissing every inch of skin he revealed—her collarbone, the swell of her breasts already tender and sensitive, the soft plane of her belly. When she was naked, he laid her back on the cool sheets and knelt between her thighs.

His mouth was worshipful. He started with slow, languid licks along her folds, savoring her taste, circling her clit with the flat of his tongue until she was writhing. Urvashi threaded her fingers through his hair, moaning his name as he slipped two fingers inside her, curling gently, drawing out her first orgasm in long, shuddering waves.

Only then did he rise, shedding his clothes. He entered her inch by inch, eyes locked on hers, moving in slow, deliberate thrusts that made her feel every ridge of him. One hand cradled her head, the other rested possessively over her womb.

“This baby is mine,” he whispered against her lips, voice rough with emotion. “Growing inside you because of me. Because of how many times I filled you.”

The words sent a dark thrill through her. Urvashi wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper. “Yes… yours,” she breathed, the confession heightening the guilt even as it pushed her toward another climax.

They came together quietly—her walls fluttering around him, his release warm and deep inside her. Afterward, he stayed buried, forehead pressed to hers, both of them trembling with the weight of what they’d done.

In Lucknow and Delhi, Rashi and Pallavi grew closer through daily video calls—comparing bump photos, swapping remedies for morning sickness, laughing over swollen feet. They shared everything: the best maternity bras, how to hide heartburn from nosy aunts, the strange dreams that came with hormones.

Sometimes the conversation skirted dangerously close to the truth.

“You know,” Pallavi said one afternoon, rubbing coconut oil on her six-month belly, “I never thought one careless night could change everything. But I’m glad it did.”

Rashi, reclining on her bed with a plate of mango slices, smiled knowingly. “Sometimes the best things in life are the ones we never planned. The ones that… take us by surprise.”

Pallavi giggled. “Speaking of surprises, remember that wedding chaos? Some memories still make me blush.”

Rashi’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, I have a few of those myself. Let’s just say certain guests left quite an impression.”

They never named him. They didn’t need to. The shared secret hummed between them like a private melody, binding them in a way no one else could understand.

Spring turned to summer, and the family waited with bated breath.

Rashi went into labor first, on a warm April evening in Lucknow. After twelve intense hours, she delivered a healthy boy—seven pounds, dark eyes, a tuft of thick black hair. Amit held him with tears streaming down his face, whispering, “My son… my little miracle.” The family descended en masse—flowers, sweets, proud grandparents cooing over the newest member. Rashi smiled exhaustedly from the bed, tracing her baby’s tiny fingers, silently thanking whichever storm had brought him to her. She stayed in India permanently now, the Dubai chapter closed, though late at night she sometimes remembered powerful hands on her hips and a voice commanding her in the dark.

Exactly one month later, Pallavi gave birth in Delhi to a beautiful girl—rosy cheeks, a loud cry that announced her arrival to the world. Rohan beamed, cutting the umbilical cord with shaking hands, convinced his honeymoon passion had created this perfect child. Family gatherings multiplied—video calls of cousins meeting for the first time, aunts comparing who looked like whom. Pallavi cradled her daughter and felt a quiet satisfaction; the little girl was hers, no matter the spark that had truly ignited her.

Another month passed, and Urvashi’s turn came on a rainy Mumbai night—the kind of storm that had started everything years ago. Her labor was swift; within eight hours she delivered a sturdy boy with Zaid’s intense eyes and her own warm smile. Shiva wept unashamedly, calling him “our little champion.” The family declared it destiny—three babies, one month apart, binding the sisters and sister-in-law in an unbreakable circle of motherhood.

Picnics followed under mango trees, celebrations with laddoos and laughter. The babies gurgled in their prams side by side, tiny hands reaching for one another. Grandparents boasted to neighbors about their triple blessing. The house overflowed with cribs, toys, and the sweet chaos of new life.

And beneath it all, the secrets remained perfectly intact.

Urvashi continued to meet Zaid—less often now, but no less intensely. In stolen afternoons while the baby napped at her mother’s, she would lose herself in his arms, whispering updates about their son’s first smile, his strong grip. Zaid would kiss her stretch marks like medals, promising forever in the language of bodies.

Rashi, rocking her boy to sleep, sometimes texted old contacts in Dubai—just to feel the echo of that wild chapter. Pallavi, changing her daughter’s diaper, would catch herself smiling at memories of a hidden lake and a man who knew exactly how to make her tremble.

None of them regretted a thing.

The family thrived—loud, loving, and blissfully oblivious to the delicious storms that had quietly reshaped their world. Three mothers, three babies, three different truths woven into one beautiful, complicated tapestry.

And somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled softly, as if the storms themselves approved.

[mahamatherchod]

jabardast , i hope you continue your both stories

[Rakul1985]

Love you Rohini. Thanks for cumming back.

[PELURI]

superb ride...high speed roller coaster...what a narration...can't really tame down....finally, ending that's sure to linger long...."some where in the distance, thunders roared softly...as if the stroms themselves approved "....just as in a old bollywood movie....great experience ....

ps : hope you are coming back soon....with another scorcher...love you rohini ji

[Rakul1985]

Ok. 3 babies will complicate the story.
I thought Pallavi will fuck Zaid's roommate.

[PELURI]

Ok. 3 babies will complicate the story.
I thought Pallavi will fuck Zaid's roommate.

yeah Suhail has vanished without exhibiting his prowess....he can still come back and both the friends can become roommates and take care of Urvashi & Rashi...separately or together...a small suggestion to Rohini ji...Faisal, with whom Rashi is in touch, may visit India to see his off spring, present the infant a family locket kind of thing and also a small equity share to Rashi in one of his company and most importantly,  a closure session with Rashi....

dear untamable_rohini ji...plz be tamed to this suggestion....

[mahamatherchod]

update

[momass]

thanks you for coming back

[momass]

Hey Guys,

Not able to continue the story for some reason, can anyone collaborate with me to continue the story? DM me if interested please.

very less people acutally comeback for completing story 

thank you very much

[PELURI]

Please continue the story Rohini ji....lot left untold...

[PELURI]

The first pic here above is Zyed taking Rashi, while the second one is of Urvasi lying back eyes closed with Zyed looking intently...this is my favourite picture which drives my imagination run wild.....the closed eyes conceal  the clandestine thrills of multiple ruputurous orgasams enjoyed and the guilt of having overstepped the boundaries....for a much married sanskari wife....my humble request to our dear author Rohini ji is to unravel those concealed emotions for us....Rohini ji please

[Rakul1985]

Story is marked as completed. Looks like it's the end.