Adultery Ananya - My beautiful wife

[kirak9484]

Super very hot i am waiting for update ?

OK thankyou

[kirak9484]

Superb narration.... Again u have kept us guessing Kirak..... What next for Ananya, .....will Vicky and Arjun join for a great orgy... Waiting eagerly for next update......

Thankyou bro

[kirak9484]

Good job my brother, fantastic story

Thankyou

[kirak9484]

Waiting for the bang

Thankyou

[kirak9484]

Waiting next update

Thankyou

[kirak9484]

Waiting............................

OK. Thankyou

[kirak9484]

Woow

Now the real session begins.
Waiting for the next jumbo update

Thankyou

[kirak9484]

His tomorrow or even dates mentioned are never upto the mark..... He is always late by 3 or 4 days

Pls wait

[kirak9484]

Thankyou all



Ananya stepped into the upstairs bedroom with her heart already hammering against her ribs.
The room was large, brightly lit, and dominated by a wide bed facing a full wall of glass. She knew what that glass was. On the other side, someone could watch without being seen. The thought alone made her stomach twist. She sat on the edge of the mattress, hands tightly clasped in her lap, and tried to steady her breathing. Every possible scenario raced through her mind in rapid, terrifying loops.
What will he do this time?
How far will he go?
Will he stretch me until I cry again?
Will Vicky be watching?
What if the video is still not enough and he wants more?
Her thighs pressed together instinctively. The memory of his thick cock, the way it had forced her open before, the way her own body had betrayed her with wetness and moans, all of it flooded back until her skin felt too tight. She was a married woman, a college lecturer, a wife who still wore her mangalsutra most days. Yet here she sat, waiting for a man who had already taken pieces of her she could never reclaim.
A soft click of the lock.
The door opened.
Rohan stepped inside with a wide, easy smile, as if he were arriving for nothing more serious than a friendly visit. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, simply looking at her. The smile never left his face.
Ananya stood up at once, hands rising in a pleading gesture, palms open, fingers slightly trembling.
“Please… Rohan, please leave me. You already took from me… that day, the video, everything. Please. I am begging you. Don’t do more.”
Her voice cracked on the last words. Tears already shone at the corners of her eyes. She took one small step forward, still holding her hands out as if the gesture itself could create a barrier between them.
Rohan’s smile only deepened. He pushed away from the door and walked toward her slowly, unhurried, enjoying the visible tension in her body.
“No way, my dear Ananya.” His voice was calm, almost affectionate. “Today I am going to fuck you the way you never expected. Your married cunt is going to be stretched properly. Fully. Until you feel it in your stomach.”
The crude promise hit her like a physical blow. A fresh wave of fear and reluctant heat washed through her. She shook her head rapidly, stepping back until the backs of her knees touched the bed again.
“I am married… please. My husband doesn’t know. He can never know. Please leave me. I will do anything else… money, whatever you want… just not this.”
Rohan laughed, low and genuinely amused. The sound filled the quiet room. He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, still smiling. “Your husband doesn’t know. And that is exactly the problem. He doesn’t know how to treat a hot, beautiful married woman. He doesn’t know how to open her properly, how to make her scream, how to stretch that tight married cunt until she forgets she ever had limits. Today I will teach you what he never could.”
He reached out and lightly brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. Ananya flinched but did not pull away completely. Her breathing had become shallow and fast. The words “stretched” and “teach you” kept echoing inside her head, mixing fear with a dark, unwanted pulse of memory — the way her body had responded before when he had forced her past every boundary.
Rohan’s eyes flicked once toward the glass wall, a silent signal that Vicky was already in place on the other side, watching every second of her pleading and every inch of her tension. Then he looked back at Ananya, still smiling that same confident, unhurried smile.
“Clothes off,” he said softly. “Or I will take them off for you. Either way, your married cunt is getting stretched today.”
Ananya’s hands slowly lowered. Tears slipped down her cheeks. The last fragile hope that he might still release her dissolved under the weight of his calm certainty. She was alone in the room with him, Vicky was watching, and the only path left was the one he had already chosen for her.
Her fingers moved to the edge of her saree and blouse with visible reluctance, the first small surrender of the afternoon....



dice with 6 sides online




Rohan did not give her time to finish undressing on her own.
The moment Ananya’s fingers hesitated at the hem of her blouse and petticoat  he stepped in, took hold of the fabric, and pulled it up and over her head in one smooth motion. The red bra came into view. He unhooked it without ceremony and drew the straps down her arms, freeing her full, soft breasts. Her nipples were already tight. He pushed the petticoat down and panty down together; she stepped out of them with visible reluctance. Completely naked except for the thin wedding ring, Ananya stood in the center of the bright bedroom, arms crossed over her chest, face burning.
Rohan’s smile remained calm and certain. She pleading with both hands. But he caught both hands and raised up. And she down immediately. Then he order her
“Arms up. High. Keep them there.”
Ananya’s eyes widened. When she did not move immediately he took both her wrists and lifted them above her head, holding them there until she locked her elbows and kept the position herself. The posture stretched her torso, lifted her breasts, and left every inch of her front completely exposed. She felt the weight of the glass wall behind her and a fresh wave of shame rolled through her.
Rohan began with her breasts....



Rohan began with her breasts.
He lowered his head and took the left nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly at first, then harder, tongue circling the stiff peak while his hand cupped and squeezed the soft flesh. Ananya’s breath hitched. A soft, unwilling sound escaped her throat — “Nnh…” — then another, higher one when he increased the suction. He switched to the right breast and gave it the same thorough attention, sucking until the nipple was wet and dark, then biting gently.
“Ahhhh… nnhhh… ahh…”
Her arms trembled above her head but she did not lower them. The wet sounds of his mouth on her breasts mixed with her rising, broken moans.
He moved lower.
His tongue traced a slow path down the soft plane of her stomach, dipped into the deep oval of her navel, and lingered there, licking and sucking the sensitive hollow. Ananya’s hips twitched hard. A longer, shakier moan left her — “Ahhhhh… ohhh…” — higher and more open than she wanted. He smiled against her skin and continued, hands sliding around to grip her bare ass while his mouth worked her navel with deliberate focus. Soft, continuous “ahh… nnh… ahh…” sounds spilled from her lips without pause.
Then he dropped to his knees.
He spread her thighs with his hands and dragged the flat of his tongue through her already damp slit from bottom to top, parting the soft labia and circling her clit. Ananya cried out sharply.
“Ahhhh—!”
Rohan licked her with long, thorough strokes, sucking the swollen bud, pushing his tongue inside her, then returning to the clit with firm pressure. The wet, rhythmic sounds of his mouth on her cunt grew louder. Ananya’s moans climbed with them — no longer soft, no longer controlled.
“Ahhhh… nnhhh… ahhh… please… it’s too much… ahhhhh…!”
He sealed his lips around her clit and sucked hard while two fingers slid inside her and curled against the front wall. Ananya’s head fell back. A raw, high cry tore from her throat.
“Ahhhhhhh…! Nnhhh… ahhhhaaaa…!”
Her arms shook violently above her head; her breasts heaved; juices began to run down her inner thighs. Rohan kept the same relentless rhythm — tongue and fingers working together — until her moans turned into open, desperate, continuous cries that echoed off the glass wall.
“Ahhhh… ahhha… nnhhh… I can’t… ahhhhh… please… ahhhhaaaaa…!”
That was when the door opened again.
Ananya’s eyes flew wide. She tried to lower her arms and cover herself, but Rohan’s hands gripped her wrists and kept them high. A second pair of hands settled on her bare waist from behind. Warm breath touched the back of her neck. Soft lips pressed against the sensitive skin just below her ear.
She jerked hard.
“Who—?!”
She twisted her head and saw Vicky standing behind her, already shirtless, eyes dark with open lust. The shock of a second man’s hands on her naked body while Rohan’s mouth was still between her legs sent a violent wave of shame through her, but the physical stimulation did not stop. Her moans continued, broken and loud, even as she stared at him in stunned disbelief.
“Ahhhh… nnhhh… ahhh…!”
Vicky’s voice was low and almost apologetic.
“As per Rohan’s orders I came. Otherwise he said he would send the clear video to your husband tonight. I had no choice… so I came to romance with you.”
Ananya’s face burned. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. Her cries had not stopped; Rohan’s tongue and fingers continued without pause, forcing louder, wetter sounds out of her even while Vicky’s hands slid upward and cupped her breasts from behind, squeezing the soft flesh, rolling the wet nipples between his fingers. He kissed and licked the side of her neck. Ananya’s moans overlapped and climbed higher, helpless and continuous.
“Ahhhhh… ahhha… nnhhh… both… ahhhh… too much… ahhhhaaaaa…!”.... Both wicked.. Already before 15 minutes back Vicky tricked a plan to involve her husband Rajesh. So he called him come to at my second villa and gave adress... for to discuss important  things. Rahesg told yes sir within 10 min I will come..

 
  Then movement on the other side of the glass caught her eye.
Rajesh entered the adjacent room.
Ananya’s entire body went rigid with pure panic. Her husband walked in, looked around the empty study, and sat down in the same chair, completely unaware that only a few feet of one-way glass separated him from his naked, trembling, moaning wife. He opened his laptop.
Ananya’s voice cracked into a higher, terrified cry.
“He is here— please— my husband— ahhhh…!”
Rohan lifted his mouth from her cunt just long enough to speak, lips still shiny with her wetness, while his fingers kept stroking inside her.
“Don’t tense. It is one-way glass. We can see him clearly. He cannot see us at all. He has no idea his quiet, conservative wife is standing naked with two men, arms up, moaning and dripping while he sits there working.”
The reassurance did nothing to calm the terror in her chest, but the physical stimulation only intensified. Rohan returned to her clit with even more focused, wet suction. Vicky continued to squeeze and roll her breasts, pinching the nipples, kissing her neck and shoulders. Ananya’s arms remained locked above her head; her legs trembled so badly she could barely stay upright. The wet sounds of Rohan’s mouth, the soft gasps and loud cries leaving her own throat, and the knowledge that her husband sat only a few feet away combined into a pressure that became unbearable.
“Ahhhhhh… nnhhh… ahhhha… I can see him… ahhhh… please… it’s too much… ahhhhaaaaa…!”
Rohan pushed three fingers inside her and rubbed firmly against her G-spot while his tongue worked her clit without pause. Vicky’s hands kept a steady, possessive rhythm on her breasts. Ananya’s cries rose higher and higher, raw, continuous, and completely unrestrained, until the tension finally broke.
A loud, shaking scream tore from her throat as the orgasm crashed through her.
“Ahhhhhhhh—! Ahhhhaaaaa… nnhhh… ahhhhh…!”
Her cunt clenched hard around Rohan’s fingers; clear fluid squirted in several strong, visible pulses, splashing against his hand and wrist and dripping onto the floor between her feet. Her whole body convulsed; her arms pulled against the order to keep them raised; tears streamed down her face while long, broken, overlapping moans and cries poured out of her without any control left.
“Ahhhh… ahhha… nnhhh… I’m… ahhhhh…!”
Rohan kept his fingers moving through the entire release, drawing every last pulse and every last broken sound from her. Vicky held her upright from behind, still cupping her breasts, mouth against her ear.
“That’s it… let it out. Your husband is right there and he has no idea his wife is squirting and screaming for two men.”
Ananya’s knees gave out. They lowered her carefully onto the bed, still trembling, still panting, still letting soft, residual “ahh… nnh… ahh…” moans escape with every breath. The wet evidence of her climax shone on her inner thighs and on the floor. On the other side of the glass Rajesh continued to type, completely unaware that the soft, conservative woman he had married had just been licked, fingered, and made to squirt and cry out while he sat only a few feet away.
Rohan and Vicky looked down at her spent, still-moaning body with quiet, shared satisfaction. The afternoon was only beginning, and her married cunt had already been stretched open by pleasure she could no longer silence......

[kirak9484]

Rohan and Vicky stepped back just far enough for Ananya to see them clearly.
Both men unbuckled their belts at the same time. The soft metallic sound of zippers followed. Ananya’s eyes widened as they pushed their pants and underwear down. Two thick, heavy cocks sprang free — Rohan’s long, heavily veined eleven-inch length already fully hard and flushed, Vicky’s nearly as thick and only slightly shorter, the head glistening. The size of them side by side made her stomach drop.
A violent mixture of panic and unwanted heat crashed through her.
Today I will die.
The thought was not dramatic; it felt real. Her married body had already been stretched, licked, and made to squirt while her husband sat only a few feet away on the other side of the glass. Now both men stood in front of her with their cocks out, and the look in their eyes said the real fucking was only beginning. Shame burned across her face and chest. Her nipples, still wet from earlier sucking, tightened further. Between her legs she felt a fresh, traitorous pulse of wetness even as fear made her hands tremble.
Rohan’s voice was calm and absolute.
“On your knees. Blow job. Now.”
“No…” Ananya whispered, shaking her head rapidly. Tears already shone in her eyes. “Please… I can’t… not both… please.”
Rohan did not argue. He stepped forward, tangled his fingers in her long hair, and pulled her head firmly toward his cock. The thick, hot shaft pressed against her closed lips. Ananya tried to turn her face away, but the grip in her hair was unyielding. He rubbed the heavy head across her mouth, smearing pre-cum on her lower lip.
“Open.”
A broken sound of pure shame left her. Then, slowly, unwillingly, her lips parted. Rohan pushed forward at once. The broad head stretched her mouth open; the thick shaft slid across her tongue until the head nudged the back of her throat. Ananya gagged softly, eyes watering. He did not give her time to adjust. He began to fuck her mouth with steady, deep strokes, using the grip in her hair to control the rhythm.
Muffled, continuous sounds spilled around his cock.
“Hmmmm… hmmmm… hmmmph… hmmmm…”
Each thrust pushed her soft lips wide and made her cheeks hollow. Spit gathered at the corners of her mouth and dripped down her chin onto her bare breasts. Her eyes stayed wet with tears of humiliation, yet her body betrayed her further — her nipples remained stiff, and fresh wetness slicked her inner thighs. The wet, rhythmic sound of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth filled the room.
Behind her, Vicky dropped to his knees.
Strong hands spread her thighs wider. A moment later she felt the hot, wet stroke of his tongue through her soaked slit. Ananya’s entire body jerked. A louder, muffled cry vibrated around Rohan’s cock.
“Hmmmm—! Hmmmph… ahhhh… hmmmm…”
Vicky licked her with long, thorough strokes, parting her labia, circling her swollen clit, pushing his tongue inside her, then returning to suck the sensitive bud. The dual sensation was overwhelming — thick cock stretching her mouth and throat while another man’s tongue worked her cunt with relentless focus. Ananya’s arms trembled; her knees pressed into the floor; soft, full breasts swayed with every thrust into her mouth.
Her muffled moans grew higher and more continuous.
“Hmmmm… hmmmm… ahhhh… hmmmph… nnhhh… hmmmm…”
Rohan fucked her mouth harder, the wet sounds growing louder and filthier. “That’s it… take it. Married mouth stretched around a real cock while another man eats that dripping cunt.” He pulled her hair tighter, forcing her to look up at him while he used her throat. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the spit on her chin. The shame of the position — on her knees, mouth full, cunt being licked open, husband only a few feet away on the other side of the glass — made every sound she produced feel like another surrender.
Vicky’s tongue became more aggressive. He sealed his lips around her clit and sucked firmly while two fingers slid inside her and curled against the front wall. Ananya’s muffled cries rose sharply.
“Hmmmm—! Hmmmph… ahhhh… hmmmm… too much… hmmmm…!”
Her hips began to move against Vicky’s mouth without her permission. The immense pleasure building between her legs crashed against the panic and humiliation in her chest until she could no longer separate them. Soft, broken, continuous “hmmmm… ahhh… hmmmph…” sounds poured out of her around Rohan’s thick shaft while Vicky’s tongue and fingers drove her higher.
Rohan looked down at her tear-streaked face, her stretched lips, the way her throat bulged with each deep thrust, and smiled.
“Listen to those sounds. Strict lecturer… quiet wife… now moaning and gagging on cock while her cunt gets eaten. You’re soaking his face, Ananya.”
She could only answer with another long, muffled, helpless moan as Vicky’s tongue pushed her closer to the edge again. The dual invasion — mouth and cunt — left her shaking, crying, and dripping, the loud wet sounds of both acts filling the bright bedroom while her husband sat only a glass wall away, still completely unaware......

[kirak9484]

The fifteen-minute clock began the instant Rohan’s tongue touched the outer lips of Ananya’s cunt.
She stood naked against the cool glass, palms flat, legs forced slightly apart. On the other side of the one-way mirror Rajesh sat with his laptop open, listening to Vicky speak in a calm, professional tone about deliverables and timelines. The four speakers hidden in the corners of that room were live. Every wet sound, every breath, every eventual broken cry would travel clearly into the space where Ananya’s husband waited, unaware.
Rohan knelt in front of her. He did not rush. He used the flat of his tongue to part her outer labia slowly, dragging upward from the wet entrance all the way to the hood of her clit, then back down again. The first stroke forced a sharp intake of breath through Ananya’s nose. She locked her jaw. Her fingers pressed harder against the glass.
He repeated the motion, slower. The soft, wet sound of tongue on sensitive flesh filled the quiet bedroom and slipped through the open speakers as a faint, rhythmic noise. Rajesh’s fingers paused on the keyboard for half a second, then continued typing.
Rohan’s thumbs spread her labia open, exposing the pink inner folds and the swollen pearl of her clit. He breathed warm air across the exposed tissue, then licked a tight circle around the clit without touching it directly. Ananya’s thighs trembled. A tiny, high sound tried to escape; she swallowed it. Sweat had already begun to gather between her bare breasts.
He ignored the clit and focused lower. Two fingers slid between the slick inner lips, stroking the sensitive ridges on either side of her entrance without entering. Up and down, slow and deliberate, coating his fingers in her growing wetness. The soft, wet friction was maddening. Ananya bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. Her hips gave one small, involuntary twitch.
Rohan smiled against her thigh.
He pushed the two fingers inside her cunt in one smooth motion, curling them immediately upward against the front wall. The moment he found the slightly rougher, swollen patch of her G-spot he began to rub it in firm, precise circles. At the same time his tongue returned to her clit — not sucking yet, only flicking the tip lightly, repeatedly, in time with the internal stroking.
Ananya’s head dropped forward. A long, shaky breath left her. The dual stimulation — thick fingers working the G-spot while the tongue teased the clit — sent thick pulses of pleasure through her lower belly. She counted seconds. One minute. Two. Her silence held, but the pressure behind her teeth was growing.
Rohan added a third finger. The stretch forced a soft, involuntary “nnh” from her throat before she could stop it. He laughed quietly, the sound low and pleased, and began to pump the three fingers in short, deep strokes that rubbed continuously across her G-spot while his tongue finally sealed over her clit and sucked.
The wet sounds grew louder — the soft suction of his mouth, the slick movement of fingers inside her, the occasional quiet gasp she could no longer fully suppress. Those sounds travelled perfectly through the speakers.
In the adjacent room Rajesh’s brow furrowed. He looked up from the screen.
“Sir… what is that noise?”
Vicky did not glance away from the papers.
“My friend Rohan is upstairs with a friend’s wife. She is shy. He is only teasing her a little. Nothing important. Keep looking at the numbers.”
Another soft, wet sound came through — clearer this time — followed by a stifled female whimper. Rajesh’s cock stirred inside his trousers. The pitch of the voice was soft, familiar in a way that made the back of his neck heat. He shifted in his chair, trying to focus on the laptop, but the next wet lick and the quiet, broken “ahh…” that followed sent a pulse of unwanted blood straight to his groin.
Inside the bedroom Rohan had settled into a ruthless rhythm.
Three fingers stroked firmly across Ananya’s G-spot while his mouth worked her clit with alternating suction and rapid flicks of the tongue. His free hand rose and closed over her left breast, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching the nipple in time with the internal thrusts. Ananya’s arms shook. Tears of pure effort slid down her cheeks. She could feel the orgasm building like a wave that wanted to crash, and she fought it with everything she had.
At the four-minute mark her control slipped.
A clear, high moan left her lips — “Ahhhh…” — longer and louder than she intended. Rohan’s fingers immediately slowed, denying the peak, and his mouth left her clit. He waited until the trembling in her thighs eased, then started again — same deep G-spot strokes, same relentless tongue on the swollen bud, same hand kneading her breast.
Ananya’s moans began to escape in a broken chain.
“Nnh… ahh… ahhh… please…”
She tried to close her legs; his shoulders held them open. She tried to pull her hips back; his free hand gripped her waist and kept her pressed against his mouth. The wet sounds of her cunt being fingered and licked grew obscenely loud. Every slick thrust of his fingers, every wet suck on her clit, every soft cry she could no longer hold back travelled straight through the live speakers into the room where her husband sat.
Rajesh was fully hard now.
The voice — the exact pitch of the higher moans, the way they broke — kept brushing against the memory of Ananya’s soft sounds in the dark of their own bedroom. Confusion and arousal tangled until he could no longer separate them. He stared at the one-way glass that looked like an ordinary mirror from his side, wishing he could see through it. He wanted to know what the woman looked like, how she was being touched, why her cries sounded so much like the woman he loved.
Vicky continued speaking about quarterly targets as if nothing unusual were happening, but his eyes flicked once toward the glass with quiet satisfaction.
Another prolonged, desperate moan rolled through the speakers — “Ahhhh… I can’t… nnhhh…” — and Rajesh’s hand tightened on the edge of the desk. His cock throbbed. The professional meeting had become impossible to follow. All he could hear was the wet, rhythmic sound of a cunt being thoroughly worked and the rising, helpless voice of a woman who was clearly losing a battle against pleasure.
In the bedroom Ananya had broken completely.
Rohan’s three fingers rubbed her G-spot without pause while his tongue and lips kept her clit in constant, wet suction. His other hand moved from one breast to the other, squeezing, pinching, rolling the nipples until both stood stiff and dark. Ananya’s cries were continuous now — high, broken, soaked in tears and shame.
“Ahhh… ahhh… please… I need… ahhhh…”
He brought her to the very edge again and again, each time slowing or changing pressure just enough to keep the orgasm hanging out of reach. Her juices ran down his wrist and dripped onto the floor. Her thighs shook violently. Soft, full breasts trembled with every sobbed breath. The fifteen-minute deal was already lost; every moan that left her mouth was another nail in the coffin of her freedom. Yet the physical need had become so overwhelming that she could no longer care.
Rohan lifted his mouth just long enough to speak, voice perfectly clear for the microphones.
“Listen to yourself, Ananya. Senior Rajesh’s strict lecturer wife… crying and soaking my hand while your husband sits on the other side of this glass. You are dripping down my fingers. And we still have time left.”
Then he sealed his mouth over her clit again and sucked hard, fingers stroking firmly across the swollen G-spot.
Ananya’s cry this time was raw and loud, echoing through the bedroom and straight into the room where Rajesh sat rigid, fully erect, and deeply, confusingly aroused by a voice that sounded far too much like the woman he had married.



Ananya’s cries had risen past any attempt at control.
Each new wave of Rohan’s tongue and fingers forced louder, rawer sounds from her throat. The wet, rhythmic noise of his mouth on her cunt mixed with her broken sobs and high, desperate moans until the entire bedroom — and every speaker in the adjacent room — was filled with the unmistakable soundtrack of a woman being driven past her limits.
“Ahhhh… nnhhh… ahhh… please… I can’t… ahhhhh…!”
Rajesh’s hands had gone completely still on the keyboard. His cock was painfully hard inside his trousers, throbbing in time with every fresh cry that poured through the speakers. The voice — soft, high, breaking on the same notes he had only rarely heard from Ananya in the darkest privacy of their bedroom — was unravelling him. He could no longer pretend the sounds were distant or unimportant.
He turned fully toward Vicky, face flushed, breathing uneven.
“Sir… what is your friend doing to her? How is she crying like this? In what way is he… fucking her? She is going completely mad. I have never heard moans like this. Never. How is he making her sound like that?”
Vicky leaned back in his chair, expression calm, almost mildly curious. He let another long, wet, female cry echo through the room before he answered.
“He is only using his mouth and fingers for now. Nothing more. Some women respond very strongly when you know exactly where to touch them.”
Rajesh’s throat worked. Another prolonged, sobbing moan rolled through the speakers — higher, more broken than the last. His cock jerked hard against the fabric of his pants. The question formed before he could stop it, driven by a mixture of genuine confusion and a darker, growing heat.
Vicky watched the struggle on his face for a moment, then spoke in a quiet, almost casual tone that landed like a precise blade.
“You don’t need to feel embarrassed. I’ll ask you one simple question. When you fuck your own wife… does she ever moan like this? Does she ever cry out the way this woman is crying right now?”
Rajesh’s breath caught so sharply it was almost a gasp.
The question was so direct, so unexpected, that heat flooded his face and neck. Shame and arousal crashed together until he could barely think. He had never been asked anything like this in his life. The image of Ananya beneath him — quiet, soft, rarely making more than small, restrained sounds — rose in his mind and collided violently with the raw, continuous cries still pouring from the speakers.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally forced the words out in a low, strained voice.
“No, sir… my wife has never moaned like this. Not in our entire married life.”
Vicky’s eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction. He leaned forward slightly, voice still gentle, almost helpful.
“I think you felt uncomfortable. I’m sorry if the question was too personal. You said you had never heard sounds like these, so I only asked about your wife. No need to answer further if it makes you uneasy.”
But Rajesh had already answered, and the admission hung in the air between them. Vicky continued, tone thoughtful, almost philosophical, while another wet, desperate cry from Ananya filled the pause.
“No, no… every married woman has deep sexual desire. The difference is whether her husband knows how to draw it out of her. Some men never learn the places, the pressure, the patience. I think… perhaps you have not fucked your wife properly yet. If you had, she would already be moaning louder than this woman upstairs.”
Rajesh’s face had gone pale. His hands were clenched on his thighs. Yet beneath the shame a darker current was rising — images he had never allowed himself before. Ananya’s soft body, her restrained sounds, the possibility that there was an entire hidden layer of her that he had never reached. The idea that another man might know how to pull those raw, helpless cries from her made his cock throb even harder.
Vicky’s voice dropped a fraction lower, almost intimate.
“And your wife is more beautiful than most, isn’t she? From what I remember at the office parties… very graceful, very soft. A woman like that, if handled correctly, would cry and moan even louder than the one we are hearing right now. She would break completely. She would soak the sheets. She would forget every rule she ever lived by.”
Rajesh could not look at him. His ears were filled with Ananya’s ongoing cries — “Ahhhh… nnhhh… ahhh…!” — and the words Vicky had just spoken. The two blended until he could no longer separate the woman upstairs from the wife waiting at home. A thick, shameful heat spread through his groin and lower belly. Cuckold thoughts he had never named before began to surface: the idea of Ananya’s face contorted in the same helpless pleasure, the idea of her voice rising exactly like this under someone else’s hands, the idea that he had never been enough to pull those sounds from her himself.
He remained silent, pale, fully erect, and listening to every new cry that proved Vicky’s point more clearly than any lecture could.
Vicky smiled, small and knowing, and returned his attention to the papers as if the conversation had been nothing more than a mild observation between colleagues — while upstairs Rohan’s mouth and fingers continued to drag louder, wetter, more broken sounds from Ananya’s throat, and every one of them travelled straight into the room where her husband sat, hard and quietly coming undone.



Ananya’s resistance finally collapsed under the precise, relentless pressure of Rohan’s fingers.
She had tried — desperately — to lock her throat, to bite down on the rising cries, to keep the fifteen-minute silence that still offered a path to freedom. But the three thick fingers now working inside her cunt left her no room to hide. He had started with two, curling them firmly against the swollen ridge of her G-spot, stroking in short, deep thrusts that made her thighs shake. When he added the third finger the stretch forced a raw, open cry from her lips that she could no longer swallow.
“Nooooo… ooo… ahhhhhhhhh—!”
The sound tore out of her, high and broken. Her back arched hard against the glass. Juices spilled around his driving fingers as the orgasm crashed through her in violent waves. Her cunt clenched and fluttered around the invading digits; her breasts heaved; tears streamed down her face while long, helpless moans poured from her throat without pause. The climax was longer and stronger than the previous two, leaving her legs trembling so badly she could barely stay upright.
Rohan kept his fingers buried inside her through the entire release, feeling every spasm, listening to every cry. Only when the worst of the shaking subsided did he slowly withdraw them, wet and shining. He looked up at her flushed, tear-streaked face with open satisfaction.
“Wow,” he said clearly, voice carrying perfectly through the live speakers. “A beautiful married woman — my friend’s wife — releases such a strong orgasm… and I still haven’t even fucked you yet.”
Ananya’s eyes squeezed shut in fresh shame. The words landed like another violation.
Rohan stood, wiped his hand casually on a nearby towel, and spoke again, still loud enough for every speaker in the adjacent room.
“Stay here and rest for ten minutes. I’ll come back and fuck you properly.”
Then he turned and walked toward the connecting door that led to the glass-walled study.
In the other room Rajesh’s mind had gone completely blank.
Ananya’s final, prolonged cry still echoed in his ears. The wet, rhythmic sounds of fingers moving inside a cunt, the broken female moans, the clear declaration that the woman had come hard without even being fucked — all of it crashed through him at once. His cock was so hard it ached, trapped painfully against the zipper of his trousers. He could not look at the papers. He could not look at Vicky. He could only sit rigid, breathing shallowly, while the after-echoes of that orgasm continued to replay in his head.
Vicky watched him for a moment, then spoke in a mild, almost instructive tone.
“Listen to that. That married woman just cried through her third orgasm. She is as conservative and strict as your own wife… yet we made her into a complete slut with only mouths and fingers. Imagine what will happen when my friend actually puts his cock inside her.”
Rajesh’s throat worked. No words came out.
The connecting door opened.
Rohan stepped through, still completely naked.
Rajesh’s eyes went wide. The man was pure gym muscle — broad chest covered in a light thatch of dark hair, thick arms, hard six-pack, heavy thighs. But it was the cock that stopped Rajesh’s breath. Even soft it hung long and thick, easily eleven inches, heavy veins running along the shaft, the head still slightly flushed and glistening from earlier contact with Ananya’s body. It swung as Rohan moved, far thicker and longer than anything Rajesh had ever seen in person.
Behind Rohan, through the open doorway, Rajesh caught a clear glimpse of the bedroom: a woman lying face-down on the large bed, completely nude, back rising and falling with heavy panting, soft ass still slightly raised, the sheets beneath her visibly wet.
Rohan noticed the open line of sight, smirked, and casually wrapped a white towel around his waist, knotting it low on his hips. The thick outline of his cock was still clearly visible against the fabric.
He spoke to Vicky as if Rajesh were not even in the room, voice casual and slightly amused.
“Arre Vicky, saali, bahut garmi hai. Mere friend ki wife hai woh… par bohot strict aur conservative. Abhi tak teen baar cum karwa diya sirf muh aur ungliyon se. Saali nakhre karti hai, lekin body toh bilkul ready ho gayi hai.”
(Arre Vicky, damn, it’s hot. She’s my friend’s wife… but very strict and conservative. I’ve already made her cum three times with just mouth and fingers. The bitch puts on airs, but her body is completely ready.)
Rajesh’s cock throbbed so hard he had to press a hand against his thigh to hide it. The Hindi words, the casual ownership, the clear description of a strict married woman being broken open — all of it hit him like a physical blow. His own cock, barely five inches and far thinner, felt suddenly small and inadequate in comparison to the heavy length he had just seen hanging between Rohan’s muscular thighs.
Unbidden images flooded his mind: Ananya in that same position, face-down and panting, legs open, body marked and wet, while a cock twice the size of his own pushed into her. The thought made his stomach twist with shame and a dark, undeniable heat.
Vicky laughed, low and knowing, and glanced at Rajesh.
“We both know the truth, Rohan. Every married woman has sexual desire locked inside her. You only have to use her properly. Look at my office colleague here…” He tilted his head toward Rajesh. “His wife is even more beautiful and more restrained. If she were ever handled the way you just handled that woman upstairs, she would moan and cry even louder. She would soak the bed. She would forget she was ever a strict lecturer or a loyal wife.”
Rajesh’s face had gone pale, yet his cock remained painfully erect. The combination of Ananya’s still-echoing cries, the visual of Rohan’s massive cock, the casual talk of turning conservative wives into moaning sluts, and the direct comparison to his own marriage left him sitting in a thick fog of humiliation and unwanted arousal.
He could no longer concentrate on a single word of the original “meeting.” All he could do was sit there, hard and silent, while the two men spoke openly about the complete sexual breaking of married women — and while the image of his own soft, quiet Ananya being reduced to the same raw, crying state burned behind his eyes.....

[kirak9484]

To be continued....

[Hotgiri]

Awasome update, please add gif to it

[kirak9484]

Rohan turned toward Rajesh with open curiosity, the white towel still hanging low on his hips, the heavy outline of his cock clearly visible against the fabric. Sweat still glistened lightly on his muscular chest and shoulders. He spoke as if they were discussing nothing more sensitive than the weather.
“Wow, nice… What’s your wife’s name?”
Rajesh’s mouth felt dry. The question was simple, yet under the present circumstances it felt dangerous. He answered slowly, unwillingly, the single word coming out almost reluctantly.
“Ananya.”
Rohan repeated it, tasting the sound.
“Ananya… nice name. Is she beautiful? And strict? Conservative?”
Rajesh’s cock, already painfully hard from everything he had heard and seen, gave another strong throb inside his trousers. He did not want to answer. Every detail he gave felt like he was handing over something private. Yet the atmosphere in the room — Vicky’s calm presence, Rohan’s casual dominance, the lingering echoes of the woman’s cries — made refusal feel almost impossible.
“Yes…” he said finally, voice low. “She is… beautiful. And yes, strict. Conservative.”
Rohan’s eyes lit with interest.
“Age?”
Rajesh hesitated again, then answered.
“Thirty-two.”
“And her structure? Soft? Full? Slim waist?”
The questions were landing one after another, each one sending a fresh pulse of heat and shame through Rajesh’s body. He could feel his face warming. His cock strained harder against the fabric. He tried to stop the conversation.
“Please… don’t ask these kinds of questions, sir. It is… personal.”
Rohan only laughed, easy and unbothered.
“Okay, okay. I think your beautiful wife… shall we see her? Is there any picture on your phone?”
Rajesh’s stomach tightened. He stood up abruptly, the movement making the hard outline of his cock even more obvious against his trousers.
“I… I am not like that. I should leave now, if Vicky sir permits.”
He looked toward Vicky, seeking an exit. But before Vicky could speak, Rohan’s gaze dropped deliberately to the front of Rajesh’s pants. A wide, knowing grin spread across his face.
“Arre, see Rajesh… you’ve gone completely hard. Was it while I was fucking the woman upstairs… or when I started describing your wife? Which one made you this stiff?”
The direct tease hit Rajesh like a slap. Heat flooded his face and neck. He opened his mouth but no coherent denial came out. His cock twitched visibly under the fabric, betraying him further.
Vicky’s voice cut in, smooth and reasonable.
“Relax, Rajesh. He’s only asking to see a photo. Nothing more. Show him. It’s just a picture.”
Cornered, Rajesh slowly took out his phone. His fingers felt clumsy as he unlocked it and opened the gallery. He selected a recent photograph — Ananya standing in their living room, wearing a deep maroon saree, pallu dbangd modestly, soft smile on her face, the gentle curve of her waist and the full shape of her breasts visible even under the traditional fabric. He turned the screen toward Rohan without fully extending his arm, as if he could still somehow protect the image.
Rohan took the phone and studied the picture in silence for several long seconds. His expression shifted into open appreciation.
“Wow… super hot figure. Super. She has a soft charm on her face… very graceful. And yes, she looks exactly like the strict, conservative type.” He zoomed in slightly with two fingers, eyes moving over the shape of her breasts and the narrowness of her waist. Then he spoke the next words casually, almost thoughtfully.
“Easily she can adopt two big cocks in both holes.”
The sentence landed on Rajesh like a physical blow.
His breath stopped. The image of Ananya — his soft-spoken, saree-wearing, navel-covering wife — being opened by two thick cocks at once flashed through his mind with brutal clarity. His own five-inch cock throbbed so hard it hurt. Shame and a dark, unwanted arousal tangled until he felt dizzy. He reached for the phone, but Rohan held it a moment longer, still looking at the photo with open interest, before finally returning it.
While this exchange was happening, Vicky had quietly stepped aside and sent a short message from his phone. Within minutes the secret back door of the bedroom opened. Payal slipped inside, already briefed. Vicky met her at the doorway, spoke a few rapid instructions, and guided her to the large bed where Ananya had been only minutes earlier. Payal stripped quickly, lay face-down on the same rumpled sheets, and allowed Vicky to tie a soft black blindfold over her eyes. She settled into the exact posture of exhausted, post-orgasm panting that Ananya had left behind. Vicky then returned to the study as if nothing had occurred.
Rajesh, still reeling from the photograph and Rohan’s filthy comment, finally found his voice again.
“The woman who was… crying and moaning earlier. Can I… see her?”
Vicky and Rohan exchanged a brief glance. Then Vicky nodded.
“Of course. Come.”
The three men walked back to the connecting door. Rohan pushed it open.
On the bed lay a completely nude woman, face-down, blindfolded, her back rising and falling with deep, residual panting. Soft ass slightly raised, thighs still parted, the sheets beneath her visibly damp. From this angle, and with the blindfold hiding her face, she could have been almost any soft, full-bodied married woman.
Rajesh stared.
For a moment the resemblance in posture and the memory of the voice that had sounded so much like Ananya made his stomach drop. Then the differences registered — the slight variation in skin tone, the different shape of the waist, the unfamiliar curve of the hips. A shaky, complicated relief washed through him. It was not Ananya. The voice had only been similar. His wife was still safe at home, still the quiet, conservative woman he knew.
Yet the relief did nothing to soften the painful erection still trapped in his trousers. The sight of another married woman lying spent and naked after being reduced to raw, crying orgasms, combined with the earlier photo of Ananya and Rohan’s casual remark about two cocks, left him standing in a thick fog of shame, confusion, and dark arousal.
Rohan stepped up beside him, still wearing only the low-slung towel, and spoke quietly, almost conversationally.
“See? Conservative married woman. Strict. Shy. And still she came three times before I even put my cock in her. Every one of them has it inside them, Rajesh. You only have to know how to open it.”
Rajesh could not answer. His eyes remained fixed on the blindfolded, panting body on the bed while his mind, against his will, replaced Payal’s form with Ananya’s — same position, same exhausted breathing, same wet sheets — and the image refused to leave....









Rohan stood beside the bed where the blindfolded, completely nude woman lay face-down, her back still rising and falling with heavy, exhausted breaths. The sheets beneath her were visibly damp. He glanced at Rajesh, who remained frozen just inside the doorway, eyes fixed on the spent female form.
“Look how she is breathing,” Rohan said quietly, almost conversationally. “Heavy… deep… completely finished. Now try to imagine your beautiful wife in the exact same position.”
Rajesh’s heart skipped hard, once, then began pounding in his ears.
The words slid into him like a slow, deliberate injection. He could not stop the image that formed: Ananya’s soft body stretched out the same way, face turned into the pillow, bare back glistening, full ass slightly raised, thighs parted, the same broken, heavy breathing leaving her lips after she had been reduced to raw, crying orgasms. The conservative, saree-wearing lecturer who blushed when he touched her navel… lying exactly like this.
Vicky’s voice joined in, calm and almost helpful, sealing the thought deeper.
“Think about it carefully, Rajesh. Your beautiful wife Ananya… the conservative married woman… the one who never raises her voice, who covers herself so carefully… imagine her screaming. Not soft little sounds. Real screams. ‘Fuck… fuck…’ loud, broken, helpless moans while she is opened and used. How would that sound? How would that look?”
Rajesh’s throat worked. He swallowed air.
Inside his mind the scene played without his permission: Ananya’s face contorted in the same helpless pleasure he had just heard through the speakers, her voice — the soft voice that said “good morning” and “I love you” — rising into the same raw, continuous cries. The idea that she could be made to sound like that, that the quiet woman he lived with contained this hidden, screaming layer, sent a thick, shameful heat straight to his already hard cock. The “cuck poison” was working exactly as intended. He did not speak. He only stood there, pale, fully erect, and silently drowning in the images they had planted.
Rohan watched the effect with quiet satisfaction, then spoke again, practical now.
“Okay. Go and wait downstairs, Rajesh. Or leave if you want. We still have work to do here. We have to remove the last of the arrogance from the woman lying on this bed. We’ll be busy with her until evening.”
Rajesh’s legs felt unsteady. He nodded once, unable to form words, and turned toward the door. Every step felt heavy. The picture of Ananya in that same spent, naked position refused to leave the back of his eyes. He had almost reached the threshold when Vicky’s voice stopped him.
“If you can wait… wait. Otherwise go. Your choice.”
The offer hung in the air — permission to stay close, to keep listening, to let the poison work further, or to escape while he still could. Rajesh stood for several long seconds in the doorway, swallowing hard, cock throbbing, mind filled with the sound of his wife’s imagined screams. Then, without answering, he continued slowly out of the room and down the corridor, the heavy breathing of the woman on the bed and the low voices of the two men following him like a shadow he could no longer outrun.



Rajesh did not leave.
He remained in the glass-walled study, the same chair, the same one-way mirror that still looked like ordinary glass from his side. The speakers were live. For five long minutes he sat in thick silence, replaying every poisonous sentence the two men had fed him.
Imagine your beautiful wife in that exact position.
Your conservative Ananya screaming “fuck… fuck…”
Two big cocks in both holes.
His cock had never gone soft. It lay heavy and aching against his thigh while the mental images of Ananya — modest, saree-dbangd, soft-spoken Ananya — grew clearer and dirtier with every passing second.
Then the silence exploded.
A raw, high, unmistakable cry tore through the speakers and slammed into him like a physical blow.
“Ahhhhhh—! Nooooo… I can’t… it’s too… ahhhhhhaaaaa…!”
Rajesh’s heart stopped, then began hammering so violently he felt it in his throat.
The voice was not merely similar.
It was identical.
The exact pitch, the exact way it broke on the higher notes, the exact soft tremor he had heard only a handful of times in the privacy of their bedroom when he had managed to pull a quiet orgasm from her. This was not a stranger who sounded like his wife.
This was Ananya's voice similar..
Denial tried to rise — it can’t be, she is at home, she took leave, it has to be someone else — but every new sound shattered it.
The wet, heavy rhythm of deep thrusts began. Each impact produced a fresh, broken cry.
“Ahhhh…! Ahhha…! Nnhhh…!”
Rohan’s voice cut through, low and deliberate, timed with a particularly hard thrust that forced a sharper scream from her.
“Is it bigger than your husband’s?”
A wet slap of skin. Another brutal thrust. Ananya’s answer came out in a sobbing, ecstatic rush that destroyed the last of Rajesh’s hope.
“Yessss… yessssss… bigger… more bigger… ahhhhh—!”
Rajesh’s cock jerked so hard it hurt. A dark, wet spot began to spread at the front of his trousers. He gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.
Rohan did not stop. He turned the fucking into a slow, cruel interrogation, each question paired with a deep, punishing thrust that dragged a louder response from Ananya.
Thrust.
“Does he ever stretch you like this?”
“Nooooo… never… ahhhhh…!”
Thrust.
“Does he ever make you cry like this?”
“N-no… only you… ahhhaaaa…!”
Thrust. Harder.
“Say it clearly. Whose cock is bigger?”
“Yours… yours is bigger… so much bigger… ahhhhhh… I can’t…!”
Every answer was punched out of her by the force of Rohan’s hips. The wet, rhythmic slap of his body against hers underpinned every broken cry. Ananya’s moans had become continuous now — high, raw, sometimes dissolving into actual sobs of overload — the sound of a conservative, controlled woman being fucked past every limit she had ever known.
Rajesh sat frozen, mouth open, breathing in short, ragged pulls. The realisation had moved beyond shock into something darker and more permanent. The woman making those helpless, size-comparing, cock-worshipping sounds was the same woman who kissed him goodbye that morning, the same woman who blushed when he touched her navel, the same woman who had never once moaned like this in their entire marriage.
And she was only a few feet away, fully open, fully broken, telling another man that his cock was bigger while her own husband listened to every word.
Rohan’s voice came again, thicker now, clearly close to his own edge, still timed with deep, claiming thrusts.
“Tell your husband… if he could hear you… how much you needed a real cock.”
Ananya’s reply was a long, broken wail that rose into pure screaming pleasure as another orgasm was forced out of her.
“Ahhhhhhh—! I needed it… I needed a real one… ahhhh… fuck…!”
Rajesh’s vision tunnelled. His cock throbbed in time with every wet impact he could hear. The cuckold poison the two men had carefully injected earlier had found its final, irreversible form: the living, moaning, undeniable proof that his quiet wife was capable of becoming exactly this — a crying, size-admitting, orgasm-shaking mess under a thicker, longer cock than he could ever give her.
And the most terrifying truth of all was that some newly awakened part of him was rock-hard and leaking at the sound of it.

[Hotgiri]

Pls add more gif to recent update

[Tamilmathi]

Unexpected updates

[Arunkumar69]

Please update regularly we are waiting for your update. Storie you going on super hot.

[bananna123]

Mind blowing

[val.coutinho]

Amazing update

[Shabaz123]

Hot hot excellent suparb update