Adultery The Unbreakable Mangalsutra ( Updated March 25)

[rockyy15]

[rockyy15]

Chapter 6: Say My Name
 
 

By 4:20 p.m., the chief’s door finally opened. Ravi, who had been waiting restlessly, immediately stood up and walked toward the chamber.
 
Venkatesan noticed him and called out, 
 
“Shankar, come inside.”
 
The late-afternoon light slanted through the blinds, turning the dust motes gold.
 
Ravi entered and sat straight across the desk. The file lay between them like an unspoken accusation. Venkatesan’s hands rested on the table, fingers slightly trembling.
 
“I guess you know why I was looking for you,” Venkatesan said quietly.  Ravi shook his head. 
 
“No, sir. But I guessed it might be about this file… or the transfer you mentioned last week.”
 
Venkatesan gave a tired sigh.“ Yes the file, see ravi... I was like you once, you know that” he said, voice low. “Honest. Stubborn. Thought the rules mattered more than anything.”
 
He paused, gaze drifting inward. 
 
Two months ago flashed behind his eyes again — the hulk’s fist slamming into his face twice, the sickening crack as his tooth gave way, blood flooding his mouth.  His wife Ambika on her knees before the hulk, clutching the man’s legs, voice shattered as she begged,
 
 “Please… don’t… please…” 
 
Venkatesan had braced for the worst, but the man only smirked, wiped his knuckles on Venkatesan’s shirt, and left. 
 
Nothing more happened other than the transfer. Yet the fear had never left. 
 
It lived in the slight shake of his hand even now. 
 
He blinked hard and returned to the present.
 
“Behind this file… they are not just brokers. Dangerous ones. I’m advising you as a friend — just consider and move it forward. It’s for your own good.”
 
Ravi remained calm but firm.
 
Venkatesan leaned back slightly and added,
 
“Also… the transfer is confirmed. I’m leaving this place.”Ravi’s face fell. 
 
He nodded silently, not wanting to push further.
 
“But before I leave,” Venkatesan paused, his voice turning heavier,
 
“I want you to change your stand.
 
Take another look at the file and reconsider. Please.”
 
Ravi met his eyes steadily. “Okay, sir. I’ll review it tonight.”
 
Inside, however, he felt no fear. Whatever warning Venkatesan was trying to give, it wasn’t enough to shake him.
 
“But I need to leave soon. There’s a pooja at home for Priya’s mangalsutra.
 
I think she invited Ambika too. Is she coming?”
 
Venkatesan’s expression darkened slightly.
 
“Ambika… I’m not sure. She’s not herself these days. Quiet. Distant. Maybe I’ll ask her.”
 
 
Venkatesan reached for his phone. 
 
“You go now. Finish what you can and head home.” 
 
Ravi stood, but paused at the door. “Sir… just one thing. Who is the person really behind this file?”
 
Venkatesan’s thumb hovered over Ambika’s number saved as LOVE in his contacts. 
 
He pressed call. The phone rang on speaker — low, insistent, filling the quiet chamber. 
 
Once. Twice. Three times.
 
No answer.


Across the city, in a sleek high-rise apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering OMR skyline at dusk, Ambika’s phone vibrated relentlessly on the nightstand.
 
 
The screen glowed coldly: Hubby calling.
 
She didn’t even glance at it.
 
 Didn’t dare.
 
She was bent forward over the edge of the king-sized bed, completely naked, wrists loosely but firmly bound to the headboard. 
 
Her fat ass was raised high, thighs quivering from the strain, skin already marked with angry red handprints blooming across both plump ass cheeks.
 
Sweat slicked her back, dripping down the curve of her spine. Her breathing came in ragged, desperate gasps.
 
 
The man behind her — tall, heavily muscled, voice like crushed gravel — gripped her hips with bruising force, fingers digging deep into her soft flesh. 
 
He slammed his thick cock into her wet cunt with brutal, savage strokes, each powerful thrust forcing sharp, broken moans from her throat. 
 
The obscene, wet slapping of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with her choked whimpers and his low, animalistic growls.
 
He suddenly lifted one leg and planted his foot on the side of her face, pressing her cheek harder into the mattress, pinning her down like a bitch in heat.
 
“Say my nameee"
 
Ambika’s phone continued to vibrate insistently on the nightstand — Hubby calling !!!
 
Tears filled her eyes. Her hubby is calling her but she could not attend the call. She knew exactly what would happen if she picks the call without his permission. 
 
Then he brought his leg down and cracked his palm viciously across her jiggling ass cheeks — once, twice — the sharp smacks echoing loudly.
 
“Say my name, whore,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. Ambika’s breath hitched violently. 
 
Tears filled her eyes — a sick mix of overwhelming pleasure and real fear twisting inside her. She bit her lip hard, trying to hold back, but another brutal thrust ripped a whimper from her.
 
Wrong answer.
 
 
"Say my name, you fucking slut " 
 
 
His hand came down again — vicious and possessive — the loud crack ringing through the room. 
 
"Smack" .... " Smack" 
 
Fresh pain bloomed across her burning ass as tears spilled down her cheeks.  “SAY,” he snarled, leaning over her back, hot breath against her ear.
 
 
 “Say it like the cock-hungry bitch you are. Or I’ll stop and make you beg for it.”
 
She sobbed once, broken and quiet, then the word tore from her trembling lips in a whisper.
 
“…Rathore…”
 
He rewarded her with a deep, punishing thrust, grinding his cock balls-deep inside her dripping cunt until her thighs shook violently.
 
One hand left her hip and fisted tightly in her hair, forcing her head back, making her arch like a whore.
 
“Louder,” he growled, voice dripping with menace. 
 
“Scream it. Let your husband hear who really owns this tight married cunt and fat ass.”
 
Ambika’s body betrayed her completely — her pussy clenching greedily around his thick cock, waves of shameful pleasure crashing through her even as fresh tears ran down her face. Fear and ecstasy collided, leaving her trembling, broken, and utterly owned.
 
She screamed the name, voice raw and shattered.
 
“Rathoreeeeeee!!”
 
Another brutal slap landed on her jiggling ass, making the flesh ripple.
 
“Good fucking bitch,” he snarled, his pace turning savage and relentless, pounding her cunt like he owned it. 
 
“Again. Louder. Let that phone hear who this slut belongs to now.”
 
Her phone kept buzzing frantically in the background, ignored.
 
Ambika sobbed the name twice, voice breaking completely as tears and filthy pleasure mixed together.
 
“Rathore!!” 
“Raathoreeeeeeeeeeee!!”
 
 
The name exploded into the air — once in trembling surrender, once in raw, filthy ecstasy laced with fear, and once in complete, devastating ownership.
 
Ambika’s phone finally fell silent. The call had gone unanswered.
 
Ravi had already left the chamber moments earlier, the door clicking shut softly behind him. Venkatesan never got the chance to say the name aloud.
 
The name that was in his mind 
 
Rathore....
 
The name now burned silently in three places.In the high-rise apartment, it echoed between sweat-soaked sheets, moaned breathlessly from Ambika’s lips.
 
In the quiet Tahsildar office, it echoed in Venkatesan’s terrified mind… and would soon take root in Ravi’s. 
 
 
At home in Anna Nagar, 
 
Priya stood dressed and ready for her mangalsutra pooja. Everything looked perfect.
 
Yet a quiet unease refused to leave her. An unknown stranger… an unnamed threat… hovered in the back of her mind, slowly disturbing the peace of this sacred evening.
 
 
And yes… the name would reach Priya too.
 
Sooner than anyone imagined.
 
Rathore is cumming soon....

[LovePookie]

wow another character

[Pvzro]

Superb keep going seems fantastic

[Tamilmathi]

Im waiting.....

[rockyy15]

Chapter 5: Two Mangalsutra Poojas

It was already around 5:00 p.m.  Priya was waiting for ravi.

Ravi called Priya from the office around same time.

“Priya, I’ll be a little late. Some work came up. You start the pooja. 

Also, did you inform Ambika?

”Priya stood in the middle of her living room, already dressed in saree with jasmine flowers neatly tucked in her braid. The ladies had started arriving all chatting and laughing as they settled down. The puja items were perfectly arranged, the lamp was lit, but the atmosphere felt incomplete.

“I sent her a message this morning,” Priya replied, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment.

 “No reply yet.”

 Priya felt a small sting of upset. This was supposed to be a special evening for her mangalsutra, and everything was going wrong now even ravi was late and the warmth she had imagined for the pooja was slowly fading.

Ravi paused on the other end,
“Just texting won’t be nice. She came last year, right? Call and check.
Venkatesan is not sure if she’ll come. It’s your special mangalsutra pooja. Call her.”

Priya sighed softly, her shoulders dropping a little.

 “Okay… let me call her now.”

She excused herself from the ladies with a polite smile. Her heart felt heavier than it should on such an auspicious day. Ravi wasn’t coming on time, the guests were waiting, and now Ambika — who had always been part of these poojas — was not there. She dialed Ambika’s number, hoping for a quick, positive response.

At that exact moment, in the high-rise apartment, Rathore was brutally fucking Ambika from behind like a cheap whore. He gripped her wide hips with bruising force, his thick, veined cock slamming balls-deep into her dripping, sloppy cunt with loud, wet, obscene squelching sounds. Each savage thrust made her fat ass cheeks ripple and jiggle violently.

Without warning, he again lifted his powerful right leg and planted his foot firmly on the side of her face, pressing her cheek hard into the mattress, pinning her down like a bitch in heat. Her face was smashed sideways, mouth open, drool leaking onto the sheets as he used her body mercilessly.

(Sootha thooku di ) “Lift that fat ass higher, bitch,” he growled, his voice rough and degrading. 

“Arch your back like the desperate married slut you are. Show me how much you love getting your tight little cunt ruined by another man’s cock.”

He brought his hand down hard on her jiggling ass cheeks — once, twice, three times — the sharp, stinging slaps echoing through the room.

 Her plump flesh turned bright red under his hand, the impact making her pussy clench greedily around him

.Ambika moaned brokenly into the mattress, her voice muffled and pathetic. Fresh tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, mixing with sweat and drool. Her body betrayed her completely — her soaked cunt kept fluttering and squeezing his thick cock even as shame burned through her.

“Rathore… ahh… please…” she whimpered, her words dissolving into another helpless moan as he pounded her harder, his heavy balls slapping against her clit with every brutal thrust.

Her phone suddenly started ringing again — Priya Calling.

Rathore didn’t miss a beat. His hips kept slamming forward, his thick cock pounding her soaked cunt with loud, wet, obscene squelching sounds.

Rathore leaned down closer, his hot breath on Ambika’s ear, still fucking her deep and hard. He spat directly onto her tear-streaked face, the saliva mixing with her tears.

Ambika’s eyes widened in pure disgust. A wave of revulsion hit her hard — the warm, sticky spit mixing with her tears felt degrading beyond words. She flinched, her stomach twisting with humiliation, but she couldn’t pull away. Her body was completely trapped under his weight and his merciless cock.

“Who the fuck is this bitch Priya calling you now?” 

he growled low and filthy.

“My… my friend…” Ambika whimpered, her ass still bouncing back against him in rhythm.

“Stupid friend,” Rathore sneered, slapping her jiggling ass hard.

 “Why is she keep calling? Attend the call properly, you dumb slut. Answer that bitch.”

He reached over, grabbed the phone, switched it to speaker, and shoved it right next to Ambika’s face.

“Answer it,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. 

“And don’t you dare disconnect, you stupid married whore.”

Ambika’s body jerked with every brutal thrust, her fat ass cheeks rippling and jiggling shamelessly in rhythm with his savage pounding.

 She tried to steady her voice, but another deep, punishing stroke forced a pathetic whimper out of her.

She knew what would happen if she disobeyed. She knew the consequences too well. Rathore had taught her that lesson many times in the last two months — the slaps, the choking, the way he would pull out and make her beg on her knees for hours. She had learned to obey.

With trembling fingers and tears still streaming down her face, Ambika obeyed.

“H-Hello… Priya…” she gasped, her voice shaky, breathy, and broken.

Priya’s warm but slightly upset voice filled the room.

 “Ambika? Hello? I called you earlier also.

 Did you see my message about the pooja tonight? It’s for my mangalsutra. The ladies are already here.

 Will you come? Everyone is waiting…”Ambika’s ass kept moving back against Rathore in perfect rhythm, her soaked cunt making wet, filthy squelching sounds with every thrust.

 She bit her lip hard, trying not to moan into the phone.

“I… I saw the message…” she managed, her words trembling as another hard thrust made her body jolt.

Priya sounded more concerned now.

 “Are you okay? You sound different. Please try to come… it won’t feel complete without you.”

Rathore leaned down closer, still fucking her deep and hard.

 He spat directly onto her tear-streaked face again — a thick, warm glob landing on her cheek and slowly dripping toward her lips.

Ambika flinched in disgust, but she didn’t dare to say a NO to him. 

Rathore’s voice was a low, filthy whisper in her ear. 

“Tell her you’re busy getting fucked like a whore.”

He thrust even deeper, grinding his cock inside her while Ambika struggled to speak through her tears and the revolting feeling of his spit on her skin.

“I… I’m fine, Priya…” Ambika forced out, her voice cracking pathetically.

 “Just… a little tired…”Priya paused, clearly worried.

 “Okay… but please try to come if you can even if it is late. It’s special today. My hubby also asked about you.”

Rathore who was still buried deep inside Ambika, his thick cock stretching her soaked cunt, when Priya’s voice came through the speaker again — soft, warm, and full of innocent excitement

.“Ambika? It’s my mangalsutra pooja today… ”Something in those words made Rathore pause mid-thrust.

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

His mind starts to think .. " oh Mangalsutra pooja. The holy ritual. The sacred symbol of marriage. Fucking married whores ". 

 An idea — filthy, cruel, and perfect — bloomed in his mind.

He slowly pulled his cock out of Ambika’s dripping pussy with a wet, obscene sound. 

Ambika let out a shaky breath, thinking it was over. 

But Rathore wasn’t done.

He flipped her onto her back in one smooth motion. 

Ambika’s eyes widened in fresh fear as he climbed over her chest, straddling her. His heavy, veined cock — still rock-hard and glistening with her juices — hovered menacingly just inches above her tear-streaked face.


He reached down and gently lifted the thin gold mangalsutra from between her breasts. The sacred chain dangled from his fingers for a moment before he pressed it flat against her left cheek, right under her eye. 

The cool gold touched her wet skin.

Ambika’s breath hitched. She stared up at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“Rathore… please…” she whispered, voice barely audible.

He ignored her plea.


Instead, he looked down at the mangalsutra with dark fascination, slowly rubbing the swollen head of his cock against the gold links.“Look at this holy mangalsutra ” he sneered, his voice low and mocking. 

“The same one your fucking husband tied around your neck with so much love…hmmmmm...  the symbol of your pure marriage.”He stroked his cock slowly now, deliberately, letting the precum smear across the sacred chain.

“I just heard your stupid friend talking about her mangalsutra pooja… how special it is… how pure…”His strokes became a little faster, his cock twitching against her cheek.

“So I’ve decided… I’m going to do the real pooja on your mangalsutra tonight.”

Ambika’s eyes filled with fresh tears. She shook her head slightly, disgust and shame flooding her.

“No… please… not like this…” she begged with fear, her voice cracking.


Rathore pressed the mangalsutra harder against her face, the gold now warm from her skin and his precum.

“Keep it right here on your face, di,” he ordered softly, almost tenderly. 

He was now fully straddling her chest, his heavy, muscular thighs pinning her shoulders down to the mattress. His powerful, well-built body — broad shoulders, ripped chest, and thick arms glistening with sweat — loomed over her like a conqueror. The heavy, musky scent of his cock and balls filled her nostrils — a strong, masculine, slightly salty smell mixed with the scent of her own arousal. 


His large, low-hanging balls rested warm and heavy against her neck, pressing just below her chin.

Rathore looked down at her with dark satisfaction. One hand gripped the base of his thick, veined cock while the other pressed the thin gold mangalsutra flat against Ambika’s left cheek, right under her eye. The sacred chain was warm from her skin.

He stroked himself slowly at first, deliberately, letting the swollen purple head rub against the gold links and her tear-streaked face.

Then his strokes became faster, more urgent.

“Let me cum all over this holy symbol. Let me bless it properly.”

He stroked more faster now, aiming the swollen head directly at the sacred chain and Ambika’s trembling lips.

Ambika could only sob quietly, tears rolling down her temples as she lay helpless beneath him — her mangalsutra pressed against her cheek, waiting to be desecrated.


She could feel the heat radiating from his cock, the weight of his muscular body crushing her, the heavy smell of his balls so close to her nose.

With a deep, guttural groan, Rathore came.

Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted violently from his cock, splattering across Ambika’s face in heavy spurts. The first rope landed directly on the mangalsutra, coating the gold chain in sticky white. The second and third ropes hit her lips and cheeks, some of it splashing into her left eye. More cum dripped down her chin and onto her neck, soaking the sacred thali completely.

The mangalsutra — once a symbol of purity and marital vow — was now glistening obscenely with another man’s seed.

Priya’s voice came through the speaker again, confused and concerned.

“Ambika? What did you say? I didn’t hear properly…”Ambika could only sob softly, her face completely covered in Rathore’s warm cum. It dripped slowly from her eyelashes, her lips, and the defiled mangalsutra.

 The sticky, musky smell filled her senses.

Rathore grinned darkly above her. He continued rubbing the head of his spent cock slowly across the cum-soaked thali, spreading his load even more deliberately over the holy symbol.

“Tell her,” he whispered, voice low and cruel, “that I already did the pooja for you.”

Ambika’s broken, cum-filled voice barely made it out between quiet sobs:

“I… I’ll try, Priya…”She kept the phone pressed to her ear for a few more seconds, too terrified to hang up.

Priya sounded even more confused on the other end.

“Okay … take care. We’ll wait for you…”The call finally ended.

Rathore looked down at Ambika’s ruined face with pure satisfaction, his heavy balls still resting against her neck, his cum slowly dripping from her mangalsutra.


Ambika lay completely still, her face covered in thick, warm cum. It dripped slowly from her eyelashes, lips, and chin onto the once-sacred mangalsutra that now glistened obscenely with another man’s seed.

She looked up into Rathore’s cruel, victorious eyes — dark, possessive, and completely without mercy.

In just two months, her life had changed beyond recognition after that one incident when rathore broke her husbands face.

She should have been strong like Priya a devoted loyal wife. 

She should have been at the pooja right now, sitting beside her friend, offering flowers to her own mangalsutra with dignity and devotion.

Instead, she was here — naked, degraded, her holy thali defiled — while Rathore stared down at the cum-soaked chain with pure ownership in his gaze.

He owned her now. 

A married woman. A respectable wife. Broken and marked.

Meanwhile, in Anna Nagar…Priya stood in the middle of her mangalsutra pooja.The small lamp flickered softly. Ladies sat around her, chanting mantras as she offered flowers and kumkum to her sacred thali with folded hands, eyes closed in pure devotion. 

The jasmine in her braid filled the room with its sweet fragrance. Her voice joined the others in soft prayer, calm and sincere.

But her heart was not fully at peace.

Two mangalsutra poojas were happening at the same time.

One was pure. Holy. Filled with love and tradition.

The other was filthy. Degrading. Defiling the very symbol of marriage.

And the shadow named Rathore was already connecting both.

Venkatesan came to his his empty house, staring blankly at the wall. Half-packed suitcases stood in the corner — he was preparing to leave the city in a few days. His life was no longer the same. The respectable, quiet existence he once knew had been shattered the night that hulk broke his tooth in front of his wife. 

Now will the damage will to pass to Ravi ?? The man who had dared to stand in Rathore’s way and was about to cause far more expensive damage than Venkatesan ever did .And Rathore, a man who never forgot or forgave, would make sure Ravi paid for it — in ways far worse than money.

The question now hung heavy in the air:Will Ravi and Priya suffer the same fate?Or will their story be even worse?

Rathore’s eyes lingered on the cum-soaked mangalsutra still resting against Ambika’s naked chest. Thick white streaks glistened on the sacred gold, slowly dripping between her heavy breasts. A dark, satisfied smile played on his lips.

Ambika lay beneath him, exhausted and broken. In her shattered mind, she told herself this was their final send-off — a goodbye fuck before Venkatesan’s transfer took them away from the city. One last degrading session before she could try to forget everything.

But will Rathore let her go so easily ?? 

This is just the beginning of the story, if rathore can do this to a chief officer's wife … what will he do to Ravi, Priya and Priya’s unbreakable mangalsutra? 

[Givemeextra]

Ohhhhhh, BRUTAL

[Mukul@99]

Story is nice.The character building is nice.  A unique setting. Well-written and highly entertaining. Eagerly awaiting the next update.

[mak@289]

This is awsome. Thanks for giving a great story. A worthy story here after a long time according to my taste. Looking forward to your update.

[rockyy15]

This is awsome. Thanks for giving a great story. A worthy story here after a long time according to my taste. Looking forward to your update.

Thank you for the encouraging words

[rockyy15]

Ohhhhhh, BRUTAL

Is it too brutal ? I thought I was less and didn't start any thing brutal yet

[rockyy15]

Story is nice.The character building is nice.  A unique setting. Well-written and highly entertaining. Eagerly awaiting the next update.

Sure working on the next chapter . Will update soon . Please provide your insights as well

[mak@289]

Is it too brutal ? I thought I was less and didn't start any thing brutal yet

You dont change anything brother, just write as you have thought in ur mind. When can we expect next ep?

[bananna123]

Chapter 6: Say My Name
 
 

By 4:20 p.m., the chief’s door finally opened. Ravi, who had been waiting restlessly, immediately stood up and walked toward the chamber.
 
Venkatesan noticed him and called out, 
 
“Shankar, come inside.”
 
The late-afternoon light slanted through the blinds, turning the dust motes gold.
 
Ravi entered and sat straight across the desk. The file lay between them like an unspoken accusation. Venkatesan’s hands rested on the table, fingers slightly trembling.
 
“I guess you know why I was looking for you,” Venkatesan said quietly.  Ravi shook his head. 
 
“No, sir. But I guessed it might be about this file… or the transfer you mentioned last week.”
 
Venkatesan gave a tired sigh.“ Yes the file, see ravi... I was like you once, you know that” he said, voice low. “Honest. Stubborn. Thought the rules mattered more than anything.”
 
He paused, gaze drifting inward. 
 
Two months ago flashed behind his eyes again — the hulk’s fist slamming into his face twice, the sickening crack as his tooth gave way, blood flooding his mouth.  His wife Ambika on her knees before the hulk, clutching the man’s legs, voice shattered as she begged,
 
 “Please… don’t… please…” 
 
Venkatesan had braced for the worst, but the man only smirked, wiped his knuckles on Venkatesan’s shirt, and left. 
 
Nothing more happened other than the transfer. Yet the fear had never left. 
 
It lived in the slight shake of his hand even now. 
 
He blinked hard and returned to the present.
 
“Behind this file… they are not just brokers. Dangerous ones. I’m advising you as a friend — just consider and move it forward. It’s for your own good.”
 
Ravi remained calm but firm.
 
Venkatesan leaned back slightly and added,
 
“Also… the transfer is confirmed. I’m leaving this place.”Ravi’s face fell. 
 
He nodded silently, not wanting to push further.
 
“But before I leave,” Venkatesan paused, his voice turning heavier,
 
“I want you to change your stand.
 
Take another look at the file and reconsider. Please.”
 
Ravi met his eyes steadily. “Okay, sir. I’ll review it tonight.”
 
Inside, however, he felt no fear. Whatever warning Venkatesan was trying to give, it wasn’t enough to shake him.
 
“But I need to leave soon. There’s a pooja at home for Priya’s mangalsutra.
 
I think she invited Ambika too. Is she coming?”
 
Venkatesan’s expression darkened slightly.
 
“Ambika… I’m not sure. She’s not herself these days. Quiet. Distant. Maybe I’ll ask her.”
 
 
Venkatesan reached for his phone. 
 
“You go now. Finish what you can and head home.” 
 
Ravi stood, but paused at the door. “Sir… just one thing. Who is the person really behind this file?”
 
Venkatesan’s thumb hovered over Ambika’s number saved as LOVE in his contacts. 
 
He pressed call. The phone rang on speaker — low, insistent, filling the quiet chamber. 
 
Once. Twice. Three times.
 
No answer.


Across the city, in a sleek high-rise apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering OMR skyline at dusk, Ambika’s phone vibrated relentlessly on the nightstand.
 
 
The screen glowed coldly: Hubby calling.
 
She didn’t even glance at it.
 
 Didn’t dare.
 
She was bent forward over the edge of the king-sized bed, completely naked, wrists loosely but firmly bound to the headboard. 
 
Her fat ass was raised high, thighs quivering from the strain, skin already marked with angry red handprints blooming across both plump ass cheeks.
 
Sweat slicked her back, dripping down the curve of her spine. Her breathing came in ragged, desperate gasps.
 
 
The man behind her — tall, heavily muscled, voice like crushed gravel — gripped her hips with bruising force, fingers digging deep into her soft flesh. 
 
He slammed his thick cock into her wet cunt with brutal, savage strokes, each powerful thrust forcing sharp, broken moans from her throat. 
 
The obscene, wet slapping of skin on skin filled the room, mixed with her choked whimpers and his low, animalistic growls.
 
He suddenly lifted one leg and planted his foot on the side of her face, pressing her cheek harder into the mattress, pinning her down like a bitch in heat.
 
“Say my nameee"
 
Ambika’s phone continued to vibrate insistently on the nightstand — Hubby calling !!!
 
Tears filled her eyes. Her hubby is calling her but she could not attend the call. She knew exactly what would happen if she picks the call without his permission. 
 
Then he brought his leg down and cracked his palm viciously across her jiggling ass cheeks — once, twice — the sharp smacks echoing loudly.
 
“Say my name, whore,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. Ambika’s breath hitched violently. 
 
Tears filled her eyes — a sick mix of overwhelming pleasure and real fear twisting inside her. She bit her lip hard, trying to hold back, but another brutal thrust ripped a whimper from her.
 
Wrong answer.
 
 
"Say my name, you fucking slut " 
 
 
His hand came down again — vicious and possessive — the loud crack ringing through the room. 
 
"Smack" .... " Smack" 
 
Fresh pain bloomed across her burning ass as tears spilled down her cheeks.  “SAY,” he snarled, leaning over her back, hot breath against her ear.
 
 
 “Say it like the cock-hungry bitch you are. Or I’ll stop and make you beg for it.”
 
She sobbed once, broken and quiet, then the word tore from her trembling lips in a whisper.
 
“…Rathore…”
 
He rewarded her with a deep, punishing thrust, grinding his cock balls-deep inside her dripping cunt until her thighs shook violently.
 
One hand left her hip and fisted tightly in her hair, forcing her head back, making her arch like a whore.
 
“Louder,” he growled, voice dripping with menace. 
 
“Scream it. Let your husband hear who really owns this tight married cunt and fat ass.”
 
Ambika’s body betrayed her completely — her pussy clenching greedily around his thick cock, waves of shameful pleasure crashing through her even as fresh tears ran down her face. Fear and ecstasy collided, leaving her trembling, broken, and utterly owned.
 
She screamed the name, voice raw and shattered.
 
“Rathoreeeeeee!!”
 
Another brutal slap landed on her jiggling ass, making the flesh ripple.
 
“Good fucking bitch,” he snarled, his pace turning savage and relentless, pounding her cunt like he owned it. 
 
“Again. Louder. Let that phone hear who this slut belongs to now.”
 
Her phone kept buzzing frantically in the background, ignored.
 
Ambika sobbed the name twice, voice breaking completely as tears and filthy pleasure mixed together.
 
“Rathore!!” 
“Raathoreeeeeeeeeeee!!”
 
 
The name exploded into the air — once in trembling surrender, once in raw, filthy ecstasy laced with fear, and once in complete, devastating ownership.
 
Ambika’s phone finally fell silent. The call had gone unanswered.
 
Ravi had already left the chamber moments earlier, the door clicking shut softly behind him. Venkatesan never got the chance to say the name aloud.
 
The name that was in his mind 
 
Rathore....
 
The name now burned silently in three places.In the high-rise apartment, it echoed between sweat-soaked sheets, moaned breathlessly from Ambika’s lips.
 
In the quiet Tahsildar office, it echoed in Venkatesan’s terrified mind… and would soon take root in Ravi’s. 
 
 
At home in Anna Nagar, 
 
Priya stood dressed and ready for her mangalsutra pooja. Everything looked perfect.
 
Yet a quiet unease refused to leave her. An unknown stranger… an unnamed threat… hovered in the back of her mind, slowly disturbing the peace of this sacred evening.
 
 
And yes… the name would reach Priya too.
 
Sooner than anyone imagined.
 
Rathore is cumming soon....

[rockyy15]

Chapter 6: Ambika’s Surrender to Rathore (A Flashback)


Rathore remained seated on top of her, straddling her chest with his full weight. His thick, muscular ass pressed down heavily on her soft stomach, pinning her completely to the mattress. His knees dug into the bed on either side of her ribs, spreading wide so his heavy, low-hanging balls rested warm and close against the underside of her chin.

His cock — still thick and half-hard — hovered just inches from her face, the musky, dirty smell of it filling her nose: raw sweat, sex, the lingering salt of his cum and her own juices.

Ambika lay beneath him, naked, breathing a little heavily, her body still trembling from the intensity. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just stared up at him — face sticky with drying cum, his spit and mangalsutra glistening obscenely between her breasts — while he looked down with lazy, possessive satisfaction, like a man admiring a prized possession he had just finished using.

He reached over to the nightstand for his phone.

Ambika’s eyes flicked up, wide with fresh panic.

“Hand it to me,” he said calmly.

Ambika obeyed without a word. She stretched her arm, sweat glistening in the hollow of her armpit as she passed the phone. Rathore noticed — the damp, intimate perfume of her armpit mixed with jasmine and fear — and his smile deepened.

“Raise both hands,” he ordered. 

“Arms up. Pose for me.”Ambika hesitated for half a second. 

Then she lifted her arms slowly, palms facing him, exposing the soft, damp hollows of her armpits and the sticky mess on her face and boobs.

Rathore angled the phone.

Click.

The shutter sound was sharp in the quiet room.

Ambika flinched. “No… please…” she whispered, voice faint, barely audible. 

She tried to lower her arms.

Rathore’s free hand cracked across her boobs— not full force, but sharp pain enough to make her gasp and  freeze.

“Shut up, bitch,” he murmured, looking at the photo. 

“Your mangalsutra looks better like this — wearing my cum. Why didn’t I get this idea earlier? Thanks to your stupid bitch friend.

”He opened his gallery, scrolled to one of his hidden albums  labeled simply Ambika slut, and then lied next to her, turned the phone toward her so she could see while he scrolled.

The first photo loaded — grainy, taken two months earlier in his private bar cabin. 

Both of them sitting close, drinks in hand. Her face flushed, eyes nervous. His hand already resting high on her thigh.

Ambika’s breath caught.

The memory crashed over her like cold water.

Two months ago.They were having dinner — just her, Venkatesan, quiet conversation about his recent project and the problems in it

.The doorbell rang.Venkatesan opened it.Rathore stood there — tall, broad, polite smile. Two men stood silently behind him.

“Hello sir, how are you…”

“Please leave,” Venkatesan said firmly.

“Why sir? I need to talk about the project. 

Tell me how much you want.”

Venkatesan’s face hardened and he shouted, “Get out. We have nothing to discuss.”


Rathore’s smile vanished. He was already irritated and lost his temper.He pushed Venkatesan back inside the house while his boys waited outside. His fist moved faster than anyone could react — once into Venkatesan’s jaw, then again. Blood sprayed. A tooth cracked and skittered across the floor.Venkatesan dropped.

Ambika screamed, ran forward, fell to her knees in front of the stranger, clutching his legs.

“Please… please don’t hurt him sir…”Rathore looked down at her — amused, calculating. 

Then to Venkatesan: “Approve it, or someone will replace you to approve it.”

When he left, his visiting card fell from his pocket onto the carpet — face down, almost accidentally.

Later that night, after rushing Venkatesan to the hospital, Ambika picked up the card with shaking fingers.  She stared at the number.

Next evening she called — to beg him to leave her husband alone.

Rathore picked up.  “Who is it?”

"Ambika… Venkatesan’s wife…”

“Oh, that fucker’s wife. Is he okay or dead?”

Ambika cried. “Sir please don’t do anything… I…”

“See, I’m busy now. Come to my bar if you want to talk.”

“Sir please…”“If you want to talk, come there. Don’t waste my time.” He hung up.

They met at his bar in a private cabin exactly at 7 p.m.

 
Ambika arrived dressed in her own way — modern, confident, not the traditional saree she wore for family events. She had chosen a fitted black sleeveless blouse with a subtle shimmer, deep neckline that showed just enough of her full, firm breasts to catch attention without being vulgar, paired with a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her wide hips and accentuated her rounded, shapely ass. The skirt ended just above the knee, showing off toned legs. Her hair was left loose in soft waves, a pair of small diamond studs in her ears, and light makeup — red lips, kohl-lined eyes, a touch of perfume that smelled expensive and feminine. She looked like a woman who knew she was beautiful, but tonight her confidence felt fragile, like thin glass.
 
Rathore was already there, sitting relaxed in the corner booth, a half-empty glass of Scotch in front of him. He looked up as she entered, eyes raking over her body slowly — from the swell of her breasts, down to the curve of her hips and ass, then back up to her face. His smile was slow, predatory.
 
She walked over and sat next to him on the leather seat — close, but not touching.
 
Before she could speak, he raised a finger to the server in the corner.
 
“Another Scotch for me,” he said, then looked at Ambika. “And for the lady… same. Neat.”
 
Ambika’s throat tightened.
 
Unlike Priya — who never drank and carried herself with quiet, unbreakable dignity — Ambika had always been more social. Younger than Venkatesan by twelve years, she had lived a freer life in college: a boyfriend she loved physically, secret nights, stolen kisses, sex that left her breathless. She had never told Venkatesan. That part of her life ended when she married him — for his position, his wealthy family name, his stability. She blocked her ex, deleted old messages, and became the perfect wife. She loved Venkatesan genuinely later, but a small part of her always wondered how Priya could be so completely devoted to a simple, middle-class man like Ravi — no wealth, no power, yet Priya seemed perfectly content.
 
Tonight, though, the old thrill flickered back — the one she hated admitting still existed.
 
She hesitated when the glass arrived.
 
Rathore noticed.
 
“Drink,” he said simply. Not a request.
 
She picked up the glass with slightly shaking fingers.
 
Because she had to convince him. No other choice.
 
Because she had seen how powerful he was — the way he had pushed Venkatesan inside, broken his face in seconds, and walked away untouched.
 
Because the memory of that violence — the raw, terrifying strength of him — gave her a strange, forbidden chill she despised herself for feeling.
 
She took a sip. Then another. The Scotch burned going down, warming her chest, loosening the knot of fear in her stomach.
 
They drank more.
 
His hand slid onto her thigh under the table — large, warm, possessive.
 
She flinched, shifted her leg away twice.
 
He didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he squeezed gently — not painful, but firm enough to remind her who was in control.
 
Ambika’s breath caught.
 
She felt it — the slow, shameful heat building between her legs. Not just fear anymore. Something darker. His power, his confidence, the way he had overpowered her husband without effort… it stirred something she had buried years ago.
 
She hated it.
 
She hated herself for it.
 
But her body didn’t lie.
 
Her nipples hardened under the thin blouse. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.
 
Rathore noticed. Of course he did.
 
He leaned close, breath warm against her ear.
 
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll transfer him. No more hitting. Just convince him. He won’t lose his job. I’ll even help with his promotion.”
 
Then he added, voice dropping lower:
 
“Can we go to a private room and drink from there?”
 
Before they left the cabin, he pulled her close — one arm around her waist, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass — and took a selfie.
 
His face calm, smiling. Hers flushed from alcohol, fear, and something else she refused to name.
 
That was the first picture in the album.
 
The memory faded as Rathore’s hand cracked across her ass again — sharp, commanding.


 

“Bring me a drink, bitch,” he said casually. “Scotch. Neat.”
 
Ambika flinched, the sting blooming across her already red cheek.
 
She rose on shaky legs, still completely naked, cum drying on her face and chest.
 
She poured the drink with trembling hands, carried it back.
 
Rathore took the glass, sipped slowly, watching her over the rim.
 
“I have to go,” she said. “He would have reached home. I’ve avoided his call too…"


 "it’s okay, let him wait for two hours. Tell him you’re shopping.”
 
He set the glass aside.
 
“Now clean me, bitch.”
 
Ambika knelt again.
 
She leaned in, lips parting, and began licking him clean — slow, careful strokes along the shaft, sucking gently at the head, tasting the bitter mix of his cum and her own juices.
 
Rathore leaned back, sipping his drink, completely relaxed.
 
In front of him, Ambika was cleaning him in a low doggy pose, ass raised slightly, back arched. He casually placed the half-empty drink glass on the curve of her ass.
 
“Be careful,” he said softly. “It shouldn’t spill.”
 
Ambika froze for a second, then continued — slower, more seductive, trying to keep her body steady so the glass wouldn’t fall.
 
Rathore watched, amused.
 
“See?” he said softly, almost conversational. “All this because of your stupid husband. Just one approval with some cash and he would have been happy. But now his wife is here — sucking another man’s cock while her mangalsutra hangs sticky with my cum.”
 
He slapped her ass cheek lightly — just enough to make the glass wobble.
 
“Don’t move. The glass shouldn’t fall.”
 
He continued, voice low and cruel.
 
“Is it really worth protecting him? I can see you love my cock now.”
 
Ambika’s tongue paused for half a second.
 
She knew he was right.
 
She had started this for Venkatesan.
 
But somewhere in the last two months, the reason had shifted.
 
She was no longer doing it only for her husband.
 
She was doing it because Rathore’s power, his cruelty, his dominance — terrified her and thrilled her in equal measure.
 
She couldn’t be satisfied by Venkatesan anymore.
 
His cock and stamina wasn’t enough.
 
But she stayed with Rathore for another reason too.
 
She knew how powerful he was.
 
She knew only he could help it fix— and of course, he made sure Venkatesan’s transfer went smoothly, that the damage didn’t spread.
 
But she had another reason for needing him—one she had been waiting for the right moment to reveal.

 

While sucking his balls gently, cleaning every inch, she looked up at him — strong, muscular, cunning, utterly without conscience.
 
Rathore noticed her gaze.
 
He took the glass from her ass.
 
He pushed her hair up — not gently — with his rough hand, while her tongue still traced the underside of his shaft. She left it with a wet sound.
 
Rathore finished his drink, set the glass aside.
 
He brought her face near his and licked her tears, then kissed her roughly.
 
“Why are you crying?” he asked mockingly.
 
She hesitated, voice small.
 
“Why are you like this…”
 
“Like how?”
 
“Like this… dominant and cruel… cant you be little soft ?”
 
He raised both arms above his head, stretching lazily, exposing the hard, defined muscles of his chest and the dark hair under his arms.
 
Ambika leaned in instinctively, nose brushing his armpit, inhaling the strong, masculine scent — sweat, power, dominance.

A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

 
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured. “The smell of a real man. Not your weak husband’s soap-and-office stink.”
 
He lowered one arm, cupped the back of her head, and pushed her face deeper into his armpit.
 
“Breathe it in, bitch. That’s the smell of power.”
 
Ambika obeyed.
 
Her nose pressed fully into the damp, wiry hair. She inhaled deeply — the smell was filthy, overwhelming, intoxicating. Sweat, musk, dominance. Her pussy clenched involuntarily against his stomach. A fresh wave of shame washed over her, but her body responded anyway.
 
Rathore felt the small tremor in her hips. He chuckled softly, pleased.
 
“Good girl,” he said, tightening his grip on her hair. “Keep breathing. Let it fill you.”
 
Ambika’s tongue darted out, licking the salty skin tentatively while her hand slid between his thighs to gently massage his heavy balls.
  

Rathore closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her face buried there while she continued to stroke his cock slowly with her hand.
 
“Alright, bitch,” he said softly.  “You want my story?” he said, voice low and lazy. Listen.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in Anna Nagar, the small living room was filled with the gentle glow of oil lamps and the soft, sacred hum of mantras. Priya sat cross-legged in the center of the ladies’ circle, fresh jasmine garland in her braid releasing its clean, sweet fragrance with every small movement.

The air carried the pure, comforting aroma of camphor, sandalwood, and the faint turmeric scent still lingering on her skin from her morning ritual. Everything felt peaceful, blessed. The ladies smiled warmly as they passed the aarti thali, their voices blending in harmonious prayer.

Shoba, one of the older women, leaned closer during a brief pause and whispered with genuine admiration:“Priya, look at this house… always so fresh, so filled with good aroma. You maintain everything so beautifully — the pooja corner, the kitchen, even the air feels calm here. Truly blessed.”
 
In that exact same moment, across the city, Ambika  stayed exactly where she was —face buried deep in Rathore’s armpit — inhaling the raw, heavy musk of his sweat, the overpowering smell of power and dominance. Her tongue traced the salty skin while her hands worked his cock and balls slowly , her own body trembling under the weight of shame and unwanted arousal, waiting to hear how the man who now owned her had become the monster he was.


Two completely different worlds.

Ambika soaked in filth, submission, and the thick, dirty scent of a man who owned her completely.

Priya sat blissful amid the soothing fragrance of jasmine, camphor, and sacred incense, utterly unknowing that soon—very soon—Rathore would come for her. His filthy, sweaty armpit stench might  invade her nose instead of this pure, comforting aroma one day. 

But unlike Ambika, Priya would not bend so easily, she won't  swallow such kind of degradation by sacrificing her loyalty. 

Would the legacy of Priya's unbreakable mangalsutra stand firm … or would Rathore’s ruthless cock will crack that iron loyalty into two !!! ? 

[Tamilmathi]

Heart brearking .....

[LovePookie]

lovely

[rockyy15]

lovely

Thanks for the positive comments

[bananna123]

Chapter 6: Ambika’s Surrender to Rathore (A Flashback)


Rathore remained seated on top of her, straddling her chest with his full weight. His thick, muscular ass pressed down heavily on her soft stomach, pinning her completely to the mattress. His knees dug into the bed on either side of her ribs, spreading wide so his heavy, low-hanging balls rested warm and close against the underside of her chin.

His cock — still thick and half-hard — hovered just inches from her face, the musky, dirty smell of it filling her nose: raw sweat, sex, the lingering salt of his cum and her own juices.

Ambika lay beneath him, naked, breathing a little heavily, her body still trembling from the intensity. She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just stared up at him — face sticky with drying cum, his spit and mangalsutra glistening obscenely between her breasts — while he looked down with lazy, possessive satisfaction, like a man admiring a prized possession he had just finished using.

He reached over to the nightstand for his phone.

Ambika’s eyes flicked up, wide with fresh panic.

“Hand it to me,” he said calmly.

Ambika obeyed without a word. She stretched her arm, sweat glistening in the hollow of her armpit as she passed the phone. Rathore noticed — the damp, intimate perfume of her armpit mixed with jasmine and fear — and his smile deepened.

“Raise both hands,” he ordered. 

“Arms up. Pose for me.”Ambika hesitated for half a second. 

Then she lifted her arms slowly, palms facing him, exposing the soft, damp hollows of her armpits and the sticky mess on her face and boobs.

Rathore angled the phone.

Click.

The shutter sound was sharp in the quiet room.

Ambika flinched. “No… please…” she whispered, voice faint, barely audible. 

She tried to lower her arms.

Rathore’s free hand cracked across her boobs— not full force, but sharp pain enough to make her gasp and  freeze.

“Shut up, bitch,” he murmured, looking at the photo. 

“Your mangalsutra looks better like this — wearing my cum. Why didn’t I get this idea earlier? Thanks to your stupid bitch friend.

”He opened his gallery, scrolled to one of his hidden albums  labeled simply Ambika slut, and then lied next to her, turned the phone toward her so she could see while he scrolled.

The first photo loaded — grainy, taken two months earlier in his private bar cabin. 

Both of them sitting close, drinks in hand. Her face flushed, eyes nervous. His hand already resting high on her thigh.

Ambika’s breath caught.

The memory crashed over her like cold water.

Two months ago.They were having dinner — just her, Venkatesan, quiet conversation about his recent project and the problems in it

.The doorbell rang.Venkatesan opened it.Rathore stood there — tall, broad, polite smile. Two men stood silently behind him.

“Hello sir, how are you…”

“Please leave,” Venkatesan said firmly.

“Why sir? I need to talk about the project. 

Tell me how much you want.”

Venkatesan’s face hardened and he shouted, “Get out. We have nothing to discuss.”


Rathore’s smile vanished. He was already irritated and lost his temper.He pushed Venkatesan back inside the house while his boys waited outside. His fist moved faster than anyone could react — once into Venkatesan’s jaw, then again. Blood sprayed. A tooth cracked and skittered across the floor.Venkatesan dropped.

Ambika screamed, ran forward, fell to her knees in front of the stranger, clutching his legs.

“Please… please don’t hurt him sir…”Rathore looked down at her — amused, calculating. 

Then to Venkatesan: “Approve it, or someone will replace you to approve it.”

When he left, his visiting card fell from his pocket onto the carpet — face down, almost accidentally.

Later that night, after rushing Venkatesan to the hospital, Ambika picked up the card with shaking fingers.  She stared at the number.

Next evening she called — to beg him to leave her husband alone.

Rathore picked up.  “Who is it?”

"Ambika… Venkatesan’s wife…”

“Oh, that fucker’s wife. Is he okay or dead?”

Ambika cried. “Sir please don’t do anything… I…”

“See, I’m busy now. Come to my bar if you want to talk.”

“Sir please…”“If you want to talk, come there. Don’t waste my time.” He hung up.

They met at his bar in a private cabin exactly at 7 p.m.

 
Ambika arrived dressed in her own way — modern, confident, not the traditional saree she wore for family events. She had chosen a fitted black sleeveless blouse with a subtle shimmer, deep neckline that showed just enough of her full, firm breasts to catch attention without being vulgar, paired with a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her wide hips and accentuated her rounded, shapely ass. The skirt ended just above the knee, showing off toned legs. Her hair was left loose in soft waves, a pair of small diamond studs in her ears, and light makeup — red lips, kohl-lined eyes, a touch of perfume that smelled expensive and feminine. She looked like a woman who knew she was beautiful, but tonight her confidence felt fragile, like thin glass.
 
Rathore was already there, sitting relaxed in the corner booth, a half-empty glass of Scotch in front of him. He looked up as she entered, eyes raking over her body slowly — from the swell of her breasts, down to the curve of her hips and ass, then back up to her face. His smile was slow, predatory.
 
She walked over and sat next to him on the leather seat — close, but not touching.
 
Before she could speak, he raised a finger to the server in the corner.
 
“Another Scotch for me,” he said, then looked at Ambika. “And for the lady… same. Neat.”
 
Ambika’s throat tightened.
 
Unlike Priya — who never drank and carried herself with quiet, unbreakable dignity — Ambika had always been more social. Younger than Venkatesan by twelve years, she had lived a freer life in college: a boyfriend she loved physically, secret nights, stolen kisses, sex that left her breathless. She had never told Venkatesan. That part of her life ended when she married him — for his position, his wealthy family name, his stability. She blocked her ex, deleted old messages, and became the perfect wife. She loved Venkatesan genuinely later, but a small part of her always wondered how Priya could be so completely devoted to a simple, middle-class man like Ravi — no wealth, no power, yet Priya seemed perfectly content.
 
Tonight, though, the old thrill flickered back — the one she hated admitting still existed.
 
She hesitated when the glass arrived.
 
Rathore noticed.
 
“Drink,” he said simply. Not a request.
 
She picked up the glass with slightly shaking fingers.
 
Because she had to convince him. No other choice.
 
Because she had seen how powerful he was — the way he had pushed Venkatesan inside, broken his face in seconds, and walked away untouched.
 
Because the memory of that violence — the raw, terrifying strength of him — gave her a strange, forbidden chill she despised herself for feeling.
 
She took a sip. Then another. The Scotch burned going down, warming her chest, loosening the knot of fear in her stomach.
 
They drank more.
 
His hand slid onto her thigh under the table — large, warm, possessive.
 
She flinched, shifted her leg away twice.
 
He didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he squeezed gently — not painful, but firm enough to remind her who was in control.
 
Ambika’s breath caught.
 
She felt it — the slow, shameful heat building between her legs. Not just fear anymore. Something darker. His power, his confidence, the way he had overpowered her husband without effort… it stirred something she had buried years ago.
 
She hated it.
 
She hated herself for it.
 
But her body didn’t lie.
 
Her nipples hardened under the thin blouse. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.
 
Rathore noticed. Of course he did.
 
He leaned close, breath warm against her ear.
 
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll transfer him. No more hitting. Just convince him. He won’t lose his job. I’ll even help with his promotion.”
 
Then he added, voice dropping lower:
 
“Can we go to a private room and drink from there?”
 
Before they left the cabin, he pulled her close — one arm around her waist, fingers splaying over the curve of her ass — and took a selfie.
 
His face calm, smiling. Hers flushed from alcohol, fear, and something else she refused to name.
 
That was the first picture in the album.
 
The memory faded as Rathore’s hand cracked across her ass again — sharp, commanding.


 

“Bring me a drink, bitch,” he said casually. “Scotch. Neat.”
 
Ambika flinched, the sting blooming across her already red cheek.
 
She rose on shaky legs, still completely naked, cum drying on her face and chest.
 
She poured the drink with trembling hands, carried it back.
 
Rathore took the glass, sipped slowly, watching her over the rim.
 
“I have to go,” she said. “He would have reached home. I’ve avoided his call too…"


 "it’s okay, let him wait for two hours. Tell him you’re shopping.”
 
He set the glass aside.
 
“Now clean me, bitch.”
 
Ambika knelt again.
 
She leaned in, lips parting, and began licking him clean — slow, careful strokes along the shaft, sucking gently at the head, tasting the bitter mix of his cum and her own juices.
 
Rathore leaned back, sipping his drink, completely relaxed.
 
In front of him, Ambika was cleaning him in a low doggy pose, ass raised slightly, back arched. He casually placed the half-empty drink glass on the curve of her ass.
 
“Be careful,” he said softly. “It shouldn’t spill.”
 
Ambika froze for a second, then continued — slower, more seductive, trying to keep her body steady so the glass wouldn’t fall.
 
Rathore watched, amused.
 
“See?” he said softly, almost conversational. “All this because of your stupid husband. Just one approval with some cash and he would have been happy. But now his wife is here — sucking another man’s cock while her mangalsutra hangs sticky with my cum.”
 
He slapped her ass cheek lightly — just enough to make the glass wobble.
 
“Don’t move. The glass shouldn’t fall.”
 
He continued, voice low and cruel.
 
“Is it really worth protecting him? I can see you love my cock now.”
 
Ambika’s tongue paused for half a second.
 
She knew he was right.
 
She had started this for Venkatesan.
 
But somewhere in the last two months, the reason had shifted.
 
She was no longer doing it only for her husband.
 
She was doing it because Rathore’s power, his cruelty, his dominance — terrified her and thrilled her in equal measure.
 
She couldn’t be satisfied by Venkatesan anymore.
 
His cock and stamina wasn’t enough.
 
But she stayed with Rathore for another reason too.
 
She knew how powerful he was.
 
She knew only he could help it fix— and of course, he made sure Venkatesan’s transfer went smoothly, that the damage didn’t spread.
 
But she had another reason for needing him—one she had been waiting for the right moment to reveal.

 

While sucking his balls gently, cleaning every inch, she looked up at him — strong, muscular, cunning, utterly without conscience.
 
Rathore noticed her gaze.
 
He took the glass from her ass.
 
He pushed her hair up — not gently — with his rough hand, while her tongue still traced the underside of his shaft. She left it with a wet sound.
 
Rathore finished his drink, set the glass aside.
 
He brought her face near his and licked her tears, then kissed her roughly.
 
“Why are you crying?” he asked mockingly.
 
She hesitated, voice small.
 
“Why are you like this…”
 
“Like how?”
 
“Like this… dominant and cruel… cant you be little soft ?”
 
He raised both arms above his head, stretching lazily, exposing the hard, defined muscles of his chest and the dark hair under his arms.
 
Ambika leaned in instinctively, nose brushing his armpit, inhaling the strong, masculine scent — sweat, power, dominance.

A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

 
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured. “The smell of a real man. Not your weak husband’s soap-and-office stink.”
 
He lowered one arm, cupped the back of her head, and pushed her face deeper into his armpit.
 
“Breathe it in, bitch. That’s the smell of power.”
 
Ambika obeyed.
 
Her nose pressed fully into the damp, wiry hair. She inhaled deeply — the smell was filthy, overwhelming, intoxicating. Sweat, musk, dominance. Her pussy clenched involuntarily against his stomach. A fresh wave of shame washed over her, but her body responded anyway.
 
Rathore felt the small tremor in her hips. He chuckled softly, pleased.
 
“Good girl,” he said, tightening his grip on her hair. “Keep breathing. Let it fill you.”
 
Ambika’s tongue darted out, licking the salty skin tentatively while her hand slid between his thighs to gently massage his heavy balls.
  

Rathore closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her face buried there while she continued to stroke his cock slowly with her hand.
 
“Alright, bitch,” he said softly.  “You want my story?” he said, voice low and lazy. Listen.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in Anna Nagar, the small living room was filled with the gentle glow of oil lamps and the soft, sacred hum of mantras. Priya sat cross-legged in the center of the ladies’ circle, fresh jasmine garland in her braid releasing its clean, sweet fragrance with every small movement.

The air carried the pure, comforting aroma of camphor, sandalwood, and the faint turmeric scent still lingering on her skin from her morning ritual. Everything felt peaceful, blessed. The ladies smiled warmly as they passed the aarti thali, their voices blending in harmonious prayer.

Shoba, one of the older women, leaned closer during a brief pause and whispered with genuine admiration:“Priya, look at this house… always so fresh, so filled with good aroma. You maintain everything so beautifully — the pooja corner, the kitchen, even the air feels calm here. Truly blessed.”
 
In that exact same moment, across the city, Ambika  stayed exactly where she was —face buried deep in Rathore’s armpit — inhaling the raw, heavy musk of his sweat, the overpowering smell of power and dominance. Her tongue traced the salty skin while her hands worked his cock and balls slowly , her own body trembling under the weight of shame and unwanted arousal, waiting to hear how the man who now owned her had become the monster he was.


Two completely different worlds.

Ambika soaked in filth, submission, and the thick, dirty scent of a man who owned her completely.

Priya sat blissful amid the soothing fragrance of jasmine, camphor, and sacred incense, utterly unknowing that soon—very soon—Rathore would come for her. His filthy, sweaty armpit stench might  invade her nose instead of this pure, comforting aroma one day. 

But unlike Ambika, Priya would not bend so easily, she won't  swallow such kind of degradation by sacrificing her loyalty. 

Would the legacy of Priya's unbreakable mangalsutra stand firm … or would Rathore’s ruthless cock will crack that iron loyalty into two !!! ? 

[bananna123]

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