Adultery Undercover Desires

[fuckandforget]

Started in 2024 and still running. 50 pages. Congrats.

[momass]

#justice_for_rahul

[masti.bhai]

I guess this is the plan of these father son duo to seduce and bed multiple hhindhuu women and treat them like sluts.

Being hhindhuu men, is there more kinky stuff for us?
Mm'. men ripping their choots.
 

[Astroboy11]

Hey author. Its been a while. Let us know when to expect the next update by.

[Chennaiboy]

[Chennaiboy]

Dear Author, Waiting. Please update

[Chennaiboy]

Dear John, It is almost 2 weeks since you kindled the fire in us, Trisha and Danish, Kavya and Feroz. Need your Pen ink to subside the heat for all.

[Paty@123]

Update plz sir

[masti.bhai]

Update, please

[Chennaiboy]

Dear John, Please update.

[Chennai Veeran]

Another form of love jighad

[Paty@123]

Update plz sir

[John446]

CHAPTER – 83


The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains of their bedroom as Danish and Kavya lay tangled in the sheets, the exhaustion of his delayed return finally giving way to quiet conversation. Danish had woken first, propped on one elbow, watching Kavya sleep for a few minutes before she stirred. When her eyes opened, he smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
“Morning, jaan,” he murmured.

She smiled back, still sleepy, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Morning.

He chuckled and pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together with familiar ease. For a while they simply lay there—his arm around her waist, her head on his chest—enjoying the peace after weeks apart. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her lower back, and she nuzzled closer, breathing in the familiar scent of him.
Then Danish took a breath.

“I got the final confirmation last night,” he said quietly. “The job’s mine. Better salary, bigger role… and they’ve assigned me to Delhi. I have to move next week.”

Kavya went still for a second, then lifted her head to look at him.
“Next week?” she repeated, voice soft.

He nodded. “They want me there to start onboarding and meet the team. It’s fast, but it’s a huge opportunity. The package is really good—45% more, stock options, bonus, everything.

Kavya searched his face, then gave a small nod, forcing a smile.

“That’s… amazing. I’m happy for you. Really.”

She paused, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.

“Don’t take the company accommodation,” she said suddenly, voice firmer. “You can live with Mummy and Papa ji. Their house is big enough, and they’d love having you there. It’ll save money, and… it’ll feel like home while we sort everything out.”

Danish raised an eyebrow, surprised but pleased.

“You sure? I don’t want to impose on them.”
Kavya shook her head. “You won’t be imposing. They already think of you as their son. Mummy especially… she’d be happy to have you around. And it means I can come visit more easily too.”
He smiled, pulling her closer and kissing her temple.

“Okay. If you’re sure. I’ll tell HR I don’t need the company flat.”
They lay there a little longer, talking about logistics—how often he could fly back, whether she could join him for weekends, how they’d handle the distance. Danish sounded excited, optimistic. Kavya listened, nodded, laughed at the right places.

But deep inside, the guilt sat heavier than ever.
Every time he mentioned Delhi, her mind flashed back to last night: Feroz’s arms around her waist, his hand low on her back, fingers splayed across the curve of her buttock, holding her like she belonged to him. The way he had pressed his face into her neck, inhaling her, kissing her with a hunger she’d never known. The soaked lace of her bra, the dampness still lingering between her thighs even after her morning shower. Every time she shifted on the bed, she felt it—the faint soreness, the sticky reminder of his release, the way her body had trembled and arched under his slow, relentless rhythm.

She smiled at Danish—bright, loving—while shame burned hot in her chest.
She had betrayed him. Betrayed everything they had built.
And now he was moving to Delhi—her city, her parents’ house—where the secret she carried would be waiting for them both.

Danish kissed her again, slow and tender.
“We’re going to be okay,” he whispered. “Better than okay.”
Kavya nodded, pressing her face into his neck so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “We will.”
But the guilt remained—quiet, unrelenting, impossible to ignore.
Last night had changed everything.

And Danish—happy, hopeful Danish—was home, holding her, planning their future.
While the memory of his father’s hands on her body, his mouth on her skin, his quiet possession in the dark still lingered beneath her clothes, beneath her skin, beneath her smile.
A week passed in a whirlwind of activity and quiet undercurrents.

Danish’s move to Delhi had been confirmed — joining date set for the following Monday. The company had arranged a short-term serviced apartment near their new office in South Delhi, but Kavya had already insisted he stay with her parents instead. “Mummy and Papa ji will be happy to have you,” she kept saying. “It’ll feel like home, and you won’t be alone.” Danish had agreed.

The days leading up to his departure were consumed by shopping and preparations.
Kavya took charge with a determination that surprised even her. Every evening after work, and on the weekend, she dragged Danish to the markets — first to the local malls for formal shirts, trousers, and a new laptop bag, then to the older, bustling bazaars for everyday essentials. She was meticulous: checking fabric quality, negotiating prices with the shopkeepers, making sure the colors suited him.

One afternoon they spent hours in a busy clothing market. Kavya held up a crisp light-blue formal shirt against Danish’s chest, tilting her head critically.

“This one,” she declared. “It brings out your eyes. And the fit is perfect — not too tight, not too loose.”
Danish grinned, watching her with open affection. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am,” she admitted, smiling as she handed the shirt to the shopkeeper. “You’re going to look sharp in Delhi. Can’t have my husband looking anything less than impressive.”

They bought several more shirts — whites, soft grays, a deep navy — along with ties, belts, and a couple of comfortable kurtas for weekends. Kavya insisted on picking a warm shawl (“Delhi winters are colder than you think”) and a good pair of formal shoes. Danish teased her about turning into his personal stylist, but he let her choose everything, enjoying the way she fussed over him.

In between shopping, they stopped at a small vegetarian café for lunch. Kavya made sure he ate properly — ordering paneer tikka and fresh juices — while she picked at her own plate, her appetite strangely subdued. 

Danish noticed but didn’t press; he assumed it was the stress of the upcoming separation.

At home, the evenings were quieter. Feroz would join them for dinner, offering quiet advice about Delhi — which areas to avoid, which markets had the best bargains, how to navigate the metro. His tone was warm and paternal, but Kavya could feel the undercurrent whenever their eyes met across the table.
The memory of that night still hung between them — the way he had held her, the way his mouth had moved over her neck and cleavage, the way she had clung to him. They never spoke of it, but the tension was there in every polite smile, every careful “pass the dal,” every moment their hands accidentally brushed while clearing dishes.

Kavya threw herself into the preparations with almost frantic energy. She helped Danish pack — folding his clothes neatly, adding small packets of homemade pickle and snacks “so you don’t miss home food.” She even bought him a small Ganesh idol for his desk “for good luck in the new job.”

Danish watched her with growing fondness, occasionally pulling her into his arms for a kiss or a hug.
“You’re going to spoil me,” he teased one evening as she added yet another set of handkerchiefs to his suitcase.
“You deserve to be spoiled,” she replied, forcing lightness into her voice.
But deep inside, guilt gnawed at her constantly.

Every time she folded one of his shirts, every time she kissed him goodnight, every time he talked excitedly about the new role in Delhi, the memory of Feroz’s hands on her body, his mouth on her neck and breasts, the way she had moaned and arched beneath him, flooded back. She felt dirty, ashamed, a traitor to the man who was so happy and proud beside her. She loved Danish — loved him deeply — yet she couldn’t erase the feel of his father’s touch, the way Feroz had made her feel safe and desired in the darkness.

Feroz, for his part, remained outwardly calm and supportive. He helped carry shopping bags, offered advice on Delhi traffic, and even gave Danish a small envelope with some cash “for settling in.” But whenever Kavya was near, his gaze would linger a fraction too long — on the curve of her neck, the sway of her hips, the way she smiled at Danish. The guilt was a constant companion for him too — a heavy stone in his chest. He had betrayed his son. Betrayed the trust of the family. Yet the memory of her softness, her moans, her body yielding beneath him refused to fade. Every night he lay awake, the hidden photos still saved in his phone, fighting the urge to look again.

On the last evening before Danish’s departure, the three of them sat together for dinner. Kavya had cooked a special vegetarian feast — paneer butter masala, dal makhani, fresh naan, and kheer for dessert. The conversation was light on the surface: Danish joking about surviving Delhi winters, Feroz offering tips on the best vegetarian restaurants near the office area.

But beneath the laughter, the tension simmered.

Kavya’s smiles were bright but brittle. Every time Danish reached for her hand across the table, she felt Feroz’s eyes on them — quiet, unreadable. Every time Feroz passed her the bowl of kheer, their fingers brushed, and the memory of his hands on her hips, his mouth on her neck, flashed through her mind like lightning.
When dinner ended, Danish pulled Kavya into their room for an early night.

“I want to make the most of our last few days,” he whispered, kissing her deeply.
Kavya kissed him back — passionate, almost desperate — trying to lose herself in him, trying to wash away the guilt with love.

But even as they moved together in the dark, a small part of her mind kept drifting to the other man sleeping down the hall.

Feroz lay awake in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, the house quiet around him.
He could hear the faint sounds from their room — soft laughter, the creak of the bed — and the guilt twisted sharper.

He had crossed a line he could never uncross.
And now his son was moving to Delhi — the city where the secret lived, where Trisha lived, where everything had started.

The coming weeks would test them all.
And none of them were ready for what was coming.

[masti.bhai]

The two women will be ploughed recklessly and thoroughly

[Thalaidhoni]

These men will fuck these bramin women brains out and make them eat meat and slowly convert them to their religion.

[Ananthukutty]

Very soon, Trisha husband will die of slow poisoning and Danish will turn only man of the house in Delhi.

[Bindass08]

Amazing story, pls provide next update fast..

[masti.bhai]

Danish is the name of one of the accused in the TCS scandal

[Chennaiboy]

[xbiilove]

These men will fuck these bramin women brains out and make them eat meat and slowly convert them to their religion.

Wear burkkah, eat beef,